Every man lives within a cage of lies. This cage I call by its nature - the Beast.

A groan of tediousness escapes me, startling the silence; is this a test? it has to be ... otherwise I can't go on.

I have begged for an end so many times. Begged for the mercy of death, that can almost be felt lingering in the roaring silence. Death, that estuary of birth and destruction that defines each person, as light is defined by its end. I have plead for strength to meet myself, and force a smile at what I see. I have lived my life on knees infront of a life of loathing.
The weakness of Greed, of Desperation. The Beast.

Man's greatest fear is not that he is weak; He fears that he is powerful beyond measure.

We want our life handed to us. Work. Get used to work. The nature of the universe is in direct relation to your effort to perceive it.

All your thoughts, all your beliefs, are but the links in a chain around you ... "I am great"; "I am low"; "I am"; "I am not" ... binding your hands, your eyes...

How much attention do you dedicate to the effigy of yourself? You brush your hair, dress your picked clothes for the day, reminiscing on your your own voice. You eat, sleep, crap and fuck in the haze of self-entwined thought. You have never met your inner core, the seed of sentience that what you call yourself is curled around, like a nebulaic leech, a passion of flame. Like a colour of decay.

There is nothing special, nor unique in yourself. Get used to that idea. Whatever you think, whatever you believe, there are a million people out there who feel or think the same.

Popular Entertainment is the opiatic distraction of the masses - the perfection of the Beast: decreased sensitivity and cognisance, with the television millions are emancipated from freedom to the blissful existence of entertainment whoredom. Suck in the sitcoms, breathe that reality tv medicine. The existence of each person is a half-life, between the death where we came from, and the death we go to.

There is no impending doom. Make no mistake about it. Forget the zealot preacher, ignore the soothsayer and his deep englamoured pitch - there is no monster waiting behind the corner, there is no catastrophe behind the veil of time. Rest and be assured that the future is already made, and exists in only the present moment, the beer soaked present on the vomit-stained couch. The smell of hypocricy and denial has long ago ensured our lifelong wish for extinction. There will be no end; we are already dead.

These notes have grown over 6 billion years of ascension on the steps of existence. The Primordial Slime and Yesterday's Piss... We are the Beast.

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Stop to smell the flowers.

Lush, its your reality i am dreaming.

Curse those words spoken so gently.

Good-bye.

To soon for nothing at all.

Hide and seek in a field of bloody thorns.

Rip open the wounds.

Raw pain drips from our fingertips.

Spill your guts onto a lonely rose.

Let me show you the greatest nightmare.

Follow me into my reality.

Dream my pain.

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I was caught thinking about the past. You tore me up inside. You promised forever. But it was all a lie. I never forgot, and never will. I thought I had moved on when I met another. For that brief period in time you didn’t matter. It was a happy time, until she too ripped my fresh new heart out. But I didn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault. It was mine. I let it happen again. But the big mistake in all this was coming back to you. You knew and you played a new game with me. You lied to get out of seeing a friend just so he wouldn’t get mad. You were lost, and still are. I now look back and try to forget about you, my lush. But you haunt my every move. I can’t start a life of new when I’m speaking to you. So this is good-bye. Forever. I’ll never remember you, so beautiful. Good-bye.

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Living as I do in Glasgow, I get to see the unpleasant side of human nature on an almost daily basis. Be it outright violence, verbal abuse or mere rudeness, there seems to be a substantial proportion of the population who share not a jot of my value of societal niceties and friendliness. There are, of course, also some very nice people here but that's quite besides the point. I get drunken juveniles making lots of noise outside my bedroom window in the early hours, I am witness to and hear of frequent vicious physical assaults, as a part time "retail assistant" I am in a prime position to bear the full force of the public's apathy and disregard for polite behaviour. If I walk down the street I shall be hounded by the homeless, (paid, aggressive) charity collectors and maybe, if I'm lucky, even the odd delinquent who feels I owe him money. In all, there are some very dangerous and unpleasant people walking around.

When this was new to me, I reacted to it badly. I was quick to condemn those who would violate my personal boundaries on acceptable behaviour, and feel something of a disgust towards them, as though they were a distinct and separable group in society. This is justifiable, probably, on the grounds that others certainly have no right to impinge upon my personal health safety or that of others. I always have despised aggression in most forms and I always will. It comes on a basic level of human dislike of needless conflict, and a more personal basis, as though I am somehow offended that others dare ruin my idealistic, childish dream for a peaceful and friendly society.

When I witness violence or mistreatment, it makes me both sad and angry. Sad because I feel it to be so terribly obvious that aggressive, unpleasant behaviour towards others is always unnecessary and wish that I were not condemned to resigned acceptance that others disagree. Angry because violence and mistreatment evoke a natural urge within me to intervene and force a just result. Sad because I empathise with those suffering from violence and know that such people suffer every day, everywhere. Angry because the society which produced they as well as I tolerates violence as an acceptable trait. Sad because I know it will never change, least of all as a result of anything I can do. At times I've even been brought to a desire to inflict severe suffering on those who would hurt others. A desire for a sharp application of social justice brings me to the point of wanting to hate these people, and it is tempting to do so given their actions.

Of late, though, I've come to appreciate something of another side to it all. The beggar who sits menacingly next to the Cash Machines shivers, his eyes glazed over with the cold. The mother who beats her children in the supermarket stops and her face contorts, the frustration and helplessness emanating from her grimace. The stone faced man bereft of manners asks for his cigarettes with a simple '20 Marlboro', yet beneath the words is an admission of discomfort in his tone, almost as though he were apologetic for being unable to ask properly. The youths who terrorise the city have moments of calm, and the look in the eyes reminds me that I too was once young, unsure and undeveloped, liable to be led to immoral things. I am forced to sympathise with context. Much as it would aid my love of the peaceful dream to hate these people, I cannot. Much as I would like to polarise them against people such as myself it would be a distortion of the truth. For, amidst the violence, shouting and anger, there exist small reminders that these people are human too. That I despise their behaviour is only natural, but if we forget that violent people can be victims too and that we are all fighting our individual struggles in this life, then we lose all claim to true civility ourselves. I do believe that a few truly evil people pervade our society, but I have also come to think that most are merely showing in graphic form how lost, confused and angry they are. Who I am I to brand them vile?

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Come closer. That's it, now look into my eyes. What do you see?

That was not nice.

Take a deeper look, a look at the honesty. Yeah, I know, my eyes have a sort of distorted look to them. Okay, I know my eyebrows are somewhat shaggy.

You know what, give up on my eyes. Look at me, in general. What do you see? I hope you see what I am displaying. No, not that!

My heart.

No, its not small. Sure, I'm not very large.. yeah, I know, I'm sort of a runt. Yeah, I know I can seem judgemental at times, and yes, I know I'm a nerd. Yeah, I've heard that before.

What's that? You don't trust me? I look shifty? But I've been nothing but honest to you! I've even given you my heart, taken directly from my rib-cage! Look how it still drips with my blood! How can you not trust me?

Yes yes, I realize you do not understand my gesture. Yes, I realize how you do not understand how having my heart means I am trustworthy.

Yes yes, I realize I am insignificant and deserve to die.

Oh, for crying out loud, give me that damn gun, I'll do it myself.

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When I look in the mirror, the face that looks back is one of disdain, bordering on contempt.

Self reflection is a precious thing. To employ a cliché, life is what you, the individual, make it. Thus, in order to effectively shape the future the focus of analysis must be the self. The opinions of others are invariably useful, but the crucial component is internal conflict. I find myself at a stage in my life where I have all my options ahead of me, and with no obvious path I must look within myself in order to find direction. I make no pretence that such direction will be fruitful, but certainly for personal mental stability it is the only viable option.

This search is made easier by the fact that I have clearly defined interests and values. I like to learn, be in good company (even if I'm the only one there), to be in a peaceful and pleasant environment and go for the occasional jog. I love confectionary that's high in sugar. I value honesty, humour, modesty, intelligence, selflessness, kindness, inquisitiveness and other such traits. I hate violence, selfishness, arrogance and those who would subjugate others by force or ideology. In humankind I see potential to thrive as a mutually dependent society, each caring for all and poverty unknown. In reality I see a world of greed, superficiality, hypocrisy and vast energies expended for abhorrent goals, where inventive and terrible violences are dominant and virtue a mere trace element. The infinite sadness which results from this realisation is compounded by another more personal, inescapable realisation. That is, that the potential and reality of the world at large are effectively reflective of my own.

I feel I have potential as a human being. I have ideals and values and wish to make best use of the knowledge, abilities and strengths that I have and will gain. I wish to go about my daily business with a purpose, prosecuting my tasks with all the energy that the human form permits. I wish that my relations with others be determined by the ideals that I subscribe to. In short, I wish to live in such a manner that would be consistent with the pure and innocent, naive, even childish, idealism that exists inside, free from cruder urges. What deeply pains me is that I do not and never have.

What hope is there when I, so critical and condemning of those who exhibit displeasing behaviour, cannot yet control myself. I can sit and articulate grand principles and ideals and convince myself (if not others) that such things are as attainable as they are desirable. Yet, day after day, I fail to regulate my behaviour even closely in terms of my ideals. Whether it be lethargy, acquiescence to temptation or distraction by my human form, the struggle to simply behave in a manner which I know would be immensely rewarding on that childish, idealistic level, is not being won. I know I am a weak person, though I wish it were not so. That I, who profess to understand enough of myself to know what I want, do not act true to my words brings me in these early hours to a state of disgust. I despise my weakness and myself yet more for permitting it.

If I have failed to become something by virtue of inner strength, then perhaps the reflection that stares back with those accusing eyes will impel me to the greater effort that my heart would not.

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The world's greatest singers sing YOUR lyrics! Genius!

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Communication is the purest and most necessary of human interactions. Yet it is also one of the most incomplete of human endeavors.

Take for instance the form of communication. One might say that the purest conversation is through touch. And yet sexuality is a joke of communication. People communicate without meaning during sexuality, loyal lovers make love to people who cannot make love, but can only fuck. Hearts torn, bitterness ensues... and... END OF SCENE.

That is not to say that sexual intercourse can never be communicative. However, in order for it to be such, meaning must be attached, for in itself sex is meaningless, a tool for meaning that is devoid of meaning itself, and thus potentially dangerous for people who wield the tool without any purpose. And, for that matter, those around such fools.

Many approach the same problem in a logocentric point of view. I would be one such hopeful dreamer. Language is the gift we are given, often abused but still a strong ticket toward meaning. If you doubt such a thing, listen in on random conversations. You will hear quotes from the Simpsons, reviews of the newest movie, implications of theories presented in philosophical treatises... language heard is expositional to language itself.

And yet there are still so many uncertainties. The loyal lover will always question the faithfulness of his or her significant other, because there is no way of knowing what goes on in another person's head. Fights would not ensue so often, bitterness would not be so disruptive and violent a power, had it not been for the purpose and meaning of actions... if one could just articulate, if one could just say what was meant... then perhaps...

Here we are moving on to impossibilities. One can never speak in a manner that would allow everyone to understand. My words are often misinterpreted, and many words of people more wise than I have been abused, meaning rearranged, misquoted, et alia, most often to serve selfish purposes.

Head down, we look at the earth, at our feet, at the mud and shit of our existence. Head up, we are knowledgeable that we are knee deep in the shit, and can only hope to some day rise above, and leave this wretched existence for something more tangible, something more than real.

Earth is both heaven and hell. Smiles promote happiness, physicality often promoting pain. We are at once our own anguish, and our own happiness. I hate you all just as much as I love you.

In fact, I cannot feel hate unless I had originally loved. Take for instance those who can hurt me enough to feel hate: I must love them in order to allow them such an affect on me. If I was indifferent, I would not feel hate. Passion is both a positive and a negative. Crimes of passion are all we have, yet so is the passion of love. They are, truly and most undoubtedly, the same.

I sometimes am extremely weary of the game we play on earth. I am sick of spitting, sick of existence in general. I cannot wait to play in the fields of eternity, where my screams of joy and agony can be heard across the stars.

Then, and only then, shall my voice be a supernova, exploding out and affecting all in the greatest and truest lie.

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