seventy-four
Jul. 2nd, 2010 08:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
prismaticbleedAm I really that unstable right now?
Aha, ha haha.
Maybe I'm just seeing clearly; coldly.
It's a pain in the neck. Then again that may just be because of this bizarre seating position.
Think about it though... life, odds, time. How much is ours? No, the truth may never be known. Yet I do know one thing.
These transient passing things hold no meaning to me, no, none at all. Please leave me be.
I am also tired of this, how do you say? This strange imposition.
I do not like when others try to assume things, when they try to 'enhance' my life. Do you think you know me that well?
If your answer is yes, then do cease and desist. You do not understand that when events, when certain fragments are taken out of the context of my internal life, my introspective world, they lose their meaning. They become false, twisted, wrong.
Please do not impose. It's quite rude.
What to do...
Should I run off on a tangent? What flickering, manic thoughts shall I transform into text? What glass fragments shall draw blood?
Hm.
I'm not too sure.
Oh yes! Transgressions! Friends and enemies.
Who am I to judge?
Both can be all. All can be both. There is no way for me to differentiate.
Leave it in God's hands, I say; let Him figure it out at this point. To give me say over such a paradox would be catastrophic indeed.
I wonder what would happen if I channeled Laurie.
Ah, Laurie. What a doll. What a strange, bloody, gorgeously horrific doll. What violet rage!
I haven't spoken to her lately. Tis a shame, yes sir. We get along amusingly well, haha.
To think, to speak, to dream, to write. All of these and yet none.
What an interesting state a mind is in.
What if it were morning? What would I do? Lost within the shuddering second-hands. Flutters, snaps, silence. Time.
The early-hour fog.
Look at all these tiny tiny paragraphs. Ridiculous! I seem to like the enter key a bit much. Ah yes, he and I go way back; or forwards if you prefer.
A thought, a thought; a penny for your meanderings and a fortune for your introspection. What shall it be, dear sir? You make the call.
I have very little memory of my past, I daresay. It's quite interesting, quite harrowing. To think back upon the fact, I mean.
Childhood. Ah yes. Little bits and bats, here and there, broken and sparkling. Glory days and ill-faring evenings. What recollections I collect.
To be frank, the entire history of my worldly life is contained within my own mind. Irony! How precious little I can conjure from the physical realm. Yes, my friends, all I have deemed worthwhile never occurred within the view of bystanders.
Sixth grade was lovely. My only memories of that time involved channeling; drawing, writing, musing. Sitting in the back row thinking of truths. Little things.
To be honest, to be truthful and correct, the vast majority of my personal recall isn't very personal at all. What a thought!
No, my mind has been chosen as a record-hall for minds outside my own, it seems. A curious fact.
Now what?
Boy, how my mind jumps. I wonder if I should strike up a conversation; perchance a discussion of otherworldly caliber. Yet who would be available?
Of course, there is always the violet one. I doubt she'd react too kindly to this state of mine, however. May try to take advantage; may completely outsmart me altogether. She's done it before! A round of applause for everyone's favorite superego, so to speak. Everyone is I, and I am everyone. What a thought.
I'm getting way off track here, but then again there may never have been a track in the first place. Perhaps I'm simply stalling for time.
You see, I'm very comfortable here. It's actually safe, caught within the letters and notes and echoes. It feels... I don't know, right. Almost. I couldn't tell. How am I to say, having never experienced an absolute objective 'right?' Then again, who am I to say I haven't?
Boy, we are sure getting philosophical tonight. One for the record books.
Where have I been lately? I'm not too sure.
At the moment I am caught in quite the dread interim. How I despise them, and yet they always seem to trigger the most delightful side effects. Personages, perspectives, paradoxes! Alliteration and affliction. Many, many things.
I suppose the truth is that I am here; just here. Existing in a paper-thin space of sound and syllables. What a relief, to be freed from the physical! I should do this more often.
And yet the challenge stands.
I was given a mission; a purpose, a goal. A destiny, if you will. Sadly, a destiny cannot be fully brought to light in a paper-thin space. It needs room to grow and embrace, you see.
The best, brightest dreams are given the world itself as a nesting-place; they are free to hold any and all within their ethereal selves. Look at me, personifying motivations. Gracious.
Truthfully, my own purpose has not yet been freed. A crying shame, as it does dislike being kept up so. I only wish I had the means to set it free. Do I? Will I?
I suppose the real question is not how, but when.
You see, my dear audience, my most grievous ailment is my fear of failure. How commonplace! Where would the world be if all shied away for the fear of a fall? Why, no one would ever reach the top of the stairs. The trick is to take a deep breath, give it your best shot and see how it all works out in the end. Better to try then die, haha. Tis my own predicament.
Geez, I have no idea what's up. It's interesting.
I do feel like just... I don't know; hitting random letters on the keyboard and seeing what comes of it. A Shakespearean masterpiece, composed by blind failings! What a disgrace.
The best plan of action would be to clock in, head off to the job, haha. And yet lucidity is a cruel goal to chase. Always one step ahead of you, always brushing up against your fingertips with naught but a sly smile. The nerve! To think I've been hunting it for decades without success. Patience, child. Patience.
Worlds! Sixteen of them; maybe more. I love them so, they keep me breathing. It's God's honest truth, mark my words. Take it down if you must.
Lucky 17 evades me. For some unusual reason I feel it is needed. Perhaps it is a key, a vision, a solution? Perhaps. There is no way to know until it is found, after all.
What wonders await those who would only find the heart to search for them. I can attest!
20:49, the sun god says. What is that, almost 9? I suppose so. Not sure what to say about that. Hm.
And yet my reflection doesn't match my face! Oh humanity! What a cruel concept, a primitive truth-revealer with limited sight. What a sad thought.
It feels that maybe I am discovering something. Something honest, something true. But it is still quite the paradox. After all, how can one lose oneself when there was never any self to begin with? It's a thought to keep for many nights, that's for sure. What a strange idea, the self. Never really agreed with me.
Eyes. That's where the reflection bit came from. What sad little mirrors, that I cannot even look upon those. Dreadful curse! And yet I suppose it is ultimately necessary; a cross to bear, a trial to conquer.
All will be well, all will be well. Was there every any guarantee? Who's to say what 'well' is? I suppose if it is the objective I could live with it. Subjective thoughts do tend to irk me, although they are fascinating in their own discomforting way. Shivers, chills. Unknown truths and constants! There are so many variables in the mix; it aches me to ponder them all on such short notice.
Then there comes the point of connection. Disconnection? I'm not entirely sure! It seems as if I was never truly complete, as if I was put together with some missing fragments. I'm not entirely sure how to say this. It's not positive, not negative, no? What is it? It's a simple dissent between the form and the fantasy, if you will. A clash of the imposed and the inherent.
What a painfully naïve thought, that the flesh would match the mind. Two entirely different constructs, bound together, fated to find a harmonic dissonance. What poetry. What ill-chosen cage I have been given! A soul, a being, tied to unfit bones, to malformed carbon. An individual fated to split its entirety between creation and abomination; such is my story.
White, pure white, the unity of all. The spectrum personification of truth, of righteousness. The color which I so desperately reach for!
Snow mixed with blood; a beautifully surreal sight. Passion and purity, together to form the motivation I need. To have such a drive!
There are certain things one should not simply throw about. There are aspects forbidden from public display, for fear of marring their sanctitude, their honesty.
This world holds many whores and prostitutes, poor lost souls with no regard for such things. They mindlessly sell out their deepest dreams, their precious secrets, their most intrinsic and personal components. They prop themselves open for display and are picked clean of meaning, left empty and ravaged. Such a heartbreaking end.
Words are so difficult, you must forgive me... but I cannot stand to be a part of such spiritual debauchery. Do not count me in among your crowds! I want no part of it.
Ah, life. What a mess you are. What a glorious, breathtaking mess.
I come to you bearing roses, but you reach up to gouge my eyes. If I move my hands to create, you will likely crush my fingers! O life, how many injuries have I sustained? How many bandages have your wanton onslaughts brought upon me? And yet I still find myself at your door, tipping my hat and wishing you good day, even as you punch my teeth in. What a world!
21:57. Such strange distractions. I still cannot discover their motives. What do they seek? What do they expect to find?
I miss my children, my joys, oh how I miss them. Even now they wait for me within their paper worlds, knowing too well that my heart can never abandon them.
Yes, I shall return and I shall take them with me; I shall save them from the interim and give them the world, for they have given my life meaning, by the grace of God.
What to do, what to do.
I seem to have lost my train of thought.
In that case, I bid you all good night.
Aha, ha haha.
Maybe I'm just seeing clearly; coldly.
It's a pain in the neck. Then again that may just be because of this bizarre seating position.
Think about it though... life, odds, time. How much is ours? No, the truth may never be known. Yet I do know one thing.
These transient passing things hold no meaning to me, no, none at all. Please leave me be.
I am also tired of this, how do you say? This strange imposition.
I do not like when others try to assume things, when they try to 'enhance' my life. Do you think you know me that well?
If your answer is yes, then do cease and desist. You do not understand that when events, when certain fragments are taken out of the context of my internal life, my introspective world, they lose their meaning. They become false, twisted, wrong.
Please do not impose. It's quite rude.
What to do...
Should I run off on a tangent? What flickering, manic thoughts shall I transform into text? What glass fragments shall draw blood?
Hm.
I'm not too sure.
Oh yes! Transgressions! Friends and enemies.
Who am I to judge?
Both can be all. All can be both. There is no way for me to differentiate.
Leave it in God's hands, I say; let Him figure it out at this point. To give me say over such a paradox would be catastrophic indeed.
I wonder what would happen if I channeled Laurie.
Ah, Laurie. What a doll. What a strange, bloody, gorgeously horrific doll. What violet rage!
I haven't spoken to her lately. Tis a shame, yes sir. We get along amusingly well, haha.
To think, to speak, to dream, to write. All of these and yet none.
What an interesting state a mind is in.
What if it were morning? What would I do? Lost within the shuddering second-hands. Flutters, snaps, silence. Time.
The early-hour fog.
Look at all these tiny tiny paragraphs. Ridiculous! I seem to like the enter key a bit much. Ah yes, he and I go way back; or forwards if you prefer.
A thought, a thought; a penny for your meanderings and a fortune for your introspection. What shall it be, dear sir? You make the call.
I have very little memory of my past, I daresay. It's quite interesting, quite harrowing. To think back upon the fact, I mean.
Childhood. Ah yes. Little bits and bats, here and there, broken and sparkling. Glory days and ill-faring evenings. What recollections I collect.
To be frank, the entire history of my worldly life is contained within my own mind. Irony! How precious little I can conjure from the physical realm. Yes, my friends, all I have deemed worthwhile never occurred within the view of bystanders.
Sixth grade was lovely. My only memories of that time involved channeling; drawing, writing, musing. Sitting in the back row thinking of truths. Little things.
To be honest, to be truthful and correct, the vast majority of my personal recall isn't very personal at all. What a thought!
No, my mind has been chosen as a record-hall for minds outside my own, it seems. A curious fact.
Now what?
Boy, how my mind jumps. I wonder if I should strike up a conversation; perchance a discussion of otherworldly caliber. Yet who would be available?
Of course, there is always the violet one. I doubt she'd react too kindly to this state of mine, however. May try to take advantage; may completely outsmart me altogether. She's done it before! A round of applause for everyone's favorite superego, so to speak. Everyone is I, and I am everyone. What a thought.
I'm getting way off track here, but then again there may never have been a track in the first place. Perhaps I'm simply stalling for time.
You see, I'm very comfortable here. It's actually safe, caught within the letters and notes and echoes. It feels... I don't know, right. Almost. I couldn't tell. How am I to say, having never experienced an absolute objective 'right?' Then again, who am I to say I haven't?
Boy, we are sure getting philosophical tonight. One for the record books.
Where have I been lately? I'm not too sure.
At the moment I am caught in quite the dread interim. How I despise them, and yet they always seem to trigger the most delightful side effects. Personages, perspectives, paradoxes! Alliteration and affliction. Many, many things.
I suppose the truth is that I am here; just here. Existing in a paper-thin space of sound and syllables. What a relief, to be freed from the physical! I should do this more often.
And yet the challenge stands.
I was given a mission; a purpose, a goal. A destiny, if you will. Sadly, a destiny cannot be fully brought to light in a paper-thin space. It needs room to grow and embrace, you see.
The best, brightest dreams are given the world itself as a nesting-place; they are free to hold any and all within their ethereal selves. Look at me, personifying motivations. Gracious.
Truthfully, my own purpose has not yet been freed. A crying shame, as it does dislike being kept up so. I only wish I had the means to set it free. Do I? Will I?
I suppose the real question is not how, but when.
You see, my dear audience, my most grievous ailment is my fear of failure. How commonplace! Where would the world be if all shied away for the fear of a fall? Why, no one would ever reach the top of the stairs. The trick is to take a deep breath, give it your best shot and see how it all works out in the end. Better to try then die, haha. Tis my own predicament.
Geez, I have no idea what's up. It's interesting.
I do feel like just... I don't know; hitting random letters on the keyboard and seeing what comes of it. A Shakespearean masterpiece, composed by blind failings! What a disgrace.
The best plan of action would be to clock in, head off to the job, haha. And yet lucidity is a cruel goal to chase. Always one step ahead of you, always brushing up against your fingertips with naught but a sly smile. The nerve! To think I've been hunting it for decades without success. Patience, child. Patience.
Worlds! Sixteen of them; maybe more. I love them so, they keep me breathing. It's God's honest truth, mark my words. Take it down if you must.
Lucky 17 evades me. For some unusual reason I feel it is needed. Perhaps it is a key, a vision, a solution? Perhaps. There is no way to know until it is found, after all.
What wonders await those who would only find the heart to search for them. I can attest!
20:49, the sun god says. What is that, almost 9? I suppose so. Not sure what to say about that. Hm.
And yet my reflection doesn't match my face! Oh humanity! What a cruel concept, a primitive truth-revealer with limited sight. What a sad thought.
It feels that maybe I am discovering something. Something honest, something true. But it is still quite the paradox. After all, how can one lose oneself when there was never any self to begin with? It's a thought to keep for many nights, that's for sure. What a strange idea, the self. Never really agreed with me.
Eyes. That's where the reflection bit came from. What sad little mirrors, that I cannot even look upon those. Dreadful curse! And yet I suppose it is ultimately necessary; a cross to bear, a trial to conquer.
All will be well, all will be well. Was there every any guarantee? Who's to say what 'well' is? I suppose if it is the objective I could live with it. Subjective thoughts do tend to irk me, although they are fascinating in their own discomforting way. Shivers, chills. Unknown truths and constants! There are so many variables in the mix; it aches me to ponder them all on such short notice.
Then there comes the point of connection. Disconnection? I'm not entirely sure! It seems as if I was never truly complete, as if I was put together with some missing fragments. I'm not entirely sure how to say this. It's not positive, not negative, no? What is it? It's a simple dissent between the form and the fantasy, if you will. A clash of the imposed and the inherent.
What a painfully naïve thought, that the flesh would match the mind. Two entirely different constructs, bound together, fated to find a harmonic dissonance. What poetry. What ill-chosen cage I have been given! A soul, a being, tied to unfit bones, to malformed carbon. An individual fated to split its entirety between creation and abomination; such is my story.
White, pure white, the unity of all. The spectrum personification of truth, of righteousness. The color which I so desperately reach for!
Snow mixed with blood; a beautifully surreal sight. Passion and purity, together to form the motivation I need. To have such a drive!
There are certain things one should not simply throw about. There are aspects forbidden from public display, for fear of marring their sanctitude, their honesty.
This world holds many whores and prostitutes, poor lost souls with no regard for such things. They mindlessly sell out their deepest dreams, their precious secrets, their most intrinsic and personal components. They prop themselves open for display and are picked clean of meaning, left empty and ravaged. Such a heartbreaking end.
Words are so difficult, you must forgive me... but I cannot stand to be a part of such spiritual debauchery. Do not count me in among your crowds! I want no part of it.
Ah, life. What a mess you are. What a glorious, breathtaking mess.
I come to you bearing roses, but you reach up to gouge my eyes. If I move my hands to create, you will likely crush my fingers! O life, how many injuries have I sustained? How many bandages have your wanton onslaughts brought upon me? And yet I still find myself at your door, tipping my hat and wishing you good day, even as you punch my teeth in. What a world!
21:57. Such strange distractions. I still cannot discover their motives. What do they seek? What do they expect to find?
I miss my children, my joys, oh how I miss them. Even now they wait for me within their paper worlds, knowing too well that my heart can never abandon them.
Yes, I shall return and I shall take them with me; I shall save them from the interim and give them the world, for they have given my life meaning, by the grace of God.
What to do, what to do.
I seem to have lost my train of thought.
In that case, I bid you all good night.
