The above is from Ballistyc's site on Deviant art. Amazing stuff, honestly.
Soundtrack for Today: NIN: "I still recall the taste of your tears...."
Alternative Soundtrack: NIN's Right Where it Belongs
I stared into the sky. I hoped it would swallow me whole and never stop. I could have walked to the nearest bush or tree or cave or overpass and slept for a hundred years or more.
I felt a monumental weariness in every fiber of my being. It wouldn't have been the first time I ended the night under the stars to awaken to the sound of traffic and what passes for life in this modernity. I wished the leviathan would rise from the maelstrom of my mania and make the world go away.
This life as a n'erdowell is a tiresome affair.
For all my lust and rage and masochism....there is no reprieve. I hound and hunt and sprint headlong into excesses in life's facets....... fleeting glimpses of peace and content fall into my lap as my fingers run through her hair, a morning awoken with her by my side, her soft hand in mine, fingertips tracing her back and shoulders.
A war in the gym. A busted lip or a broken rib. I lean against the ring ropes as my heartbeat slows and my breathing grows less haggard. As I am broken I feel whole. I have fought the good fight. I feel several minutes of vacation from myself.
I coach the kids at the gym, for all of whom maybe 1 in 10 or more like 1 in 20 will come to know the pain and glory our chosen sport gives in unequal doses. I should tell them to walk out and never come back. I should tell them to fucking run. No one wins in the fight game. No one gets out of the fight game without paying the price.
My eyes open each morning to an increasing list of injuries bought and paid for in pursuit of glory on the regional fight scene. I take my mom to dinner. I work in a field none of you would ever imagine/guess.
My mask slips.
The sun sets. The call of the wild builds from silence to a deafening roar of static white noise. I stand at the edge of the abyss overlooking the depths of the brink. Two sides of a coin that flips itself by its own volition. My only part is holding the hand in which it lands.
When I say that I chase the thrill....I've realized that's a misnomer. That's disingenuous.
I miss that peace....that's actually what I'm chasing. The quiet moments of silence and content...b/c it's the hardest quality for me to obtain and it only appears in the aftermath.
This fucking curse.
This dark passenger.
The blessing and the curse.
That need to know...that impulse is the same one that carries my feet up those 4 steps into the ring in front of the mob that cheers for violence.
Without risk, there is no reward.
Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readers. These notes from the underground will continue. I love you all.
Happy Cinco de Mayo! Viva la resistance!
-With Greatest Affection
"But even after admitting this-and I have, countless times, in just about every act I've committed-and coming face-to-face with these truths, there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling...."