looking back. why I must do this.
Looking back this has never been easy to do at all. That was apart of the thrill.
Many factors hitting at your success, the environment filled with people who do not care about your plans or intentions but only want to label you as a criminal or devour you. From your own lack of friends and companions and resources to your own weakness to even pratice the arts in such a hostile environment.
Looking back, there are two ways to see things, the fantasy of your youth or how exactly the world was like back then. You like to imagine yourself as a striving artist with a happy family but this is simply never the case. The family is corrupt and drags you down. Anyone you will meet for at least ten years will likely be of no help at all to your goals or even helping you be a better person. If anything, these people will the ones who try to eat you for lunch. Even anyone who appears to appreciate your art as in an art teacher or something will only disrespect your work even to the point of writing a pen mark serenade on your valuable one of a kind draft. A one of a kind draft forged by blood and iron, sweat, tears and dreams.
There is unspeakable evil in this world. Some sick bastards will piss on your lunch quiet directly in a mishap in P.E class. Your parents will continue to care while they take fear as god and seek to speak for god himself. You will only laugh to stop yourself from beating the dregs out of these whores who have done such a miserable thing reflecting the depravity of this world. You continue to hide behind the wall of illusions and close off from such dark seeds and refuse to make them noticeable, But is reminded every single fucking time you walk into a walmart.
You thought fourth grade was so grand, All the worries your parents put into all for waste. Why they worry, they are constructions of fear and animosity and destruction itself.
You expect to have friends and waltz in romance. But your friend, your crush who only saw you as a little brother, never comes to the school that is soon realized to be a dump...a place to where in the future, your lunch will be pissed upon. Much " friends" will be made. But probably for the last time ever. Tried of these ghetto ass fucks...yet you refuse to curse. You run to create the fleeting idea of your world, a world that should be, but is not. You go to create these shows, comics and books. But will any of these shit heads read or appreciate it? Can anyone read really?
But its not for them. It is to create the world you so desire by becoming the best. You start to get your ethics and craft together indeed. But its not easy nor will any damned adult reach out and take you on as a student, but that's perfectly fine. Fuck adults.
Time after time you come to find yourself alone and try to reach out to find a girl who can understand you, but it seems none will never ever notice you nor will you have the guts to ask in such a world were you are constantly tormented. And revolted you are.
No adult will ever-ever care. Though there were some way nice teachers in the fifth, that was it..for good. The other teachers will torment you especially in these gifted and talented classes you are pushed straight into. Enough, you start and you start your fight.
Fighting the current, enduring the pain of loneliness and sub standard relations and lifestyle. Enduring nasty food and nasty people.
Creating these series to replace the life that should be...beautiful.
And in the damn dawn of the not so beautiful teens impregnating theirselves, you start to solidify the stories to pure vision of adventure, story and style. Now, the real fight begins to create your actual comics and not these one edition and spur of the moment things, but you use the spur of the moment to create these new ideals and new methods and the heart endures pain, You think of 2004 and how it could be different if you and your so called "friends" where able to continue to be friends. But indeed their friendship was very empty and blank indeed. Just like these friendships who never blossomed into anything at all but mentions on a certain site and occasional sightings in public, you fill these pages with many images as there are many of these times. You cry out in pain, you do not. Cornered like a mad dog in a situation that reveals the world to be exactly what it has been all along. Now, you cannot date anyone or even talk to people that much, involving them would lead to a bad reality where you shoulder the burden for their own deaths. You do not want this after suffering so much, but in an attack you are fatally attacked in your sleep and must seek help. Help that only turns on you in the form of money and animosity from parents who seem to want to kill you at all costs. Believing that fear is god and god is a fear they only hold in their fragile dino brains.
After getting out, you find yourself a champion but with no help nor respect and will probably never receive any respect. And that one girl who viewed you as a child when you were a child, a little brother will never ever be at your side. You will never get to know her. The dreams of a nine year you, dead. And neither versions of you can not do anything at all. But chase better dreams and better opportunities.
And to wash away a poisoned dream. One that threatened to kill you.
Emotion that sweeps to grey your brain and silence you with pain.
But you and your brain do not give up, till you discover to forms of style of thought and living.
That can be molded in one and one branch of methods and methology backed by the resources of stories and stories untold and their various methods, outlooks, feels and principals.
Even though you have to sacrifice. Till you feel not one damned thing at all and wonder even the principal of love and if it is actually present in the world.
Till you are tired and say, enough is enough, yet again....
You will....do this...
Many factors hitting at your success, the environment filled with people who do not care about your plans or intentions but only want to label you as a criminal or devour you. From your own lack of friends and companions and resources to your own weakness to even pratice the arts in such a hostile environment.
Looking back, there are two ways to see things, the fantasy of your youth or how exactly the world was like back then. You like to imagine yourself as a striving artist with a happy family but this is simply never the case. The family is corrupt and drags you down. Anyone you will meet for at least ten years will likely be of no help at all to your goals or even helping you be a better person. If anything, these people will the ones who try to eat you for lunch. Even anyone who appears to appreciate your art as in an art teacher or something will only disrespect your work even to the point of writing a pen mark serenade on your valuable one of a kind draft. A one of a kind draft forged by blood and iron, sweat, tears and dreams.
There is unspeakable evil in this world. Some sick bastards will piss on your lunch quiet directly in a mishap in P.E class. Your parents will continue to care while they take fear as god and seek to speak for god himself. You will only laugh to stop yourself from beating the dregs out of these whores who have done such a miserable thing reflecting the depravity of this world. You continue to hide behind the wall of illusions and close off from such dark seeds and refuse to make them noticeable, But is reminded every single fucking time you walk into a walmart.
You thought fourth grade was so grand, All the worries your parents put into all for waste. Why they worry, they are constructions of fear and animosity and destruction itself.
You expect to have friends and waltz in romance. But your friend, your crush who only saw you as a little brother, never comes to the school that is soon realized to be a dump...a place to where in the future, your lunch will be pissed upon. Much " friends" will be made. But probably for the last time ever. Tried of these ghetto ass fucks...yet you refuse to curse. You run to create the fleeting idea of your world, a world that should be, but is not. You go to create these shows, comics and books. But will any of these shit heads read or appreciate it? Can anyone read really?
But its not for them. It is to create the world you so desire by becoming the best. You start to get your ethics and craft together indeed. But its not easy nor will any damned adult reach out and take you on as a student, but that's perfectly fine. Fuck adults.
Time after time you come to find yourself alone and try to reach out to find a girl who can understand you, but it seems none will never ever notice you nor will you have the guts to ask in such a world were you are constantly tormented. And revolted you are.
No adult will ever-ever care. Though there were some way nice teachers in the fifth, that was it..for good. The other teachers will torment you especially in these gifted and talented classes you are pushed straight into. Enough, you start and you start your fight.
Fighting the current, enduring the pain of loneliness and sub standard relations and lifestyle. Enduring nasty food and nasty people.
Creating these series to replace the life that should be...beautiful.
And in the damn dawn of the not so beautiful teens impregnating theirselves, you start to solidify the stories to pure vision of adventure, story and style. Now, the real fight begins to create your actual comics and not these one edition and spur of the moment things, but you use the spur of the moment to create these new ideals and new methods and the heart endures pain, You think of 2004 and how it could be different if you and your so called "friends" where able to continue to be friends. But indeed their friendship was very empty and blank indeed. Just like these friendships who never blossomed into anything at all but mentions on a certain site and occasional sightings in public, you fill these pages with many images as there are many of these times. You cry out in pain, you do not. Cornered like a mad dog in a situation that reveals the world to be exactly what it has been all along. Now, you cannot date anyone or even talk to people that much, involving them would lead to a bad reality where you shoulder the burden for their own deaths. You do not want this after suffering so much, but in an attack you are fatally attacked in your sleep and must seek help. Help that only turns on you in the form of money and animosity from parents who seem to want to kill you at all costs. Believing that fear is god and god is a fear they only hold in their fragile dino brains.
After getting out, you find yourself a champion but with no help nor respect and will probably never receive any respect. And that one girl who viewed you as a child when you were a child, a little brother will never ever be at your side. You will never get to know her. The dreams of a nine year you, dead. And neither versions of you can not do anything at all. But chase better dreams and better opportunities.
And to wash away a poisoned dream. One that threatened to kill you.
Emotion that sweeps to grey your brain and silence you with pain.
But you and your brain do not give up, till you discover to forms of style of thought and living.
That can be molded in one and one branch of methods and methology backed by the resources of stories and stories untold and their various methods, outlooks, feels and principals.
Even though you have to sacrifice. Till you feel not one damned thing at all and wonder even the principal of love and if it is actually present in the world.
Till you are tired and say, enough is enough, yet again....
You will....do this...
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