21st Century Schizophreniac

"When you're ripe you'll bleed out of control.

You'll bleed out of control.

You like attention

It's proof to you you're alive.

Stop parading your angles.

Confused?

You'll know when you're ripe.

Because when you're ripe you'll bleed out of control.

You'll bleed out of control.

You're pregnant with all this space

Thick with honey,

but I lost my taste.

You're into depression because

it matches your eyes.

Stop this faux to be famous.

Confused?

You'll know when you're ripe."

A little too much space for comfort, I'd believe. What do we do with it? Thaw it from it's period of dormancy to alleviate our present status of non conformity? To allow alien individual needs to race forward without judgement or perception, without direction or rationality. Instinct and desire play a vital role in allowing the human mind it's requisite amount of 'freedom'. It allows a man all the unnecessary axial propulsion he needs, so that finally, he'll do nothing but provide himself with a vital headrush.Little does he know that this headrush that feels so tantalizingly amazing, orgasmic and calming, is just another in a long chain of 'duds'. He gets hooked onto it. We all do. We all have our own personal meth tablets hidden under the crack on the carpet floor.

It's a common human need, the crutch. How you manage to use it varies. You can put it to literal use, or you can use it as a weapon to ward off detractors, and junkies who'll come begging you for more crack... That's when we realize he need for a symbiotic relationship. Give to recieve, if you want any. And now comes the tricky part. How do we determine where to stop, and where to resume? How can you still have this relationship that takes a little more than the actual bargain from you, and leave you with less? Is it a combination that works?

We all abso-fuckin-lutely need pain to see what pleasure is all about. You need to see the sun set to know that it'll rise the next day. You need to get hammered on dope to even remotely realize what it is to be sober. You need to get screwed out of all your living happiness to know that happiness exists.
Twisted way this cosmos works.. In all it's shenanigans, it's more of an
psychologically primitive system. It's not justified, hell no. But it IS the way it will remain nonetheless. The Creator was/is one psychosomatically enhanced S&M addict, as much as I hate to say this.

Asking for space in life is like Oliver asking for more broth. He knows he'll end up getting shit, but he'll take it nonetheless, because he needs it to know what broth is NOT like.

At the end of the day if you have a bunch of compatriots who share the same inane, fucked up zeal about life, regale with them and look around to check what the moment carries. It carries with itself a dose of functionality and self-healing. It serves as the watering ground for us hyenas running around in packs of 5 and laughing our hairy asses off. It alleviates. It soothes. It helps subside. Smile one more day without having to know that you have a duty to perform, without having to know that someone, somewhere is judging you, without having to know that you're answerable or for that matter, redundant. This is not the same thing as being ignorant. Not at all. And neither is it about
avoiding. The inevitability of our mortality hardly allows us that privilege. It is the parallel universe that we carve out for ourselves. Accept it or deny it, it exists in all of us.

The best liquor is the one that gives you the worst hangover headache. Trust
me.