#sargspeak

[sharggggg]

I love you, John Fire Punch.

[sharggggg]

Both the Chisel and the Marble

Do I exist to anyone. It feels like there’s nothing outside of this cove I’ve made for myself, this disgusting room coated in inches of dust and memorabilia of a time long lost to everyone but its proud owner. It should be fucking simple to understand that not calling out to anyone as a way of affirming someone’s value is inversely a way of shutting out the world to feed your own agenda, but yet the concept is just so perverse and attractive to observe and judge everyone around you out of desperate pettiness.

My dog was put down what feels like a long time ago and Cooper will be arriving there soon at the crisp age of 49 in dog years, bigger dogs often live shorter lives in comparison to their dwarfed sisters. I wish the same applied to people (I guess it does in a way) just so I can escape this mortal coil of a prison as soon as possible. It really hurts to know learn that you’ve been doing something your whole life, that over a decade ago I was equally attracted to the concept of a permanent solution to a temporary conflict.

As usual my bottled emotions have led to unsavory outbursts with this being the form of accidental self mutilation of my one good right arm. I saw a face in today garbage, not mocking or even antagonizing. The face was indescribable I understood the expression with great intimacy, one of forgiveness and pity. It was the same expression I gave when she was crying on my floor. I pummeled it until I was pulled from my episode by the shredded remains of my epidermis among the broken shards of bottles hiding in the black bag like a temple’s domestic security measure, my hand was used for war and thus was punished for it. Let the record know that I deeply loathe the writer of this series with enough venom to drown the sorry village you call a social circle.

I’m sorry I’m such a child. I’m sorry that I’m like this. I’m sorry that I’ve been such a loser. Please don’t forgive me for anything ever. Enact your vengeance on my tender flesh. Please.

Stop apologizing, you weak and worthless sorry individual. The coach never plays. Stuck in the past and never in the present, no wonder you’re all alone playing house with a bunch of half remembered flash backs. Pick yourself up and talk to a professional already, even if the worse happens at least you’ll be a danger to no one ever again.

We’re running in circles, I’ve been raving about the same issues for nearly a year now. It’s never going to get better if you don’t find some other foundation to build your house on, it may even be better than this.

[sharggggg]

Comedy works in Threes

Been too focused on real life to tackle my emotional issues again, the only pros to this is that I now have maybe enough money to begin therapy again and yet I’ll never feel comfortable enough at home to participate in it, it’s truly become a full house here.

Do you know exhausting it is to be so important to so many people’s lives despite how little it means to you, you do things only for the sake of your own interests and everyone suddenly worships you. My family thinks I’m well-adjusted, just a busy bee, so mature! They don’t know how rotted my mind, how I lust at the idea of cutting these arms open and chugging their contents after funneling them into what used to be my favorite mug. Favorite mug. I used to have a favorite mug didn’t I? Front row seats to its funeral with no fanfare. It was a shark, very typical of me.

Am I even real? Do I exist to someone outside of the internet and these halls? I hope I’m haunting someone, it feels like the only way I exist these days, I’m a rumor. Beware of the towering thing that wanders. The Grafton Monster is what I am, fear my noxious pores!!

Scaring people isn’t fun anymore when you’re the only person in on the joke. I spoke to a professor during lockdown at my campus, was a real fun. His voice was so shaky and he audibly gulped when I spoke in the weird way that I do. Didn’t even realize it was the first time I’ve spoke that day.

Spoken. Speak. Talk to. Will someone talk to me? No no no, you’re still in confinement like Hannibal. The skin hasn’t even been pulled from between your teeth and you ask for what, a connection? That privilege was lost long ago buddy. Keep whoring yourself out, you’ll find the right one next time. Well what if there isn’t a next time? What if it never happens? What if I’m never accepted anywhere? Dogs aren’t allowed in doors. I’m a bad dog. I’m a bad dog. I’m a bad dog.

Bad dogs go to sleep. For a long time. Why are my dogs being put to sleep? They were so good, the best of dogs. Why can’t I be put to sleep in their place? Oh dear, your gray muzzle and mud mottled fur, why are you leaving me, please don’t leave me. You’re the only thing that’s real to me, please please stop dying just stop it. Stop dying. You’re leaving me aren’t you? This is on purpose! You’re dying because. No.

You’re dying because nothing lasts forever. You’re dying and yet you still love me. I wish I wasn’t real. I wish I just like those other cryptids, just urban legends. I don’t want to be real anymore.

[sharggggg]

[sharggggg]

Please let me rid myself of this mottled skin, I don’t want to remain in these confines any longer. The chains that bind me to my filth refuse to tear as they dig deeper into my already brown and festering wounds, the rope now dyed a sickly beige viscera and tissue.

Why won’t you let me leave? I want to learn my lesson, let me go. LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO

Please.

[sharggggg]

Song of Saya larp is so real because people post about it as if Saya herself isn’t equally as much of a victim of the main character as everyone that has ever crossed his path. Fuminori, regardless of falling victim to something outside of his control, is objectively the antagonist of the story as he not only refuses the help of the world but adamantly and ignorantly focuses on some homemade remedy towards his distorted worldview that only rots the more it’s fed into by the unknowing victim that is Saya.

Anyway it was an alright game but I wasn’t a big fan of its well known bigger moments, it felt unnecessary with its weight only being found in the admiration of shock value to which I say leaves a bitter taste in my mouth of what would be a pretty good story. Loved the music and art direction.

[sharggggg]

Tell me, do you think everything would be better if I hadn’t been present for it? Like if I’d died sooner, that everyone would be living better lives you think?

What you’re talking about is hypotheticals which you and I both know are wastes of time. No one is waiting for you in the previous room so why do you loiter there? You’re sitting in a class and waiting for further lectures long after the class had ended. If you’re so worried about what the world would look like without you then make it happen now or never.

That’s. I don’t want to die and you know I can’t, I’m not allowed to a whatnot. It’s just that I’m reaping what I’ve sown.

The self fulfilling prophesy I assume?

Yeah, the one where I believe that I’m at the heart of every conflict.

You’ve got better things to worry about.

I can’t help but feel so ashamed of the person I was and am, to be the alpha and omega, beginning and ending of my own suffering and yet I can’t do anything but see it into fruition. The train has to keep going or the guests will be angry. Men will yell, women and children will cry, and my heart won’t be able to handle all of that discord. Does that mean I’d still feel bad for disappearing even if it was an objective good?

How is that an objective good? Do you think you’d be able to taste the sweets you now understand? What about the art you’ve appreciated or the animals you’ve understood, does that not make life valuable?

You’re seeing it from a selfish perspective, I’ve hurt more people than I’ll ever know. There’s at least one person who isn’t here anymore because of me, the trauma I’ve inflicted, people will never be able to love because of me. I’ve dissected them, disassembled them to their most primal, put them back together, and broke them over my knee. Does that make me valuable? Was Hitler valuable to you?

Semantics and hypotheticals, both a waste of time when you know the answer. The feelings you hold right now have literal weight, you bear that cross and thus you are reborn in a subtle manner. You will never change inwardly but everyone sees that shackles that hold you.

But at that point it’s begging for your burden to be noticed, and that’s obnoxious isn’t it? To want to be seen for your wrongs? And yet.. fuck that’s what I crave. I want people to see me like that. Not as a wounded animal but as an animal that’s feasting on a carcass in front of their village, shoot me where I stand and your people will live another day. Cross the line of death and take one from this realm, killing me will ironically make me immortal.

What, like transferring it? The trauma? Do you really just want to dump your problems onto someone else like that so you can have an excuse to never bear them again.

That’s what I’ve been doing my whole life, having people do things for me. That’s what makes me smart, not logistics or pattern recognition, but that I’m a worm, a vermin, something truly fetid.

You have more things to do today, do them unless you want to keep feeling like this. Pathetic pile of self loathing, no one will like you like that.

No one deserves to like me, I shall never marry or bear an heir. I hope I never do. I’m sick.

Everyone is, but that does not give you an excuse to lie down and die.

I’ll never have your permission will I?

[sharggggg]

Something Was In The Neighbor’s Trash

I cant think of any fleeting moment worse than smelling a memory, especially if it was from a moment of weakness or from a person that you no longer know you were. Amidst my chores I had caught the whiff of something as minuscule as rotten fruit and ammonia, I think maybe a bit of shampoo as well? I was immediately thrown back to when we’d walk around and talk and talk and talk, what was there to even talk about? I was never good at leading conversations so it must’ve been boring and convoluted. Why was I forced to remember a time just so minuscule and bland yet so far away. Maybe it was before I’d see anyone in that way before, I’m forever ruined. I’m used goods. I only predate now, like an animal. A stupid animal.

Fairly excited to start another hobby with a friend which is making content! I’ve always had this itching feeling of showmanship but I could never bring myself to truly embrace because I’m so fucking scared that someone is going to get hurt really badly again, standing in a cold shower staring at my phone. I probably could have done something. I should’ve grown a spine. Been a man instead of whatever this thing is.

Another thought had dreadfully crept its way out of my imagination. I saw a shadow behind me, of a person, maybe a man? Woman? My mind began to race as if to wonder what I could do in a situation could they prove themselves to be dangerous. What if a gun was pressed against me? A knife? My dad told me to never be found without a knife. What if they grabbed me. Grabbed me. Held me. Please hold me. Grab me with your purposeful hands, I don’t care if it’s gentle or with violent intent. Acknowledge my existence for only a moment. Take me. Love me. Ruin me again. Rip off this stupid fucking shirt that reminds me of something more painful than any self inflicted stab wound. Make the laceration burn more so I can forget how many times I’ve burned myself trying to survive with my mother. Bite me hard enough to feel like everyone I’ve ever bitten. Hurt me please.

Make me properly ruined so I can finally forgive myself.

I shared miso soup with my grandmother, it was one of those moments that reminded me that I in fact still love to some capacity. That I’m not an animal. I wish I was though.