limitless

"consume my heart away; sick with desire and fastened to a dying animal, it knows not what it is." This was by Yeats and today I feel guilty about writing about anything that i have ever liked because he does not care for the way we go about it. what happens to me, dear God? i want to be able to let go. to smile again, to make another smile, or simply get on with it. i have to go away. get away to another city, away from familiar faces, faces with whom i share a history. forget i ever was. there can be no happiness for me, i need must realise. i shall die, in fact, i am already dead. let me go, remove this immoveable weight from my heart, that refuses to let me see the bright side of things, only patches of what seems to be sunlight, and then the familiar endless pall of darkness. a moment of brightness, and i think things have finally fallen into place in my head, from now on, i will surely be happy, and then the debilitating darkness, that refuses to let me move, makes me call out for him, and he will not answer, and that somehow, makes a world of difference to skew my perspective. i have lost perspective completely. all objectivity. don't know what's good for me, anymore. only blindly chasing what seems xtremely difficult to give up. i know why, y'know. it's what i thought earlier - to have dreamt and wanted and then to not have it. to have walked so far and then to find the road not going anywhere. what do you do then? keep walking, since there will be a road somewhere, or turn back and run, to what i dunno. safety, perhaps. safety of nothingness, emptiness, meaninglessness. time stretching away like a yawning gap in endless timelessness, and where were my three kids and the guy with brown eyes that seemed waiting to gleam when sunlight fell on them. women, women, o women. addle-headed, indecisive, who do not know what they want. my father, i am sure thought the same. the man with the threatening nose winked, perhaps because he knew it all along (???). waiting to hand the shitty end of things. these words i write, hold such little information, just a state of mind. and as agu said, you realise that nothing you do is quite unique. people before you have been there, done that. no emotion is sacred. and that they all might be violated, and still you will live, even love. what blasphemy! people should die when once violated, spontaneously, losing all desire to live. i am tired tired. i am 23 and i admite tiredness. thank you. and i was afraid of not wanting him, and he was my only light, only guiding light. mauled, lacerated, and i don't know quite what to do. do i let go, and oh my lord! do i persevere? yes, i have wanted things easy. i lost my father to it. and i don'y even know what the fight is between. feeling, and the lack of it. or laziness and goodness, hard work. above all, be good to yourself, she said yesterday. quite frankly, i don't know how. the world seems such a frightening maze, these moments when you realise that what you thought you saw was actually something you had deluded yourself into seeing, or rather that your vision wasn't strong enough, it morphed into another's and engulfed you into his matrix.
and then, and then. after so many words having been expended, where does one stand? exactly where i had left. return to the darkness, do. believe me, there will be nobody will come to rescue you. don't refuse to believe. don't hope. another chip on the shoulder. confrming my darkest impressions of the world. for all that and more, thankssssss

i want to go into news. where there shan't be the agonising visions of subjectivity. it will just be information. these are not my words.