I was reading Mark Twight's Kiss or Kill and after reading a
particular bit I felt like writing down the following bit of
stream of consciousness that came out of my head. At first I
thought the book was a bunch of overblown noise but it started
sinking in.  The following is very likely overblown noise, but
that's what this thing is here for.

-=-=-

There's something painfully large going on here. The awesome
something of becoming oneself, finding the desperate need to be
truly alive instead of being down in the darkness, waiting for
someone else to do it. So much of me does not want to be alive. I
want to be the simple, the patterned, the only slightly noticed.
To achieve, in any real sense, is so much more than I'm willing
to comprehend. It is desperate, crushing, gnawing. I feel eaten
by this thing. Chewed by an ugly foul mouth that laughs at me,
questioning my existence with every little chew. It is sickening,
twisted, horrifying. I am weak, weakening. I'm more disgusted
with myself than I have ever been because I finally have the
barest view of the kernel within that lights things dimly, waiting
for the gas and the oxygen, something that is the fuel. It's not
out there with the others, but only if it were then I wouldn't
have to do it. I wouldn't have to declare myself more than dead.
That death is the sweetness, the seductive kiss, the final
answer, the removal of everything: questions, answers, doubth,
disgust. To be dead and rid of this nasty life. That would do it.
Clean end. The monster can only die when you stand near it, see
it, give it the finger and dive into the mouth. Fuck all of this
and all of you, there's something painfully large going on here.