soliloquy lilt Summer sweaty sunday and a slice of sweet strawberry sinks slowly out of sight On a Monday night. Some seven years slipping past the souls that you were sipping sounds silly now to say so surely you were mine. 000620 ... Splinken "so i'm dancing with my se-elf oh oh oh dancing with my se-elf" 000620 ... sim solitary watching the screen attached to the system not until you start to talk and laugh to think and feel to sing and dance together on what you realize in a single moment you become real 020708 ... freakizh mystic part of rush's "hemispheres" song. 020708 ... ashmanzhou i wait in flickering darkness only to be interrupted by my own damned conscience why we scream to the sky why do we have to take all of the downsides of emotion with the feeling i hate it but my hate burns within me why do we have to have this same forsaken dream of being something more than nothing and then be persecuted for our failed hopes if this is life id rather be dead if this is what it really takes to be human id rather not be part of this uncaring race if this is what faith truly means to others i can assure them that my 'faith' in them and me will not survive this night if this is what faith means to me i dont want it to be part of me if this is what some kind of feeling is i feel like some kind of faceless foll within this society which i hate which hates me which is riven by unseeing unfeeli thats what is about though unfeeling trying so desperately to feel something other than a tattered rag of wasted humanity a dreg of ash swilled in the great fire that every other person stokes to burn me and turn me away from them ng emotion that is the consecrated soul of the collective 'us' of society that made me me but cant care past scorning me i wish i could see a face i could lean to in the sea of mouthless beings outside my window i wish i could just scream but they would only glance away embarrassed and wonder why has so disatissfied him so that he thinks he could even be worthy of their holiest of holies their attention which is distracted by such extreme diversions like the colour of their shoes and they walk on to forgetfulness and oblivion but why complain im happy in my way there isnt anything i could complain specifically about it all just wears away at me and makes me want to feel something that i can say is my own not a manufactured high or an artificial low but a truthful emotion to grasp and cherish but as i sit and stare the only thing i feel is a pain verging on physical i long to be able to hate myself or someone else again i long to be able to be mad or angry and throw a rant i long to be able to speak with a person to feel what they say makes me feel instead of clawing at second hand emotion that is meaningless to me ill wait i guess for an eternity until there becomes something really real and then i could be writing something else something that could be summed up in a few words and not be an ungracious outpouring of thoughtless thought patience never was a virtue until someone had to wait for something 030725 ... oldephebe hmmm 030725 ... oldephebe so many people saying so many things so many swathes of heteroganaeity so many soul water streams infinite choir of babble conk shell of cacophony yeah all of that - i like what ash had to say even felt pricked by it felt like she'd looked into my heart or at least read one of my oh so self-indulgent wordsprawls here - make your argument for yourself clean it all out s a y e v e r y t h i n g o u t l o u d someone else said, "just close your eyes and stop caring for a while" i just get tired of waking up hollow. and sure maybe i should learn to be happy with the hollow - yeah - soliloquy sodden self pitying streams it slips from me god self pity is so abhorrent - but as most creative and artistic people balance and exteriorization not something that comes easy - we're all self-obsessed and insecure and ego-centric and want our "gifts" our art our abilities to be validated and then when we're caught in the act we quickly and not so deftly deny this verity - we're all angst without an anchor - but i fit really well in my cubicle look just staple a sail to my coffin and send me out to sea yeah here's another plaintive pointless anthem of ephebic angst- well since i don't drink or do drugs or enter into illicit relationships or use poeple as emotional surrogates and scape goats for my own impotent ire writing or soliloquy be it by song or scintillating or sappy salt water streams masquerading as intemperate, verbosity sprawled all over the page - so soliloquy is all i have i guess Father Defalco - tell me the things i think about tell me the things I say to my soul about me aren't true - tell me! bring on that bolt of lightning bisecting me into clarity bring it on1 Hah! For all my posturing i'd probably run like a spring zephyr - maybe i should sit down at the keyboard later and let my hand play notes they haven't rehearsed - let my yawping verses shimmer and freeze and then fall finally to shatter good word soliloquy enough all ready! 030725 ... ashmanzhou this world is fire and ashes if i were some romanticised folly i would scream to the uncaring night stars take me away from here or some ridiculously personified notion to satisfy my innate sense of romanticism and extrogenous aching self damn that love is dead love died when i first truly looked at someone else looked beneath their exterior to see if they were ever like me to see if i could ever be like them to see if the world would accept us my mistake was trying to feel something i was incapable of feeling as if i was pretending to abseil without ever having a rope i was sucked in with the layer after intrinsic layer of self righteousness and charity of vanity and care the intricate web of chaotic hypocritical emotions and traits and i was ever lost something i needed never came back with me from the brink something i desperately wanted to feel so hatefully craved was shattered and i knew that i could not truly accept the fact that i lacked it and the person who so casually crushed that thought went on laughing as if their life was some sacred thing i was meant to see in my dreams and stoicly become a mindless folly of my own i could not accept this i didn't know why they even bothered trying to talk me down trying to care but finding themselves lacking of the thing i had lost i never spoke to them again they so casually forgot and i had nothing left i could see i could only wait i only saw them once later when they saw i was capable of feeling pain but not any form of reason or emotion and that realisation hurt them as much as it desensitised me from feeling it i was content swimming in and out of lives other people lived and so graciously found it in their hearts to share with me but i never could understand why they could ever want to i did not try i had no will to be sitting on the outside of a narrowing world that was dissolving at my fingertips i longed to end it bring it crashing down to bloody ruin but seeing the people rushing by still filled me with longing i saw as clearly as i ever did i did not care enough to make some kind of hope for others fade and as mine dwindled to ash i made them see another side to me i still sit on the outside of my intrinsic cell my foot in the door to watch the people go by and i wonder the emotion they feel i read so many things so charged with feeling in some vain hope to sap it from them to fill the void i know i cannot love it or hate it i cannot love the world nor can i see reason to hate it nor see reason for it to exist but is only a grey blur and all reality and unreality swings forth in front my eyes before i close them and choose to ignore myself again because if i open them the whisper i feel will be gone 030730 ... ashmanzhou what i feel is of no importance what is important is that i know the source of this emotion and the route to bringing it to be (i wouldst be surprised if anyone doth read this if anyone doth i thankst thee with what heart i can counterfeit) 030730 ... nomme and my words would fail me here ashmanzhou how i would try to tell you how beautiful 030730 ... oldephebe aah ash, you are a wily wordsmith - i enjoy peeling apart your prose - i enjoy the visceral, the vivid, the verbosity - there are things i read by you that say far more eloquently, authentically whatever it was that i was trying to unwind from my hearts darkest chamber - what you write it's authentic, lyrical an original music like i said - i can't believe the beautiful things you people write here 030731 what's it to you? who go blather from