You've done this thing, like attaching a string, from my mind to your heart, from my mouth to your brain; You've created this thing, like a hornet's sting, from my inner-most thought, comes a painful tingling; You've become something, not quite a human being, from my unhealed parts, the blood is running again; You've turned out to sing, the song of an old enemy, from the deepest of want, for the very same things; You've proven to swing, back and forth, in between, from the history you haunt, o the throne of a King.
Haven’t you noticed?
There’s no light on inside;
Just a pirated, drifting vessel…
On a map that is preoccupied.
Doesn’t it occur to you?
That the twinkle is gone from my eyes;
Just two dulled down, blue marbles…
Attached to nothing on their’ other sides.
Has it never bothered you?
When it’s so quiet where I once sat;
Just an empty, overstuffed recliner…
You don’t even think twice about that.
Aren’t there days when you resurface?
To realize you never left the shallow end;
Just the guilt eating, gnawing away…
And you’re too overcome to pretend.
Don’t you feel sorry every day?
That you see me without my smile;
Just an empty expression, hollow eyed…
Can’t forget the pain for even a little while.
Aren’t you aware on some level?
Of the ways that you’ve crossed over me;
Just a self-absorbed, oblivious mutant…
So clueless to the ways of TRUE humanity.
Haven’t you already seen me?
For the woman I actually am;
Just dimes of dozens, dingbat ‘play things’…
Tell me that you are, after all – no REAL man.
Didn’t you hear my warnings?
And didn’t choose to take heed to my cries;
Just stood there pretending, ignoring…
The Fucking Truth gouging out both your eyes.
Today’s morning post has been inspired by – yet, another sleepless night for Yours Truly.
As I was tossing and turning for hours on end, in a bed that I spent way too much cash in vain on (in hopes of it curing my insomnia-esque night time routine), I was thinking about Edward Norton Junior. Okay, well about his character in Fight Club: the narcoleptic corporate IKEA geek with a dastardly alter-ego that pirates control of his sanity for a time. Then I was thinking about Jim Carey’s character “Hank” from the movie Me, Myself and Irene. (In my defense, Hank is actually not a character I like – nor was Tyler Durden; it’s the innocents attached to these fuckers who I find myself relating with time and again…)
BLAM! It hit me in like a soap-sock to the back of the head; and it only tail spun my thoughts from there…
Many of my most endeared and beloved ‘Heroes’, in real life and in the movies, are actually characters defined/depicted as villains, murderous warmongers, savages, psychopaths, head-cases and many other types of negative typecasts. They are ALWAYS the underdog; they are ALWAYS broken and damaged and unable to communicate properly. BUT they are also each individually AWARE of the shit that’s changing them and warping their’ existences.
Let’s review some perfect examples of my heroes: