The consequences of being oneself, and of refusing to compromise, is exactly that: the self, only the self, an over abundance of self. It has been so long that I have felt that I was alone, and during that time I fell away from myself, from all things recognizable, so that perhaps this solitude is necessary for me to sustain the self

Even beyond that, there is the constant questioning, the negative reinforcement, hate mail, a broken window. Gossip is nothing but amusement, as well as silent hatred. But all this, because of who I am.

A sonnet for self indulgence, because I refuse to be anything but. I could apologize for who I am, because it is purely my own choice, but at the same time, the person who I have chosen to be won't allow that. I am. I am.

This cohesion of molecules of existence, this disgusting, vile, stupid existence. I indulged in its life because I thought it was honest, because it, too, is. Is there any objective way to deny it? To say that it is immoral? I have said I have no religion, but that is a lie. I believe in the dirt, in the air, in the fact that we are alive and that we will die, in existence as something cold and sterile and giving birth at the same time.

I have been searching for honesty, for everything beautiful and ugly and mediocre. Is the acknowledgement of these ugly things, in itself, immoral?

What use is it to deny yourself of things when it doesn't matter, when it doesn't make a difference? Things happen and they happen and there isn't anything beyond that. Morals presuppose that there is something beyond that, and I suppose this is where the discrepency stems from.