Zhe

"There are many parts to a whole." Mostly old, but recently revisited. (September 2010)

These words document the ending of my life, an act which is relatively productive. Not extremely and not inherently, but relatively. Relative to floating languidly through existence, it is productive; relative to changing the world, it is not.

This may astound you, this may change your life, or, it may not. The words I choose here are calamitous, courageous voyageurs of a blank land, waiting to be wrought.

... what am I even saying? This doesn't matter at all, not to anyone, and certainly not to you. I don't understand why I continue to bother.

Oh dearest, perhaps it is your inclination towards procrastination? Itching fingers? Don't be so down on yourself.

You make me f*****g sick.

And so the voices have come out to play. They're listless and not really existent but oh, do they feel real to zhyr.

They will tear zhyr apart and claw at zhyr neurons until they're raw meat in zhyr skull. Zhe thinks, zhe wonders, zhe imagines and in every one of these mindful activities, zhyr voices -- zhyr dear, cursed voices -- come out to play.

Zhe is I, I am zhe. There is no other word to describe me, my uselessness, my unneeded self. Genderless and faceless and nameless because I do not matter to the world. I am a blank page and I've been scrawled upon, over and over again, and the marks have been left no matter how much I erase, because the lines are dug too deep, some even in ink. And I am worthless because I am not truly blank. I am scarred. I am a disgusting formation. I am zhe, and zhe is I.

Shut up. No, you don't matter. No, you will never matter. You will always be this creature you hate so much -- a reality you cannot escape. It's a fine life, keep it going! Keep being miserable. You are sick, you are wrong, everything is wrong.

I am wrong, I am wrong.

You are right. You will be wrong if you believe in wrong, because, dearest, wrong is in fact as relative as productivity and sense. Be wrong if you must, but know that you are right about yourself, in the end.

The end could be now.

The end could be now.

If the end is now, then end it.

But it is not the end.

The voices are confusing zhyr. In fact, they confuse themselves, each other. The entire world is turned.

Shut up, tzhe.

No, dzhe!

You too, bzhe. You're all just in the way of what's clear, and what is clear is that zhe is useless. F*****g useless. Zhe hates zhyr and zhe should keep it up. It's only the right thing to do, even given how wrong zhe will always be.

Leave me, you scare me. And tzhe is the only one that makes any sense any more.

I have balance. I am objective. And zhe is still confused and in need of comfort and decision. This I cannot give, that is true.

You know I will stay. Don't coddle yourself, it will only prolong the pain that already amuses you, because that's what you do, isn't it? Amuse yourself with how fucked you really are. I'm here to keep you alive, keep you in check, keep you in the right kind of pain. You need me, zhe.

Zhe, I will say that you need only yourself ... but it seems that we are yourself. It may seem that you need us, but you should let us go. We are voices. We are not real.

Bzhe, you are real! Don't say that. Don't be that way. Don't say that. I cannot be wrong now. I am always wrong as I am always zhe, but I must be right about this, about you. bzhe, you are real, you and tzhe and dzhe. All of you. Real to me, and I will do what you say. Tell me. Tell me.

Hurt.

Be.

You are zhe. We are the voices. We are playing. We are real as real is real.

You are no help. Let me die.

No!

I must.

Then die.