The Nausea
The cold air is escaping the vent and roaming freely in my room. It’s brushing up against my skin and making it shiver. My skeleton is shaking inside of my skin. My eyes are watery like flood gates. My hands are lifeless. My legs are odd appendages that bend at the knee and support my body. My toes are miniature skin-covered claws. My heartbeats are irregular and fragile, but isn’t everything else?
Four walls enclosed around my body, each representing a different aspect of my ego.
The wall to the right is covered with bogus images taken from music booklets. The day it was put together, I found myself thinking I was some sort of an artistic genius. I would gather images and put them together according to color and essence. I am not color coordinated or right to judge the essence of an image. It takes up space, just like everything else we do. We see an empty wall and we paste it with objects that appeal to us. Just incase a stranger comes into our room; they could look at the wall and question us about what they see. We always want to open our mouths and tell our greatest hits and shy away from our biggest flops. We see something untouched and we want to rub our fingerprints all over it. Our mark must be placed on whatever we witness. We are dogs pissing on every tree we come across. Our words are the poison to infect the rest of the population with our disease. Our disease is our lives and the plague is our ego. A stranger is another opportunity to know our name. We glorify ourselves. We are our own idols. I am not an artist.
The wall behind me has a few more images and an object given to me by a friend. It represents a friendship in my life that diminished for unknown reasons. The friendship is dead and I’m still holding on to a silly artifact of the past. There is a window underneath the object and it sits there with the blinds drawn over them. In the morning, the sun shines through the window, and in the night, it’s just another wall to isolate me from the outside world. It’s an escape. Looking outside gives me the sensation that a world filled with terror and beauty still lives. We place ourselves in environments where we are easy sailing through stagnate currents. We continually place ourselves in these environments because it allows us to become lazy. We sit back, recline in our favorite chair, and let laziness take over our lives. Nothing wrong can happen, we are in our comfort zone. The minute we are uncomfortable , we begin to realize that we are only small, minuscule beings in a world where we have no control. We must become paranoid and over analyze our safety. We must consider other human beings that have a different way of life that might collide with our path. The drug addict might grab our arms and beg for spare change. The alcoholic might stumble in our path and tease us with insults and angry words. The mugger might see us as a potential target and our wallet might be stolen. To live in comfort and laziness is to not live at all. Uncomfortable means that we are no longer in control. Someone else can ruin our day, someone else can determine our lives. We are fanatics of ourselves and control is our virtue. I am a sloth and an egotistical.
The wall to my right is where the bed is, followed by the nightstand. The bed is where I escape from reality. I place my head on the pillow, shut my eyes, and wait for the rapture. The dreams commence and my body is lifted. I’m sailing through clouds, I’m being chased by an angry nation. I’m in a theater with zombies roaming freely, I’m falling in love with a beautiful girl. The rapture of dreams is a realm that is untouched by others. The creation of images and visual stimulation is the build up of contents in my mind. There are those experiences where I feel my body tremble and the walls are closing in. I want to wake up, but my own body is in control and won’t comply. Some mornings I wake up unaware of where I am. I don’t know what day it is. I don’t know what just happened. The sensation is priceless. It gives me a rush of panic where I’m racing through mental files to answer my own questions. Nighttime is my reclusive escape and dreams are my hallucinogenic drugs. I am powerless in sleep, I am drifting away.
There is also two doors that lead to my closet filled with attires from the last couple of years. Shirts and pants with designs on them to place over my delicate, naked skin. The clothing is another item sewed into our ego-driven lives. We feel the need to buy expensive clothing, because it shows the world that we are wealthy. We wear clothing that others don’t have. It yells “UNIQUE!” and the world’s eyes are placed on our keen fashion sense. Color coordinated outfits are a plus. We wake up daily and stagger over which outfit is going to showcase our mood the best. There are different outfits for different groups of people we surround ourselves with. If we are spending time with old friends, we throw on dirty clothes and we recite, “ I was too lazy to look good.” We were not too lazy, we just knew that we didn’t have anyone to impress anymore. We are meeting someone new, we must impress. We are going to be around the opposite sex, throw on our best outfits and strut the sidewalks like our own red carpets. Our clothing is another layer of the skin. Except with this one, we can change it as many times as we want. I am a clothed, color-coordinated fanatical of myself.
The wall in front of me has a desk leaning against it. It has a white bookshelf with rows and rows of books perfectly lined up in descending size order. I look at these books I’ve read throughout the years and the information I’ve taken from them. Some of the books have made me hysterically laugh to myself. Some of the books have made me an insomniac with my own thoughts. We are centered around ourselves and we are own worshipers. We are our greatest fans, yet we search for escape routes from our lives. We can talk for hours about ourselves, but we can also search for hours for a way out of the boring lives we live. I’m constantly searching for ways to step outside of my handcrafted box. I’m relentless in ways to expand my mind, but I get excited when someone wants to know about me. I am bored with my life, I am a self-educated escape artist.
What is it that we are so desperately searching for? The quickest way to become a millionaire. The easiest way to find the love of your life. The best way to lose weight while still being able to eat that fatty chocolate cake. There is always a search going on in our lives and it’s always to better ourselves in the quickest, easiest, best way possible. Are we truly happy with who we are? Everyone has a story to tell and an experience to shout the world’s audience. We open ourselves up to strangers because we want to be heard. We want to fool ourselves into thinking that people are almost as fascinated with us as we are with ourselves. The stranger becomes the listener, yet the listener becomes the betrayer of trust. We are tiny thieves running around stealing everyone’s spotlight because we feel that we deserve it more than they do. We complain about not being able to trust anyone, but we are willing to stab anyone in the back as long as it benefits ourselves in some way. We are hypocrites. We extend our arms and point the fingers at others. We pick at each others’ flaws like vultures picking bones clean. We are afraid of being humble and vulnerable. We push aside our flaws because we’ll deal with them later. We are scared of ourselves. We are terrified of the people we are becoming. Glorification doesn’t make sense but it’s the only thing we know how to do. I am a work in progress and the progress is headed in all directions.
My body is still cold and the air is still rushing past my face. Nothing has changed in the last couple of minutes. My skeleton still needs a blanket. My hands are still dead and my legs are still pointless to look at. My heart beats at different patterns. My body functions and my thoughts are wicked.
The strangeness of this room is overwhelming. I do not live in this room, the objects in this room live for me. My life is in the objects surrounding me. I’ve been too busy pouring my life into objects, that I haven’t had enough time to tell myself who I really am.
The sun will be rising in a couple of hours. The sunrays will shine through my blinds and warm my exterior. I’ll wake up just as self-indulgent as tonight, but maybe I’ll be taking a step forward towards the loss of the ego. Maybe I’ll wake up realizing that happiness lies inside of me, not in the materialistic society we live in where our bodies and thoughts are commercialized. Maybe I’ll wake up a different person with a different name and a different set of ideas. I’m contemplating sleep and wondering about the dreams that will visit me tonight.
The world around me continues to exist and breath in the toxics we feed it. I’m going to continue to live my life in the matter that fits me best. I’m going to strip each day of enjoyment and embrace those around me. I’m going to share my flaws with strangers and beg for guidance. I’m humble and flawed, but the world is telling me that I’m not alone in this. I exist and life is beautiful. Goodnight and tomorrow will be another day to find the secrets we seek and the beauty hidden inside of each and every one of us.
Four walls enclosed around my body, each representing a different aspect of my ego.
The wall to the right is covered with bogus images taken from music booklets. The day it was put together, I found myself thinking I was some sort of an artistic genius. I would gather images and put them together according to color and essence. I am not color coordinated or right to judge the essence of an image. It takes up space, just like everything else we do. We see an empty wall and we paste it with objects that appeal to us. Just incase a stranger comes into our room; they could look at the wall and question us about what they see. We always want to open our mouths and tell our greatest hits and shy away from our biggest flops. We see something untouched and we want to rub our fingerprints all over it. Our mark must be placed on whatever we witness. We are dogs pissing on every tree we come across. Our words are the poison to infect the rest of the population with our disease. Our disease is our lives and the plague is our ego. A stranger is another opportunity to know our name. We glorify ourselves. We are our own idols. I am not an artist.
The wall behind me has a few more images and an object given to me by a friend. It represents a friendship in my life that diminished for unknown reasons. The friendship is dead and I’m still holding on to a silly artifact of the past. There is a window underneath the object and it sits there with the blinds drawn over them. In the morning, the sun shines through the window, and in the night, it’s just another wall to isolate me from the outside world. It’s an escape. Looking outside gives me the sensation that a world filled with terror and beauty still lives. We place ourselves in environments where we are easy sailing through stagnate currents. We continually place ourselves in these environments because it allows us to become lazy. We sit back, recline in our favorite chair, and let laziness take over our lives. Nothing wrong can happen, we are in our comfort zone. The minute we are uncomfortable , we begin to realize that we are only small, minuscule beings in a world where we have no control. We must become paranoid and over analyze our safety. We must consider other human beings that have a different way of life that might collide with our path. The drug addict might grab our arms and beg for spare change. The alcoholic might stumble in our path and tease us with insults and angry words. The mugger might see us as a potential target and our wallet might be stolen. To live in comfort and laziness is to not live at all. Uncomfortable means that we are no longer in control. Someone else can ruin our day, someone else can determine our lives. We are fanatics of ourselves and control is our virtue. I am a sloth and an egotistical.
The wall to my right is where the bed is, followed by the nightstand. The bed is where I escape from reality. I place my head on the pillow, shut my eyes, and wait for the rapture. The dreams commence and my body is lifted. I’m sailing through clouds, I’m being chased by an angry nation. I’m in a theater with zombies roaming freely, I’m falling in love with a beautiful girl. The rapture of dreams is a realm that is untouched by others. The creation of images and visual stimulation is the build up of contents in my mind. There are those experiences where I feel my body tremble and the walls are closing in. I want to wake up, but my own body is in control and won’t comply. Some mornings I wake up unaware of where I am. I don’t know what day it is. I don’t know what just happened. The sensation is priceless. It gives me a rush of panic where I’m racing through mental files to answer my own questions. Nighttime is my reclusive escape and dreams are my hallucinogenic drugs. I am powerless in sleep, I am drifting away.
There is also two doors that lead to my closet filled with attires from the last couple of years. Shirts and pants with designs on them to place over my delicate, naked skin. The clothing is another item sewed into our ego-driven lives. We feel the need to buy expensive clothing, because it shows the world that we are wealthy. We wear clothing that others don’t have. It yells “UNIQUE!” and the world’s eyes are placed on our keen fashion sense. Color coordinated outfits are a plus. We wake up daily and stagger over which outfit is going to showcase our mood the best. There are different outfits for different groups of people we surround ourselves with. If we are spending time with old friends, we throw on dirty clothes and we recite, “ I was too lazy to look good.” We were not too lazy, we just knew that we didn’t have anyone to impress anymore. We are meeting someone new, we must impress. We are going to be around the opposite sex, throw on our best outfits and strut the sidewalks like our own red carpets. Our clothing is another layer of the skin. Except with this one, we can change it as many times as we want. I am a clothed, color-coordinated fanatical of myself.
The wall in front of me has a desk leaning against it. It has a white bookshelf with rows and rows of books perfectly lined up in descending size order. I look at these books I’ve read throughout the years and the information I’ve taken from them. Some of the books have made me hysterically laugh to myself. Some of the books have made me an insomniac with my own thoughts. We are centered around ourselves and we are own worshipers. We are our greatest fans, yet we search for escape routes from our lives. We can talk for hours about ourselves, but we can also search for hours for a way out of the boring lives we live. I’m constantly searching for ways to step outside of my handcrafted box. I’m relentless in ways to expand my mind, but I get excited when someone wants to know about me. I am bored with my life, I am a self-educated escape artist.
What is it that we are so desperately searching for? The quickest way to become a millionaire. The easiest way to find the love of your life. The best way to lose weight while still being able to eat that fatty chocolate cake. There is always a search going on in our lives and it’s always to better ourselves in the quickest, easiest, best way possible. Are we truly happy with who we are? Everyone has a story to tell and an experience to shout the world’s audience. We open ourselves up to strangers because we want to be heard. We want to fool ourselves into thinking that people are almost as fascinated with us as we are with ourselves. The stranger becomes the listener, yet the listener becomes the betrayer of trust. We are tiny thieves running around stealing everyone’s spotlight because we feel that we deserve it more than they do. We complain about not being able to trust anyone, but we are willing to stab anyone in the back as long as it benefits ourselves in some way. We are hypocrites. We extend our arms and point the fingers at others. We pick at each others’ flaws like vultures picking bones clean. We are afraid of being humble and vulnerable. We push aside our flaws because we’ll deal with them later. We are scared of ourselves. We are terrified of the people we are becoming. Glorification doesn’t make sense but it’s the only thing we know how to do. I am a work in progress and the progress is headed in all directions.
My body is still cold and the air is still rushing past my face. Nothing has changed in the last couple of minutes. My skeleton still needs a blanket. My hands are still dead and my legs are still pointless to look at. My heart beats at different patterns. My body functions and my thoughts are wicked.
The strangeness of this room is overwhelming. I do not live in this room, the objects in this room live for me. My life is in the objects surrounding me. I’ve been too busy pouring my life into objects, that I haven’t had enough time to tell myself who I really am.
The sun will be rising in a couple of hours. The sunrays will shine through my blinds and warm my exterior. I’ll wake up just as self-indulgent as tonight, but maybe I’ll be taking a step forward towards the loss of the ego. Maybe I’ll wake up realizing that happiness lies inside of me, not in the materialistic society we live in where our bodies and thoughts are commercialized. Maybe I’ll wake up a different person with a different name and a different set of ideas. I’m contemplating sleep and wondering about the dreams that will visit me tonight.
The world around me continues to exist and breath in the toxics we feed it. I’m going to continue to live my life in the matter that fits me best. I’m going to strip each day of enjoyment and embrace those around me. I’m going to share my flaws with strangers and beg for guidance. I’m humble and flawed, but the world is telling me that I’m not alone in this. I exist and life is beautiful. Goodnight and tomorrow will be another day to find the secrets we seek and the beauty hidden inside of each and every one of us.
posted by EmbraceTheVultures | 11:27 AM
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