I'm in some of the worst pain yet...and to top it off I missed U2's performance at the Grammys.

Go figure.

I'm feeling a bit tired with some hope going about somewhere.
But other times I feel so false and fake.
Paper thin and unable to make it.

I think I have discovered the end of despair but this world is good at fooling you. Is the problem seeing too much of myself when I should see more?

Perhaps, perhaps. Narcissism is a word at the top of my vocabulary.

Thankfully there is more than me, much more than me.

I'm not sure how I am feeling.
Right now at least.

Another brick wall.

I'm not sure how to see around something so immense and dare I say scary?

God, I just want to run and hide from all of this.
This monster I have created.

It is crazy, it is disturbing and a horror show wrapped in one. Being given the gift of creation with no limits but my imagination and whatever twists it can create?

Yikes.

It's like taking a look in me and being repulsed and sickend but just enough to continue staying in this mad circular loop and not find my way home to freedom.

So many false words can cloud my mind and my throat as I stand here, just trying to form real and articulate thoughts.

I want to hate love and fear it. From everyone and everything. The affection scares me if I was to be perfectly honest. I know truth, I've been exposed to its searing beauty, the feeling of having the dark separated form light, seeing my little habits and trinkets of a life devoted to self just fall out of thin air and lay beside me, idols I could never conceive of.

It is a crime to be so narcissistic.
But this is more.
It's my life I have embraced for so long.
This path of self devoted self destruction, playing the role of disheartened pilgrim or prophet forced into self impose exile with just as many contradictions as that statement.

I want to hide from this creature I have created.
It feels more like monster than man.
More beast than human.
This towering and pulsating profane tower of crudely assembled flesh and organic material. Some pride here, anger there and of course unnecessary amounts of envy and lust.

Odd mixtures I have created and worked to perfect.
Yet, there is more.
There is more than the simple pain or the complex quotient demanding resolution in a most perplexing way.

The longings of my heart are true.
To bathe in unearthly light, to feel the self obsessed narcissistic garbage I have been wearing called "Matthew" just wash away and just be me. Not this build up little action finger capable of several articulate movements, instead just free to breath and not be caught up in worthless and time consuming self berating.

Because it is just self worship.

Idol casting and really I don't even like how my nose turned out on the statue.
I never really wanted it that much anyway.
Just a little step, a little fresh air.
Before casting off the shackles and heading into the west.
Crossing a vast ocean for lands undying and such.

Thankfully peace, hope and love remain.
And they shall conquer all.

I can pretend to understand me but that would be a bigger lie then anything else that has escape my lips in this lifetime.

I could continue to open these scars and bleed until the self rightousness is fufilled but God, I am so tired of it all.

As quick as I am to abandon truth, love, hope and reality in the name of compromise and chilidish dream chasing of phantoms long dead, truth is more evident in the midsts of confusion and even dispair.

The pain is a cold shock.

Diving deep into the bitter chill just to realize the truth I knew to begin with, that what I'm looking for has been found.

It is another morning for what it is all worth.

Sometimes I hate myself beyond any absolutely conceivably describable rage, right now would indeed be one of those times.

Taste is indeed the enemy of art.

I'm feeling like a bit insomniatic with just a touch of megalomatic.

Deceleration

Shades of Seasons will be published.

It has to be published.

I will publish it myself and sell it if I have to.

I'm hanging on a thin thread and gasping for air while trying to not loose the last visages of sanity that is remaining.

Every last prattled word will have meaning that you never it could have.

There will be no end to this and every turn you perceive as a disappointed failure will be yet another victory I will turn around to destroy you with.

There is no end in sight because every line is sightless, every thought pattern is interconnected to the overwhelming presence of absolute truth and you will not, I repeat, will not and never bring me down and destroy that which was preordained.

I may simply be the clay vessel that will be broken and sprinkled out across this world but the word will live on, the message will live on despite your interference since the garden.

Do what you will with your forked tongue and bite deep on my veins and spread thy venom as you will. I welcome you closer so that I might shove the dagger of absolution of all sin deeper into your spine.

His will be done and may you suffer in your eternal night of despondent regret.

Half Eaten Chocolate BeLoved Mixed With Bitter Sweet Love Stationed Right Next to Visceral Visual Pornography

The notes and chords strike down right now, soaring melodies fluent in every language but the one I can use right now.

Words simply defy gravity as I beg to steal some sense of mind, of peace about everything.

You know that idea that everything will be okay.

That despite growing trepidation everything will be okay.

It seems like religion is good for one thing and that one thing is that if you embrace it you are readying yourself for impact. You are trying to see reality head on and then let yourself just crash full on unto the ground.

Shattering like a bottle of aged wine, letting the purplish aged flavor splash across the sand, making awkward lines from the shards of glass as the ground drinks up every last sin.

It is this funny sense of vertigo, loosing sense of who you are and just why the hell you are even there in the first place; letting your hair down and kicking your shoes off just long enough to realize you are out of mind, out of place and the fact you were in the wrong neighborhood to begin with.

It's a trip, trip in your mind and through it.
Realizing the water is shallower that it looks
that looks are everything and you are what I mistook
when I took a look to look outside
and try and find beauty.
Instead I found a shallow pond
and not my ocean.
My soul used to ache for you
and now it is simply repulsed.
I would make outlines of my sins in blood
just to see you smile.
Now I want it back.
My time, my smiles, my heart and my blood.
Every wasted breath, every broken promise
and every half truth that gave birth to a lie.

I'm not asking for much,
really,
just a little bit of everything
and not much else.
Just a bit of sanctity
in a world of indulgence.
A little bit of purity
when every thought
is burning lust through that last.
A little bit of this
and a little bit of that
all that is good
and a little bit worst.
Just a tiny bit of pain.
Little bit burning
and a whole lot worse.

I can't give you anything more than this half formed lies that I pretend to believe. Your pictures are beauty that makes me cry, your skin is perfect just like the lies you wear on your shoulders like that lace you hold onto so dear.

I want to say I understand life but the more I see, the more I feel, the more I experince it all leaves me more unraveled than the last. It's like that pale lace dress, just starting to unravel; unlacing the lace really in a sad sort of way.

Some sort of way that makes me as nauseated as only real life can.

Humans cannot bear too much reality, much like T.S. Elliot said and I myself have endured more of its bitter sting than I can scarcely comprehend.

I feel the building tension in my throat as I brace to scream.

I've grown so sick of this world and this retched revolving vile procession. I feel the bible build and I want to vomit out all this pain, this growing resentment I feel. The shame of me being jealous of this trash you love to call your God, this jade statue that can't even hear your useless pining.

Hearing every useless scream that is never said as it rings in my ears, this useless bitter and trite conversation I have with myself every single night.

Why do i run circles in these squares?

Isn't it about I anyway?

As the music continues to hum with static hisses and popping screams across my electrical synapses causing my soul to relate in ways I don't even understand, maybe even while I still have your attention at this very moment I can remmeber just how slutty my own spiritual walk is while I am growing so fond of pointing fingers and throwing jagged stones.

I love seeing the blood of the guilty spilled so I think mine would be a good addition, right?

I mean, every time I see a good idea I love to be enamored with it, fawn over it and try to supplant the desires you placed in my heart at the beginning of this long night of dark pain.

I try in vain, I try so damn hard to forget you. I lay naked on this mixture of gravel and pavement and I just pull myself forward and let the jagged edges just rip into every last part of my body, letting blood just spill over onto the ground and fill in the cracks making such a pretty pretty petty pattern on the ground for you to see.

My religion, my spiritual endeavors of selfish self indulgent self assured fiction that I love to paint all over myself.



The hours bleed by into moments separated by segments of serrated edges.
Exasperatingly enough time stand stills every time I stare at the clock, not even the second hand is nice enough to click aaway for me.

But the moment I slow down long enough to realize things are not about me the time rips through me in ways I can't even pretend to understand and you know, oh God you know the pain it rips forward out of the soul and paints all over the walls and the floor and the ceiling. All of this bitter pain of ideas lost, lusted over and bought again and again for a petty little price you couldn't have sold me on if you tried, just because I wanted it for free.

Yeah, On and On About Nothing Particular

Curiously enough, looking back over the past couple of years with my writing habits I think I'm approaching the end of what I like to think of as my "post nanowrimo burn out" but it's not just being burned out with writing...it's with life and
living here.

I started this blog a couple of months after returning home from college and I didn't necessarily mean for it to chronicle my flirtations with insanity but in ways it has...it's like reading the journal of some sort of mad man...or really just a confused kid dealing with depression.

That's all I feel like.

This kid.

This kid with dirt on his face and untie shoelaces, lost and looking for his mother. Or maybe just his father.

I don't know.

I really don't know very well.

It may be me coming off of the pain medication from yesterday or just the nightly meds for my stomach but I just feel so...outside of myself. Beside myself and beyond myself.

It's this weird feeling I get. These weird convulsed thoughts that just seem to pulsate as they rattle through my often hazy labyrinth of a mind.
Maybe I'll just get used to the meds or maybe I'll change with them.

Or something.

I'm not making much sense in my heard much less out on here.

Current headlines?

I'm updating my viral protection for my pc and laptop.

Yes.

Exciting I know.

Almost as exciting as the presidential election was, except this will actually effect me if I get a virus on my pc and laptop.

I'm also having more trouble than usual as far as spelling is concerned. Boy am I grateful for the spell check function on Mozilla but this is just sad. I couldn't even spell concerned correctly just a minute ago.

There it goes again.

Maybe the medicine is just making me slower, just making me feel higher and less human. It sure does make all of life have this impossible dream like surrealism where I am not even sure if I am awake or dreaming.

More than boredom interlaced with tedium and insanity it is just this mediocre false sense of security that I do not even pretend to understand.

I don't feel alive or real, it is almost like life has been reduced to this two dimensional card board paste black and white clock in and clock out being jerked around by the neck surrealistic reality television show lie.

I need air.

I need to breath.

I've forgotten the taste of sweet oxygen while being trapped in this shell, this lie I fell in love with and openly embraced so I wouldn't have to bother thinking of what being free really meant.

If this really is the first day of the rest of my life then I don't even know if it is really worth living.

Is it really worth enduring this mad and senseless scramble for pleasure when the only reward is a cheap high followed by having the world crash down on my shoulders?

I've got nothing to offer this moment, nothing to offer but mere criticism about the tedium and pain.

Seeing people pass like puppets in front of a spotlight, chanting terribly worded mantras about pop culture and cash for less.

I do not want to face the world, I never meant to throw myself out into things like I have, all I want to do is try and crawl back into bed and pray for a quick death, you know cheap freedom from my mind and physical ailments that serve to only remind me how cheap life is.

Introspective looks only serve to remind me I'm a shadow of an image that looks in a mirror terrified of being and more important, please remmeber this, terrified of even feeling a thing.

Feeling creating being, if not, it just at least points out that you do indeed exsist and have a great responsibility tasked upon you. That responsibility of life, living life with all of its shame and beauty.

It is looking to find purpose in a vast article of rambling nothingness, I'm rather sure it is there and I believe rather strongly in purpose...but God it hates, God does it hurt so much to be born and then be reborn in this pain. Being a living shadow seeking redemption and hoping for the remarkable to save me just before my final pained breath of air.

*sigh*

NEW U2 SINGLE!!

Get on Your Boots (Sexy Boots)

Health Update 3.0

I really hate writing notes like these because of how annoying it is to realize my finite limitations and the fact I need other people.

To make what would be an other wise unbearably long story short, I'll assume anyone reading knows what has been going on, and as most of you that keep up with my writings know I have been having health problems related to my stomach for the past year or so.

Last week I went to see the gastrointestinal doctor at Shelby and later that week I went to UAB and got a second opinion from another specialist. A lot of blood was drawn and the decision for me to have surgery again was made. Tuesday (the 20th) they are going to be repeating the ERCP procedure again and will be attempting to take a closer look at my pancreas in order to see if there has been further missed gallstones or some other problem with the organ.

The greatest risk involved in this procedure is that the pancreas is a very sensitive organ and them being so close (much less attempting to go inside) could cause a multitude of various health problems. The odds are something like 5% that something could go really wrong...but as anyone with access to my GPA scores can tell you, math has never been my strong point and it has been a cause for me to worry a bit right now.

Depending how this procedure goes, as well as the multitude of blood tests I have had, there is a strong chance that I'll have a second surgery where they will open me back up where I had my gall bladder surgery and essentially do exploratory surgery to attempt to find what the cause for all my pain and nausea may be.

So hopefully things will work out for the best regardless. Sure I am worried and stressed a bit but that's life. I'm just bringing all of this out in a note because:

1.If one of you were in pain or sick and in such circumstances I would want to know.

and

2.If I didn't update all of you I know some of you would hunt me down and bludgeon me with a stick for not letting you know what is going on. I'm sure the irony of beating a sick person would not be lost on any of us but because of my high allergic reaction to pain I would rather stick to the less complicated path and just offend as few people as possible.

So any prayers, warm thoughts, kind notes, free food, books and large piles of gold are not only welcomed but are strongly encouraged. I may not be a tax deductible charity but do know that your time and food will be well spent.

-Matt

P.S. As soon as I am in some state of mind to post and let everyone know what has happened I will. Thanks for caring and being such wonderful people. =)

It may be true that this moment does encompass all moments, all of time...but if so...it just serves to remind me how empty and pain filled it all is.

I have trouble with formulating words that make sense...words to make sense of the pain I feel and that I am in. Questions are asked and answers to define and give meaning to me is demanded...I just shrug and smile sadly because as far as I can tell none exist and none ever will.

Part of me wants to scream and fight against the dark...but so, so very much of me just longs to be overcome by the darkness. Swallowed whole and alive, just so I can fade away and be left alone. Left to just die and become nothing. I'm so tired, so overwhelmed with sorrow and not just by my pain but by all of the pain around me and in every single person who has the misfortune to enter this life.

I can at least pray the pain is brought to a sudden and swift end at some point.

Maybe.

Showbread lyrics

I’m going to sleep
The day is long, the night never ends
I’m going to sleep
There are birds and insects calling to me
Hidden in the ribs of the dark
I’m going to find a home
Some place I can rest
And wrap a cold rag around the meat inside my chest

Come and find me my love
If its not too late, you’ll know where to look
I leave no tracks, no scent and no trace
If its not too late, you’ll know where to look

Please forget the things I said and I wrote
Forget them and throw them away
Forget the things that I wrecked and I broke
Forget me and throw me away

The dark to me is a comfort
It offers blindness to me
There are so many horrible things in the light
They hurt for me to see.

If you find me, carry me home
Don’t wake me or whisper my name
Lock me in the warmth of your arms
And walk me away from my shame
-Showbread, "The Death (Nervosa)"

Wordless

And yet it burns.
Unsuasionably.
Undefineably.
Meaninglessly.
Purposelessly.
It all just floats here.
In burning drab colors
that simply do no justice to the pain.
Oh Jesus, why?

In Dreams Only Dreamed

Jesus Christ
just this let this break,
let this heart shatter,
let the pain be real
and this this break.

Make me new
like only you can.
Take this blood
and renew.

Like only you can,
like only you can.

No waxing metaphor
can compare
or illustrate
this love.

So please let me break,
please break this heart
so full of shame,
just let me shatter
so we can be one.
End this charade
and unite
this endless divide
so we can be one.

And simply let me break
so we can be together,
oh my love
only in ways imagined
let us be one,
endless in love
and
endless in hope,
forgotten dreams realized
in ways only You know,
let your hope burn
and renew.

But first,
please let me break.
Let this break and end.
Bring about the revolt,
bring about my end.
Just this end
and let it break.
End this hollow words
at your command
and beckon me forward
in shades of life
absent of gray.

Oh please let me break,
let me be new.
Let me fly to you.
Just make me break
and be yours
and you be mine
in ways we only dreamed.
So let this break
so we may be one.

Waltzing Out of Time

There is no release
and relief
from this famine of the mind.

There is no release
and relief
from this prison of your time.

Like some scorched earth
my mouth is dry,
cracked, crusted
and bleeding dry.
Feeling my crevices with
long sought after fluid
but never what I had in mind.

Just this coughing dry wheeze
of dust covered lungs,
chocking on self centered ego
and many lost mistakes.
It's never you
oh dear me
it's simply me.

I couldn't let you take the fall
and now,
now it is me you hate.
It is me you point the finger at,
whilest you strut like some
forgotten tart,
outside of time and her mind.
Not realizing her cracked beauty
and faded lips.
No longer with red
but a faded shade of gray.

Do you remmeber my first mistake?
Wanting your hand near mine.
The first on the list of many,
the last mistake my heart can take
and the last you will ever see of me.
I left your mind the second
I ceased to be your simple
little toy,
simply said
I was nothing to be and nothing to do.
Nothing to see and feel
but still
I can thank self deluded egomania
for this last dance.

The sad thing is you can't read this
because you never knew what you did.
The only crime committed was my heart
for attaching your soul to mine.
The only crime you did was breath
and live near this part of town.
The mistake was mine to live
and be
and breath
and exist in.
Every step forward is another mile back,
every single breath is another break,
every single being is this
and that
and those
and wishes unfulfilled.

If they didn't think me crazy
they sure do now.

This last dance
sure drove me out of my mind,
no matter the day or date
Monday or Tuesday
it was another one of those days,
you know the sort.
I wouldn't mind a little indulgence
or another burst of hope
ringing through my chest
wrenching my heart oh so tight.
Just another slow dance,
another serenade of the soul,
another movement in time
with breath in sync.
I can't lie to save my breath
except to me about you.
The only fool is in the mirror
for believing me about you,
not that you said anything about me
to you
or in exception to us.
Not much to see here really
just another self delude
dance out of time,
out of space
and most certainly,
as seemingly always,
out of mind.

Plastic Pictures Stay

I hate your pictures.
They bring back too many memories.
But I see them everywhere.
On the walls
on buses
on the sides of buildings
plastered about
in such a way
that a self centered
egocentric
attention whore
like yourself
would enjoy.

It's like this burning thorn
just placed in my mind
something you would enjoy
with your self satisfied ego.
Knowing that years later you,
yeah you,
can cause me so much pain.

I didn't ask for this
when I said I loved you
I just asked for truth.
I never asked for this
when I asked for your hand
just for truth.

But truth it seems
comes at too high a price,
fictitious as you may be
you are all I could ever see
and too high a price
to simply let me be.

Plastic Image Bands

There is no use
for the thoughts
your curves
and
smile
bring to mind.

There is no use
for the burning sins
my mind grasps for
after the grave.

Rain drops are falling
and fallen
and fall
just in your way.
Blocking the sight,
convoluted in fright
and block out the day.

Broad stretches of gray
and insightful
lies tonight.
Meaning what they say
and never saying what they mean
as they stack and curve
and bend in plastic tubes
and metal humming sights.

Mechanical beings
and frightful sights
and trusting lies
all saying what they mean
and never say they say.

All convoluted in sight,
convulsing in drunken rage
at the sight of self
and fright at the images
reflected by the self of self
in the self.

Streaming Thoughts And A Little Misplaced Hate

I can't tell what I'm feeling today,
I can't tell what's right.
I don't know what I'm feeling today
and I don't know if it's right.

Half the time I love you
and half the time I hate,
half the time I like you
and half the time it's hate.
It's every other moment of life you see
that makes it so hard.
Because half the time I'm loving you
and half the time it's hate.

I hear that life is going okay
or maybe it's just great.
I keep hearing that life is okay
and I wonder what is wrong with a little hate.
When you shape things in life
after yourself
you get a little half baked
You get full of self fulfilled intent.
But wasn't that the reason?

It's almost as if your beauty brings me tears
as much as it brought me agitated hate,
just over the left ice on the floor.
Not to mention all of the fear
that was brought by trying to trust
something so sublime
as pure unadulterated hate.

It's not that my passion is fading,
it's not like the night is late,
it's not like my passion is fading
because it's all you I hate.

And the clock spins another time
as we dance this last number
all across this space
not able to stop for a dime
or for you that matter.

Just because you get tired of the ride
doesn't mean it can stop at your leisure.
Just because you get tired of the company
doesn't mean it's easy to get off the ship.
The journey has just started doll
so despite the screams
over the explosive din,
I do hope it's a pleasant one.

Because,
as I hope you do know,
half the time I love you
and half the time I hate,
half the time I like you
and half the time I hate.
It's every other moment of life you see
that makes it so hard.
Half the time I'm loving you
and half the time it's hate.

Half of the time it's hate,
maybe sometimes it's lust
and other times fear
or maybe just maxim feelings of must
intermingled with beer.
Confixed angels
with broken wings,
trusted angles
with broken rules
trusted lies with fixed rulers.
It all runs on and on,
broken syntax intermingled with this
and that
and misplaced irony for two.

Darkened Nights With Lights

It is much easier to write to say I hate you
than it is to speak of love.
It is easier to burn these bridges
and laugh at your pain
than it is to listen.

I would rather waste this breath on ego
than take a stab to my pride.
There is more satisfaction
in bleeding from my self inflicted wounds
of self preservation
than there is in humility.
More self satisfied ego in sadism
than bothering to offer you my hand.

I would rather see you wither in pain,
see you loose sense of life,
see you burn in this Hell
the endless limbo of your mind,
than to bother to forgive and love you
like I do the narcissistic beast
that dwells in this guise of a creature,
this lamb with horns
that love the sight of drawn blood.

I miss things the way they were.
Before I gave in
and just used the "I" word so much.
Almost like when I had some sort of integrity.
Before things became so damnable
in the mindless repetition.
Mantras of self inflicted gun shot wounds
that hope to one day grow into the holy
disguise of guile and cunning,
the marks of clergy and the holy.

Little giggles of growing madness.
Vision of blood and terror
at just the corner of your eyes.
The mounting fear of plagues, diseases
and nuclear winter.
Delights of the serpent's eyes.
The eye candy apple of his reptilian eyes.
The blessed seduction,
burning at the center,
that gives us a leg out
at any possible moment
that we want to cave in
and bow out
to curve in
and simply indulge in the appetite.
After all,
didn't he say to eat of any tree?
Indulge in any and every fruit?
Eating and sucking apart ever greedy bite?
Didn't he say indulge every impulse?
To grapple with nothing
but with how to forge the quickest path,
from here unto thee?

Didn't you hear the child's cry of pain in the night?
The lonely place,
the home of animals
with the stench of decay?
Were there not cries of loneliness and despair
that we never recognized?
Were there not rapid responses of angels at the sight?
Would you know the honest truth of regret looking,
seeking to break past this false barrier you think is real?
Whatever happened to your thoughts
and regards of truth?

Madness posing as truth,
truth seeking to be found as is
in the midst of contradiction
and mad paradoxes that will never be heard.
But the greatest hope
is that there is preservation of the soul
and the blessed hope of home,
of love
and that you will see,
you will see soon.
See beyond the shades,
be broken so you may grow
and grow that you might live
and live with such abundance
that the additives of plastic hate
will melt
and wither
and nothing will remain except the truth.
The tears will be wiped away
and nothing you ever sought will be needed.
Every last breath of pain will find solace
in the absolute perfected beauty
that comes from eternity mixed with love.
And love that conquers every
last allurement of the hate
of the heart that bled for pain
and sought to bleed on life.
All will be new.
All renewed in life,
in light
and in love.
As it will be,
shall be
and can only be in the shades of light
that burn from here until the last
shreds of eternity.

Traversing Your Face

I can't believe it was you,
yeah you I tried to hate.
When after all it was me to blame.
I screamed foul
and adultery
without taking the time to realize where I stood.
My cheerful smirk as the bullet flew
and the corpses piled up
and the stench rose to heaven and beyond.
Maybe I just forgot what it means to be human
or perhaps the simple
and straight forward answer is that
it is all just clever lines.
With a bit of make up and smoke for effect
but overall the overall is a plastic fix.
This little junked habits eating up the time
to help cope with the overwhelming
sense of irony of despair.
It is almost funny to admit my own hypocrisy
because
after all,
if I don't laugh who will?
There may be tears
but after all they are but an awkward byproduct of truth
that no one will worry about.
For now at least.
People only like to see you fall
and can't stand to see the fallen repent.
Makes for poor gossip
and only help when the false sincerity
just faces adorned with their naked smiles.