I suppose I should speak clearly, even if for just a moment. This memoir is at a standstill with so much paraphernalia resting in my hindsight. I replay the nights of coughing depression and thoughts of suicide when I was in sixth grade and my friends were trying on those fashions that split the skies with the times. I slide in and out of melancholia due to the bloody visions, the memories that I can’t place as either mine or someone else’s: the dissociation of a girl just sitting in her room counting down the minutes until the sky falls. I wish there was a happy unending, but I don’t know what the future can see in me to stay up all night and wake me up from my moment of rest by the water tides rising.
Can we cure the cancer that hunts us down? Staggering and in denial we shake our heads and walk towards the horizon until the sun goes down. Our gaits longer, our eyes wider as we hear the words of the incurable diseases. Mad hatters, we are made from the fires and ices of the new dawn when the witching hours prove themselves worthy of a quiet moment’s meditation and the laser surgeries are found unnecessary.
I want to change, morph into the energy monster that paces impatiently in my head waiting for the right moment to unleash its power from within: talons sharpening, teeth wide and grinding together. As corporations flood with enemies, as the masses accept the way things are with their skulls distorted and contorted into the mind asylums of the liquor power anti-prophets. I listen to my playlists and channel their inhabitants, the collective consciousness was a like beacon lamppost in the all encompassing and ever thickening night of the astral plane. It seemed as if I dead ended my own identity so as to flirt out through the genders and identities that I found empathy within, and I did love to have the scenes played before me, your actions and the unconscious desires were the themes that I rendered the most attention. I watch bodies tense and shake off their frustrations, interrelations, and try to hide the sadness that seeps through eyes the most when you sit and listen to someone with your eyes open to their possibilities.
Sneak past the mundane human reactions and beneath this earthen crusty surface, there was a myriad of aesthetics and in the dark regions of the soul there was yet more fuel for the dangerous of our species. The mediums that I come to learn from and exercise those ethereal senses are looked at as the court jesters of our time. Where are our believers and artists that hunt inwards to find and connect with the sprits of the others in the abyss that edges on madness and equilibrium.
I desire a quantum and religious dissonance, a space to unlock our chains of certain insanity verdicts by our forefathers and the Freudian latex industries of medication and Oedipus. I find these psycho-hyper publications of making anyone that is non-forming out to be a natural disaster to our society totally unnecessary and irreverent. Embracing our oddities, our inconsistencies, our brainwashing banter, we arrive at the core of our destruction: be watchful, for our puppet master is changing into a new sort of machine.