Suicide Note

There is a large crowd and I sit on the periphery completely dumfounded. I am surrounded by bodies of every shape and size, of every color and hue, and I am to negotiate my place. To say I am confused, that I would rather engage directly than presuppose a certain personality, is a flaccid concept. You are supposed to be white, but I see nothing but a character constructed out of years of assimilation, while the figure over there is supposed to impregnate me with images of sexual desire, whilst I care not to reduce my experiences to such facile categories. I am thus flushed of life, of love, of any emotional feeling that I wish to express, for I am inundated with the cyclical progression of my everyday, an everyday that I try to escape. I told myself that I wasn't angry, that being frustrated was a causal reaction reflective of my constant confinement, a confinement which I must accept if i wish to continue living. I am but a dreamer who was aroused by the impossible. I wish to lay claim to no valued belief, but only to ease my humiliated consciousness once and for all.