Sometimes I have the feeling I am about to burst. Then the tears leek out, like steam that’s been compressed, under extreme pressure, liquified not through cold but through gravity. The inner gravity of the black hole in my soul. It consumes my emotions, sucks them in for fear of letting them out. As if something that strong would destroy my surroundings if it got loose.
There are too many emotions in there. It’s developing it’s own dynamic.
People, dogs, children… drunkards, fools, friends, acquaintances, assholes and dangerous maniacs. It doesn’t matter who they are, I don’t want to hurt them with the blunt objects which are my feelings.
So just leak out a couple tears, that won’t hurt anybody. But what about me? I don’t think I can take it any more. The pressure is building, even the black hole can only hold so much… the situation is desperate. The black hole may explode, and what is then unleashed will be far worse than anything the black hole was constructed to prevent.
It’s all so dramatic. Haha.
Words, dripping with meaning. Like sponge-cake saturated with honey. Disgusting, sticking to your fingers… my God, soap and water, quick. Don’t touch me! Spit it out, brush your teeth, damn you, you… you author!
We’re all acting, really. A bunch of fucking posers. Humans are always actors on the social stage. Society demands that we appear to be a certain way. There are latitudes of accepted behavior, but anything outside those boundaries will be punished with disapproval. Anyone who shows their true self will be hounded, made laughable, ostracized. Social coercion: there is no escape, unless you want to become a hermit.
Only when we are alone, can we truly be ourselves. Then, the thin veneer of polite consideration can be cast aside. Like old, rotting tapestry it peels down and falls to the floor under its own weight. Then, social mores and customs lose their power over us, and we can start to actually think.
If we are extremely lucky we may find someone on this world, a single person, who loves us so much that we can be ourselves in their presence. But when we do, we usually find ourselves being considerate after all. It’s ingrained in us… we are afraid to hurt that which we love. We can’t think clearly, because we are thinking of what our loved ones might think.
On the other side of the coin: I am happy I don’t have to be exposed to the ugly souls of some of my fellow porcupines. Thank God for social coercion. That bastard I see now and again at the corner bar, the sleek, normal-looking one… he does not show his true nature, because it is not allowed. I am very thankful for that. The only thing preventing him from doing… whatever the fuck it is he really wants to do, is social coercion.
Feelin’ good, goin’ to a party in a minute, see some friends, drink some wine, talk some shit. Oh yeah. Swim in the drink we call life. It’s good stuff, what we swim in. We can be happy not to be looking for the next little crawling grub to eat, to keep us alive. Happy not to be living in the fucking jungle. Be thankful for civilization, aye.
Listening to Dancing in the Head, from The Mekons.