A man dumps the body of a boy in a ditch. The body rots; Melts into slime. Flowers pop up where the body lies, seeds fly out of the flowers, and a bee sucks the flowers and makes honey. And then the family of the boy buys the honey from the store. And the family eats the boy.
That boy is some kind of mutant.
Words are trivialties set in order to create the illusion of understanding. No wonder I'm a writer.
Seventeen years my heart's been beating, my head's been spinning, and my shoes have had a love-hate relationship with the ground they're ultimately bound to. My eyes are blue, my hair is brown, and my blood is red; color means so little on the grand stage. I play my part with as much devotion as I can muster and run lines in the mirror. I have an aversion to definition and intend to until I make it into the dictionary, because the human race is an entity unto itself, separate from the chains of classification. I'm a scholar of myself, a journalist taking notes of my abstraction. I want to be literature's answer to Mark Ryden, to write books with the electricity of a Witkin photograph; words are my buoy in this raging ocean of salt and sweat. I drink too much coffee and breathe too little air; I choke on apathy and swallow strong conviction. I get tangled in my tongue too easily and backpedal until the bicycle breaks. I smile at nothing and laugh at complete silence. I see the white beyond the black, the nickel under the copper. I haven't forgotten how it feels to be a child, and rain does not stop me from going outside. In short, I'm evenly divided and my eyes are wide open to the shifting sky.
He makes me feel like everything is a lie.
I swear I won't trust you. I'm challenged with faith in the face of humanity, and people are my greatest fear. I'm learning to live in survival mode, and even if that means singularity, I will not allow myself to decay. I'm prone to emotional breakdowns and severe mood swings, and sometimes I'm afraid that my neuroses are all that set me apart from anything or anyone. I will challenge both your sanity and my own and to your face, I won't give a damn; it's another link in my chainmale armor. I speak with passion about the matters you cringe at, and I take pleasure in your revulsion at my audacity. We're all a montage, we're all shattered glass. People are not meant to be taken at face value, but soul value. Give me a reason to value you.
He is not beautiful.
I feel like everyone around me is a Renoir subject with perfect color and proportions and I'm a Picasso, too intense and with every piece of me in the wrong place. I have all the parts, they're just not in the right order.
But he has something to say. Give the bankers a run for their money. Upset the system. Express everything the rest of the world keeps silent. Embrace the taboo. Create a shrine to yourself. Be your own idol. Make love, make war; just make
something. Take every opportunity you're offered. Shake society in your teeth. Defy, defy, defy.
MSN; [email protected]. AIM; theboyFIASCO. Quality conversation is greatly appreciated. Let's try to fix the world.
The only cure for every affliction.MySpace Backgrounds
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