I got drunk tonight.
I'm a good writer. I can tell because even though I am completely shitfaced and I could hardly carry on a conversation with some random on the street, I can type with near-perfect grammar and spelling. I can sit here and respect the unknown talent I have and despite the resentment and hatred I have for my own abilities, I can express them without pause or reservation.
I write to the internet. I write to the great unknown, even though the unknown is actually the small group of either pathetic or powerful people I know. I write to share the moments I have before my moments are gone. I write to express what little there is hidden under the cowl of personality I flaunt and display with distasteful flagrance nearly every night. The despair. The distaste. The fear and misery that my peers and contemporaries are thankfully free from overly contemplating, or better yet completely devoid of to begin with. I wait patiently for the chickenshits to read what I write, so they can scrape what little self-aggrandizement they need to survive their naturally deceptive lives from what little truth I'm able to pearl-dive for. There is immeasurable effort expended to bring these truths to the surface, only to see them processed and packaged like embarrassments for the terrified and weak.
Yes, I despise you.
The hypocritical pontifications of the safely esconced I weather with arbitrary apathy. What else is there to do? What can I offer those who are so eager to comiserate and surrender themselves? I shamefully turn to humor. The guise of fool shielding me and offering meager shelter from the unyeilding assault of boastful cries of helplessness.
Yes, I despise myself as well.
What can I offer? What help can I give to those who expend their unique talents to furthering and bolstering their fortresses of penultimate defeat? I released paradise to take the divinity I knew and bring it to the blind. I knew their futile grasping would be my best caress. I accepted their shrieks of lost aspirations as an understandable cost to pass from perdition to. I saw the impossible and accepted the flow of the universe to carry me from my equally purposeless spot to a location where the dribblings of divinity could be licked, or scraped, from my body. Never did I dream of the loathsome r
(editors note: at this point apparently I passed out, since I woke up on the floor later that night. Whee. ha ha.)
Posted by Matt at October 15, 2002 02:42 AM