Today, I have acquired a new book. Another opiate to escape reality with, my means of withdrawal and numb indifference. The book is 'Water ship Down." I've wanted to read it for years but never really had a chance. I read, as selfish as it is, to escape reality. People always seem to ask me how I can immerse myself in books, art, writing. People herald me as some unique thing, because I do these. But the true question stands, how can I not? Reality and I are not on the slightest friendly terms. I have built around myself, my friends, all those I love, this artificial reality. It keeps the close, but not close enough to hurt me, but far enough away, that if they do, it'll be quick and nearly painless. I'm spineless, some might think, but I've never been proven wrong. Those who get to close, always hurt the most. Huh, sounds like a song lyric, I such a loser.
I truly do hate most people, not hate, like I know them as individuals, or as important beings, but hate, as a mass. Humanity is a massive annoyance. The only person I've ever let in, well, he's all I've got. But he's an hour away, and tends to be very cold, without intention. In one week, well two, of pure teen-aged drama, which I wasn't truly involved in, I feel like I've lost all my friends. I'd rather be numbed, not feel. It's like my books are all I have left, my only friends.
Whatever I feel, whatever I need, there's a book that I can get away from it with. The more I read, the more I feel like it'll all just disappear. It's really like a drug, a never-ending hunger. I'm addicted to the arts....to my thirst for the other world.
And no, this isn't just some emo rant. I really talk and think like this...Why does it matter? Who the hell is really gonna read this junk?
71,400 Gold
I truly do hate most people, not hate, like I know them as individuals, or as important beings, but hate, as a mass. Humanity is a massive annoyance. The only person I've ever let in, well, he's all I've got. But he's an hour away, and tends to be very cold, without intention. In one week, well two, of pure teen-aged drama, which I wasn't truly involved in, I feel like I've lost all my friends. I'd rather be numbed, not feel. It's like my books are all I have left, my only friends.
Whatever I feel, whatever I need, there's a book that I can get away from it with. The more I read, the more I feel like it'll all just disappear. It's really like a drug, a never-ending hunger. I'm addicted to the arts....to my thirst for the other world.
And no, this isn't just some emo rant. I really talk and think like this...Why does it matter? Who the hell is really gonna read this junk?
71,400 Gold
