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Simon The Mage | The Daily Leaf


Simon The Mage

Friday, January 3rd, 2020 @ 7:13 am | Audio, Random

I used to feel important to a lot of people.

Now I don’t feel very important to any people.

It all feels so fake. I don’t feel connected to anyone, you know?

I feel like if I start talking about my problems, that I’m just putting the weight of how I feel on someone else, asking them to share that burden with me, and I don’t want to do that.

Or, they’re going to punt me off with something, god or “you need to see someone, you need to see a doctor”, and you know what? I’ve seen people and seen doctors, and it all felt so unpersonal. I felt like a paycheck or an experiment. So unpersonal. 

I didn’t want someone to give me pills and tell me that’s how I’m supposed to feel, or the reason I feel that way because something is wrong with my brain or maybe the way I live.

No, I don’t feel like anything is wrong with my brain.

I feel like something is wrong with everyone else’s. How does nobody see what’s wrong? Does everyone feel it and we’re all just playing the game pretending like everything is normal and this is the way it’s all supposed to be and feel?

I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin, like I want to get up and walk away and just become someone else. 

I had someone tell me, “Just do it, just go away, be someone new!”, and then I did and she died. But hey that’s a whole other story.

What was I trying to say..

It’s a feeling, a feeling I can’t shake. It all feels so… Fake… no that’s not the word. 

No it’s not fake. It’s very much alive. This crawling angst, sadness, weight, a sludge.. An oil, no a tar, something we’re buried in and just can’t get clean of. 

It’s a system, the system. 

Sometimes I lay awake at night waiting for the train a few blocks down the street to come roaring down the tracks, the grind of wheels on metal carrying who knows what to who cares where. Hoping to hear a train crash so something interesting happens for once.

It’s 3:12am, and my hands are nervously waiting to do something. I can’t have a cigarette, I think to myself, I just smoked one and the room is hazy enough. It’s going to start messing with my allergies, though the irony of having just inhaled a french cigarette in less than a minute doesn’t seem to phase me whatsoever. 

There’s a pile of bibles on a table in front of me. Bibles and the pseudepigrapha. 

The Bible, they keep telling me, it’s supposed to have all the answers. But I pour over pages in the dark when I feel alone at night, and still l haven’t found god yet. They tell me I need to believe, that I need to look harder, but he’s not in there.

I thought, no, maybe the Gnostics had it right, maybe the answers were buried away by the church and all of those telling me to stay away from those nasty works that were unsuitable for the Bible, but I still haven’t found a damn thing.

“Simon flew in the air and Peter thought God brought him down with his prayers, if only he knew Simon had simply forgotten his incantation. A “ka” misremembered as a “ba” and with a stutter and an “aw shit” racing through his head, the magic let go and there he went, tumbling several hundred feet out of the air. 

The last feeling racing through Simon was frustration. Frustration he lost his bet. Well, that and his legs crushing on the stone-paved street beneath him’

Though I guess the real joke was on Peter, who was crucified upside down.

I go searching online, forever searching, and I’ve found plenty of answers but I still don’t know the right thing to ask.

Why am I depressed? What is it exactly? So I’m down on a bit of money at the moment, but hey you’ve got 12 days to go and you get paid again, is it really that bad? 

It feels pretty bad right now, but in a week I’ll feel a bit better about the situation probably. Won’t I? Will that really make it better? I’ve had money, it didn’t make anything better. 

Maybe I’ll keep reading this bible, Maybe there’s still yet an interesting story in there…

And Ehud came to him as he was sitting alone in his cool roof chamber. And Ehud said, “I have a message from God for you.” And he arose from his seat. And Ehud reached with his left hand, took the sword from his right thigh, and thrust it into his belly. 

– Judges 3:20-21 

Was it just me? I found it kind of amusing, the thought of Ehud standing there over that fatass king who couldn’t have done a thing to defend himself, the look on his face see this left-handed ninja assassin shoving a sword into him. “I have a message from God” alright.

The story goes on that the king was so fat, it swallowed up the sword and as Ehud snuck out through the window, the guards were too afraid to open the doors because they thought the king was taking a shit. 

No joke, go read it, I’ll wait. I know you probably don’t have a bible, I’ll lend you one. Maybe, I don’t know. I’m too attached to my books. You know me.

I don’t know where I was going with that. Sometimes there’s just a story I come across that makes me stop and go, “Holy shit!”, god was really pissed off back then. And then he had to have his son nailed to the cross to calm him down?

I really don’t want to be around if that guy is coming back anytime soon.

You know, over the years people have randomly sent me messages, “Why don’t you write anymore, why don’t you post on the daily leaf thing anymore? I liked you more when you were depressed”.

I’ve always been depressed. Nothing changes that. They always have the same things to tell me. Go see a doctor, go do something exciting, change your life!

I jumped out of planes, I partied with people I thought were famous in Miami, I slept in a Senator’s Penthouse with her daughter I met on craigslist. Actually that last one is definitely true, the others are a bit of a haze, and I remember feeling more like I was out of place than I felt like I was somewhere I should be or even fit in. It just wasn’t that interesting in hindsight.

Maybe that’s part of the whole depression thing. I never feel like I fit in. I feel like everyone looks at me no matter what room I walk into and remembers me, and starts thinking they know everything about me, or think I’m up to no good. That’s why I get those “random security checks” at airports. Hell the last time I got on a plane I was in a wheelchair and they still pulled me to the side to search me up and down. 

I don’t fit in, I never fit in. I partied and tried to fit in, people I was told would make me important, people that said I could be a great musician, a great writer, a great programmer, a great anything. I’ve never been very good at any of those things, I’ve just been enough of a programmer to get by, and boy do I wish I could do more but every time I start at that I get a few days in, get overwhelmed by all the work, and give up. 

I feel a constant pressure to succeed, and when I don’t, I don’t know what I really want anymore.

I try to climb Everest while I should be figuring out how to carry a backpack in the first place.

It’s 5am now, and I’m still rambling. Who is even out there reading this? You told me to write you something, and here I am 10 years late. It is too late right? Don’t you wonder how things could have turned out sometimes?

You’re reading this thinking it’s for you, but is it you I’m talking about or someone that would make you jealous to know ever existed?

I’m hungry. I’m tired. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to feel this way anymore.



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