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About Varied / Student Baruch Ben-DavidMale/United States Recent Activity
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I don't stand out in a crowd.  On the bus I'm just another bored passenger trying to get somewhere.  At the grocery store I get the usual food – bread and meat and potatoes – what we all buy.  In nice weather I ride my bicycle; in the winter I slog through the snow like everyone else.

Sometimes I'll hang out with you.  I'll join in the conversation, talk about the news or weather or some celebrity.  Until the talk turns to the forsaken: the mentally ill, the homeless, the addict.  Then it's no longer fun for me. That's me you're talking about.

You say such hurtful things: we should pull ourselves together; "just say no" to drugs; get a job.  We could do it if we really wanted to.  We're just weak, lazy, worthless parasites.

I listen in silence. I don't belong here. You so easily sneer and laugh at who I am. You’d be shocked to learn that I was homeless; that I'm mentally ill and an addict.  I don't look the part.  I look like a regular guy.   But here I am, one of your worthless parasites, sitting right next to you – and you never even knew.

I could tell you how it really is.  I could explain why we don't get our act together, get off the streets.  Would you listen?  The truth would be an unwelcome intruder; I don't have strength to speak it tonight.  I slink off, defeated, leaving you to laugh at the forsaken.  You don't know it, but that's me you're talking about.

 

  • Mood: Sadness
  • Listening to: Beethoven
  • Reading: Mastering Regular Expressions
  • Watching: Constantine
  • Playing: Elegy
  • Eating: The Bread of Affliction
  • Drinking: Hazelnut Latte
I'm doing it again – slowly, carefully cutting myself. I don't know why I do it. I don't like to. It hurts.

What's wrong with me? I make half-hearted attempts to stop, always returning like some helpless addict. Here I go again. Cutting, cutting, making long scars on my arm.

If I have to, I can roll down my sleeve, hide the wounds, pretend for a moment that everything's fine. I always wear long-sleeved shirts.

It’s my dirty little secret, something sick and perverted that no one else does. I'm weird. I'm different. I can never tell anyone.

Watching the blood drip from my arm soothes me. It was a good cut. It's not much blood. It never is.

I know cutting won't kill me. It's just some crazy thing I do that I can't understand, can't stop. It won't kill me. I wish it would.

Little by little the cutting stops. I don't know why it started; I don't know why it stopped. It came and went, a malicious stranger passing through my life.

All these years later the scars remain, a story carved into my flesh.
  • Mood: Sadness
  • Listening to: Beethoven
  • Reading: Mastering Regular Expressions
  • Watching: Constantine
  • Playing: Elegy
  • Eating: The Bread of Affliction
  • Drinking: Hazelnut Latte
It's two AM, three - I don't know. I'm in agony. I want to scream. I'm crying, sobbing over a lonely life and now a lonely death. I cannot go on.

Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord... but You don't answer. Maybe You’ve forsaken me; maybe You’re not there. For what monstrous sins must I bear this burden?

There's my bottle of antidepressants – a cruel joke. There are enough pills – more than enough. I wash them down, as many as I can. They make me dizzy and weak. I lie down. I fade out.

No one will note my passing. I'll stop coming to work. Someone will shrug, remove my name from payroll, and move on. I've already faded from life.

 I waken in my bed; my body folds, convulsing, forcing the air from my lungs. I can't breathe. I fade out.

I waken in a dark, quiet room. Before me is a gently illuminated crucifix. Is this death? I fade out.

I waken to the soft sounds of machinery. A quiet beep keeping time with my twitching heart that beats so feebly. I'm tied to the bed so that convulsions don't throw me to the floor. I'm in intensive care. I fade out.

For a week I fade in and out, my survival uncertain. The doctors and machines struggle to save my life, and damn them, they win. They save my worthless life.

I'm trapped in a burning building, desperate to escape the flames. I try to jump, but cannot escape the merciless fire. God, I hurt. Have mercy upon me, O God, according to Thy lovingkindness...

But God is silent. He leaves me screaming amidst the flames.
  • Mood: Sadness
  • Listening to: Beethoven
  • Reading: Mastering Regular Expressions
  • Watching: Constantine
  • Playing: Elegy
  • Eating: The Bread of Affliction
  • Drinking: Hazelnut Latte

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baruch60610's Profile Picture
baruch60610
Baruch Ben-David
Artist | Student | Varied
United States
I am mostly a musician (classical piano). I've done some photography in the past, but found that it was too difficult to get good shots.

I always had ideas of what I wanted to create, but I rarely ever found the perfect scenes. Out of the thousands of street photos I've shot, I have one I think is great; and a couple more that I feel are acceptable.

Now there is photo manipulation. I use GIMP, which is an open-source program similar to PhotoShop. I am just now getting into it, learning how to use the many tools it has. With GIMP, my own photos, and stock that I can include, I expect to be able to finally put together images that are clear (more or less) in my brain, but were having trouble being born.

I'm a student. Right now I don't know much of anything. That's OK. Everyone starts out not knowing how to do it. Some day I hope I'll be good at this. But for sure, I'm going to have fun.

If you find fault with my work, I would GREATLY APPRECIATE it if you could point out my mistakes. Even better would be telling me where I can go to learn more about them.
Interests

I don't stand out in a crowd.  On the bus I'm just another bored passenger trying to get somewhere.  At the grocery store I get the usual food – bread and meat and potatoes – what we all buy.  In nice weather I ride my bicycle; in the winter I slog through the snow like everyone else.

Sometimes I'll hang out with you.  I'll join in the conversation, talk about the news or weather or some celebrity.  Until the talk turns to the forsaken: the mentally ill, the homeless, the addict.  Then it's no longer fun for me. That's me you're talking about.

You say such hurtful things: we should pull ourselves together; "just say no" to drugs; get a job.  We could do it if we really wanted to.  We're just weak, lazy, worthless parasites.

I listen in silence. I don't belong here. You so easily sneer and laugh at who I am. You’d be shocked to learn that I was homeless; that I'm mentally ill and an addict.  I don't look the part.  I look like a regular guy.   But here I am, one of your worthless parasites, sitting right next to you – and you never even knew.

I could tell you how it really is.  I could explain why we don't get our act together, get off the streets.  Would you listen?  The truth would be an unwelcome intruder; I don't have strength to speak it tonight.  I slink off, defeated, leaving you to laugh at the forsaken.  You don't know it, but that's me you're talking about.

 

  • Mood: Sadness
  • Listening to: Beethoven
  • Reading: Mastering Regular Expressions
  • Watching: Constantine
  • Playing: Elegy
  • Eating: The Bread of Affliction
  • Drinking: Hazelnut Latte

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:iconcinnamoncandy:
Cinnamoncandy Featured By Owner May 12, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy Birthday!
Reply
:iconbaruch60610:
baruch60610 Featured By Owner May 13, 2015  Student General Artist
Hi, Cinnamoncandy:

Thank you for your birthday wishes.  I appreciate them.

Be well.


-B
Reply
:iconcinnamoncandy:
Cinnamoncandy Featured By Owner May 13, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
You're welcome. :heart:
Reply
:iconsweediesart:
SweediesArt Featured By Owner May 12, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy Birthday:iconcakeplz:
Reply
:iconbaruch60610:
baruch60610 Featured By Owner May 13, 2015  Student General Artist
Hi, Sweediesart:

Thank you for the lovely birthday cake - the best kind, non-fattening!

Be well, and thanks again.

-B
Reply
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