Leapdragon 2016 - Aron Hsiao Was Here

i’ll break it yet  §

Less than a twenty-four hour bounce before the ennui is coloring everything again. I’m sleeping (or not sleeping, as it were) alone; it’s like a neon sign, like a voice on a loudspeaker. It’s everywhere.

I can’t stop thinking. Chicago has a vice grip on my head. Or maybe that’s just reality.

Three things I know about reality: 1) I know absolutely nothing about it; whatever I think I know is either a lie someone else has told me or a lie I’m telling myself, 2) I’m probably gonna hurt again sooner or later, and 3) it’s really beautiful, even though it’s hell.

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
I see a line of cars and they’re all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a new born baby it just happens every day
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

I wanna see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black
Yeah!

beegirl (22k image)A Major Miscalculation

Sitting in a small room, November outside the window, they conjured with the consequences and decided that to know was as painful as not to know, that to have had a role to play was as painful as not to have had a role to play. He decided it was time to go.

I can’t say what’s in my head because everyone in the world reads this and I can’t control how everyone in the world will respond. I want them to think what I want them to think and feel what I want them to feel before I can be honest about anything. Or maybe I don’t want that at all, because it would be a miserable drag and really lonely (be careful what you want?) to control everyone like little chessmen, but as a result I have to just eat everything. It’s been pickled up there in my skull so long, I don’t know what I would say if I was to be honest anyway.

It feels like I’ve spent most of my time fighting life, like I’m rejecting existence itself, refusing to cooperate with inevitabilities and things-which-already-are. Somewhere underneath it all, I’m nobly vowing to somehow win someday, like the underground man, like Don Quixote tilting at windmills.

(Non-atheists may replace the Cervantes reference with the similar Milton reference.)

Every now and then I have a reprieve. It’s sweet. But always shortly thereafter, it’s over. I don’t want to read any more books. I don’t want to have any more facts. I don’t want to know any more things. I want to grow a beard and paint on the ex-commune and get shingles. (I want to idealize everything and rationalize everything away.)

Nausea.

There are birds outside. Maybe my new seagulls will be back already. It’s something to hope for. It’s something (dare I say it?) real. Real.

Gimme.