ThoughtShock: A Manifesto Chapter 8

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ThoughtShock

Chapter Eight
'An Overdose to the heart'

Journal Note; March 10th 2012 2:30am
“How pathetic was my death going to be. I had survived by sheer luck. My life was forfeit many times before in the past. Drugs, car crashes, and even a train. Close calls that I could all recite. Here I was seconds away from asphyxiation and all that could go through my mind was. Will this truly be the way I go out? Choking on food and Irony can be had in the moments of blurred vision as there was no pain.”
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I see death, riding that pale horse. In the form of a pill. A soul that had been damaged. A sweet sacrifice, a slow release. With addiction becoming a burden, it would be a lie to say I have not gazed within the abyss and saw my own horror show.
A grotesque carnival where I had became the sideshow. Bare witness to my morbid display, of every damn dream I murdered. Watch as I sell my soul once more.

I digress, allow me to slow my thoughts and let you catch on. Imagine the world flooded and people drowning in liquid gold. Hypocrisy, their greed and their ego. Their addiction. Not all dependencies are that of drugs or gambling, their vice could be money, drinking, sex, work, and in my case a few but mainly writing. I know that through the twisted and demented words, like a labyrinth my art reaches a person's soul. I help shape minds and open doors in the back of their head.

The euphoria of knowing that for all the hours spent working on a piece, that in the end, in that moment I created a masterpiece that will forever remain for as long as the written word. The closest to perfection from the chaos that is my mind.
Becoming my little guilty pleasure, My sin to indulge. Through all my demons the nastiest of them all resides on the tip of my tongue. Relishing in the climax of the tragedy that befalls my lips. The hardest barrier of them all is to admit my own talent. That I, in some slightest way have a hint of skill behind my destructive behavior. For do not be fooled that is my life I so proudly write about. Every demon, every thought felt and heard a trillion times over. With no escape from the mad clowns, with their wicked smiles.

I will always write, I have found it has become the only way to quiet the storm pounding in my brain. Thoughts like lightening buzzing around in a brilliant but chaotic light show. So I give in, let the tidal wave wash over me and allow the addiction to grow, yet like any addiction there comes a time when it becomes too much. I've been down a similar path with my addiction to pharmaceuticals. A swift road that will either lead to death or drug intervention and ignorance truly is no excuse in the Russian roulette for your life.

If I am not careful the message will become lost somewhere within the paragraphs of my words. My salvation will be fraught with loss if I fail to capture the emotion behind the meaning. I had often thought that once I accomplished my goal, my dream to get published. That it would get easier, not sure what would have gotten easier now when I think back on it. Still as painful to pull up a sentence as it was ten years ago. Still feeling helpless and powerless as I pour my soul out onto the paper. Readers do not see the tears being suppressed back as you fight to get word onto the paper. They do not hear the war drums beating in your mind, your hands shaking as you try and capture that emotion into a word, and a word that preferably rhymes. With a desire to make it your own, you twist the words to fit the tempo as you create a powerful symphony a living testimony to your thoughts and desires, the joyful and the sorrow. You paint a picture to that moment in your life, forever capture by your own point of view. To share that would be up to you.

Let's get back to my roots,
scraping the scum from my boots
one line rhymes, played out a millions times
with a home run hitter, that leaves your taste bitter.

“I can taste the ecstasy of the addiction,
on my shoulder drooling in anticipation.
Yet in the madness I am the one sane
In the carnival of death, survival becomes the game”

Paint a picture, of the moment you wish to capture
hold tight and never let go
for tomorrow is not written, you never know
it might be your last night.
In death, the idea is to celebrate life.
The small miracles we all take for granted
where everyone believes I am just demented.
Fearing what they do not understand,
destroying what they cannot command.
Cannibalistic in nature.
Parasitic without a cure.
No conflict without opposition,
No contract without conversation,
and no destruction without creation.
As the circle of life spins, nobody wins.
Nobody gets behind, nobody jumps ahead
it is the game of life, we play until we are dead

“Everyone has tasted addiction in their life,
danced with sorrow and understands strife.
Everyone has struggled to understand their place
bartered sin to flesh to feel safe
in the arms of another.”

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This of course is a rough draft of chapter 8 I'm not entirely sure of it myself.
What do you think?

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SSmoothie's picture

And the BRILLIANCE shows its self again

shining through the gates of insecurity beheld as a thing of beauty to those who have no sweat borne of its creation... HugSS


Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS    

"Well, it's life SIMS, but not as we know it" - ¡$&am