The Diary Kinetic

About the Author.

As I have said before, I’m highly adept at the art of mimicry. I steal, I try on different hats, and I ape artists that I adore. And I’m unapologetic about it. One minute I decided that I want to be Hunter, the next I want to be Oscar, and in the next I’m Jack, but that doesn’t mean that the whole while I’m not me, that doesn’t mean that I don’t embrace the sound of my own voice, for I do, I wouldn’t be artistically inclined if I weren’t a raving egomaniacal wolf in sheep’s clothing and on the flipside a terribly depressed and self-loathing fraud, that’s the beauty of expression, and what is art if not expression, even if it’s clumsy and hapless.
There are going to be times when I lash out. I feel the need to get this across because there are times when I feel as though I’m misrepresenting myself. For all my gentle qualities there is an inherent jaggedness beneath the surface, I can be a cold and cruel person. So if I were not to channel from those colors of my being than I would feel like a liar. The study of Buddhism has taught me that there is no balance without balance. So, while I do feel the need to create beautiful things, I also reserve the right to be destructive and divisive, I have a right to conflict of both a tangible nature and within.
So, while I do practice a fair degree of censorship in the things that I share, that will not always be the case. But then again that is the true struggle for anyone, the struggle between truth and the message and what we leave in the grey area through either our own unconscious thought or conscious thought process or the crosstalk between the two.  For whatever truth is whether the intangible of which we never really reach or simply the by-product of consciousness we can share in that truth, like many ideologies will always be subjective to perception. So, if I offend you in any way in the future please note that I have no fucking idea what I’m talking about half the time but if I do offend you, know that I both meant to and did not. Double think double talk and all of that fun stuff.

Unconscious Thought.

I give terrible advice. For starters I’m not a role model and never intend to be. I shouldn’t be anyone’s example of what it means to be a functional part of society. A lot of what I do doesn’t constitute normal behavior, whatever that is. But when I see others reaching out I understand the need behind it on both ends. People just want to be heard, felt, and touched in even the faintest way, even if only for a moment that is ever fleeting. I just see the danger in it. There are reasons why I show restraint when it comes to reaching out to others. I’m potentially dangerous. I worry that I could say the wrong thing, which I do, often, and might talk someone into offing themself or if by tinkering around in their brains I’d somehow manage to cross a wire and fuck them up completely, like acid, change the way they think, make them better by making them worse. If that sounds like bullshit, and it is, it doesn’t’ change anything. That’s the way I used to operate and get by. All sleight of hand, clever parlor tricks and pop psychological mumbo jumbo, it never ceased to amaze me how the machinery of the mind truly worked and how it could be so easily swayed. If you watch anything at all for a long enough period patterns will start to emerge. Take me for example, everything is all rainbows and sunshine for short periods of time and then the depression sinks in or one of the other cards topples and the whole thing comes tumbling down, you can see it, just skim through enough of the pages and it’s all right there, everything that’s missing is all right there too, it’s just between the lines. Sometimes I happen to be a sledgehammer where a scalpel is needed. I don’t always mean for it to go down like that but it does happen. Mostly I give the standard answer to a particular problem but mostly I’m just parroting what people say to certain given situations because if I were to voice how I really felt about it all it could be easily misconstrued or misinterpreted and I’d somehow end up with proverbial blood on my hand when all I was really doing was streaming my consciousness in a moment and in a moment I can believe anything and not give a damn in the next and that doesn’t mean you should take anything I say at face value because chances are I’m not listening, and I don’t need that, it’s just bad mojo. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I don’t understand, even when I understand completely, at least I comprehend the math behind it all but that doesn’t mean that I know you or what you’re feeling at any given time, or any of the potentially thousands of variables that constitute your life and situation to accurately extrapolate a plausible solution to what ails you. It’s all in your head anyway, unless of course it isn’t. I couldn’t be a psychologist I’m too flighty for that and I’m a fence sitter, while you’re on the couch and dying in your own mind I’d only be nodding my head while listening to Joy Division in my thoughts until you stop talking and then I’d only take what you said last and phrase it back at you in the form of a question over and over and over until you want to cause me or yourself or both of us bodily harm. Sure I’m sure you’re a swell person but that doesn’t mean that I want to know you. Besides I’ve got problems of my own to carry, I have trust issues, I have intimacy issues, I have anger problems, I have manic depression, I have a severe anxiety problem, I’m borderline bi-polar, I’m a possible sociopath, I have problems expressing myself, I have a history of mental illness in my family, I’m suicidal, I’m prone to self-destructive behavior, I compartmentalize my life, I don’t give a fuck about boundaries that aren’t my own, I always wipe front to back and I smoke too god damned much, so I can’t save you or help you carry your own rugged cross so I don’t bother but that doesn’t make me a bad person but an honest one. It’s not that I’m cold it’s just that I’m also highly adept at self-preservation and if one of us doesn’t take the wheel then we’re going to crash and I’ve been on that trip before only I had a head full of morphine, Jack Daniel’s, and narcotics grade sleeping pills in my system so I was pliable and limber at that particular time but I did remember to wear my seat belt because I’m all about safety, well, my own, not yours but that doesn’t mean that I can’t be your friend, just not a good one because I’m selfish and that’s human nature, to be selfish. We’re all just selfish creatures killing time and everything else is only window dressing. Not that it matters, we’re all just bits of carbon that stumbled into an existence that is finite anyhow and it won’t be long before we’re all ash again and we become something else entirely that we’ll never understand because our vision is limited by the fact that we can’t escape the box that we created ourselves through our own shortcomings and inherent stupidity that causes us to choose style over substance every time.

About the Author.

I don’t talk much anymore. Sometimes when I read books aloud my voice grows hoarse over only a few chapters. There used to be a time when I wouldn’t shut up and now I seldom say anything at all. Somewhere along the way I stopped looking people in the eye when I speak. It probably has a lot to do with my time in my self-imposed isolation. For a few years I kept to my bedroom and didn’t interact with the outside world. Maybe this is the reason parts of mind are overdeveloped and others not so much. When I started to put my life back together I couldn’t help but notice that my social skills had atrophied and deteriorated to the point of being almost non-existent. Now there are moments when I can’t speak. I feel this tenseness about my chest. And at other times I simply can’t find the words, I try to form them but they feel like pennies in my mouth and my mind clouds over and then I simply mutter the wrong thing and not much else.

There was a time when I was better with words. Even in my most lean years with the drugs and the alcohol and the angry young man thickness in my blood I could use my words to get what I wanted when I wanted it, whether it was fabricating an intricate lie or drawing in someone close, my words never failed me. Maybe that is why I find it so fitting that I seldom speak anymore. The juxtaposition between then and now is kind of artful if not a little tragic.

There’s a roughness to the sound of my voice. If you were to hear it you might say it doesn’t fit my face. The texture of it has more to do with being tempered with straight whiskey and cigarettes but there is something else behind all that. My cadence is shaped and guided, so much so that I don’t sound anything like where I live. I learned at a very young age that perception is a powerful tool. From what we say and how we say it, it all matters, and when you don’t sound a thing like anyone else in what you say and how you say it, it leaves an impression. Never underestimate the power of words.

Letters of A Window Opens, A Door Closes.

My inward eye blind from the beginning,

The world I see best while spinning.

Such lovely blurs and shapes abound,

Muttering and making nary a sound.

I have taken too much of what I love,

Close my eyes and breathe the drugs.

Out of the darkness of my depression,

If only this sunlight would now lessen.

Waking, walking, between night and day,

If only I found something of use to say.

Why do I bother with all of this taking?

It is no longer euphoria in the making.

All I can feel is lightness of mind.

And the sadness I carry behind.

There are days when I am so lost.

And want to be free at any cost.

I hear death is the door that I seek.

But such things are left for the weak.

I would much prefer my pain and plight,

Then to find myself amid eternal night,

I am not ready for you and nor for your gift,

So off of the ground myself I will lift.

There will come a day when I will be yours,

But that day is not here so keep closed the door.