I don't like coming into work anymore. It was bound to happen eventually.
It’s the kind of headache that really shuts me up. It is self induced, the result of hunger and malnutrition. I decided I wasn’t going to get lunch today. I wasn’t going to spend money either. None of the families are responding anymore. Not at least even doing the necessary minimum of reading the check ins, Manal would at least do that. I think they’re gone. I don’t know if Ibrahim and his family are alive. His pregnant wife was shot, I never learned if she is still with us or not. I may never find out. Remas isn’t responding anymore. I’m gonna text her anyway. I don’t want to throw it all away, I couldn’t do that. I feel like I could say these words a thousand times and nobody would ever care. There are mothers, daughter, sons, fathers, friends, cousins, partners being ripped apart, raped, burned, sliced, bombed, shot, decapitated, and nobody cares. You can’t even pay these people to care. A woman I have spoken to and bonded with might have been murdered. A man. Children. All of them could be gone in just a day's time. And the good people I see every day of my life will never open their hearts to care. They will never want to love these people.
There is no human race. There is just what people want. Whatever.
I finally have weekends off. I haven’t had weekends off work in years. I spend such a disgusting amount of money on trying to keep folks around, I can’t let myself regret it. Sure it’s difficult, but they are worth it, I think. I don’t really know anyone anymore. That’s been what's on my mind these days. I don’t know anyone. Sometimes I think maybe I never did. I know it’s part of the experience of being under the rays. I’ll never see them again.
It’s all of my friends now, not just the subjects of the psychotic break we’ve been over so many times.
I’m exactly the same. I’m in the same place I was in my dorm. I’m starving myself for what? I don’t know. I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now. These people, y’know, they’re winning. They’re going to kill all of those people. In Gaza, in Sudan, in the Congo, in Washington DC, in Detroit. Anywhere, everywhere, it is not love that wins the day. It’s a sort of madness that ravages the heart. It makes me skeptical of what I most desire. It makes me hate what I really want out of life. And then I don’t understand myself anymore.
I remember doing drag for Halloween. The little Raven costume. It was the only time in my life I felt like myself. Every now and again I can pretend to feel that way.
I am really tired of being sad, and of writing about sad things. I dislike lying much more than that. I hate forcing myself to create something inauthentic more than I could ever hate feeling suicidal. The worst thing you can tell some people is to calm down. I don’t necessarily share that feeling, but I understand it.
I’ll let anyone say anything to me, these days. I don’t believe anybody. I don’t really think I see people when I look at them. I look in the mirror and I almost can’t believe I’m looking at myself. I look so collected and clean these days. I guess that’s a good thing, but I'm doing worse. I’ve achieved so many material goals, and I feel worse than I ever have.
I keep thinking maybe I should be the one to do it. Or maybe just to do… something. I don’t know. Maybe that’s what I should save up for. Not an apartment. I’ve been having maladaptive daydreams of pulling that trigger, of taking the best shot I can.
I have really started to become worried about myself. I don’t think I can pull myself out of the psychological hole I’m rappelling down. It’s not just a fall, it’s so surgical. It is cruel in a manner machinated by intent, by hatred. Not by chance, not by the natural world.
I have become fixated on myth, as a source of inspiration for the manuscript. I think about the similarities of the myths of Pegasus and the Unicorn. It all comes down to greed, possessiveness. Control, capitalism. I think of Re’em. I dream of the name itself, Re’em. I almost want to make some art about it. About the ritual of it. A man could grab hold of something pure to our world, something natural. Something divine. And they rip the little jewel out of it’s head, like it’s a toy or something. Like it’s a game. And it was never even real, what they wanted. They would kill Narwhals and sell their teeth as fake game, as if Unicorns are so coveted that they’ll lie just to say they killed one. And they were never even real. They’ll strap a saddle on the back of something greater than themselves and claim its greatness is their greatness. They’ll treat Pegasus as if he’s a pet and not a revelation of divinity. As if its very existence is not a testament to survival, born of the blood of a mother. This is the forever story. This is what we are.
That’s everything, isn’t it? That’s the entire plan. The whole game of it. There may have never been such a thing as the Kingdom of Israel. There never was such a holy thing or prophecy that made sense. It’s all make believe, and yet they’ll wipe out an entire culture of millions just to relish in the dream of it. And to think, little more than 80 years ago, their own people were treated the same way. To think there are “Christians” of my own cohort who would believe in the myth, who would choose to delude themselves with this horseshit. As if God really gives a damn about us, as if we’ll be rewarded for touching that ugly fucking wall in Jericho. With what we’ve been through? It’s disgusting. They’ll rip open an infant child and play with the guts just to say, this is my land! This is my land! I’m from Israel! I love God! My ancestors lived here!
So what? If this is what ancestral rights entitle us to, maybe none of us deserve to live at all. Maybe there shouldn’t be anyone, if something so sinister is meant to be true. Maybe the entire concept of birthright, of monoculture, of “heritage,” is the true devil we have to seal away.
I’m ending this post here. I don’t miss you guys today. Maybe I’ll like you again tomorrow, but not today. I don’t have anything cheeky for today.
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