Unplugged Photo

colvinwilt:

Subnormal hour. Subnormal reality.

I have about thirty minutes before the sun will begin to strike the sky. I hate that the world has begun eating at me this early.

I fear to go out because of the morons that clutter the street. I hate to go out, period. People confuse me. They need so many things.

They need affirmation.
They need attention.
They need affection.
I need these things too, but not from anyone. I don’t clamor for people to give them to me. I look into myself for these necessities. Why can’t the world just do the same? Why can’t they just leave me alone?

Misanthrophy. How can I tire of the human race when I belong to them? How can I loathe people when I’m as human as they come? But am I really human? Sometimes I don’t feel it. Sometimes I feel like a ruin. Like a stone. A piece of bone. Maybe a kneecap.

The insects in my brain are waking up. Their community drum is being struck repeatedly. A tribal call for work hour. Lots of chores to be done. Their job is to increase my cancer. My torture.

Sometimes I think there is something wrong even when there isn’t. Sometimes I think there must be something wrong because I don’t behave like everyone else. And sometimes I feel so normal that there definitely must be something wrong with me. Sometimes I feel so crazy that I’m sure I’m wrong all over. I’m just wrong. But does anyone ever feel right? I mean, truly.

I’m sorry for being so exhausted.
I’m sorry that my indifference is absolute.
I’m sorry that my ruin is intact.
I’m sorry that my patience is no longer virginal.
I’m sorry that my furies and depressions are recurrent.
I’m sorry I can’t be with anyone. I’m sorry that I can’t be happy.

Then again, maybe I’m not sorry. Why should I be? When I die it won’t matter anyway.

So here you go, world. That’s my ass. Kiss it.