This is a story I started writing while waiting around in Melbourne Airport in February 2008. It's an idea. An ongoing project, trying to find the guts to take it from hopeless beginnings to hopeful endings.
Chapter 1
You know how people are born and then some of them feel like they were born in the wrong shell? Like a boy who's really a girl on the inside and they spend their whole life struggling to emit their true self on the outside. Some achieve it and I guess some don't. I think I'm one of those people. Except I'm not a girl trying to be a boy of a beaten down kid trying to show the world their true genius. I think I was born a dead soul trapped in a living shell, spending my whole life I'm trying to find a reason to resuscitate my self.
"Well why don't you top yourself?" It's something you might say. I'm not a violent person, I don't like the idea of tying a noose and hanging from the nearest tree, I only know three types of knots, or dragging razors across my wrist, not to say I haven't dragged razors anywhere. Who hasn't felt like physical pain is worth it, just to take away the emotions you aren't equipped to feel? Anyone seen Secretary?
Besides that, the thing with being dead inside is that, one, you can't be bothered, and two, you don't want to put family and friends to all that trouble and expense. Let's try to look on the bright side here; there must be a way to ignite what's inside.
So this is my story so far, but what happens next? I don't know, how does one speak to their own soul, when the soul is the reason for speaking? Is there any point trying for a happy ending? What do I do?
I like driving on and on forever and always, road beneath tyres, rolling, passing by landscapes my feet will never touch, it's a way of peace and beauty and the destination, it's always good, doesn't matter who or what is at the end, it's always good, you're always welcome.
Chapter 1
You know how people are born and then some of them feel like they were born in the wrong shell? Like a boy who's really a girl on the inside and they spend their whole life struggling to emit their true self on the outside. Some achieve it and I guess some don't. I think I'm one of those people. Except I'm not a girl trying to be a boy of a beaten down kid trying to show the world their true genius. I think I was born a dead soul trapped in a living shell, spending my whole life I'm trying to find a reason to resuscitate my self.
"Well why don't you top yourself?" It's something you might say. I'm not a violent person, I don't like the idea of tying a noose and hanging from the nearest tree, I only know three types of knots, or dragging razors across my wrist, not to say I haven't dragged razors anywhere. Who hasn't felt like physical pain is worth it, just to take away the emotions you aren't equipped to feel? Anyone seen Secretary?
Besides that, the thing with being dead inside is that, one, you can't be bothered, and two, you don't want to put family and friends to all that trouble and expense. Let's try to look on the bright side here; there must be a way to ignite what's inside.
So this is my story so far, but what happens next? I don't know, how does one speak to their own soul, when the soul is the reason for speaking? Is there any point trying for a happy ending? What do I do?
I like driving on and on forever and always, road beneath tyres, rolling, passing by landscapes my feet will never touch, it's a way of peace and beauty and the destination, it's always good, doesn't matter who or what is at the end, it's always good, you're always welcome.
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