Down to a thumbnail…
Ok, first of all im in my post-romantic-tragic-angst mood, hence the reason for this entry.
Down to a thumbnail, like I am, so will this recent season in the life of the one “they moaned” to “stay-in!” (please say this line fast over and over again!) will go as we speak. Is going. Would have gone. But before the end, the show must continue amidst the fading of the lights (still feeling nostalgic for being light and sound director of theater group. Aggghhh, how it felt to be like a god, I said let there be light and there it was! And yet now how mortal and frail…but im rambling here.)
Down to a thumbnail, that is who I am now to someone who once proclaimed me as if I was something like the messiah to her life. Ha!
Of all the things that I have been, that I have expected to be remembered, being a thumbnail was the least (though I can somehow admit that being taken a surprise is a good thing, considering I have been raving like chris cornell “no surprises”). Partly I found it sad. Part anger. Part pathetic. Part funny, in its own twisted way that is.
Supposedly, it was a no surprise, considering friends have commented and argued that my failure stems from charting all the possible roads, especially the nasty ones. But being human, mortal, a sucker for the tragic-romantic, it tore something from me, and thus I am now enjoying a masochistic side of me who has been way over the 12 minute limit for romantic angst. Pathetic, I am, I know, and yet for now, I will indulge myself.
Of course, the road that led to where we are now, the last scenes before the credits, could have been better written. After all the accusations, and when I say accusations I mean a lot of them, all wrong (not my fault she blamed me wrongly for the wrong things!), she had to cap it up with something that was like a bullet in the mouth.
“People like you deserve to die”
yup, that’s what she wrote, said, texted, and said again. No regrets, no taking back of words (as if words could ever really be taken back once the emptiness gobbles them all up and stretches them thin and wide into nothingness)
but since that was not enough, for i am very much alive, why did she have to dig up something that should not be dug up, that has no bearing on the issue at al, and through some talent in cruelty and sadism, twist and burn and shove it with all its poisonous intentions to hurt. Designer drugs are designed to get you to a certain high for a certain span of time. I could say this was designer pain: exquisitely designed from herbs and spices of shared and trusted emotions polluted and mixed with the many ingredients for pain, designed to hurt a lot, for a very, very long time.
If I had a choice between designer drugs and designer pain, I would choose the former. At least I could enjoy the addiction, the rush, the ups and high, the cravings. Though I have to admit she is so talented, for her designer pain is really a high that wont get low, but only higher and higher. Reminds me of wine, getting better with age. Or like women, getting better with every… hmmm…. i think I should let you continue that statement.
I know I know, only those whom we trust could ever betray us. I know. And yet it hurts. It’s a ripper. Something like cancer going overdrive overnight.
Sometimes there are no cures. Amputations are not all that bad. I guess I will try it, for once in my sordid life.
Down to a thumbnail, and of course to the pixels that comprises the picture, de-resolution-ized ppi by ppi with every breath.
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