water lily

i lived there once. i still do. wandering by the cattails. swamplands are magical. the kind of magic most people can't see. frogs are greater already than princes, who can be quite nasty.

reverie

i want to be happy, but i don't know how. this means nothing to you; i mean nothing to you (there are shades of nothing, some darker than others), but we pretend. all the pretense; we don't know where it ends, and where the real begins. ultimately we are curiosities to each other.

the wisdom of deadwood

al swearengen:

"pain or damage don't end the world. or despair, or fuckin' beatin's. the world ends when you're dead. until then you got more punishment in store. stand it like a man, and give some back."

deadwood

outside

the overwhelming sadness of the world. the weariness of the knowledge that it cannot be overcome. so much. we must not think about it. you try not to, don't you? i think it without immersing in it. i used to. it will swallow you whole. the pretense is what kills me. people who walk around as if everything is swell. i can't get away from it. i can't pretend it's not there. ignoring it doesn't mean it's not there. the masses are morons. they give the power to evil and greed. so the whole world is controlled by this pathological symbiosis. there are a fair number of people who don't look like morons. at least not to the level of bubba and jim-bob over in arkansas. but they also seem to be morons. it shows in their actions and beliefs. there's the predominance of belief in magical invisible men. then there's the belief in politics and politicians. no matter how many times they are burned and given overwhelming evidence of the reality of the situation, they continue to behave as if politics is the answer. that if they just vote for the right person, all will be well. THEY'RE ALL BAD! that's why they're in politics. no healthy person would ever go into it. it's all pretense. i will get outside of it all. one way or another. eventually, anyway. these are facts i must live with. that you don't want to see them just makes me more alone. i will try to stop thinking about it. i wish i could. i need other things to focus on. then these brutish realities will not keep intruding upon my potential blissful ignorance.

it is never too late to be what you might have been

my heart is breaking, all bittersweet memories, regret, and confusion that clouds my mind still. the inertia, i see it, like a wagon sitting still, all i have to do is push. i do not understand such resistance. what could have been still can be, they say, but not quite the same, i think. the body breaks down, the trade off for understanding, an understanding that is depressing yet still somewhat freeing. freeing of the frustration once caused by the naive belief that the world could be a better place. what could have been...what is stopping me? what will turn the key?

demon jealousy smirks as i stew in resentment

there will always be prettier, smarter, more clever, more interesting, more successful people than me. how do you manage this? you're just somehow happy with the lumps you are? is that denial? i guess. believing what one wants to believe. if you weren't so firmly entrenched in your fictions as to make you unaware, maybe you could tell me the trick. maybe it's something i can practice. i would gladly trade grim reality for happiness and ignorance. maybe hypnosis would help.

i realize that my insecurity is to blame, but to what extent are my insecurities rational? i certainly could do better. do more. be more.

dream of freedom

it was only a dream. i did live there once. away in the wilds. i'll dream still. quiet now. sit up. breathe. it was just a bad dream. they were never real. they walked and talked almost like people.