Not quite.

Sense the emptiness, the unfulfilment, this retrospective shallowness. You're still, and you're letting it sink in. Nothing is worth giving yourself away to this extent. Not a thing. But, hang, it's even less use uprooting the security you've managed to delude your entire essence that you possess, for a new one that in its turn will have to complete these flimsy excuses for criteria, these processes you've put up like tissue-paper obstacles, a sort of inverse bureaucracy that mocks its own existence. Ah, aren't you just God at reasoning in favour of your own behaviour and finding explanations that serve just enough to convince your bullshitted, short-circuited and cramped mind that all is well, all is as it should be and at peace.

You spend effort adapting yourself to your adapted ideologies and living accordingly. Shroud or slough, it's here and it serves its purpose until you stop, stand, stare.

And sense where the fuck you are, on strange territory, acting like a puppet, like a sponge, with manners and language you've sucked in to serve your own failing self-image and identity in a way that can only be dubbed tragicomic.

The broken records abound; the wild geese flock - to call on your need for stability and acceptance. A question all but dawns on you: whenever will you grow up?

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

Иногда я задаюсь вопросом, почему люди не собираюсь прямо с начала. Может быть, потому что слишком много россиян живут в подводных лодок, вместо правильного дома. Я думаю, что вы слишком часто не видят целое. Или как?

Положить в момент играть в теннис еще раз!

Это как все русские говорят: вы не можете съесть kebabs слишком часто!

Anonymous said...

Mac din jävla idiot. Sluta spamma ner min högfärdiga blogg :P

Anonymous said...

Great input ^^

Anonymous said...

bahahaha, right

now get on MSN, yo.

Anonymous said...

It's only about bucks kid, the rest is conversation.

Anonymous said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.