once rambunctious, its down to the filaments, to tethers and frayed ropes. hanging by a thread or just hanging. dont expect me to sit there and watch you hang yourself, i was never into that kind of sport and frankly i find it boring. self mutilation is boring, self loathing is interesting to a point as long as there is some sort of redemption to go with it. but out and out masturbatory self-destruction, the kind that’s all tease and no delivery? no thanks, been there, done that, was once even the star of the show.
living is fucking hard. living with all the fucked up perceptions and paranoia and wild thoughts and incessant beckoning of the void is hard. that’s interesting. that’s the rabbit hole worth going down into. to be like that in a world this messed up. to be skin raked by barbed wire and douse yourself in the piss of this world and still, somehow still, write fucking poetry, shoot fucking film, do fucking whatever, to fucking go about the business of making art in the face of this shit, in the face of your own despair and the ugliness of the people around you.
that’s the good stuff. that’s the stuff worth living for. just to spit it in their fucking faces.