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I wondered a lie, it is my head.

The culture within me seeks solace in
substance, and I wonder
why my mental health won't stay wholesome.

It is hard to hear that genuine, innocent voice
anymore, to hear it put words to my mouth.
My head pounds with nervous aftershock.

I was quite manic today. It is clear to me
I was not in control of myself

and would do well to seek help, or administer something
that'd reconcile with myself with
these sways.

Hatred. My heart burns with it.
How can I forgive myself?
Part of me
wants to watch it burn.
Is it okay to write that?
To admit to living
in a world of one's own

sins and torment;
A survival technique:
To look toward a dark future
spent living in the past.

I'll not shy away from
reasoned discourse, nor
should I go willingly into my pain
thinking it'll save me.

The next day I took a single milligram
of 4-chlorodiazepam.
Where to from here?

To move on
is forgiveness enough.
Sometimes I'm afraid
if I were to be gentle with myself
I would break.

I write down this thought
I had in the shower, and after sitting with it
realize I'm not broken.
Forgive yourself for something.
Old friends, forgotten habits.
Last night I drank some things:
100μg of flubromazolam,
100mg of tianeptine,
And cream soda, among other things.

I quest, I'd venture, that sense of wonder.
I'll find answers.
Seeking to cultivate my contentedness; that existential
happiness, immaterial.
Part of me is gone, stolen
from my psyché. I lost my tribe

and with them, my raison d'etre.
I lost my anthem
when I settled for normalcy,
When I stopped believing I was special.
When I ceased questing for ventures curious, and

considered sated my cravings most fiendish.
I lost my anthem
when my writing diminished,
When my exercise withered,
When my drug use slipped
and my demons pleaded.
I lost my anthem

and it's left me
plenty of memories
I can no longer pronounce
without a tone of condescension.
Those misarticulated metaphysics have
timbres' as junkiesque.
That'll suffice for a sentence in G-twn. Heaven.
I lost my city.
We stepped, unknowing, into the shadows
cast
by social media; postmodern realities emerged,
Crafted
from big data. We're caught in the world wide web,
Caught between
"the electron and the switch".
Cambridge Analytica,
Data Propira;
Technocracy,
Algocracy.

Enticed
by a promise
of what could be,
"Trust your technolust"
was the advice those hopefuls gave me.
Their optimism, innocent naivety, glitched history.
I can't sign out
of my social media account.
Anxiety's got me in her grip.

How do we fight the power,
Will privacy prevail?
Data rights
would promise us
a patch for this great hack,
But
there'll always be shadows
as long as there's light,
Those who declare
anonymity is
their right.
Cyberpunks, cypherpunks, crypto-anarchism
won't be enough.
As is, potentials' -liberalism and -libertarianism
duke it out.
The electron remains, but one wonders
as 'the switch' gives way
to something all the more quantum.
Recommended watching:
The Great Hack (2019)

Quotes:
Line Seven from The Hacker Manifesto by +++The Mentor+++ (January 8, 1986)
Line Fifteen seen in Hackers (1995)
The things that tumble out
may ring true, but
in uttering them become a reality.
"Whatever my reasons,
Were they strange or I the stranger, I feel"

how my mind misled me
and misplaced my will
to discern my desire.
Quote:
Lines Four & Five from the poem Preemptive by the same author.
I hear the nightlife scream its thrill, raucous calls
of unadulterated glee.
Drunken voices resolve, then pass, fading
into their night.
I realize love lost for a city I dared lay a claim to.

Keep me awake and I'll finish this poem. I'm into some
serious sleep-debt. One problem
is being too willing to see the other side.

Despite misgivings that've run amok, I trust my ethics enough
to study the dark arts.
Good morning Roman Countryside.
The City of Rome's dawn asks kindly
would I arise?
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