Hey, the Antidote!

It is relieving to have something different. I enjoy every time people narrow their eyes at me. It oddly brings me glittery feeling every time I put some furrows on their temples. I enjoy every difference. Someone told me being normal ain’t that bad, but I guess I’m really afraid of being normal. It often exiles me from the others, brings me unto somewhere means people’s fear – a fear called as solitude.

So I start it again. I promptly refuse every shitty shit. It is ridiculous for frankly saying, I have a feeling it already flies me unto the same rage, unto the same mourning. Maybe it should be the loud rustling in my ears – something to wake me up, kind of alarm to make me steady rational. But apparently – the antidote – it makes me feel that Meursault-Arab moment. A moment when the trigger gave before he just realized that there was something jugged his palm.

I adore that solitude. I don’t want to make some spaces from a place where I can find the power to resound what I want to shout. Maybe this one already creeps you out, maybe this one makes them thinking I can’t even be with one of them. But – the antidote – I’m fine with it. I’m fine when people let me get busy to live in my own solitude. The world with no unicorn or castle or prince or sound, the world where I can shoot everyone I want to shoot.

I feel like Sisyphus a lot. Punished to push that giant rock upon a mountain and every time it hits the top, it rolls down – insists me to push it just like the first and what the worst is, it repeats forever. Camus called it absurdity. I believe in it too. He told us he existed because he rebelled. Oh, I believe my mom will just kick me out of the family list because I nod over it – or perhaps she is already on it.

But hey - the antidote - maybe we indeed need to forge our own selves to fight against the world. Because we all know it, because we all know that since we were born – we have been followed by some instincts, some temptations to bring our own selves unto the death.  I’m dead when I’m being same, I’m dead when I leave my queerness. So that is why – the antidote – that is why I won’t let myself stop looking for some antidotes.

I wrote it with no music, just the sound of rain. The sound that made me lit my cigarette happily.