Movies

"And when you go don't return to me my love."
My Chemical Romance

~

The door isn't open. Maybe it never really was. But I can pretend. I can always pretend.

"Give me a shot to remember and you can take all the pain away from me."

The shadow of the unknown beckons. I can feel it stretching across the blankness of my mask. The long lost scent of childhood is either dead or undercover. And, I cannot yet unmask this state of shade. The same old heaviness keeps increasing in invisible weight. Let go.

Let go and know that, in non-random fact, the truth shines through your cracks and whispers to your eyes: 'Tomorrow, I will be revealed.' Meanwhile, acrylic delusions frantically blink, staring at whatever colors they'd been spitting on my face. Don't let go.

Bits and pieces of me may well be scattered across the enneagram lines. But, you... do you really think you're swimming in my stream of consciousness? Look around. You're inside your own head. For the lines that, in your eyes, blur out the rest, they're on the other side of the coin you always flip. And they were facing the horizon right before you shoved them in, right before you sold them out to flush the red sea of lies, the one you'd pushed out of your lungs just to decorate that beautiful boring room.

"You're just a sad song, with nothing to say, about a lifelong wait for a hospital stay."

This soundtrack is bruised and broken. It might as well be dead. But our pictures are in motion and they bear no frames - they extend; they extend to infinity. Now the question is right there. It's always been there. 'Are you watching closely?' Are you listening? Are your lines in the script tearing up the fabric of your heartstrings? Do you need to talk to the director?

"Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands, Romeo."

Get out. I can't always pretend.

~

"We all carry on, when our brothers in arms have gone.
So raise your glass high for tomorrow we die,
And return from the ashes you call."
My Chemical Romance

Insanity

“I'll take crazy over stupid any day.” 

Joss Whedon

~

It feels as if there's a wall preventing me from expressing myself. I don't know what to think and I don't want to think anymore. So, instead of feeling this, whatever this is, I'm going to talk about it. And I won't feel anything.

He was born and raised in a country drowning in terrible feelings and poisoned ideas. As a child, growing up, he could not express what he truly felt or thought because it wouldn't be accepted. He wouldn't be accepted. And since the most essential need for kids is recognition, he, of course, didn't get any of that. Thus, a kid, he remained.

He wasn't doing well. He stayed that way until he was bruised by his own clothes, friends he would have died for. He wasn't doing well after that either. It started with 'under the bed' becoming 'in the mirror' but, eventually, he was able to see the monsters, whether actual or potential, in everyone, and everything. 

And then, something magical happened. Or, at least, that's why I hear him telling himself at night, that the world is rotten but he somehow found a loophole, that everything is linked and it all makes sense, that love and faith and art the strongest forces in the universe, and that he's one of their freedom fighters. But is he really? Or is he just a small lie in the matrix of manipulation?

So what's the problem? What's your problem? Are these your eyes? Is this your voice? Do you even have a voice? What have you lost? What have you lost? What have you become? What are you hoping for? Why the hell are you here? Why are you not feeling anything? Are you okay?

The most famous, non-technical definition of insanity is the following:

“Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, but expecting different results.” 

Does that make sanity doing the same thing, over and over, expecting the same result? Or is it 'different things' and 'same result'? Or perhaps 'different things' and 'different results'?

More importantly, what does that make you? Is it wrong to be insane in a mad world? What's the difference between people who talk to themselves out loud and others who keep it in? Is it terribly unusual for someone to envision their own personal world and talk to the fictional people in it? Is it okay? Is it that different from what you do? When you talk to the images in your head, of those human beings you don't truly know, these people you refer to as friends and family, when you weave this subjectively imagined world of ideas and feelings about them, is that okay?

He wasn't okay. The bridge between physical and psychological pain was nonexistent because they were both the same land suffocating under anxious heartbeats disguised in deeply distraught water-waves filling his lungs. It is also said, in my head, that to switch between sanity and madness you must learn the difference between leading your mind and being led by it. Good luck. He wasn't okay. I'm not okay either. Yeah, me neither. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry this didn't make you feel anything. I can't give you what I don't have myself, when I can't see myself. But that's okay. Everything is gonna be okay, right?

And then, something magical happened.

~

“Awareness is the enemy of sanity, for once you hear the screaming, it never stops.” 

Emilie Autumn