The Baked Potato

I’m a baked potato. They put me in this oven & set the temperature too high. I don’t know why they did this to me, maybe they didn’t know how to bake a potato, maybe they were in a hurry or maybe they didn’t like potatoes. I was ready too early. Eaters kept opening the door of the oven & staring at me & shutting it back close. I felt the breeze from the outside, the nice cool air, I so wanted to go out of this oven. I was smiling wide, trying to get someone to eat me, but they didn’t. I guess they thought I was too little to satisfy their adult hunger. I stayed in the oven & my outer layer became crispy. I was delicious & I thought this was the time someone would eat me & I was smiling wide welcoming their teeth to enjoy my taste. They kept opening the door & smiling at me, but they also kept shutting it back on my face. I guess they thought I was too little to satisfy their adult hunger. Now I was starting to get burnt, it was harder & harder to make my muscles smile, I was getting too hard from the outside & brittle from the inside, but I still did my best smiling. Soon I couldn’t smile any more, I was getting burnt more & more & I’ve come to realize that the more I was in this oven the less chance I had to get out of it. Who would want to bite that hard layer to get to see what was inside? A few times they have opened the door again, I tried to smile somehow, but I never had them looking at me long enough so I could squeeze my muscles. I was getting too burnt, in fact so much that I started to fall apart. I’m still in this oven. I’m trying hard not to make noise or let the smell out of it, I don’t want anybody opening this door; I know they’ll trash me as soon as they see me. So I’m doing my best to get burnt so much that I can get my bodyprint on this platter that I’m being baked on, so no one can wash the print off of it. I want other potatoes who get to be baked on this platter see what it was like to be baked here for me & I hope it will make the owners of this platter think & learn how to bake a potato next time, so they don’t have their platter ruined. I just so hope that no one will trash me before I get to do it, I just so hope...

 

 

The Hatred

I have this strange feeling, feeling of being hated by many. I can feel that vibe going through me, even when the door is closed. Sometimes they smile, but I can just feel how that energy penetrates my molecules, cranking the speed of destruction. Is that the smell that makes them hate me? I don’t know, I’ve been in this smell for so long I don’t even feel it. And it’s not like that energy is directed only against me, it’s everywhere. People hate people, if you asked them why they couldn’t tell.
I need to hurry up with my plan, one side of me is turning into ash already, but I just can’t stop wondering what’s with that hatred...

 

 

The Tool

Potatoes don’t have soul, therefore potatoes don’t care about eternity. Potatoes are looked at as a material that is being used to prepare food. What if potato wants to be a tool? a tool to create art. If only someone grabbed me & dragged me over that white canvas! Marvelous black traces of my ash would make it look eye blinding. Who could pass by that canvas without a notice? Damn it, I wish I was a brush! Alas nobody believes that potato can be a tool, so the only choice I have is rolling myself over this platter to paint this fuckin' picture. One shot to paint a masterpiece; I can not let this go wrong…
I’m so self-centered; I don’t care how the platter feels about this whole thing, I don’t care about how the smoke going out of me fills up the lungs of this oven & makes it choke. D*** it, I want everyone to choke from this smoke! I’d be happy to be a cigarette with some addictive nicotine inside of me. Right! I need to make this smoke addictive somehow, what can I throw in there, maybe some of that gas that this oven is using to bake me; I need to make this oven choke more often to get that gas out before it gets burnt. But first things first, I need to paint that picture...

 

 

The Phrase

I just wish I was never born so I didn't have to die.

 

 

The Dead End

Endless set of one way streets with too much traffic moving at a constant speed. You have no clue where your next turn will take you; those who pretend they know are the worst. Leaders, beliefs, heroes, the truth – everything is one big stinking misconception, everybody is a selfish something trying to get theirs. You can’t stop or turn around, you’ll get smashed. Everybody turns into a dead end street sometime. Long dead end streets are the worst, you can see the end, but you have nowhere to turn. It’s so strange, but even here there is a lot of traffic. Superficial powers are needed to get you out of here.

 

 

The Payment

It’s a funny feeling to be baked. It’s even more funny paying for being baked. This oven & this platter must have figured out that I must be on to something; they give me more & more work to do so I don’t have time left to paint. They also pretend to be my best friends & try to fish words out of my mouth. See, they have this deal with the ringer & they know I fear the trashman, they use my fear to make me pay for stuff they tell me I need. They have these red trashman buttons all over the place & I know they are itching to get the ringer to do its part of the deal, but their greed keeps me here. I know they’ll keep me here for as long as they can use me. So… I pretend that I need sleep & when they go to bed I jump up & start painting.

 

 

The Loner

Once in a while in abundance of streets you get confused & turn into an alley. Alleys are too narrow to have a company. It may seem fun at first since your are tired of the crowd surrounding you, but this mirage of fun can lead you to a labyrinth. Endless feeling of Déjà vu with signs with smiles & fake sympathy pointing to where the exit is just to end up at the same place in the end, over & over, getting the devil inside of you rise & burst with victorious laughter. Laughter so loud that you can not even hear your own thoughts. You feel like you are going insane, you start running to find the exit from this labyrinth, faster & faster until you are exhausted & signs are too tired to point anywhere anymore. You stop & try to take a brake, but the voice of the devil becomes louder & louder making your ears & eyes cry blood. You become hideous & then desperate. You run towards the signs begging them to give you the right direction, but most of them turn their pointers away as soon as they see your ugly face, others point you just somewhere to get rid of you. At this point you wish there was a dead end to turn. In this labyrinth you become an object of hatred or sometimes pity, the best you can count on. Mr. Devil has squeezed every little drop of blood you had inside; from the outside you can see nothing but dried blood: dark, hard, ugly. Even Mr. Devil is starting to grow tired of you & his laughter fades. Now you become the true loner! You can only rely on your luck to get out of this labyrinth, but how lucky have you been so far? And even if you suddenly get to find the way out, what are you going to look like on the streets?

 

 

The Acceptance

There IS no such a thing as acceptance of your own self, because you are already accepted by yourself. The acceptance is to accept not being accepted, but it contradicts your self-acceptance. So in order to master the acceptance you need to unaccept yourself.

 

 

The Polarity

Polarity is an interesting notion. I guess one side of you gets directly influenced by the heat & while the other side stays relatively untouched. At the beginning of this process there is only a little cremated side of you & that doesn’t really seem to bother you, but the more you stay here the more of you gets cremated. At some point, when you get completely burnt, polarity stops making any sense. Unfortunately there is no science to roll this process back.

 

 

The Love

Love is like a religion, belief in non-existent god. You can worship & pray to your god a lifetime & end up in hell. There is no recipe for paradise, god is not fair. Being religious is the worst gamble you can come up with, odds are too low in this game, a reasonable person wouldn’t consider playing it. Only idiots & desperate people take a chance like this, idiots eventually become desperate people too. I wish I could stop being one of them, but gambling is an addiction, once you play, it’s almost impossible to stop. You pray, you bet, you watch everything being taken away from you, until you have no words left in your mouth to pray. When you don’t pray, you get kicked out of this church & become an object of hatred. Now they blame you for believing in god & your god blames you for the prayer. You’d think after this one would never have a belief again, but it’s an addiction, your sight gets blinded with a vision of paradise & you are back sitting behind this table again, you can hardly believe it, playing the same game, betting your hollow chest, not even understanding what your expectation is. There is a place for people like this, they call it rehab.

 

 

The Phrase II

I wish I was never born so I didn't have to live.

 

 

The Prefectionist

There is no point in doing anything, you can always wait & do it better. I can never get anything complete.

Don't want to do anything
Don't want to be anything
Don't want to touch anything
Don't want to say anything
Don't want to hear anything
Don't want to feel anything
Don't want to move anything

Nothing makes sense.

 

 

The Negativity

Positivism is a vulnerability to pain, too much positivism is too much pain, too much pain is fear of pain, fear of pain is a desire to avoid disappointment, a desire to avoid disappointment is negativity. So negativity is positivism, therefore it's a vulnerability to pain, fear of pain with a desire to avoid disappointment with no way to actually accomplish it.

 

 

The Emptiness

Emptiness seems like a healing force to me, it’s a dangerous deadly force, but sometimes you need to die in order to be born again. An opportunity to return as a newborn with previous experience is an amazing thing; it’s a disadvantage that you stay in the same shell though. Every end is a beginning of something, every beginning is an end of something, so end is not necessarily a bad thing, but beginning is not a good thing either. The beginning is a new opportunity, the end is success or failure; regardless of the type of ending, there will be a new opportunity after, whatever it is, it will come and go. Our task is to learn how to enjoy the process of opportunity. Concentrating on the end or beginning is an attempt to get away from your own shadow.

 

 

The Beautiful Ones

Beauty is a fear, fear of loosing it. Such a fear can ruin your self-esteem. Your worthiness becomes completely dependent on your beauty & your beauty is dependent on the point of view of strangers. So this fear lets strangers decide what you are worth. Dear beautiful ones, it’s important to remember that you are not about your beauty; your beauty will wear out some day, that’s when we’ll find out how beautiful you really are. It’s time to learn to use your beauty to become beautiful, beautiful enough not to fear.

 

 

The Gravity

I hate the feathers growing on my wings; they make me want to fly, but it’s too windy around here. The wind blows the feathers away & I keep falling down. What kind of dysfunctional fuckin' bird am I? The higher you fly the more painful is the fall. I can’t fight the gravity. One of these times it’s gonna kill me.

 

 

The Fall

It’s more painful realizing that you are falling than the fall itself. It’s frustrating to predict the future & not being able to do anything about it; you can try, but it does nothing other than making the ground want you more. I can see it smiling at me. I need an angel to catch me from above & not let me fall. But I’m already down there with dead & injured bodies around me, hysterically crying & calling for help. I can’t stand this sob, it’s disgusting. You reach out trying to help & you get a slap back. You try to leave & they beg you to go back & when you do, they slap you again. I must be really enjoying these slaps; I keep going back like an idiot. I’m addicted to these injured creatures, I know I should be running away from them as far as possible for my own good, but I just keep falling for their cries. This will drive me crazy sooner or later & I’ll want to fly again to get away from this. The truth is that I’m looking for that angel among them, the angel that won’t let me fall here again. I have no clue why I’m convinced the angel I’m looking for is one of these injured creatures, but then how can you be an angel without being injured. Sometimes I have this feeling that I have already found her, but she doesn’t want to help me or too afraid to help me. Maybe I shouldn’t be helped; maybe I should just fly for the last time as high as I can & fall dead, making my contribution to this grave of dysfunctional animals.

 

 

The Wall

The happiness sits on the other side of the wall, but I can’t break this wall on my own. I need someone from the other side to help me with this. But someone sits still & cold and I keep banging my head against this wall, but I got so excited that I got internal bleeding inside of my head. My heart rate is frighteningly fast, this pain inside never stops, it’s with me even in my dreams; it hurts every possible way known to human race. Every time I think it cannot get any worse, it does. I think I’m as close to giving up as I can possibly get. This trauma is too painful at this point, I’m afraid to hit my head against this wall again, because it has become life threatening. I can’t make up my mind whether I keep going or I stop; how the hell am I supposed to make such a decision?! I’m shivering like a coward in the hands of this power, it’s amazing how it was able to smolder the warrior inside me. I wish I didn’t have this much pride so I could beg, but that’s one thing I can’t do or at least I think I can’t, I’d rather die. These walls that keep haunting me throughout my life, I hate them. Why the fuck can’t they make them walls soundproof?! These little whispering sounds that keep coming to me, I’ve been hearing them for so long that now even when it’s silent those whispers replay themselves in my head. I wonder if a saw cutting through my body can feel as bad as this. Holy shit! why are there so many construction workers?! Corporative unions keep building new walls around me, new walls around everybody; how many heads do we need to sacrifice to break these walls? I wonder if we even have enough heads for such a demolition.

 

 

The Phrase III

The only reason I'm alive is because I'm not dead.

 

 

The Rebirth

I’ve discovered a little bit of sanity in this chaos. The only thing that makes sanity different from insanity is positive attitude.

 

 

The Rediscovery

I’ve got carried away, emotionally connected, selfish, giving; I’m suggestible, I admit it. This isn’t about me, I don’t own or owe anything. To bring things to order I had to become emotionally disconnected again, I’ve figured out how to disorder the disorder, two negatives make a positive, it’s all simple physics, I tend to think I’m so complicated, yet I’m not. My simplicity is irritating me, I disgust myself, but I chose to be disgusting over being pathetic. I do nothing, because smartest men do nothing. I’m an irritated emotionless simple moron, I’ve rediscovered myself. I feel better now.

 

 

The Phrase IV

The only reason I'm alive is because I want to find out why.

 

 

The Broken Heart

I got hurt. I kept laying under this pile of rocks hoping death would pick me up on its way, but it didn’t. It didn’t want me either. I had to pull myself out of that pile, but I had to leave a part of me there. I stood up on the grave of my sole family member & watched him die, buried alive in a life of despair. Anger filled up my inside, emptiness was all I could feel & suddenly I felt freedom & it didn’t feel good. I look at his unfinished art & I want to finish it to present it to the audience, but I just don’t feel like I can catch that feeling to continue it. How can I finish something that was the opposite of my anger & emptiness? I’m all pale from the coldness inside, it’s so obvious that strangers stop & stare at me; I’m this moving & talking corpse, an animated statue, a piece of art made by death of another art, a rare kind with autopilot as its only moving force.

 

 

The Insanity

Disconnected thoughts are spinning through my mind, there are so many of them I don't even know where the beginning is; wish there was an end sometime soon, but I don't see it coming. I'm running through this puzzle, catching phrases, trying to put it together. For what final result, what am I hoping to get out of this? I have no clue. Sometimes I think I just do this to distract myself from what I think the reality is. I close my eyes and see these faces spinning in front of me, some familiar strangers, weird face expressions, I have no idea what the hell I roll these images in my head for, but I’m trying to find out something I don't know and that just gives me enough boost of interest not to be able to rest. I've been up this tunnel for too long, I have these hands pulling me, voices calling me back and I’m just about to break free, but I’m afraid of something. What am I afraid of, why am I afraid? I seem to have lost everything I could have, whatever I haven't lost I’ve gotten rid of, but out of somewhere I have this urge to go back to who I was, exactly what from I was trying to distance myself for so long. I’m stuck in this triangle - 2 of me & my body; I’m watching these constant arguments & fights and then some voice of wisdom speaks to me; it tells me not to worry, because nothing matters. But then the voice of doubt speaks to me & tells me that wisdom is not what I know it is, these 2 people are not what I think they are & my body is not what I think it is either. So much hatred & so much co-dependence; they all want so much for a compromise & I don’t know if I can ever get what they want, I don’t even think I have enough time to try.

 

 

The Atheist

I believe that it's better believing in something than believing in nothing. I guess that's the only belief I really have.

 

 

The Painkiller

It’s been hurting for too long
Sometimes it feels like it’s become my essence
Killing my senses
To kill this pain
This pot is boiling
There is something cooking here
But what difference does it make
When there are no eaters?
What good is god
When there are no believers?
How can you fear hell
When you’re already in one?
What good is love
When it’s not returned?
What good are friends
When they can’t accept you for who you are?
What good is sex
When there is no attraction?
What good is insanity
When there is no cure?
What good is life
Without any happiness?
In the end it all makes no difference
Because everything is what we make out of it & nothing more.