I want to stop. They keep firing. I want to stop. Bang. Bang. I’m at my knees. Bang. I get up. I want to stop. They wouldn’t let me. Please. Bang. Just. Bang. Stop.
I realise I’m back where I started. Not back to the young boy with raging hormones prowling the chatrooms every night for a fuck, but back to the emotionless wreck that prowled the chatrooms every night to feel something.
I wasn’t prowling chatrooms anymore. I was wandering aimlessly in life. Trying to feel something. That’s why I let him touch me. I closed my eyes hoping something would come out of it. Something did cum. But it wasn’t what I wanted. What I needed.
I just… want to feel again.
You were always the fun guy. The nice guy. The one who made sure we didn’t get scolded by our parents as kids. You made growing up fun, everyday would mean new exciting treasure hunts or cutting up bits of paper pretending they were chocolate cakes.
But the one thing I remember most was your drawing hanging behind the door. That drawing. That creative energy, that intensity, that detail, I wish I could look at it again, just to see where I started my journey. I would always watch in awe as you drew - each stroke, each detail, so precise, so perfect. I wanted that. I wanted to do what you could do.
You were my Batman.
Years past. Age, distance, technology, retrenchment, graduation, retail shops, projects, losses, sleepless nights, giving up, disappointment, hopes, elderly care, Sydney - life happened.
Guess what? I did become you. I’m going to get my degree in design next year. That drawing. I want to thank you for being my inspiration. I hope that you will rediscover that someone you were back then, someone who was more optimistic and independent - or at least as I remember as a kid - someone who was a beacon of light to a kid who thought wow, I really want to draw like that, someone who was somebody.
I doubt you will ever read this, but I hope one day, your eyes will open again. There’s so much around you to take in, and there’s so much you have left to give. Times are rapidly changing, I know, we’ll become obsolete in five minutes, but we work to keep up. Survival. I know you were never really good at that, running away from every bump in the road, but that doesn’t solve anything, it doesn’t. Stop running.
The world is opening up, there’s nothing more to fear, live and let live, love and feel again - hiding is overrated.
I’m here now - where you led me as a kid.
I just wish you were too.
Yeah you were right. We shouldn’t have done it. All I’m left with is a sick taste in my mouth. I’m sorry.
"Why are you closing your eyes?" Because when I opened my eyes I wanted to see him instead.
I asked myself today what I actually wanted to do with my life. What did I want for the world? The thing that came back to me was the thing that I have been telling myself since… I started thinking about changing the world, that was to be awesome and rich so I can start making a difference with my money (Perhaps this thought was implanted in my mind cause my parents didn’t think really highly of taking design in school, so I figured I’d earn enough money to support myself and them and I’ll have the last laugh). But then was my intention to make money or to change the world? As a designer, should I be thinking about the greater good? Or did I want to just be a self marketing designer whom people come to cause they want to buy more stuff? It was kind of like the rivalry between European and American designers - self-philosophy driven or mass production.
What should I do? What can I do? What did I want? What do I want?
Ok my brain is tired. Too much pondering for tonight.
I could suddenly see everything. It was like viewing myself through a camera which kept zooming out. Nothing was hidden from sight. I saw every possibility, every path I could take, and every result. Every cause, and effect. I wondered, was this what God could see? If I saw this for all eternity, I would probably go insane. No wonder He has to sit down on a throne.
Today didn’t feel like a day. It was a space in time which time itself forgot. I took a break from life and sat in this space for a while. It’s serene yet depressing. I feel invincible yet completely useless. I hate it. I wanna go back now.
Plug me back into time.
Emptier than ever. Emptier than thou. Empty. Soggy bodies pressing against each other to find comfort and refuge. Trying to fit into each other like puzzle pieces. I didn’t get the memo about what the picture is on the puzzle box.
I had a bad feeling walking there today. It was worse than before. I numbed myself when the guys touched me and fornicated all around me. I was the ice queen surrounded by white - with a pearl necklace. As I laid my tired body down, it struck me hard - the hollow shell my body had become. I was thrown around like a doll, busted up, bruised.
Motionless, I lay as warm trembling hands cuddled me in the dark, pressing against my body, finding a way in. Alas the door is covered with bricks and cement. Semen.
Deadpan eyes, mouth always opened. I’m a sex doll. Filled with air. Hollow. Air.
I do think about you. You make me human. But I know it wasn’t meant to be. Indulge me when I talk to you, cause it gives me the little hope that I need to tell me I’m not just a hollow shell. You give me depth. But I’ll have to say goodbye. Soon. Slowly. Surely. And let go of your hand - which I hope is still holding on. Goodbye.
Now drift - drift away.
I wanted to come back to familiar faces, smiling. I wanted to meet everyone I miss again. I wanted to feel refreshed and reenergized for the new semester. I wanted to, I wanted to. Why do I have even more questions now? Why do I feel so tired and drained? Why.
I’m confused and lonelier. I’m exhausted.
I’ll run away from all this again: all the open ends, all the question marks, all the what ifs. Was I doing myself a favour coming back? Or taking a gun and pointing it to my kneecap and emptying all the rounds?
Breathe. I need to. Stop. And.
Here I go again. Frustrated? Maybe, perhaps. It seems like things happen to show me that things will never happen. I’m tired. When I finally try, I’m shot down. Why bother in the first place?
Logistically, it can’t happen. Never - in fact. But love transcends all doesn’t it? Love? Is that what I’m calling it? What do I know anyways?
I’m wounded. Time to numb the pain.
Chug chug chug chug choo!
Brrm brrm click click weet!
Pew pew clink clink clink!
Bzzt bzzt bzzt bzzt!
Jigga jugga jigga jugga!
Help me. I’m suffocating. It’s here, it’s everywhere. Go away. Please. Dear God, I’m sorry. I’ve created a monster.
It happened the first time. It happens each time. And each time, a clearer picture. It’s like a sport now to me. Practice. Practise. Practice. I’m pretty sure I left my emotions at the door. What is love anyway? Does it even have a part to play? Is it just me? Perhaps.
I’m usually not even there when it happens anymore. I’m just a body - a pulsating, sweaty body - void of human warmth. A corpse. Necrophilia much? It’s this numbness in my soul, like a swelling I can’t stop, and it’s consuming me.
You know how rape victims suffer from trauma and block out everything? I guess it’s pretty much the same feeling. Just that the only person that fucked me is