listen to your heart?

it seems odd to me when ever some one tells me to listen to my heart, or conscience or "that small voice". you see at one point in time i had auditory hallucinations. now don't worry it only said nice things, but obeying them would prove disastrous. theres a world of difference between thinking , thats a nice bum i should slap it, and doing it... to a stranger... on a bus.. full of paraplegics...

I jest, but seriously could you possibly live in a world where the "id" ruled? or even living in a world where my id ruled me...every time some one tells me to just be myself or listen to my heart I want to get mad at them, i know they don't want me to go to prison, but thats what there advice amounts to. maybe there are people out there who's little voice says "do the dishes", and "stay home tonight and study", maybe. but my voice says "toss the plates out a 3rd floor window and see if you can create an impromptu mosaic" or " stay home tonight and doodle naked people instead of studying".

I'm just saying, please don't tell me to listen to my heart unless you really think i should obey the little genital shaking voice in that situation.

thanks

(hip wagging)

later you guys!

mess

emotionally i must have finally reached puberty. It seems today i am no longer content ( or what passes for me being content) with labeling the mess i make of life as art. I now crave another mess maker. I want to corroborate with someone on a project. maybe an epic display of life as mess, or mess as life, or ... well i'm open to other themes. its not the medium or the message, its the art, artist, experience, and collaboration.

i zombie (too)

the little box screams and my eyes open. in a flash the world transitions from meaningful, to real. the world forces me to crave brains, decisions have to be made. my feet hurt when i wake up from spewnding hours standing on tiled floor. just part of some cosmic penance i must pay for. I must have been a natzi or worse in a past life, and now i work retail to atone for those sins. I hobble to the washroom and feel the cold tile on my shoulder as i lean. the wall creaks under my weight , but it holds. it has to hold, as i drain my self of the work my kidneys have done through the night. What must have they been in a past life? the mind recoils against chaos theory. its easer to believe i was a natzi marching thousands in to bleach showers; to believe that i could choose to be so evil, and that this life is my cosmic jail term. instinctively i reject that this life just happens. cause and effect, my scientific brain pleads for a reason. "no rest for the wicked" i murmur to the emptiness. I'm quoting a kit-cat commercial.

the showers never warm, but at least today theres water pressure, some days it just fades away. as if the pluming in my building has gone on dialysis. those days you stand under the trickle of watter using the sides of your hand like a squeegee trying to pull the shampoo away from your self. whats left of the personality still feels shame when it realizes that its failed in this squeegee task. it still manages embarrassment, when some customer with rotting tooth breath pauses from berating me for the pricing decisions he feels i have control over, pauses and breathes the rotting tooth smell heavily at me, looks in disgust at the soap residue left lingering on my collar. the personality still manages shame. i wince slightly as the gum i'm chewing to make sure that same decaying bone smell doesn't waft into another's face, the gum finds its way in to one of my own missing fillings, maybe i kicked puppies in my last life as well.

i look to the stupid with a mixture of envy and rage. i want to bash there head in and gnaw on the gray matter inside. it makes sense to them that a part time employee sets the price, is at fault. what wonderful deeds must they have done in there last lives to have earned the blissfulness of being stupid.

theres a sign by the punch in clock that reminds me to smile, because to the customer , i am the company. i wounder what the brains of the moron who devised that sign would taste like, would it taste better if i had fallen on him as he submitted his little slogan to his superior, begging for approval like a dog thats fetched the wrong stick?

mmmm brains BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAINSSSSSSSSSSSSS for the love of god please some one show you have brains!

i zombie (part one)

this isn't life. like ok, i'm not dead, my mom doesn't have to grieve and no one has to deal with remains, but i'm far from alive. any time i fill out profiles on singles sites, i post camping as one of my interests. but how the fuck would i know. i haven't gone in over 3 years. its been months since i've seen a family member. I had originally thought that when i moved i could web cam in for special family occasions, but it seems that after the first attempt that went bad because no one thought to tell me the day, that it has become to much of a hassle. My own grandmother sent me a letter informing me that it would be to much of a hassle to take a free flight out to see me. this isnt a pity party, i'm just pointing out that what i'm doing isn't living. my social interactions have eroded to the 2 or 3 people who click like on facebook statuses. I check that shit hourly in the vain hope that some how my life is still connected to this world.

I'm surviving off a part time job at minimum wage. cant go home because i have to pay for the hovel i live in. land lords dont give a shit if youre a student, you have to sign a year lease you know. Fuck tards any way. so i cant afford rent in 2 places.

ya part time work is awesome for the time off, if you enjoy sitting around broke all day waiting fro your shit evening hours where you spend a quarter of your shifts pay on microwave rice that you have to down in 15 minuets, less if you count the 2 minuets it takes to walk to the lunch room; and two minuets back.

i have some friends, but the problem with new friends is it costs money to do stuff. we don't know each other well enough to be ok with killing a day playing vids, or window shopping or even just heading to the park.

this isnt pity , its just the realization that nothing i do has any resemblance to having a life. Impoverished student is closer to being dead than alive, except you know the others having to go through the grieving thing. Im not offering the world happiness, all my existence is gaining for the planet is to stave off a negative emotion. preventing a negative is hardly a life.

if i could get some hours at work, just enough to get the bills covered and let me book a week off, id go hitchhiking, it doesn't cost any thing except the lost work time. and it would have to be more interesting than this living death. in the movies when some thing is dead but still walking around, we call them zombies, and they shoot em in the head.

ya thanx grannie your letter made me feel much better