See, pondering the why of any human action is pointless, meaningless. The why is an answerless question, versions of the truths – evidently mistruths – are flung from various directions, from different perspectives, when in truth, it only lies in the consciousness of the beholder.
Nevertheless, you pathetic beings seem to be addicted to reasons beyond your comprehension, thenceforth I will oblige you and remove the veils of ignorance blinding you.
I simply did it to save you from your Gods, because I am the only being who could. I embraced the voices calling for lechery and unleashed the demons inside my head. I am a sinner in the name of God, no sin shall be greater and I will reign supreme in the devil’s domain.
Your pen slipped to convey that life is too short for us to avoid sinning or to differentiate between what is held as sin and what is considered a revered virtue. I was intensely immersed in the beautifully drawn moment that I forgot my reality, I forgot to take a peak at your soul and whisper that my short life is nearing its demise, that my soul is weakened and my mind is troubled. I do not want to want anymore, or rather, I want to stop the sins of my past from bonding with the demons in my head to halt my wanting. Can you see the evidence of the conflict and the confusion dominating my thought process in the former?
Moreover, you do not want me, you want my listening ear and my comforting logic, you want my belief in your beauty, that you’re not as complex and as misunderstood as you keep voicing countless times to countless other ‘Humans’. I understand that, I embrace that but it is a curse in disguise; wanting the want that never admitted not wanting.
All in all, I am sorry, I am sorry that my spoken words failed to convey the above, but I know you will understand, understand that I am not perfect, that I am not even average, understand that I am just an old, demented man, a sinner who is conscious of his sins with a subconscious that torments him yet scarcely prevents him.
Why is it that humans make the unconscious decision to find constant reminders of those who once were and now no longer are, or moments in time when the heart was young and the mind was healthy, rather than elaborately visiting with those who persist in their present or bonds that may or may not be born in time ahead?
I consciously choose to ponder my stranger – Note how I daringly called her mine, hilarious – For she is the highlight of my cold winter night; She is the holy sinner, her past darkened clouds cloud her judgements and blind her.
Born free, she is fading slowly but surely in her present incarceration, the one she had no choice in existing in, where the jailors are ironically the Gods of the household, or what she used to perceive as ‘Home’.
Helplessness is what I morbidly feel towards her alongside my conflicted affection, for her tongue is bound by demons created by others, by the one who stabbed at the heart, by the ones who once have taken the conscious decision to give a new youngling to the world, and the world that engulfs her every morning, demons hidden from my eyes but vivid and lively in her head indeed. Hence her silence that speaks words aplenty and her foreign language that I’m desperately praying and trying to comprehend for its melodies to my ears.
Tiresome, her existence might be and troublesome is my lack of proper understanding, yet, as weary and lost I am as a beholder and as confined and morose she is as a beautiful prisoner of the mind the alleged home, I adore her with the simplicity of those 3 miniature words, and the halo of righteousness that faintly surrounds her is the brightness of a warm summer sky.
Will the summertime ever follow the long cold winter? I wonder.
I don’t consider myself a good person, I am a sinner that preaches or a saint that sins, I am filled with rage and paradoxical concepts from my past, or the future I created through my past, I consider myself the grey area, where everything is possible as it is improbable, yet I am trying my utmost to become a decent human, to grow older to become a loving father to my little Lina that came to me in my dreams less often than I would’ve adored, I am a marshmallow disguised as a stone according to my good mate, I write a lot for it is my only release, for it is my feeble attempt at artistry.
I fall in love and wallow in rejection every second of the day, I fall in love with the material and the shapeless, I fall in love with everything that exists and everything long forgotten, the streets, dark and damped, the alleys wide and narrow, the mountains piercing the skies, the seas embracing the shores after the longest of travels, the faces people wear.
I fall in love with the words I discover every day, words written on clouds of my imagination, words spoken by ancients of past times, words engraved in the hearts of those I love and those I loathe. I use big, complex wording because I can, because I love how I can twist, turn, change and alter the words to mean desperately different concepts
I absolutely believe in what I do presently with my existence for through it I retried my long lost purpose to continue existing, I want to love, eat, drink, lay with wolves and lambs of humans, die and be remembered for whatever good I create in this vast, endless and ever expanding universe.
I appreciate the existence of every companion I choose and every friend or fiend that chooses me, often I claim despising humans, including myself, until I realize the Why of mine. I would die any day if it meant salvation, if it meant absolution from my thoughts and demons that I’ve come to embrace.
I am a man of many masks, mastered until perfection, worn until confusion, my confusion, masks I created long ago to defend me against foes that do not exist, against masks other humans created to betray my wasted trust or sway my heated affection, but in the end I happen to always trust again and fall in love again with humans for the marvels they are capable of, for the emotions they keep emitting into the world and for the good they’ve forgotten to do.
I feel old most of the time, maybe because I never truly felt young? maybe because my soul is weary and full of terrors? It does not matter, I exist therefore I am, I can and I will. I appreciate dark comedy for I see it every time I stare in the mirror which makes me a cynical bastard most of the time.
My name is meaningless for names are indeed dying methods and I absolutely love you for reading this, fellow human.
You’ll see in yourself what you’ve always been looking for in other people, this is my attempt, success or failure, it does not matter, all that matters is that now I can see.
The Flaky Derelict 