euthanismisticdesires

[euthanismisticdesires]

Frost piles as bridges burn behind me

I imagine that i am not alone

And have preserved you in some way

So before I forget openings I had not turned to before

Due to not so subtle intoxication

Tell me landscapes are frames of mind

I'd like to believe that words have meaning

And that no gift will do

A clear horizon, no anxiety

Only things that are destructively creative

That are within yourself and within me

Is that really too much to ask? A reconnection?

I think hatred is wasted energy

I know you humans experience a flux of emotions

But when those are channeled and removed

And the road ahead is dense with morning dew

And your going to create something

Tell me what that means to you, to people in emotional and spiritual solitude

Because to me, i think that

That's as happy as I'd ever want to be

Z

[euthanismisticdesires]

[euthanismisticdesires]

She was submissive, a donator

Of pathos straight from her breast

Staring into nostalgia 

Repeatedly getting shot in the chest 

Meanwhile, I’ve been dissolving in my dreams for days 

Been slicing when the voices say,

Obsessed with chemicals that kill, 

Been taking all these snow white pills 

That's the difference between us, you see there's nothing but difference between us  

I’ve been dancing in a screen for days,

Been nodding when the bass guitar plays,

Been jumping off cliffs for thrills,

Been crushing all these fuchsia pills 

She believes in a system,

Of basic cause and effect,

You see, I believe in nothing,

While you’re convinced of some spiritual text 

That's the difference between us, you see there's nothing but difference between us 

[euthanismisticdesires]

“I fell in love with your chaos because it matched with my own.”

— Isaac A (via wnq-writers)

[euthanismisticdesires]

I've often wondered why I always return here to browse through emotionally charged pieces of writing and I've come to realise all these images accompanied by meaningful captions can explicate an outsiders dilemma. They are meant to encapsulate an entire and startling moment of grief, perhaps the vast airless plain at the other end of heartbreak and loss, it's a sincere declaration, by turns triumphant and grieving. Misanthropic teens can upload deep quotes on their social media, and for a second in digital time, cut themselves free of the gruelling sameness of society and it's pointless scripture. For a brief moment, they are both poem and poet. Created by a particular kind of nocturnal, loveless creature who colludes desire with elegant, elegiac grief, filtering perspectives through vintage cracked photographs and skeletal, pouting mannequins smoking endlessly and tearfully. They transform supermodels into creatures that tattoo death poems on their wrists. And they have known the cuts of the most old fashioned melancholia.

Is this glamorizing a particular form of suicidal ideation? We will never be sure, but for now they are the briefest of truths, snippets of modern art that seem both transparent and voluptuous. Can neurosis be bewitching, godly, a witch's spell? For scribes such as ourselves, it affirms all the delights of the dark

[euthanismisticdesires]

Looking back, lately I've been thinking on that trick of the light. Driving North, towards the asylum, back to the fever dream. To introduce more chaos.

No answer. Just another fever dream in which I can almost see myself. It seems sort of more obvious out here. Or maybe things just stay the same beneath the eternal mirrors.

Let me drive North again, where the only memories of value I had were ones where i silenced the world with dope. The rest is just paid advertisement. Almost as if the price of gold is crashing into your frontal cortex.

Buy high to burn low eh? Were you ever really there? I thought you and I were the same person, singing love songs to the whirlwinds. Only know i realise she was just giving roses to the rain. We all take too much to heart. One of these days she'll come to realise I was only a trick of her light

See them reflected in the flash. There's a place for pictures that we've created. And there's a face in this mosque but they all look the same. And that's when it's time to drive away from this carnival and straight through the projected screen. The closer you come the less i can see you. Just say you wont be here when the quiet comes.

[euthanismisticdesires]

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

[euthanismisticdesires]

Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka

[euthanismisticdesires]

I constantly feel am inside someone

who seriously hates me.

I look out from his eyes.

Inhale what vile fumes he forcibly breathes in.

Love his broken women.

Slits in the metal, for sunlight brought by music

Where my eyes sit turning, at the cool air

the glance of light, or hard flesh

rubbed against me, a woman,

without shadow, or voice, or meaning.

This is the enclosure (flesh)

where innocence is a weapon.

A abstraction. Touch. (Not mine)

Or yours, if you are the soul I had

and abandoned when I was blind and had

my enemies carry me as a dead man

It can be pain. (As now, as all her

memories hurts me.) It can be that.

Or pain. As when she ran from me into

that vast unknown.

Or pain, my mind silver spiraled whirled against the

sun, higher than even old men thought God would be.

Or pain. And the other form of pain, the constant seeking for escapism. So what if I chose the needle and she chose the bottle? We are all entitled to seek our preferred emotional suppressants.

Or pleasure, as the only pleasure worth having is self destructive, exquisite and leaves you feeling just slightly unsatisfied

Or, the cold men in their gale. Ecstasy. Flesh

or soul. The yes. (Their robes blown. Their bowls

empty. They chant at my heels, not at yours.) Flesh

or soul, as corrupt. Where the answer moves too quickly.

Where the God is a self, after all.

Cold air blown through narrow blind eyes. Flesh,

white hot metal. Glows as the day with its sun.

It is a human love, I live inside. A bony narcotic drenched skeleton

you recognize as words or simple feeling.

But it has no feeling. As the metal it's hot, as it's not given to emotions

It burns the thing

inside it. And that thing shrieks

At a pitch no musical scale in this universe contains

z

[euthanismisticdesires]

Dammed if this isn't me

[euthanismisticdesires]

I remember pushing open the door to the living room, going over to the piano, opening the lid and summoning up all my strength, pounding on the keys. A mad, cacophonous, jangled chord echoed

around the empty room, bounced off the walls, and returned to me in the guise of a shrill sound that seemed to tear at my soul. Yet it was an accurate portrait of my soul at that moment.

I pounded on the keys again, and again the dissonant notes reverberated around me.

I kept thinking to myself :

“I’m crazy. I’m allowed to do this. I can hate, I can pound away at the piano. Since when have mental patients known how to play notes in the right order?”

I pounded the piano again, once, twice, ten, twenty times, and each time I did it, my hatred for existence seemed to diminish, until it vanished completely.

Then, once more, a deep peace flooded through me and I again looked out at the starry sky

and at the new moon, my favorite, filling the room I was in with gentle light. The impression returned of Infinity and Eternity walking hand in hand; you only had to look for one of them—for example, the limitless universe—to feel the presence of the other, Time that never ends, that never

passes, that remains in the present, where all of life’s secrets lie. As I had been walking from the ward to that room, I had felt such pure hatred that now I had no more rancor left in my heart.

Finally allowing my negative feelings to surface, feelings that had been repressed for years in my soul. I had actually felt them, and they were no longer necessary, they could leave.

I remember sitting on in silence, enjoying the present moment, letting love fill up the empty space left behind by

hatred. The blend of SSRI's, benzodiazepines and anti psychotic medications coursing through my system provided a subtle tranquility to the moment, slowing and distorting each passing second.

When I felt the moment had come, I turned to the moon and played a sonata in homage to it, knowing that the moon was listening and would feel proud, and that this would provoke the jealousy of the stars. It was Bach's Cello Suite 1 : Prelude, the first classical piece i ever learned on bass. Then I played music for the stars, for the garden, for the mountains I could not see in the darkness but which I knew were there.

While I was playing that music for the garden, another nutter appeared: Maryam, a catatonic schizophrenic who was beyond all cure. I was not bothered by her presence; on the contrary, I recall smiling, and to her surprise, she smiled back, putting her arms around me and her head upon my shoulders.

The music could penetrate even her remote world, more distant than the moon itself; it could even perform miracles

[euthanismisticdesires]

Apathy, you have struck me straight, good lord

past deceptive love and past guilt

I carry in my soul the sword

you buried to the hilt

Though my Chi is in such a pain

that Heaven and Earth may reel

For fear you may not strike again

I will not draw the steel

Take no drug for sorrow ; drain the cup

Until you hold it bottom up

Know that pains own bitter wine

Is pains only anodyne;

And of this truth your comfort make

After all, hearts can break

But truly who gives a shit

when in your pocket you have insanity and wit

z

[euthanismisticdesires]

Man i sometimes feel like I'm nothing but a music obsessed sex addict running on nothing but caffeine, nicotine and an unrivaled loathing of the human species

[euthanismisticdesires]

[euthanismisticdesires]

The drugs peeled back

The layers of the universe

like the layers of an onion

And I saw the world for what it is

And myself and her as nothing but stardust

So fuck it, let the whiskey swallow us whole

Let mushrooms stir our soul

Let acid burn our tongue

Let heroin steal our sun

-Z

[euthanismisticdesires]

The unconscious mind holds more surreal beauty then anything this plasticine world has to offer

[euthanismisticdesires]