Inspiring Thoughts From Way Back When

I was going through some of my old writing tonight. I do that once in a while for inspiration, because I’m pretty much the best writer out there. Tonight was different though. It was the first time I’ve read my old stuff since stumbling upon what I like to call My Renaissance, or my new perspective. Looking back with a fresh point of view I realized, I was angry back then, back in what I like to call The Dark Ages. I was sad too. Just check this out:


“The landscape of my heart is barren, drought stricken. It hasn't rained love for weeks. My heart is withering. Soon it will die. There was a time it was an oasis, overflowing with love. All in its vicinity flourished. But soon, the source of its prosperity dried up, or went elsewhere. Like a meandering river, the source of my love eroded away the banks of my heart and found a new course, leaving me to a fate of emotional desolation. Now all the happiness sustained by the oasis of my heart is diminishing. I am dead inside. My love has been spurned by that which made it glorious, and now wastes away, roots and all.”


That’s some heavy stuff eh? And check this one out:


“There are two me’s, and they’re becoming more and more distinct. One me has slowly been pushing the other me deeper inside. The other me, the original me, has been fighting for its identity, but it’s been a losing battle. Slowly it’s being weeded out.

The original me, the happy me, wants to come back. It loves living. It has fun. It will do anything. You want to hang out? It will. You don’t? That’s cool too. The original me is carefree. It gets up in the morning looking forward to the day. It goes to work. It laughs. It jokes. It makes penises and vaginas out of wood. It smiles. It makes others smile because it’s always happy. It looks forward to the future.

The other me. The lonely me. The angry me. The don’t bother me. It doesn’t want to have fun. It doesn’t want to hang out. Don’t call it. It hates you. It hates everything. It doesn’t want to get up. Why should it face another day? Why should it do anything? It goes to work. It hates work. It’s silent. It broods. Don’t talk to it. Let it go about its business in peace. It makes penises and vaginas out of wood. It frowns. It makes others frown. Why should they be happy? It just wants an end.

I’m not sure what to do about this alternate me. It’s a bad me. An evil entity. It needs to be exorcised. It needs to be put in its place. But it’s strong. Its grip is strong. It doesn’t want to go away. It wants to fester. It wants to consume me. It wants to be me. The only me. It wants to rule me with hate and self loathing. It’s a war within me betwixt good and evil. I side with good, but good is not strong. Good has weaknesses. Evil feeds on weakness. Good needs allies. Evil needs only itself. Alone, in its hermitage, it plots. It schemes. Good is content to enjoy life. It doesn’t plot. It has no schemes. It is outmatched. Outwitted. Nearly out of time. Good’s doom is impending. Evil’s victory, imminent.”


What a lunatic! I guess somehow Good did win, an important battle at least. Evil is the one withering now, under the Sun that shines inside me. I’m full of Love and Happiness, and all that sickening stuff again. Actually I’m making myself a little sick right now. It’s either all this positivity or the chicken alfredo casserole I just ate. It was a little much. I’ve decided to burn all the sad, depressing, angry, violent, hateful, spiteful stuff I wrote in a giant bonfire that can be seen for miles around. People will look out their windows to see the sky lit up, as if the Northern Lights were out in full force, or it was the first wave of some fiendish alien invasion. Children will run to their parents crying, “What is that Mommy? What is that Daddy? Are we going to die?” But their parents will pat them on the heads, shaking their own, and say, “Fear not little Suzy (or whatever), it’s only old man Huntley on the hill, burning paper and ink to celebrate his new lust for life. Then they’ll look at each other and smile while thinking, “I fucking hate you. Why can’t I be free of your torment? Free to frolic around bonfires naked but for a robe?” Then they will go to bed together, but separate.

Author’s note; I will of course only be burning copies, and keeping the originals, because as heart wrenching as all of this stuff is, it’s really bloody good.