Fuck you, for waking like this
for going at that mirror like a hungry shark
tear away the skin
to find yourself
fuck you for being so vain
seeking out this hidden gem you pray exists
fuck you for being so desperate
and weak
fuck you for wearing that shirt with that jacket
and for burning yourself by accident
when all the cool kids do it on purpose
and like it
Fuck you right in your dry mouth
for all those words of longing
and conviction
you use the same earnest fuckin tones
whether it's offering up your heart
or ordering some pointless crap from dixons
I wish you weren't around
I wish you weren't around so that I didn't have to watch this
your naked wretched flesh makes me sick
I would slit your aging little throat in seconds
if I could ever get near it.
But you keep me at a distance, don't you?
so you can fuck things up and moan
well nobody gives a shit, you self-deprecating cunt
because self-deprecation is just another form of pathetic self-love
Now I want you to do something final
I want you to take the chance
see if you can sink or swim
and no pussy holding back
I want you to lie down naked
and wait for it to come
You've become so wretched now,
I can't even look.
You,
you fucked it up
You fucked us both and now you're only sorry for yourself
fuck you
you fucking shit
I would kick your dead brains out and stamp out that dumb look
of those blue eyes
you have blue eyes
that seemed to offer so much
you delivered fuck all,
you,
the fuck up.
12 comments:
*sighs*
Don't worry, I've forgiven myself now.
I'm very weak like that.
allright...
being weak and acknowledging so is a sign of fortitude:)
In my case, which is probably not really yours, I came to the following conclusion (uhm...more of a debate, but still...)
if we do not accept ourselves with all our failures and problems we might end up feeling like this and writing like this - but what if we do? will the non-presence of the demon take our inspirations away, too?
'A francba, mikor felébredsz
Éhes tigrisként támadsz a tükörre
Hogy letépd a bőrt
És megtaláld alatta sajátmagadat
A francba, értéktelen vagy
Az igazgyöngyöt, melynek létezéséért imádkozol, hiába keresed
A francba, hogy ennyire elkeseredett
És gyenge vagy
A francba, te ehhez az inghez ezt a kabátot viseled
És véletlenül érsz a tűzhöz
Mikor a klassz csávók szándékosan teszik
És még élvezik is
A francba a kiszáradt száddal
mely elfáradt a vágyakozás
És meggyőzés csatáiban
Ugyanaz a szavad, ugyanaz a kétségbeesett francos szó
Mikor a szívedet tárod fel
Mint mikor valami hülyeséget kérsz a büfében
Bárcsak ne lennél itt
Bárcsak ne lennél itt és ne kellene eltűrnöm
Mezítelen rongyos húsod, mely beteggé tesz
Felhasítanám a vacak torkodat egy másodperc alatt
Ha közeljuthatnék hozzá
De nem engedsz közel magadhoz, mi?
Vagyis elszúrhatsz mindent és aztán jajgathatsz
Na, hát senkit sem érdekel, hogy utálod önmagad, te hülye
Mert az önutálat is csupán az önimádat egy formája
Most azt akarom, tégy valami maradandót
Tedd próbára magad
Tudsz-e a vízen járni, vagy elmerülsz
És nem ér vinnyogni, visszakozni
Feküdj ide, légy mezítelen
És várd, amíg eljön a pillanat
Annyira lerongyolódtál,
Nézni sem bírom.
Te,
Te szúrtad el
Mindkettőnket tönkretettél és most csak magadat sajnálod
A francba veled
Te hülye állat
szétrúgnám a döglött agyadat és eltipornám azt az ostoba nézésedet
A kék szemed
Igen, a kék szemek
Melyek oly sokat ígértek
De nem hoztak egy francot sem
Te,
A francba veled.'
Don't ask me whose poem I just translated and spoilt my afternoon with. Shit. I had to.
Oh wow!
That's a great honour my friend.
Thank you for ruining your afternoon,
I hope it helped hone your brilliant translation skills.
I only wish I knew the language.
and how'bout the demon? - can you relate?
(see the end of my second comment)
Yes I can.
It's sad really. Self-indulgent.
But with music, for example, I can only write well when I suffer something, and when I'm happy, I have no motive. For me, it only ever seems to be a cathartic expression of some form of sorrow or regret or ache.
Arthur Schopenhauer thought this made perfect sense.
But I don't seek that demon - I would rather be happy and uncreative. You?
I'm sorry Christmas kindergarten activities and such.... took me away.
I think I'm not seeking the demon, either, but when I'm hurt or feeling depressed AND I can break out with some form of inspiration I am more than thankful. It's like conquering an well known and feared enemy.
See also the last few lines of this (wrote on 2 August)
sitting on the shore
you've been waiting for the tide
contemplating clouds over the sky
inhaling the beauty of their games
and you hated yourself for enjoying the scene
you've been restless
waiting for the tide
and it finally came and it took you away
you drowned, gasped for air
the waves above your head laughed at you
the abyss under your feet cried out loud
and you feared the rumble
and when the water had its way spitting you out to the dunes
there you lied
mouth filled with sand
lungs filled with water
and when you came to you were smiling
and the world was solid and generous
At the same time anyone that takes a look at me, my family, my relationship with my husband, etc. etc. would normally think it is all splendid. And you know what? Deep within it really is. And...everytime I start involved in something of higher importance I feel relaxed, the world makes sense - is that what happyness is?
Yet no matter how hard I try all the things I write when feeling 'up' come out all dull and meaningless.
Do you get it?
Re: Happyness vs creativity
I think I am basically happy and fairly creative but the two does not seem to match.
The deal seems to be that I am EITHER happy OR creative.
But somehow this does not sound right.
I did read this, I just had no response.
I should warn you that here I will only comment if I want to, I feel no obligations. It's my irresponsibility website. I needed somewhere to churn out shit that is utterly reprehensible, and badly spelt. I needed to see it in some kind of published form, as though in this form, it was somehow done with. It's also an exercise in spin doctoring.
I understand what you're saying. I think it is possible to be both - creative and happy. What is required is the ability to dip into either when necessary. In fact, I find writing and singing etc. cathartic, to the extent that if I didn't have a means to express sorrow etc., I would probably be a far more sorrowful person.
I understand that a blog is neither a discussion between real people nor is an email. I suggest you use my email ANY time on ANY subject you deem appropriate to address me with. It's franci at nyitottkert dot hu
I second that is is likely to be creative, inspired AND happy - but it might take some time for ME to master it...
Cathartic, yes. Absolutely. It feels sooo good when it comes out what you had in you, doesn't it?
Don't answer :)
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