“People ask me about Idie. Well, fine, it’s your call.
Idie is my idea. Idie is my creation, my child and my way to live.
I love making new words. You just take something simple, take another simple thing, mix it and – BOOM!- you have something so deep one could make a Ph.D. on your brainwork and so on. You see, I love being visited. Being seeing, being listening to, I always seek one’s attention.
But this was lyrical, all lyrical, until Idie. It’s not some brand-placement or something, it’s pure and short, yet deep message. “I die”, it says. “I die, and I want to have my final scream, I want to throw into the world every last piece of thought I could’ve possibly had, but I die. I accept my fate, and I know that it’s is going to happen, and I see the road slowly turning into the curving death track with burnt prints of wheels of cabs before me. I die. I – die. Not “dying” , not “will die” – no, nothing of this. It’s solid, and its simplicity is the one that gets you right into your head. “I die”. The epitaph – the claim, the eulogy, the head turned up against the black mist no one ever came back from.
I started it when I was feeling like I was going to die. Things lost their colours, shapes and meanings, people left me behind and here I was, standing in my pills desert, chocking with a dust. It was storming that night, probably because of my mood.
I felt dying. I felt like a genial kid being buried in someone’s backyard by some stupid chain of mistakes and coincidents. Like something really beautiful being raped and tortured for the sake of emptiness, for the blind non-interest of hostile Universe. And I wanted to have a little revenge, some sudden giveaway. “Come on, people, take my seeds, save them, cherish them – that’s all that’s left of me!”
But nothing happened. It appeared to be some “seen this before” sort of “product”, as they say, and I went way deeper in my drug ocean. It smiled once it saw me, and opened its arms to hug me. To grab me. To drag me down as far as my body only could make it to. And I felt nothing, falling down into its pits.
Shortly after that I realized what Idie was for me. It was a manifestation, a flame of a fire that burned inside me for years. It wasn’t just something crazy, it was heavily depressed insanity. And I felt my hand in it, my tones in its colours – and I felt proud of that. I witnessed self-destruction, tried it – and got the taste. Got addicted to it.
I don’t care what you think. I did it, and I don’t regret it. I spilled my own blood, I did pain and hurt to my own body, so it’s my own business after all, isn’t it? I took what I was able to take and gave it away, shining in its soil glory and never-to-be-sane perpetuum movement towards something new, something I could learn and use to create something else – not asking about any price or prise for that, not doing anything to get someone’s attention. I was full of shit, drugs and will to destroy myself – and I was rather good at these three.
Slowly, I realized what I was really doing. What was the real cost of my actions. I understood it, and it scared me. I will never say something like “oh, no, that was my youth, it’s all mistakes, man”, no, never. It was my youth, true that, but I did it all by my own choice and with my own hands. Therefore, there’s no point in defending me here.
Yes, I was, yes, I did, yes, it hurt.
What do you want me to say? “Kids, don’t try this at home” ? Those who would want to follow my blind footsteps are irreversable in their actions, and they have to go all the way through – and either succeed or grow up and understand how foolish it all is. There’s no warning signs, high grounds or paths. There’s a void and a lonely child finding a knife under his feet with nobody around, but whole hell of pain and emotions inside. What do you expect from this combination?
I do drugs, and I see things I shouldn’t. I have “idie”-ed for some time – just enough for me to stop. Or, maybe, to make a pause – who knows?
It’s just me, and it’s just you. You wouldn’t do that? Good for you, here goes a candy for you, keep it up. You want to do that? Well, don’t. It’s not like I can actually order you or prohibit doing something – I’m nobody and nothing for you, and I’m alright that way. But in some time you’ll either go nuts or run away, but the damage would be already done. And you were well aware of that all, of the hurt and the choice not to do so, of “idie” and my still destroying me fucked up self. So what?
Yes, I am, yes, I did, yes, it still hurts.
What do you want me to say? There’s no light in this void. But there are little things that make forget about the light and just lie down wherever you are and open yourself from another side, find another door.
And I don’t want you to do drugs, no. I just say what there is for me in them. There’s fake running, and every next morning the feeling of how fake it is only grows. But, for now, I see dreams of impossible and not afraid to open myself up.
You want true self-destruction? Fall in love. Fall in love so deep, you couldn’t breathe without that person on sight. Fall so deep, you literally burn with your love, you can see the flames in your eyes when it’s dark and see insanity when the dark’s gone.
Fall in love. That’s the worst and the most hurtful way to poison any possible part of you so deep, it may take years of intensive care in some facility just to start the recovery. Believe me – been there, tried that.
It’s strange love’s not prohibited. It worse than anything I ever took, and the main trap is that you can’t cleanse your body from it. It’s like a napalm, burning until it’s burnt till the fucking ground, never loosing the grip, breaking you, burning you, devouring you day by day and night by night.
Oh, the sleepless love nights! The charm of never-ending thoughts, leaving you no chance to have at least some 2-3 hours of sleep. The magic of hurt you can’t stand, yet you ready to do anything, literally anything – punch some stranger outdoors, cause any violence towards yourself or anyone around, run a marathon and back after 2 weeks of coffee-supported insomnia. That’s the trap you will be bleeding in for long, unless you somehow find a way to cut that part the fuck away and forget the path to the place where it lies.
I love someone. I take pills, I write this and my mind is hazy, and I can’t wish for something else, but to care less. To numb the overwhelming feeling that takes control of me, driving me mad and smiling at me as I go deeper in my obscure instability of anything within or without me.
Idie again. You see, its spiral catches you once you’ve touched it. Maybe, it’s kinda like spider web – the more you move, the more you get on yourself and the less are the chances for you to be free again. Dark of it may follow me for the rest of my life. But, on the other hand, I’m young (considerably), I have my pills and I hate you I love you too much. Even in my pathetic try to tell you why it’s dangerous to go idie, you only see the fucking instruction, “what to do” list for a nice friday night. Fuck you, and know that it will be you yourself who will make my saying come true. You will fuck yourself up, and when you’ll meet me somewhere in the depth, I want to see you realizing where you are and what have you become, what have you done and whom have you lost on your way down you was so proud of.
I’m not proud of that. But I accept what I have done for what it is, and I write this because this kick, this crazy impulse calling for the resolving, the revealing and liberating is driving me again.
I wished I was sleeping, but there’s no sand around, so it must be the reality. Well, if so, we’re all fucked.
Idie. Don’t you fucking dare follow me there. If I ever see somebody behind me, I will care enough to go back and beat you so hard I only can, just so you would understand, after all, what the fuck you were doing all along. And I hate all the people making martyrs of themselves.
You made your choice. What’s your problem? Take it as you bought it. Accept it as it is. And don’t fucking come anywhere close that road.
It’s my storm, my pit, my life, my mark and my chance not to wake up one day. Mine enough for you to try to get a hold of it, alright?
Fuck you, if you’re still here. You make me sick. All this place makes me sick. Fuck you, love, I never begged for anything anywhere close to the misery and pathetic state I’m in. Of course, it’s my fault I’m in one, but still, I’m just to angry not to share the guilt.
Sincerely offensive, yet not hiding anything
Robert Idie.”
root 
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