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[theinkdiaries]

Earth Asylum

Looking out from a metaphorical bedroom window, iron bars arch across it's length from the windowsill upwards, and reaching further still, all the way to the sky above which is said to limit us, or so they claim. 

As for the prison bars on the other side of the faintly tainted glaas. 'It's there to keep you safe.' Was the line they force fed us.

Gazing From within a cozy confinement, all warm and dry in your cage, ignorantly content within captivity, television taught you to play dead I see. 

Propaganda programing sunk in nice and deep didn't it, keep playing dead so well you might even get a little treat on month's end. Good boy, keep it up, now sit and roll you ignorant fuck.

Wake up!

Next time you look out of that tightly shut window you got. 

See the glass for once. 

Realise that you are looking at a distortion of the world. 

See the light through the curtains, then notice how its just sparce enough for you to see a picture reflective surface HD display set up to convince us that this man made reality is the only way there is; no exceptions and no alternatives. 

For good measure there is a vent in each cage, they added, strategically placed and its purpose is a fucking conspiracy, the truth however is bright red letters in bold print which states: Classified.

Life as We Know It is a sad excuse for existence since living life to the fullest can get you arreste, look around us. 

We're being manipulation on a master scale with that artificial glimmer of freedom in the corner of your peripial visit as a tactic to keep your attention locked in place, to override your reasoning skills and replace logical thinking with unambitition and a false self perception leads to miss comprehension which will act as you chains.

The herd mentality has effectively convinced the majority of man that the world that I find myself in is the real deal. 

Reinforcement through intimidation, the threat of indirect excommunication, be cast out unless you're buying into whatever everyone else is buying at the time. 

As I was, I was cast. 

I became withdrawn from the factory line state of mind. 

I was pulled away by the subtle Whispers of the wind and became overwhelmed by a sense of belonging as it said to my soul in some unspoken language I didn't know I could understand: 'look at the Earth.' It said, going on in verse it told me to take her tragic beauty before me and as I did I fealt the longing, alive and burning within me.

Suddenly it became super condensed like a rock in my chest and as quickly as it did it then evaporate into thin air and disappeared again. 

Just like that the sky was no longer a limit but a familiar playground which existed for me to use at my leisure and I was free to touch the stars; to realise any and all of my dreams, my desire restricted by myself and nothing else.

Suddenly I fealt as if no obstacles exist but the whole truth is that the never did. For the first time since I arrived on this planet I had a sense of freedom washing over my being with no equivalent ever experienced, not before or since the day it happened have I had a more liberating feeling. 

The flip side of the coin here is that man's version of freedom is not flreely give and if you do manage to have at it there is always a catch, a few strings attached. 

Terms and conditions always apply to the corporate fine print slavery civilisation of modern times. 25 to life or 5 to 9 plus over time.

With this concept still fresh in my mind I can't help but lash out in a violent expression of passion, I was lost for a moment in a flood of anger. 

Took a swing at the open air and in doing so I accidentally ended up shoving my fist through the blurry glass that's been blinding my vision. 

The third wall shatters on impact and I can finally see the real thing for what it is. 

Life in the making is like walking the tightrope trapeze but the safety net isn't there to preven rock bottom from becoming acquainted in an instant.

For balance we stretch out to both left and righ. Hoding on to our center for dear life we have one hand on the boundary between fetus and corpse, and the other reaching for the beyond.

So we keep reaching further and further through the gaps and holes, through the glitches in the system and those missing pieces of existence while the patches loads them back in. 

Reaching out to touch the grass, to grasp the transparent energy so familiar yet never before seen, recognition much like a childhood friend passing in the crowd of a newly found Adult World. 

After spending way too much time estranged, double take firing up a stormy disaster running in the question which answers itself asking my every cognitive response: do I know you? 

Mentally the displayed result like a little box repeating error 343. 

Ultimately the conclusion which is the logical step-by-step procedure going available, would you like to: 

1: ask stranger if they could recognise me? or press 2: to the conversation method. suggestive reboot of memory might ring a dusty Bell, or option 3: there is a shortage of Fucks and with this economy I can't afford to give any. 

The inflation on empathy these days am I right. 

Better fuckig make sure your firewall is on before you talk to me, my antivirus already found 4 threats in the chest cavity, and autocorrect placed two files, sad as fuck. 

1 virus: the desire to help and 1 malware: anguish, both now in the vault. 

Can't be too careful these days might catch some foreign shit like aids or worse kindness, god forbid ; the survival rate is almost as low as the bar we set back in the day, before we dropped it. 

Like I'll give you what I have because your in need or some shit like that lol. 

Your strange customs intrigue me.

-Inkgrave.v.Godart-

[theinkdiaries]

Some of the Pain was so Worth it.

-Inkgrave.V.Godart

[theinkdiaries]

Around 4am I fealt it.

[theinkdiaries]

Insomnia is kicking the shit out of the sandman again and I'm still begging my sheets to let me in.

[theinkdiaries]

No Words

Elipsis life goes on semicolon there's so much of my life I wasn't there for and so much more I must've missed out on a comma to breathe again full stop this is the end brief pause to think about it comma again since I tend to breathe quite often and the question arose so I'm asking you all but first I should insert open quotation marks to start with or is it question mark close quotations can't put my finger on where this pit in my stomach came from full stop I find it so hard to figure out why I can't wrap my head around how this life and death concept took what we had and shat all over it exclamation mark

We survived after committing suicide or at least we tried but guess we had some commitment issues after neither of us left anything behind except for a comma to inflate the chest just like one tragic event gave rise to such very different lives which I now see for the first time though your eyes and I can't help but dwell on it semicolon paradigm shift to dementia arching across our conversations of the past full stop

A full stop with no end in sight I'm listening comma deep breath comma sigh I hear you and I'm starting to get that the day we went apart we weren't so different at all but we went pretty far and revert back to a different single point in time double take to make sure that you and I are who we say we are and a full stop is replaced by and ellipsis since the end is in sight and it looks like this is the last dot except nothing is over brief pause not just yet kid hang in there and remember to breathe when you see the single dot full stop psych semicolon switch over to a sudden freeze frame perspective change as the cammera pans out suddenly shooting landscape with a wide angle lense to provide an effective overview of everything we've been through so I slam the pen down to spill the ink out like we did in the past when our blood became to much for our empty hearts to bare but this time around I let nothing out expect for a single soulless black dot which is there but doesn't mean shit since the sentence is a small part of this story book and I cant stand it shut up no one cares finally there's a dot so I can fucking breathe again

But I don't feel the rise or collapse of my chest as I take this breath for myself instead I'm still here and I'm comma up to my neck in comma forget about it switchover to the truth sees me drowing in the paper thin air around me as with a comma I break away to wonder if it's just me or does lol really resemble a little downing man question mark sitting there in the dark with no lightbulb around to flash any form of sudden realisation on any part of any of this comma it ends with my falling off the wagon again and stick the landing us what I call a rock bottom faceplant been there done that semicolon sees me screaming that the fucking box has already been ticked comma loosing it and screaming at myself again loud as I can it goes wake up what the fuck is wrong with you retorical question ends in a string of exclamation marks which add no emphasis to anything at all but it's fine I'll just relapse to a full stop for some time to pass till I can wake up to find the future in this moment comma we're completely different comma yet so much closer than we ever where full stop I have stop nothing left to do but watch the pages burn.

-Inkgrave.V.Godart

[theinkdiaries]

Days Without

"Days without" to replace the cliché dear diary phrase so frequently used by lonely souls and depressed teenage girls alike. Whenever they need to express themselves or let some of the angst out, record some in depth thoughts for the sake of jogging it down, outlet evasive action, taking a pen to paper since Mr therapist isn't around and no one else will listen. In that respect there is no difference between the above mentioned first liners, serving as a guide to set the mood, call it reader prep, a vague "brace yourself" at the top of the page, before the rant begins. 

Guess I'm pretty much a depro emo boy again, depends how you look at it. Original none the less, at the very least trying to be, credit to me yeah. Anyway back to the actual subject I'm trying to get across, okay so it goes:

Days wothout, I wish i could say that I'm working on it, adapting to the change of circumstances, getting use to the loneliness bestowed on us by recent events, but the truth is that I'm not working on shit, in fact I'm still in shock, going through withdrawal if you will, still getting use to the gettong use to it part. Putting my hand on my chest to swear it but got interrupted by the realisation that my heartbeat is absent. My pulse vacant, my mind presumed dead.

And you my love are the prime suspect, condemned to life in my loving arms but got an early parole after zerving no time at all. Ps. The extra cheese is free of charge. I ducking love you my bffffl fuck knows what the L is for, flashback drowning man lol , speech bubble popping out and it says in capital letters, all bold: KISS ME , -whispers- so I can breath again.

To my mew.

-Inkgrave.V.Godart

[theinkdiaries]

Freedom of speech doesn't mean anyone will listen.

-Inkgrave.v.Godart

[theinkdiaries]

And with a Touch I Shatter

Fingertips, heartstrings and snapping sounds echoing.

Long he stood there, motionless,  paralysed.

Reverting back and emerging from, froth again. To and fro, as it where.

All we touch. All we feel.

The pinnacle of what it is.

Single accumulative point in time, mashed up mass of distorted recollections bottled up for years and locked away in the effectively surpressed vault.

Self deception says all is well. Problem solved he thought; forget about the... can't remember what it was.

Life whispers: "as the bunny hops". And the jar was dropped spilling all the shit he meticulously bottle up.

Life in humming tones, flashes for an instance, flares once and dies.

Like dropping a porcelain cup, that oh shit moment, falling as you watch, react, reflex, grasp, reach out to clenching fist, fingers wrapping round a substantial amount of oxygen not previously owned but it'll cost ya to breathe again.

Price tag: prevention is suddenly forfeit.

Unrelated though in immediate effect the following is suddenly somehow relevant; so abruptly ease into it. Ps. Still standing there like a soldier, minus the solute which is in any case a completely irrelevant way to display respect. Respect I'm sure though it may be closely related to discipline, in some obsure precept of a warped ass view created by some strongly opinionated ancient alpha male types in those simpler times when the world was pure, when the world was still; it was flat right? 

Fuck; my mind ran away there for a sec causing me to rant about some nonsense that really grinds my gears in fact but, I'm sorry none the less, did't mean to digress. My bad.

To get us back on track I'll open with the fact that during all of this he never moved an inch.

Why you ask? You didn't but thats fine for you see the reason behind his seemingly locked in place, some might say corpse like limbs on account of his blueish skin, medical term impaired blood circulation bla bla doctor things, prescriptions and a metric fuck ton of meds again.

He didn't move beacuse of the palm on his chest,  because the nasty ass scar on the wrist of that palm and because he knew the person attached to it. Mostly because of who she was to him,  was being present tense, just go with it.

Right so obviously this man standing there like a zombie buffering, with the little wheel still turning please be patient while loading... he is eiher a few eggs short of a dozen or perhaps he is completely caught up in what could very well be the most radiant fucking being he's ever seen and what if, assuming option B is in fact the cause of every thing thus far, what if she was smiling at him?

Would that make sense? A vaid explination for the motionless man caught in trance, with the hand on his chest, every hair on the back of his neck and on both of his arms, between the cigarette burns and thick layers of scars standing up as if called to rise for some profoundly selfless cause.

Heat flashes and the touch is all is, the only thing he feels, a tear drop trickling down the damn wall of his left cheek. Floodgates would flood the earth in what they felt before the nice clean floor was ruined by blood puddling up, stained the rug, and with a nice clean cut, broken record the last word before we is what we are.

In short, smooth skin was severely fuked up beacuse the thumping heart came to a screeching halt and I almost forgot to breath again; inhale once.

The touch of a hand is all it took to take him back. To flip the hourglass on it head and a slight crack to scatter the sands like dust in the frivolous wind.

Finally bowing his head, a moment of silence, a display of respect previously mentioned. He is leaning in with trembling lips parting slightly to say: "Last touch". Fading he withers, having seen her.

In a glimpse my lover, and with a touch I shatter.

-Inkgrave.v.Godart

[theinkdiaries]

I am surrounded by the unknown absence of a soundless stillness

Suspecting the existence of mysterious mental illnesses

Like those found within myself among those crowds of strangers

As nothingness echos I hear their beating hearts thumping one by one

Acoustics and the nature phenomena

But whose nature is this?

And how many can relate?

Provenance remains undetermined within a noisy civilization of ignorance

And it was this civilization that robbed me of myself

As I grew afraid of everything around us without ever fearing any of us

Never regarded as a person

The borderline classification

Afraid of breathing the air that sustains my lungs

I made a habit of holding my tongue

Afraid of the night and of the sunlight

A shelter built of blood is where I chose to hide

For the moment I am safe from everything

For the moment we can know almost nothing

And for a single moment everything is limitless

So what remains?

Does emptiness actually not exist?

What does exist in this apparent emptiness around us?

Who's controversial thoughts are these?

We don't know that we all know nothing

The youth euphemism

Interesting and intelligent are not the same thing

And bitter people are more interested in what you hide than they are in the things you say

The creative outcasts are the only ones who never go completely mad

As they aren't ever disheartened by their own crazyness without finding sanity within themselves

The seemingly endless amounts of individuals tend to receive only what they will upon themselves

Things like insanity

Feeding off of opposition and negative feedback

Manage to continue along with a healthy ambition if you can

It is the crazy that teaches us to use our gifts wisely and own all the attackers

Those who stand for different causes during different generations often experience the same oppositions and the same difficulties as those of the previous and the next generations. That is the basis of history repeating itself.

The love of conflict is most evident when opposing forces join sides to defeat the peacemaker.

Panic is the sudden realization that everything around you is alive.

-Inkgrave.V.Godart

[theinkdiaries]

There’s a war in my head

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[theinkdiaries]

4AM and I.

Ever Unbroken till the night terror disorder came a knocking.

Old man anguish and his stillborn dreams, a nightmare of murder in my sleep.

Kneeling at the foot of my bed, though not in prayer. Just begging my sheets to let me in. Insomnia is in the corner over there, kicking the shit out of the sandman, just like last night all over again.

Diagnoses concludes emotionally demented, can't believe I bought into the recommended fraudulent treatment. Therapy sessions and positive thinking methods, there was no blood but I felt it. While medicated side affects show little progress, they say it helps to talk about it. I found an ear in every empty sheet of paper, free of charge and always available. Trees listen even after we fell them down, no hard feelings.

Man on the other hand holds forgiveness like a grudge... Make up for it, right the wrongs, Repent Fucker.

911 what's your emergency: crank calls and Shots fired...

4 am already and I am devoid of thought, heart beat didn't skip but instead came to a screeching halt, and an empty space beneath the ribcage... A space you don't fit in either, but I wish you did.

At least I was always there to hold my hand with the other one, whenever I needed someone. Scattered are the pieces of my heart. Where could I have gone?

-Inkgrave .V. Godart

[theinkdiaries]

Middle Name Depravity.

Accompanied by Longing.

What mutual attractioin we find approaching sorrow, the destiny of a body. Do we suffer in silance? Do we plead for seclusion? Or may we be everlasting in the hearts of the forgotten?

Call me glue when your soul is tempted to be broken, find me with the stars. As foundation is labled crippled, and the deceased are more alive than we. What mysteries there is to life, what meaning? Mostly plastic surroundings cause unwilling implosions of the mind to the heart by means of the soul. You are light and I am still yearning.

-Inkgrave.V.Godart

[theinkdiaries]

The sharing pen spoke

A string of words and paper towns, thin sheet roads filled by snapping sounds.

What a treacherous thing to believe, that a person could be more than a person could be.

No one sees the rust or the cracked paint, but you can tell what the place really is by the smell of it.

You can see how fake it all is, without looking for too long. You already know. It's not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It's just a little paper town faking it.

But how can you seperate those things though? The people are the place is the people.

I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that actually matters.

You can't see the rust or the weeds, or the paint cracking in the heat. You see the place as someone once imagined it.

Remember that time, when we didn't die? Bring the fucking rain not the scattered showers.

The hypothetical idea itself is actually used to cut diamonds; and there's a sin for each of us...

Written on the bulding pages, each striped wall holds more mirror than window in it. For us...

I have never really thought of him as a person either; that guy whose strings were broken, like they all were. They who read what was not yet written.

He who didn’t feel the root of his leaves. Who didn't see the patches of grass connected to the rest of the field. A guy who was cracked much like me...

He is me.

Reading I saw him scribbled on the walls of those turning pages. He was dressed in the whiteness of the paper's inkless spaces, but he told me more than you ever would have written.

He is me. Find him in the spaces between those written words as you read them. Our tacid agreement stricken.

The ink sequence ended with a fullstop. Save me; semicolon. Screaming with an exclamation mark!

Forget about me bookworm, another end is drawing nearer

Another chapter comming to close, and when the novel slams shut; The Buried poet I will become.

Reflective rather than revealing; I built these paper towns by hand. A happyplace to record my emptiness. A hometown for my scattered remains to find solace.

I am the buried poet, the dust on the bookshelf.

-Inkgrave V. Godart

[theinkdiaries]

[theinkdiaries]

Mr. Dangling Man

Mr dangling man

Your perspective on life comes from the cage you were held captive in...

And it was on the last day that you felt it all

Just as you feel nothing now

By choice...

Illness becomes wellness

Son of borderline

Your emotional state the equivalent of this discriptive attempt at translation...

Third degree burns over 90% of your body...

Lacking emotional skin

You feel agony at the slightest touch or movement...

Which emotional reactions were ever justified, if any?

To stave off the panic associated with the absence of a primary object named happiness...

Borderline patients frequently hang themselves

Impulsively engage in behaviors that numb the panic and establish a sense of contact ,though nonexistent

With comfort ever evasive

A necessary control over some aspect of existence is taken in the form of a life not worth living

Dominance self established...

And your emotion is finally visible to it's full extent

Free of judgment

Mr dangling man

Son of borderline

Sleep now as the sun is setting

And you are safe

You are safe here

-Inkgrave V.Godart

[theinkdiaries]

Because music Speaks