I’m A Psycho: Day 22
I never connected that the world maniacal came from the word maniac. I wasn’t until I try to come up with a word for someone behaving like a maniac and said “He’s maniac-el” that it dawned on me. My whole fucking life it’s been hiding in the bushes just like that.
Anger as a friend is a good one because he’ll never let you down.
But maybe not such a good one because he’ll never leave you alone either.
It is popular now to be depressed.
Gives people something to talk about.
I want this to be as dark as the pit in my stomach when I look at you and can’t find you anywhere inside.
Human eyes can be empty. Cut off my arms and legs with a handsaw before you stand there in front of me and not be there.
Because we never really know. If any of this is real. If what you say is real. If what I say is real. I don’t know when I ever learned to be real. I’ve just always hoped I was. If I wanted to be a good basketball player I knew to go to the gym and shoot 1,000 jump shots off the dribble. The practice made me a better player. But what practice makes me more real?
I had a teacher tell me once that I was too obsessed with figuring out how everything works. He said I would happily kill a plant by ripping it out of the ground just to study the roots. And I would. Kill everything to figure out the insides. And I have. Killed everything. Only temporarily though. Because I will make the roots better roots. And I will take you where you can’t go alone.
A friend said the other day that I shouldn’t give up being so critical. He said that people wouldn’t like me if I wasn’t as blunt as I am. I smiled because I think that’s true too. I know it’s true when I post a status on FB ripping the world’s tight ass wide open and people roar about it. Because we’re all burning up. I’m burning and you’re burning. So why the fuck aren’t you saying anything about it? Can I ask you that much?
I will always be critical. I hate when Hanna is naked on Girls because her body makes me uncomfortable. I have the same feeling when I see two men kissing aggressively.
You’re a liar.
I do know that I need to practice patience in my relationships. Especially my relationship. Because we all want to get where we are going on our own goddamn terms and if I’m so fucking special then it should be enough to just be me and be there for her and let her take what she wants and leave the rest.
When two people become one person both people die. I don’t ever want to kill anyone.
Except all the people I daydream about killing. If I’ve stood and talked to you in person you can almost bet for sure that I’ve thought about punching you in the solar plexus repeatedly or worse I’ve probably stabbed you a few times, especially if you’re elderly, because no one has the heart to fuck up an old person. I try to peel myself off and feel clean again and not like the sick person that thinks about nothing but the worst possible things but like a snake the sick suit keeps coming back.
What is this all about? I don’t actually know. I just know that I have two lumps on my head today – one near my temple and one dead on the top and they are huge and they hurt. But I didn’t hit my head on anything and nothing bit me. So how can we be just standing around talking about politics like we have a grip on reality when no one can tell me where these bumps came from?
I want you to tell me why I can be two different people in one body and when I wake up in the morning it’s not even my choice who I am.
How many times will you stand in front of me before I can memorize your face?
