I don't dream. I just sleep into nothingness -- of consciousness rebuked. Today is a day that I wish I didn't need to be awake, but I am too aware of everything. I'm trying to fix this problem by infusing myself with nonfeeling liquor, just because I'm wishing to enter the blackness. To no avail, I am still awake.1
Yesterday, I had a conversation with Lisa.2
"You are nothing," She said, "If it wasn't for the fact I've seen you bleed, I wouldn't know you differently from a robot. Actually, I take that back. You are a machine with what looks to be human eyes. An absolute waste of breath."3
And I stared ahead and said nothing. Motionless. Expressionless.4
I don't understand what she wanted me to reply. I want to believe that I am sentient. That, somehow, I am something. Alas, I believe she is right. I am soulless and bent on destruction.5
Yet, inexplicably, I believe I am an artist. That my heart burns because I want to achieve touch. That somehow I am capable of the most grandiose displays of connection. With each word, I hope beyond hope that I can at least explain myself -- that I am able to shout into the nether of communication.6
But, with each word I type into the unknown, I get the same response. "You are a cold, cold son of a bitch to the core. I would be surprised if your body came with tear ducts. You display no feeling, and if anything, I believe you to be a monster."7
I shiver into the winter. The wind confronts my skin with angry tauntings. And, no matter how much insulation I wear, I am still cold. Ah, winter, how you know me too well. This Canadian weather is too much for me.8
Enter the punishment. I have a headache like you wouldn't believe. I guess it is a liquor headache. I don't feel sick to my stomach. I haven't had enough to drink yet. But I want, ever so much, to forget myself -- to forget that I have even the slightest sensation moving through my fingertips. I ask, but I do not receive.9
Today, I went to McDonalds. I thought I would have a McDeal to complement my McThoughts. The cashier asked me, "How are you?" And I knew she didn't mean anything by it. She wanted to bypass the awkwardness because she needed that touch of politeness.10
And I responded, "I am feeling superficial, just like you." She didn't like that response, but I meant it. She and I, beacons of impersonality crawling into the forever fog.11
I sat there, eating my fish filet and supersized fries, reading the newspaper. And I felt such satisfaction, that this would be just another inch towards my death. Heart attack finality. You see, I am too much of a coward to out and out cut my wrists, so I build another slow descent into suicide. That perhaps this will be another action towards my impending broken health.12
Not that I have bad health. Oh, how I wish I did. I am skinnier than a rake, and I doubt even the hydrogenated fats can take me to the place I wish to go. Chalk it up to indecisiveness on my part. I don't even have the self discipline to get fat.13
But with that, too, I am a coward. You see, secretly I do not want to get fat. I am still reasonably attractive that I can talk some god-forsaken woman into touching me. For, in the end, an orgasm is the only hope I have for humanity. The semen scouts savouring their sumptuous vaginal enterprise.14
I want to go beyond the ecstacy. I want my deadened frame to fly beyond the ever rising sensations. This isn't about sex. This isn't even about the mixing of bodily fluids. In reality, it's about wanting something -- anything that will make me feel like more than the sum of my parts. To reach beyond the grunting cataclysms. To actually be a something real.15
And at the culmination of everything, I hope, despite my suicidal tendencies, to fall in love. Ah, love. Makes the world go round. If only I can delve into the bonds of X and Y factors. To have my mouth so close to hers that our exhalations intermingle in the most simplest sense.16
Yet, she had to say what she had to say. That I am a machine. I do not disagree with her. I cannot disagree with her. The naked fact is that I really am a machine. A frame of vacuous desires and damnable longings. What could I really say in such a circumstance? All I wanted was to hold her, to say that I was sorry, to decry my inconvertible madness into binary signals. However, I was handicapped by the truth of her statement. I just don't know how to react to the shining light of human interaction. More than anything, I wanted to scream back at her and tell her, "How dare you make me into something I am not!"17
I could not. For, in the end, I am a man. I am a man of baselessness. And in my mind, I cannot go beyond the nakedness of experience.18
And now the alcohol takes hold. Faster, getting faster now, an now it's out of hand. The Molson destruction takes heed of my angry pleadings. "Please," I ask, "Take me away. Take me away from the damage. Take me away from the entropy. I no longer want to think of this."19
I'd like to think of myself as an artist. As someone who desires connection, only connection. Yet, there is no connection left.20
And you will recognize me by my cold, cold heart.21
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 26 of 26
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Wow this was really a great write, a very interesting read, it held me to the end. Great topic too loved it. I'm going to print this so I can read it again later, when I've got more time to digest it.
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I went diggin thru your collection for a title that jumped out at me...n im glad i found this one...speaks on so many levels. It an eerie mix of broken thoughts, fleeting emotions & spoken word...all flawlessly wrapped in poem...outstanding
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I must say I am extremely impressed with you and your work. This story, it was so real, and touching. To me this piece was coming to terms with the reality that you live in, but not accepting it. Your work astonishes me.
-Katy -
to me it read like a flat monotone of facing a reality that one didnt particularly want to join in with and feeling cold is cos one doesnt feel loove so thats understandable that the woman sayng that the person was a robot wouldnt affect them cos they just wouldnt care cos there wouldnt be a connection. theres hardly ever a connection. theres more of a connection in laughter than in sex i think cos more people can get involved or maybe not if its an orgy but that wouldnt be connecting in the way i think of it.
I really got into reading this and couldnt fault it. It has got to be one of the most interesting things i have read in a long time and its very satisfying even though perhaps it shouldnt be cos it should be sad but i don't find it so strangely enough.Sometimes i wish i could be a robot it sounds just great to me having no feelings as I have too many of them -
This impressed me; it was really well-written and passionate. I'm not going to leave an uber-long constructive critique but I will say that I saw no room for improvement. It was wonderful just the way it was. Incredibly sad, yes, but real, and honest, and I can appreciate that.
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Guilty
I like the way the character was portrayed (whether he is in fact you or completely fictional). I can definitely relate with they way that he (perhaps you) felt when Lisa called him a machine. Though he saw himself as an artist, one who feels deeply, she saw him as nothing more than a mindless hunk of metal. No ones has accussed me of being a machine, but I know what it's like when someone confronts me with a harsh truth that I don't want to admit to myself. I also liked the humor. Not only did it further show the way he thinks, but it only helped to lighten the mood before delving further into his "bad" traits. Really the only complaint I have is that it was a bit long. Well, that and I'm too lazy to re-read it. -
Fantasmically Orgasmic.
Alrighty. This was quite good. In fact, I'll dismiss the reference to vaginal heaven or whatever to critique this 'humanly..' It's 6am and I haven't been to sleep yet. Now, usually I wouldn't have read this for it's so long.. but I couldn't waste your click. Also, it held my attention. I really liked the ending.. If this story is true, I'd also like to add that from reading this and a few of your other works I believe I have read, I don't believe a damn word of this. This piece seemed so.. well, machine-like
, but between the lines I saw so much more than that.. Maybe I'm like Miss Cleo and read things that aren't true, but I don't really believe so. I also 'recon' you are an artist. You have goals that you have expressed through this piece, have you not? I believe you have! Anyone who has goals can't be a machine.. especially from what your goals consist of. I realize that this piece was written a bit biased by what the person said.. and that throughout the part explaining what you would have liked to do proves you're not a robot, though that you did nothing and stared emotionlessly into nothingness proved to her that you were. I also realize I may not be making much sense, but I can't describe that any better. -sigh- I'm just going to go, and be like any other commenter. 'Good job and keep it up' you damned machine.. !
-Kayla- -
RR, as I said I am away for a few days. What I will do is print this off and take it with me. That will probably mean the review will be 25 pages long (not that I'll be bored by Day 2 you understand!) What I will say is that I'm not used to critiquing prose. I'm quite confident with poetry but not sure about my abilities with prose. I'll have a go though! My initial thought on reading it is that there are too many "I"s. I know it is first person but I think you could do some slight revisions to weed a few out without changing the flow. Get back to you later in the week.
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well i recon you are an artist, and since art has everything to do with expression and emotions i wouldn't mind guessing that ou're not all that cold.
Also i like the way that you can write in loads of different styles. you're definately talented..... is writing your first love or not? i'm an art student and i find that an easier medium to express me through. wow i liked this piece a lot...again. -
I want to write a good, constructive critique, but since this is obviously a very serious, and personal, piece, I feel I have no right to criticize the sentiment behind it. However, I did notice that your choice of words in a few areas, in my mind, detracted from the reading. Here it goes.
"To have my mouth so close to hers that our exhalations intermingle in the most simplest sense." Take the 'most' out and it will read better.
The phrase "semen scouts" takes away from the story, because there is something about it that seems trite. Maybe find another way to say it.
"The naked fact is that I really am a machine." I'm not sure that the words 'naked fact' sit right with me. Perhaps it is becuase I am unfamilliar with the phrase. I think something like "harsh reality" (a more commonly used couple of words meant to convey the same thing) would feel more natural.
"an now it's out of hand." Simple typo. Make the 'an' an 'and' (unless I am wrong, the the placement of the word 'an' has, in that case, special meaning.)
Now, for the things I like:
The story is, overall, well written; I come to read your work with a certain expectation, and you never disappoint me. If I have it right, the piece conveys the feeling of coldness, of alienation and emptiness felt by so many people in a way which avoids being cliche or monotonous. Good job with that. It's difficult taking a subject addressed by so many people and fashioning something new out of it, but you did it.
The ending was perfect, and the story made an easy, organic transition from tired acceptance to somewhat defiant and passionate longing to numb indifference again. Truely chilling; other than the wording mentioned above, I found nothing wrong with the story, and I enjoyed reading it.
Of course, those are only my opinions, and you, as the artist, are the only one who can make artistic decisions concerning your work. Take them or leave them.
With all due respect, and best wishes,
Clayton
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"If you think something is real, then it is real. If you don't think so, then it will never be." --> Zhou Yuo's Train
I could only offer you this quote. I don't know how or what you will make of it... but I believe in the beauty of harsh truth, I believe in the beauty of spirit's frailty, and I believe in that you cold heart will be warm when a connection is made...
... and connections were made (judging by these replies).
Now, Seņor Rabbit, can you hear the blood flowing back to your heart?
Merry Christmas,
Van -
coldcoldcoldcoldcold. i loved it. It's snow in new york- stained black with soot and trampled beneath uncaring feet.
that's beauty.
i hope you smile again soon. No rush. If you rushed it would be a lie.
merry christmas -
Good expression, excellent word choice
I want to tell you there is something more to life though
You do have a purpose and are important, everyone is and let no one tell you otherwise.
I want to tell you there is so much more beyond the ways you try to console yourself, there is so much more to life than this
I really did feel for you reading this, I was shocked at your honesty about what you feel
If you want to talk, about anything, I am here
Edited on Dec 25 because ''. -
Major Contraversy
I can tell by your words that you are NOT an emotionless robot or you wouldn't have written this... interesting word choices I would have to say. I am dumbfounded yet I have so many words flooding my mind. For sure I can tell you that you are not worthless, because with your writing you can stun and influence many in allpoetry and other places. Don't let someone else control what you feel. Being numb to the world really doesn't do anyone any good. Alcohol and having a one-night stand won't get you anywhere... probably more hurt would be on the way. I guess I'm not going to try to be like Dr. Phil, but you do have a purpose, but having a cold heart won't lead you
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I like the beginning about dreams and the brutal honesty. I think you did a really good job on expressing how the world sees you and how you see the world.
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Really intresting write, I actually really enjoyed reading this. I've felt most of the emotions in this, and there is something here, but I can't put my finger on it. The word choice is excellent, that was one of the first things I noticed, but I just wish I knew what it was that was in this. There is something there, but I don't know what it is. I was thinking along the lines of Catcher in the Rye. I don't know, and right now, I just seem to be rambling. It is truely an amazing write, I'm going to bookmark it.
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i like your honesty
i feel like i'm reading your diary~i see a little of myself in you-for a long time i wanted to escape something but didnt know how and didnt really know i wanted out-but there is such thing as joy,..you know? not happiness and good mood stuff -but real joy
i like your sense of humor about the McDonalds incident and your reply to her-wether that's true or not, it's still in your thoughts-and funny at that
i was suicidal at one time~through couseling they told me that i really didnt want to die but i just wanted those around me to see how bad they were hurting me, and that i was hurting.
i never read writes that are books-but youre a great writer and i knew this would be good-glad i read this
ash
Edited on Dec 24, 7:58 p.m. because ''. -
i know this is good writing because it held my interest till the end.
is it a story or a diary of sorts? i don't know. either way the writing is still the same quality whether it be fiction or a diary of sorts.
your words invited me and let me feel the pain of this person even if briefly.
if this were an excerpt to a novel i would surely buy the novel
and merry christmas to you! -
I read this ans just kinda shivered. It is close enough to be scary really. From at least one comment I get the drift this is true. What a sorry feeling. I didn't enjoy thr story but that doesnt mean it isnt a great peice of work. The truth is it is great. Just close to home right not. Except for the McD's reference.
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this is a very interesting story. i liked your word usage, it's very... artistic! you have a true talent and dont let anybody tell you otherwise. thanks for commenting on my poem too. i worked hard on it and im pretty sure you worked hard on this too. best of luck to you. I hope you have a wonderful christmas and a joyful new year!
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Sad, good story
Hmmm intresting story. Wierd how ive felt almost all of the same emotions. Ah how alike you and me are. But I am heartless for the most part. I cant cry for death and I have cut myself. Both great feelings but thats me. I really am not sure if you were going for this but I can see that humans were created for the most part from some machine to deliver evil to this god-forsaken world. Ive tried almost all that you talked about but besides sex. For two reasons 1. to young. 2. what kind of person would like a hidous monster like me?. Ethier way good job I liked how I could relate. -
Heart-Breaking...
"You are a cold, cold son of a bitch to the core. I would be surprised if your body came with tear ducts. You display no feeling, and if anything, I believe you to be a monster."
Okay, now that is just fucking WRONG. And I swear to Christ had I been there and heard her actually say that, I'd have speared my fist into her innards and ripped out her fucking heart! What utter BULLSHIT is this?? I mean, seriously now, I think I could come up with TONS of things to call you, lol, but I'm 1000 percent sure that COLD or EMOTIONLESS is one of them. You, darling, are a Scorp...and as such, the more you DO not show on the outside, the more you ARE feeling INSIDE. It's just how fate and nature and the heavens fashioned you. In fact, of all the signs in the zodiac, there IS none more passionate and deeply feeling individual than someone like you. And yes, damnit, you are more than just an artist...you are skilled and exquisite in your expressions. One would have to fucking goddamn BLIND not to see it. In any case, I believe that there are times when candles will envy the glory of the sun, and I have not one DOUBT in my head that if someone really got to know you, really know, they'd see that I was right. So darling rabbit, do not think these thoughts, do not for one second shoulder others' grevious misconceptions, and just know that whoever next comes to love you, they are indeed, the luckiest person in the world...
Merry Christmas, love...here's that hot cup of tea for ya.
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This is a good story... And you sound like one of my friends that I know... He doesn't see to be human he always has a bad outlook on life... And he always stays to himself.. but it happens when someone get there heartbroken.. they turn into ice... I really did like this story.. It has a very strong opening it just hooked me.. There was a weak spot in the middle but it was strengten when I read some more... Thanks for sharing a excellent story
Jenn -
Very good write i can relate very well to this poem keep up the good work!
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Machinery is the best to do for now
beautyhate in steel.
But you are an artist, I can see that in your words.
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good
Interesting reading, its good,like the use of words,
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