Confessions of a Risin’ Star Eraser by Thom Yorke

(Above Pic) The Muse That Cut The Deepest

I have these sensors inside my body…

They’re supposed to be the masterfully supremely anointed intuitive guides. Yes, they hve guided me to do some things, that many would say is very cool. Things that many will never do in their lifetime. 

But, those same sensors are tellin’ me, not to do, so many things. Things like, eat what I want, talk to who I want, post what I want, buy what I want, wear what I want, etc.. That is how accumulatively calculated, my life has become, and due to this, as well as an astute jealous ridden tirade (from my own mother, father, supposed muse, an exchange of onlookers from the gym I go to, etc.) I now have to ask all that there really is, is this really all worth it. 

I can sense an innate essence of life that works intently to take the joy out of anything. It makes sure that only half way do anything. I can not fully do anything anymore. It’s at the point where I don’t like to talk at all. People don’t really know that. They see me as anyone who can talk to anyone, and I can. But, they also don’t know the madness that I endure…

For example, this shady weed-smoker chic(who did n’t really fit my standards), who was actually really perceptive to me (which is a huge deal for me, because so many women and people I interact with, are not), was obviously jealous of what was occurring with my craft. She, like most that circumference me, can’t stand that I have achieved in fashions they cannot. What she, and others like her don’t understand, is that I have been to hell and back. I have embraced some truth’s that most could n’t stomach. That is really the trill reason, I can tolerate much more, than them. 

With that being said, I will not be able or allowed by the powers that be, to find anyone love or companionship (w/ a woman)unless I leave. Even if it appears as though I have, I can assure you, that it will dissolve. (But does n’t everything, eventually.?)  

I keep affirming poetic justice, but where is the justice for my insanity? Where is the justice for what the broke Whole Foods checker did to me this week? Where is the poetic justice for the slanted slights of someone at the gym, every visit? Where is the justice for my mother being allowed to tell me that my things don’t deserve to be recovered? What is the justice for nearly every guy I see nearly grippin’ his girl to the ground, when I’m around. Yet, I can’t be with anyone(or I’m treated and led to believe, that I cannot, or have to elongated away from romance, love, or sexual interaction by the likes that we have organically tuned into? Where is the justice for the childhood abuse & neglect? 

Where is it? 

The positive to all this is that I have realized something. People do not really care if you live or die. They may to certain extent, but overtly, they don’t truly, care. And people, they don’t have to. Call it self preservation, call it self loathing, or even self righteous. It’s life. I wonder if this realization is why so many people we look up to, kill themselves. 

Let’s just say the talks to myself about women, bad people, and many things  I want to do, feel bad. My throat now aches from tongue turning into itself.

Yeh, I’m fucked, but I have diamonds, several deals, and several designer cars…

*deep sigh*

“All the money in the world, don’t make it painless…” 

 

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