Thursday, March 28, 2013

The Need for abstinence

I’ll stop by sometimes. That, I can promise.

Of scandalous smoke and misty words, I know little and I’ve decided to stay that way. Of nothingness and its paradoxical substance, I come to know more every day. The void inside me (or is it the other way round), compromisingly voracious that it is, ever taking in one more round of foreign smokes and words, and one more round of domestic analysis, never filling though, is punctured here, rusted there, and so when you fire a storm into me in one of many wrong directions, it leaks sometimes and that isn’t my call. I wouldn’t go so far as to blaming the navigator because if you’re not rowing your boat somewhat smoothly, it doesn’t mean the entire tide is your fault; but I dare go as far as to say that you shouldn’t sail in a kind of sea that you’re not ready for.

So hell yeah, I’m dangerous. You can’t just bump into a person like me walking with this void and shake hands just for the fun of it. This black hole I have that happily devours things, trash or gold, every time you feel like disposing a sin or protecting a secret, is spinning every second of its own existence, unpredictable in its manner, searching for something to settle for, a meaning that’ll nullify the emptiness, a tangible proof to convince itself of the importance of insanity that will stand for itself when I’m occupied with handling the periodic fits of convulsions, and it does not come with an insurance like it’s a bank deposit or something. You can shake hands with me, no problem; come to think of it now, it’s a necessary distraction for a while, but you can’t sign a deal with me. It’s not often that it rains simultaneously in two different worlds and it is only when it does, that we understand how the other one feels; at all other times, it’s just out-of-line conversations and empty sympathies. And such things provoke the dark knights in my empty empire and sometimes they even draw out their rusted swords, not just for the fun of it, but with the acumen that a naïve nothing is way better than a shitty something.

So let me admit myself to my own what is still a Montessori.  And I understand your concern but with time I’ll build a school that will educate every twisted thought I have and will have, not a private asylum.
I’m not being so much as adamant as I am being careful but until I find a meaning, I’ll just stop by. For a while. Too much of me isn’t a good idea.

Until I do, Good-bye.


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