Portfóliók

 you know, there comes a stage of pain -- inevitably it comes -- where it's no longer funny. not anymore. you know, when it's just pricking you, tasting you, or giving you a taste of itself, you can always smile that old, tired, awkward smile that's more like a grin, tired, understanding, and cynical, most of all, cynical. but there's a limit to self-delusion, a limit to pain, a limit that blinks in the red lights, a limit that if crossed the pain becomes so strong it actually numbs you.

it is the matter of the nerves, the built-in circuit breakers. pain is only information, much like a scent spiraling up your sinuses, much like the taste of whisky, much like anything you sense. within or without. information. electric current. so if the amplitude gets too high, when it all gets too much, you shut down, at least the pathways that scream the loudest; and it's no matter that the signal is inbound or inside-generated, it all amounts to the same, a pain that you cannot cover up with the mascara of feigned strength or carelessness, not any longer. and the pathways start shutting down, one by one, like falling pieces of domino, and it's nothing like an icy sensation crawling up your back -- there is no sensation at all, you are becoming number by the minute, a static nosie starts humming in your ears, buzzing of bees but not alive at all, buzzing of dead-bees, of had-bees, and it's not the sound of their toiling, it's the sound of stinking carcasses decomposing, it's the sounds of maggots digging their way through rotting skin, liquifying skin, pus-filled pockets of bloated, death-smelling flesh, gobs of goo dissipating, stinking up to the high heavens until the maggots themselves die and become liquor mortis, to be eaten by even lower ranks... this is the silence, this is the static, this is the collapse of the celestial cascade of conscience in a carcass.

and it's not funny anymore, not even in a weird sense.

the pain sets in, moves in like an angry and reckless neighbor, and do all you can, wave a slip of an eviction notice in front of his bulging eyes, but all you get is bursts of anger, a hell of a lot of shouting deep inside your cranium, a voice shouting horrible truths so loud that your brain cells start rupturing and your intellect, your manners, your fucking a-class high-flying intelligence start oozing out of your cerebrum, to be washed away with the rest of the brain fluids when the inevitable moment of rupture occurs. you wish for him to shut up, you hold steady, but not even you can explain why do we have to keep holding on even when our own spirit decrees holy war, the goddamn jihad upon our own weary heart; why do we pretend as if we really had any sense of diligence, a sense of false self-importance, a sense of duty to keep us back from slashing our fucking wrists in a desperate attempt to ease up the load, to heal ourself much like charlatans did in the not-so-long-ago ages; why do we even care to care? what gives us the right to think of ourselves as beings who have musts and needs and has-tos and obliged-tos? whence is this overcome instinct of self-preservation when the mind actually shrieks for release, for a temporarily permanent solution to all this shit? how come we think we amount to anything? you could actually laugh. if you had the energy. or the inclination.

but it's not funny anymore, and more and more pathways scream and burn up in the good service of faking death.

board up your windows with nails from the cross of your supposed saviour. drown yourself in religion. drown yourself in cruel, wind-up-wind-down methodology. drown yourself in dead words that smell a hundred years from their dead resting place. drown yourself in dreams. drown yourself in work, in duties. drown yourself in sex. drown yourself in alcohol. drown yourself in drugs, all exquisite and expensive. drown yourself in music that turns to noise. drown yourself in sparkly-lit fits of extasy. drown yourself in sorrows. drown yourself in pills. drown yourself till it spills over the brim. drown your pain. drown your thoughts. drown your feelings. drown your feigned sense of feelings. drown. smother. burn. cut the wire. cut the string. cut the arteries. it doesn't matter.

relax. the worst is happening.

because that us is you, that you is me, and there's no escape.