42

The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy has always been a rescue for me whenever I have been sad, lonely and whenever I didn’t feel like dealing with the world. Reading it has always been like sitting next to a totally bizarre person in an airport waiting area, a person you encounter every time you travel through this particular airline. You’ve seen this particular man so many times and are so looking forward to running into him with his over-sized bag and his red pullover that the one time last October he wasn’t there; you stood in the boarding line crestfallen and strangely disappointed. And life felt a little off. It is the familiar insanity that keeps me safe from a little unknown craziness from my own.

This is what this book means to me. That strange man in a red pullover.

I read it when I need to phase out and music just won’t do. Drugs and Alcohol aren’t my thing. I love my life too much to cut myself or try attempting suicide. These things don’t interest me. But whenever limbo tightens it’s hands around my neck and it just ain’t fun anymore… this is the book I gotta read. It sometimes gets to a point where I stop and start to identify with Marvin, the depressed robot.
You know what else I do when I am sad, lonely and feeling absolutely pathetic?
I write on the walls of a ghost town.
My house is the purple one in the street of yellow.

 

 

Don’t Panic.

Unread and Untitled

This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me,–
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.
Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me! 

To my heart’s core, I feel sick. Sick and tired and worn out. Enough is so darned enough.

When I look at myself and say or state, I never assume that what I am saying is true for everyone or what I am saying is a pure FACT, why? Because I know my heart and I don’t know anyone else’s. I don’t know what stages or circumstances the other person goes through. For stuff I always give MYSELF justifications. But I am sick of that. Sick of cutting myself open for people who will do nothing more than cut more. I am tired. I am half-crazed keeping my damn mouth shut. Sick of letting everyone have their way. You don’t trust me? You don’t like me? You think I am a liar a fool a cheat a player or other terms you so frequently and tonelessly use. Leave me alone. I am not gonna sit here let you say all that or I am not going to prove myself. I am purple. I don’t exist

But, if for a second you thought of knowing me, rather than making up baseless assumptions as per your life experiences. YOU NEVER MET SOMEONE QUITE LIKE ME. And I swear that you won’t. And what did you do? Make me a victim of indirect accusations? You know who I am? I am a kid who is barely of age. I am a kid that met so many liars and cheats than putting your thirty years together I am a kid who watched her dad die right in front of her bloody eyes in that bloody ccu I am the kid who’s gonna die of cancer in just a couple of years to come AND STILL YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME?

Hear me, oh stranger. I too possess a half-healed soul. I too die every night and still wake up every morning. I am a kid who never quite understood how to play games. For a second there, when I met you, I thought I found a friend. But you smashed me with the perceptions that my soul never tasted. Just because you know my name doesn’t mean you know my life! I am as pure as that wind that talks to me every morning. Hate me if you may, leave me if you may, don’t mistake me, don’t accuse me. I am not asking you back. I never had anyone from the beginning and oh stranger, I have long been standing far from the maddening crowd.

Now I walk away

(Stanza from Emily Dickinson)