Motivated a little by "I Know It's Over" I suppose. Actually, I saw The Smiths' album on sale for $10 yesterday, but I didn't pick it up for some reason. Hmm that might have been a mistake, but anyway. (Edit: Well the first attempt was, but that was truly prime garbage)

Yet another in my brilliant saga of forced-writing, for nothing flows anymore.

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In the stifling silence of prayer, I was asked
"What do you want?"
In a final gasp of reason,
Countless desires were killed,
And I replied
"Nothing;
For nothing wants me".

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I think I speak for everyone when I say "Yawn, more nonsense about bleakness and pain and any conceivable pseudo-mystical concept". I really, really don't know why I bother anymore. I think I get inspired too easily by other writing, and feel I must emulate others in an attempt to express the workings of my already despicable mind. Maybe I should stop posting altogether; I can't remember the last good thing I wrote, be it a "poem" (a poem is more than than a group of obscure images that are forced to rhyme somehow, so what I am writing is most certainly not poetry, it is some vile muck that mocks those who really do write poems) or a pointless musing. I mentioned a while ago about putting this blog out to pasture when its time came, and maybe that time came and went a long time ago. You know, I often remark how I want to replicate some part of me, leave some imprint on this blog so that I have something to look back over these years, but you know what, there is nothing. If anything, all that I am reminded of is my manic-depression and numerous obsessions, most of which I forget the week after. Yes, this would be a valuable tool for me to actually try to improve myself, but looks like I've been failing miserably so far.

It's funny, I woke up today and I wondered why I couldn't take the work of others and make it as though I had written it. I don't mean copying their work, I mean making it so that I was the one who wrote what they did; it's hard to explain, I don't mean plagiarism, I mean changing reality or something. Who knows, I'm insane. So I originally was going to start this "poem" with "Well I don't know where I'm going, but I'm going to try for the kingdom, if I can". When I actually started to wake up mentally, though, I realized what an utterly sick mind I must have to even think that such a thing could work, even if it was in a sickly stupor.