Tuesday, March 23, 2004

Closer

First off, Trent Reznor is a fucking genius. I just hope that some of the poems/ lyrics I have written are as brilliant as some of his is. Then I'll have succeeded in my life. To myself anyway.

The real reason why Reznor is a genius isn't just his lyrics. It's what they say and how he says it. He is brutally honest. Listening to him sing is like listening to some personal laying off of demons--it is like being around someone when they are alone, easily penetrated and being themselves. There is something undeniably grabbing and hitting and interesting about hearing someone's most inner thoughts put down in the most simple ways, ways that everyone can understand and somehow agree on.

This is why Reznor is so amazing. Listening to him is like being raped. It is as if he is naked in front of you, it's like he's undressing himself and you. It's very penetrating. It's very sensual. At first as you listen to his voice or a song, you may not spread your legs wide open to let him be inside you, but by the end of one of his songs, you will. You will, unless you have a high wall built that doesn't let anything any--not even a slash of emotion. And I don't think anyone that's human is like this.

I mean, we when you listen to "Closer," can't you just not help but feel as if you're being instigated. As if you're being submissed and dominated. Can't you help but not feel sexy? With lyrics like, "You let me violate you/ You let me desecrate you/ You let me penetrate you/ You let me complicate you." And lyrics like, "I wanna fuck you like an animal/ I wanna feel you from the inside/ I wanna fuck you like an animal/ My whole existence is flawed/ You get me closer to god." I mean, just read that--and then add his voice in there, personal, and just him. It's a very personal experience. Reznor says it like it is. He says it in an easy way. He says it in a crude, visceral way that makes it all the more endearing to me and beautiful and sexy. How can you not get a feeling from this? This applies to everyone. Everyone gets horny sometimes. Everyone's focal point is release: release by somone else, by sex.

"You get me closer to God." I'd say when you love someone, they become your God. And that's a real God.

And that, my friends, is why Reznor is a fucking genius. He isn't afraid. He isn't afraid to say how he feels on a personal level. He isn't afraid to put it down in words and not lie. He isn't afraid to use whatever venue of langauge he wants to communicate his point across. He doesn't lie. He tells it like he feels, and sings it like he's inside of you, making you submit and feel what he feels. It's like being raped at first, but then you give in and realize it's fucking genius. That it's okay. That you like that feeling. That being personal to someone you don't even know is an amazing feeling. And strange, too.

Do you think I'm a fucking genius like Reznor? I don't think so. Sometimes I am. Sometimes I'm not. Who knows. In the end, Reznor is just a man, just like I'm a man, just like we're all human beings.

Reznor inspires me to keep writing down my true feelings no matter what the fuck someone else says. He inspires me to keep writing even if someone might say what I write isn't good. He inspires me to keep me and keep it alive through what I want to say as it comes to me. And that, more than anything, helps me.

And the great thing? Reznor doesn't even know me. He probably doesn't give a fuck about me either. But he's given me the means to keep at things, even though they seem dead sometimes. He's made me alive to do what I feel I'm meant to do: that is write. Write poetry, it appears; poetry appears to be what I am best at.

I have only edited one poem I've ever written. The others I did changes here and there as I read them after I wrote them, but pretty much what you read from a poem is what it is.

I don't aim for perfection. Perfection pisses me off. Perfection does nothing for me. How can you be perfect when you aren't? Why even exceed and try to adhere to this code? Why? There's no reason to. Just be who you are. Don't try to be more. Being more, you lose yourself in the process. You lose who you are and exchange it for teh mechanical, machine feeling of perfection.

I think imperfection is more beautiful than perfection any day. I'd rather be flawed than perfect. I'd rather feel pain, in moments, than not. I'd rather not be perfect in every way. In essence, perfection is impossible, because what someone might see as perfection, another might see as imperfect and ugly. Since there is free will to see what you want to as perfection, and there is free will to anything, nothing can be perfect. When people disagree on something, then that thing can never be perfect. It can never be fully realized and fully cemented forever. And, that is the way with many things.

If you want perfection you're asking for something like a machine. Something monochrome and without life: something that goes about its life just doing things in some routine, horridly boring manner. And I cannot stand that. I cannot stand that and I will never exceed to try to be that. It isn't even exeeding, either. Perfection is just something that will never happen. Perfection itself could be seen as an imperfection once it's reached because someone else, as I said, may have a different image of it.

I say fuck numbers. I say fuck education. I say just live. Do what you like. If you like education, do that. If you like numbers, do that. But I don't like any of those things. They are useless to me. Logic is useless to me. I like to see emotions better. I like to feel. I don't like to be anumber. I don't like to be labeled as a provincial student who's going to go through High School then College then work for about forty or fifty years. I don't see myself as that.

What I see myself as is what I've always been. A human being that's prone to mistakes and who feels he could teach someone else something if that's what happens. I feel I could love someone. I may be too young for it, and it may never happen, but it keeps me going at this point in time. It may be a stupid thing to think, but in the animal insticts of my mind, this is what one seeks. This is what I seek. Love is desperation. It is something you need because you have nothing else. You have nothing else and you want something that can be nothing and something all at once. And that is love.

There is no true love. How could there be? I could love anything if I got to know it intimately enough and things just worked and what we had worked. Everything dies, at least at a human perception, and so love dies too. But survival is the core of animal behavior. Burn an animal and it will writhe in pain and try to escape and live on pointlessly. Let an animal out in a field and let it go on its way, and it will learn to eat nuts and berries, maybe, or maybe it will learn to kill and eat meat of other animals, maybe its own species.

Survival, that is what it's about. Writing keeps me alive. Music keeps me alive. Otherwise I am just a maggot too nauseous of its eating, a maggot that is fed feces each day in my mouth from religion, education, anything and everything that tells me how to be without letting me choose.

Take off the chains; be free. Live life to its fullest. Don't be so serious. Do what you like to do. Do what you want to do. Do it no matter what I think or what someone else thinks. Love what you want. Just realize that everyone is right. Everyone is right to do what they do, that is, if they question it and find their own answer. You can help give them that answer, but you cannot force it on them. You cannot tell them how to live their lives.

Most people will adapt to change. Others will become a completely different person. Others will do a mixture of both. Whatever the case, change is a thing that happens. Especially in the teens, as you finally come out of your maggot stage and become a fly, as you grow those wings that are to carry you around for the rest of your lives. As you swarm around the dung piles, the feces, to find the most sweetest, divinest one you can use and get along with. Or perhaps you find another fly, and you two together fester each other and make your wings larger, and you feed off of one another's emotions like a cannibal eating human flesh. Whatever the case, you are changed, you grow your wings, you are a plant and you take out your roots and you wither away to the sky and grasp it, weary, until you finally wear out the last ounce of energy. Until you fall back down to where you began and you realize it wasn't worth it in the end, and that you probably accomplished nothing.

But you do have something--you do have something, and that something is a nothing called survival. You can say you shot the shit with anything you ever saw, you took the crap of every storm and squall, you fought every fight. And you can say you survived it all. You can say you fucking survived it all.

Survival.

Survive, because we are all broken and we can all mend each other with band-aids. A band-aid that covers the bullet hole of the navel which was where you first began, the first wound opened in you and the one that fed you and made you and let you grow, let you develop a brain and let you develop lungs and let you eat the dead tissues needed to swelter and grow.

Get wounded again and again, the nails being hammered into you on a wooden cross that you wear. Keep healing them until you're too weak, and then let them kill you. Just like the Jews they'll be laughing at you, too, the young and stupid, and the stupid and old--the ones that never realize anything.

Don't be like the Jews taken off to concentration camps to be gassed. Don't be like that. Fight in your own ways. Don't let life be a place where you just work, endlessly, to get money, and save up money, so you can retire. Find something on the side--something that keeps the Gestapo away, that keeps the reek of death away.

But remember the murderer's always smiling, wide smile with large teeth. Say hello to death as you're walking with your cross on you, and when he's not looking set it down and do what you're meant to do. What you want to do.

What do I want to do? I want to fuck you like an animal. I want to be a maggot, sucking most sweet divine. I want to snuff out the cigar smoking sky's cigarette smoldering on his open lips. I want to be a roach going into the nuclear shelter till I die, and I'll miss it. I won't see the death coming because I'll have a hard exoskeleton that I was able to mend because of you.

Survive. Survive for me, and survive for you, and survive for them, so you can tell them that you know their fucking game. You know their fucking game.

"Your enemy is your friend." Treat the bastards that do things like this as if they're friends. They are your friends. Murderer friends. But love them anyone. And let the true love be where your heart is. In the velvet red folds full of pumping blood being oxygenated.

A kiss is a terrible thing to waste. But a heart, that is an even worse thing to waste. Use your heart like a fucking bleeding caress. Show them your fucking heart abd show them they won't rip it from them.

Tell them from your cold dead hands.

I'll tell them from my cold dead hands, too.

Aside: I was called for a job today. Video Action. The lady, Fay, says she'll call me back.

That is good. She said I will get an interview. Will I get the job? I don't really care but I'll act like I care and I'll tell you with a fake smile that yes, I will, I fucking will.

Math test was easy today. I know I did well. When I was doing it was all pumped up. My heart was bleeding all over and I was beating it against their walls. The mad buggers' ball. I wanted to impress my teacher. I hope I did and I hope I got at least a C which will bring my grade up to a D.
Comments (1)