Ouroboros

I want to succeed.
Or do I?
I am too preoccupied with the aesthetics in life.
The pretty aspects of it: the color, the feel, the fun.
I want it to be a Cotton Commercial--no mess: clean, simple, straight to the point.
But why?


There is no guarantee that life will work out for me.
That should scare the shit out of me but it doesn't.
I'm Willy Loman, so disillusioned in my own thoughts.
I've created a paradise; an alterate reality
And it stands unbalanced, with no stilts to support it, inevitable and defenseless from crashing down upon itself. 

Give me a wake up call.

Wake the Fuck up. Work hard, then harder, no breaks. All I want is peace. But there is no reward for peace, only regret and heartache. Peace is overrated. Run fast, fly away, but never to escape your present situation. 
Yet, things are so much easier said than done.

I want to escape.
Wake up.
This is real.
What am I doing?
Why won't I stop so I can begin?
Or is there no such thing?
Are stopping and starting parallel to one another?

No, they are simultaneous.
For one journey to end, you must step into the other at the same time.
Be at two places at once--> The Present and The Future
Fuck the past, just learn from it.

Through death is life. Life is a continuous ouroboros. I want to die, then live afterwards. But, I must do both at once, simultaneously. I am too preoccupied with the aesthetics of life. I want to succeed. 

Or do I?

Degagé

I'm going to be bald in four days.

The reason isn't important. Well actually, it would be vital if I was talking to anyone else, but it isn't, not really. The truth is that I'm doing this more for myself than for anyone else. I'm being selfish, in thinking this is going to solve the problem, in knowing that it probably won't, but going through with it anyway.

Let me let you in on a little secret. Not the kind that you whisper in your plaited-best-friend's earlobe during recess. That's someone else's secret, one you've mistakenly adopted as your own. This is the type of secret that you mostly likely keep to yourself, hoping that when you think it, feel it, inhale it amongst the bullshit perfume embracing you, you pray that others can't smell it on you.

I hate myself.


I always have.

It's not one part of myself, really, but the clusterfuck of things that "collage" me into this person. I hate the way I look, the way I pretend to look,. The way I talk, the way I pretend to talk. The way I pretend to have my goals and ambitions color-coded and labeled, the way I am eternally a wreck and seem incapable or even desirous to change.

Most of all, I hate my passivity.

I hold the bystander effect in my own life.

My decisions, actions, looks, goal, speech are all illusions of a different person.


I'm going to be bald, and the only reason I'm doing it is so I can say that I've taken an active stance for something, for once.