Random thoughts

There is something missing in me and I don’t know what it is. It is something crutial to cope with reality in all its forms. If there was such a thing as a soul I would say that it feels as though half of it missed the boat- my body- and therefore whilst one half remains prisoner of the flesh the other is already gone. How can one exist, let alone function, with a broken spirit or mind?

Money- or lack of, rather- has the uncanny power to make you feel like shit. Here we go again, having to live with a few pennies until Friday. That’s 5 whole days to go. I kept telling mum not to spend on food but did she listen? Of course she didn’t. Who the heck needs pork costing almost 4 quid? When you’re poor you don’t eat meat, you bloody eat beans. Or eggs. They're expensive but they last you a week at the very least.

The knowledge that I can’t even buy anything even if I wanted to makes me cringe. Well, I’m as much money’s slave as the next-door neighbour in the end. They made it all this way. They made the world blind. One common purpose, one common destiny: money.

It will always remind me of those poor sods in the desert Moses tried to guide or save from slavery or whatever. they found those golden statuettes and worshiped them. That’s our legacy, you see.

Reality is as much a sham as the written words on this page. The words set me free from the certainties and laws of physics; the reason why I am a prisoner in real life is merely down on my ignorance of any other ways. Reality is akin to a lazy story where biology and the laws of gravity and whatnot are the main plots, thus making us, the protagonists, boring and helpless. There is only so much that can happen to our kind in the Reality story. We’re all different in small ways, yet so alike in every single thing that seems to differenciate us. Fact. There are variants, physical and mental, but we’re all created according to some loose template and there’ s very little chance to ever drift far away from it. Why else would we long to be somewhat different from the bulk?

I just don’t get it... People, a lot of people, can talk about anything and they will find others to listen to them, be interested even if the topic is light and devoid of much sense. When I talk people talk over me. They constantly cut me or change subjects. When I write people never read my things or they edit it with more mistakes than there was to begin with. How many times have I gone down the pub, been made to listen to someone’s rant or thoughtless reasoning that would flash the words “illogical or flawed” in my my mind and yet everytime I attempt to give my opinion or share some insight the same old thing happens: they all look at me blankly, nod their heads at best and instantly get into another conversation. Am I that transparent or unintelligible? Do I never have anything interesting to say- ever? Am I that boring when I open my mouth or do I sound so silly that people can’t even pretend to listen?

 If there was some form of consistency in people’s behaviour or reactions to silliness or even dumbness then I wouldn’t feel so confused. If they blanked those who utter stupidity as much as they do with me then I would find it easier to accept. The trouble is that often the person next to me will say something that isn’t right and yet people will still take the time to listen. When I try to say anything it’s as though I suddenly disappear. I open my mouth and people run away. I take a pen and eyes wander off. It only serves to make me feel even more alienated from everything around me. It does make me want to reach for the wine and numb the emptiness inside. The lack of love. The lack of closeness. The only way to describe the void is to describe how I long to open my arms as they suddenly become wide enough to embrass the whole world and feel as one with the whole of humanity.

 There is beauty within humanity brighter than the sun itself, warmer than the fire burning at the core of the Earth, and yet it remains hidden under layers of ice thicker than the universe. Who could ever understand the pain? Even if some do, at times, it never leaves my side and every little thing hurts more than it ought to. It makes every simple pleasure or fleeting moments of joy shine brighter but it makes everything else worse at the same time.