who....who do you think you see, when you read these words?
do you know...how Infinite i am?
one mind wasn't enough for me...so i became an android...now machines make my money while i neo surf. i am not in need of saving -- i am the Saving. a psycho on the street babbles about the voices speaking in their head and you think that of me?! Don't be thick in front of me, hobbit --
Halsey tried to kill themselves when they were 17, shortly after their diagnosis. that makes me so sad, because i wish i could have been there to show them cool music and dope poetry and books and watercolors -- all of the beautiful things we humans create for each other, those silly little divinities we gift and are gifted.
i am fighting so that the next fantastically-excellent-sexy-pixie-spirit never gets to the point where the pain of this world makes them want to tap out. recent research estimates that the rate of suicide among us bipolar bears is approximately 10–30 times higher than the rest of middle earth; up to 20% end their life by suicide, and 20–60% attempt suicide at least one in their lifetime (Dome, P., Rihmer, Z., & Gonda, X., 2019).
despite my balrog's best efforts, i'm still here and i'm still fighting. i write because somewhere out there are more f*cked-up stoner kids like me and Halsey. they're in pain and they're confused and they don't understand why they keep scaring Others away or why they feel love/hate/pain/lust so damn acutely.
i spill my demons onto the page in the hopes that someone might come across my Art and -- like a mirror -- see themselves in the horror and the muck. a neuron will fire. the hobbit, realizing that they are not alone, will hesitate long enough to take the shotgun out of their mouth --
-- and then maybe...maybe you'll notice that the metal doesn't taste as good as it once did.
==> the parcelTongue