who gives a f*ck about me? really? therein lies the problem, because chief amongst all, i give a f*ck about me. drowning in narcissistic self-infatuation made of smoke and mirrors. i dont even see myself anymore, not as i used to, not as i am. a self indulgent mirage of all i dream i can be - too good for most of you. the longer we're without the love of another, the more we fill that void with own love of ourselves. more and more each day, that you aren't good enough for me anymore. or so the coward would have me believe. risk nothing. the grotesque image too beautiful for anyone that would have me. no, i chase after apparitions, the progeny of the gods, heirs to beauty that can only be bought. such are the cravings i wake every night to and long for. its all bullshit. a fusion of styles, none of them me, all well worked lies such that only when you remove the colours, the pastels, the oil, when you have nothing but a blank canvas can you truly see how f*cking plain i am. but even then, i see mastery and artistry in an empty page, and duly credit myself. f*ck the truth, its only a relative perspective anyway. worthless to my ego. like the theologians that pick and choose sciences that serve them alone.

its so long since i stopped looking at myself that i don't even know what beauty is anymore. i would never have those that would love me, none are as beautiful as i. turning my back on all opportunities to actually feel anything without my initials inscribed on it. insecurity bleeding into narcissistic love, and as the blood runs dry, begins the self loathing.

a healthy dose of self-loathing...

I've become such a superficial depraved f*ckface... Looks looks looks... www.hotornot.com, clichemofo.com... And I've started to use foul language too... I don't even recognise beauty anymore because I've forgotten how to look past 3mm... If its not a form of art... I'm just like those shallow 90210 pr*cks without the rich parents... Worst part is everyone's so fucking boring anyway... When you forget what love feels like you learn to love just yourself and then you start buying face creams for men and plucking hairs in front of a mirror with tweezers... Gone are the good old days when some stupid cow loved you in the mornings when you were uglier than quasi-f*ckin-modo and your breath smelt like shit, but the dumb cow still wanted to kiss you... Maybe that's love... Two people curled up in a pile of filth... In the worst crap each one has to offer... BO and the gunk crap we get in our eyes... With a smile.

A Perfect Storm... Turner's 'Calais Pier'

A fucking storm, this life we find ourselves in. A storm in which we avoid all collisions. Preferring to fair the seas aboard our own vessels, charting the waters as the current of time carries us in but one direction, to the same place. A fucking storm, and no one swims. A fucking storm despite the seasons, the creaking of the boards and rupturing of the hull. Masts upright, sails torn through and through. Sirens fly between the ropes that bind my body. Take me. Take me I beg. Drag me into the murky waters I stand and watch every day, without the courage to jump. Or steer this vessel that I may collide with another life I'm so afraid to harm. Drown together, alone, the mermaids calling. Harbours, shores, countries, divided lands of civilisations. Everything meaningless. Take me from my prison of caring. In lust is living. In love I am the ocean.

by Haemophiliac...
...finished 8th October 2009

Written at the National Gallery looking at Turner's 'Calais Pier'.