welcome to the page of inner pain
everything the Puppet hates is published here.
If you are not someone who knows or cares, you should not be here.
Hence, there is no obvious link to this page. I'd be surprised to find hits on this page in my statistics list, but it's not that important. The page is HERE, for anyone to see, if you'd only know how to reach it.
PAIN
Love hurts. We all know that. It particularly hurts when you're personally involved. Plus, love always keeps on hurting when it's broken once - and no new love can heal the suffering of a broken one.
I am being too sensitive? Possibly. Everybody keeps telling me that. But I can SEE things, you dig? I can SEE and SENSE things that are out there that other people can't, and I'm a victim of my own insights!!! The devil wins the game of kicking conscious spirits down...
Everybody, I mean EVERYBODY in this world is being actively DISCOURAGED TO BE CONSCIOUS. To have a Conscience... Yes, people, keep mocking eachother, keep ridiculing eachother like monkeys, pretend not to know, make believe it doesn't matter, and soon find yourselves in agony, crying for attention. But this time, no-one comes to wipe away your tears... because no-one cares, and soon YOU won't care, and as soon as you don't, you'll be passing on the de-motivation... through the ways you act and move, through the sound of your voice, the look on your face... just like everybody did before you...
Whatever.
I once loved a girl because she looked good and she had this bright voice that I simply liked - it's still ringing in my ears. When I think back of her, I still recall her scent, her body talk, her ecstatic appearance and whatnot.
Somewhere along the line something - I still don't know what, exactly - went wrong, or something went bad, and it could not be repaired. This is not an uncommon practice in life, but why the HELL DID IT HAVE TO HAPPEN TO ME TOO?????
I miss her dearly. I know we'll never get together again and that's probably for the better. But thinking of her aches like hell - if I'd never met her I'd never felt sorry, never be depressed, distressed, or disemboweled...
I hate her, and I'd welcome the day of her demise.
But I love her, and if she's happy, albeit without me, atleast one of us has a life worth living.
I know I don't have a lot to offer. I don't have much of a job, I'm not exactly good-looking, I drink too much (well atleast I don't smoke anymore!) and I'm fiendishly anti-social. Also, I'm well aware of the fact that if some priest would perform a rite of excorcism on me, I'd react not too pleasantly to it. Not that I'm truly possessed, but listening to some religious psycho-babble for 4 hours in a row while being strapped down to chair...
What she's called? Does it matter? Even though this page is "hidden", I respect her privacy. I'm not sure what she's up to these days (as she's not much of an active internetter) but I bet it has nothing to do with me. Unfortunately I'm also sure that whenever she thinks of me, it's not all that...
But I don't recall having done anything wrong.
In fact, I don't recall much at all.
I'm afraid my mnemonic functions have been sadly distorted due to past life's hedonism - rock 'n roll, sexual excess, drug and alcohol abuse have taken their toll. At the cost of all I ever wanted... Nothing's here, in my arms, ever...
I don't know how, or why... but this is just an example of what can happen when you crave involvement in the world of romance.
It's not for me.
It's never been.
And romance is an integral part in anyone's life... so why not mine?
What does it tell you?
I'M DEAD.
YOU'RE DEAD.
WE'RE ALL DEAD.
SO FUCK IT.
- PX
