Monday, June 8, 2009

new hedonism

I want a sensation new to me. That I have touched danger, that my pen has tasted new paper has excited my passion. I find it amusing to tease the weak and watch them crumble. My mind gropes to catch a new disease, to be found out, to purge the dull and feed on the shock of the new, to play sick games with its contemporaries, to prick itself and live twice, to disrupt the atmosphere. I am thinking in shades of teal and orange and cream, instead of my usual plum and midnight. I want to inhale the thing of death to breathe it back out and acknowledge my persistent reality, my yearning existence. The chain and lock around the style of my peers dulls the air and I'm a victim of new hedonism ideals. Find the space between my ears and feel your own way out. I have no new material, only sensations. I'm young and new, but feel as if I have been asleep for a lifetime and am waking to a world charged with color and feeling. The ugly are uglier, the unimportant more so. My only fear is that once I give a part of me away to sensation, something common and unfrowned upon by my fellow humans, I may never come back again to my center of being, my wholesome soul and spirit. I made the mistake when attempting to write for an audience of not controlling myself and then submitting to the influences around me. But now I know how to tame my craft and share it with another. I can trust and feel and these things comfort me, yet my only potential demise is my own weakness and reticence. Assure me I have nothing about which to worry. Tell me my craft is pure and secret and well-guarded. Now that I have confessed, I am ready to sin.

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