All these people sitting here talking about football and their sports. Always refer to their teams as “we” because they’re out there on the field, fighting and sweating like the rest. I dont get it. This sense of loyalty to an organization that they have no affiliation with except in their minds. I can’t say I wish I understood. You are only what jars you fit in, labels on labels, taking responsibility for sins not your own. Strange people, strange ways of making yourself feel part of a larger picture. Embrace the backstage, pull the puppet strings. Where are your gods and how do they command you?
I find myself in a familiar place, walking the circle full. If we could continue in our lessons as we did last summer, I would be most grateful. Sorry I have been away for so long.
It is important that you know what I am trying to be, not what I am.
With out this knowledge, who am I?
Ask a question: you are a philosopher.
Fix a lightbulb: you are an electrician.
Make me a drink, a bartender.
Cook a meal, a chef.
But what am I?
I am all of these things, but I am none of these things.
Labels, jars, I’m a snowflake, meta shit, words
When I am alone, what am I?
When I am sad, what am I?
An amen to the lonely, you lead your ships to shore
It’s when you wake up at 10 til what the fuck early wondering why.
It’s when everything and everyone you value in this deep blue world lies in stark contrast to the silence of the morning air.
It’s when you’re tired and you miss her like a drowning man misses air.
It’s when you also realize that you don’t know what the fuck that’s like.
It’s when you stop kidding yourself and look back at what you once had.
It’s when you realize that the edge has right next to you all along.
It’s when you find out that other people think you talk too much.
It’s when you say fuck them.
It’s when you have something to say.
It’s when it all happens.
It’s when it’s over too soon.
It’s when the flurry of keys matches your heart beat.
It’s when you are too alone for the moments that are leaving too soon.
It terrifies me
New Tea Lover’s Treasury makes a joke about cucumbers and gunpowder tea. I find this hilarious, and realize probably no one else ever will. I have found my calling :P
Finally hit the wall, that one that happens at three am when the world is asleep and you are wide awake.
You sit in wonder and many whys, looking at the path you have trod for the past month or two.
You aren’t happy.
You aren’t sad either, but you know something is wrong. What do you do?
You begin to plan, you begin to plot, you begin to scheme. How will we get out of this one now?
Then that is when the calmness comes.
The welcoming absence of self that whispers as it screams utter silence.
You throw away your plans, your plots, your schemes.
You will live and live pure, no more hiding now young one.
You call yourself out, great ego takes a back seat and you begin to drive.
Now I will be as I truly am, no more hiding now young one.
So here I sit, writing in remembrance of the step back in the right direction that I took today.
I am here, and I shall be alive.
No more hiding now young one.
Wake up in a cold sweat, knee knocker against the half poured glass, to and fro like the seas of yore. She followed me here?
Your pseudo uncle harassing the attendants in the checkout line. Many of the young faces, helping the old and decrepit. This man they begin and trail off, their complaints fading into oblivion. Whose day will he ruin today?
You sitting in the back of the truck among five siblings, the youngest your friend the rest you roughly admire in one way or another, the oldest turns from the wheel and continues Oldest of five siblings younger than 48 he exclaims now that’s a fucking miracle right there.
Meanwhile we switch scenes and see a woman across the street 72 floors up on her knees, staring at her wrinkled hands and screaming nothingness into the abyss of sound. Gravity beckons.
All the while, a large face occupies the screen. With those dead eyes he stares deep and the constant droning over and through of the same thing; Everything is not alright. Each time in another foreign tongue yet equally understandable to you. What is happening here? A slow zoom onto the wrinkled face and he keeps going.
He turns just in time, the old truck finds the air and launches itself over the hill. The music swells and Yahweh and Lucifer shake their cups, let the dice fall. The first goes through the windshield head first, the second breaks her neck, the third and fourth play a sick game of tennis with their skulls, laughing all the while. Everything is still in the moments before. Contact.
The woman in the building has found her legs, and walks slowly to the edge.
Your uncle has drawn the rest of the attendants outside, he has left soap in the driveway and everyone is in wheelchairs and slipping and sliding down the way. Screams of laughter, this angry old man has brought them joy. No one sees him slump down into the next. His part is over, his stage departed.
All the while, the old man continues. Everything is not alright in every language you’ve never heard. Everything is not alright he continues, no feasible end in sight.
You begin to shake, but it’s not the cold. You’ve woken up from the nightmare in a place unknown, as a person unknown. What is this? You walk into the crisp cold air and it hits you too late, your terror and the memory of it all. What will you do? Nothing?
Everything is not alright.
Be here for a moment.
I’m sitting in an empty house with only my dog for company. He sits on a pile of boxes so he can see out the window, holding his solemn vigil over the backyard he has called both home and bathroom for many years now. I find it very loud in here, but there is no sound. Only the hanging dust of occupants now out and about, I am no disturbance to the quiet empty.
All the different sides in me become silent for a moment, and that’s when you hear it. Really hear it for the first time, probably how he hears it. Nothing. Nothing at all.
A blissful nothingness, a silence of the mind in an empty house where the dust is unperturbed by one such as I.
This is where I occupy.
Be here for a moment.
Anonymous asked: Where do you stand on relationships with your parents, girl/boy friend, and friends, If you don't mind me asking? Couldn't help but to be curious.
give me your best guess and I’ll give you mine
I am a young white male, here are the things that I am held responsible for according to the internet;
The enslavement and oppression of an entire race
The genocide of another
Every crime of abuse against women
Being a racist all the time
Probably other things
Fuck all that. I know none of you and chances are you don’t know me. I won’t place you into categories when I meet you, please don’t do the same to me. I’m tired of having to take responsibility for things I never did and would never had done.
If I have to read another article on how men are terrible and how I’m a terrible human being I’m going to rage.
Why should I bother sharing something that is not mine? Value is not inherent in the number of eyes that have beheld it. You stand as a mirror to the world, gazed upon but never gazing. Let them be. Let them share what they could never create and call each other artists and intellectuals. I have nothing for you. Your lifestyle is your own, and since you have brought nothing to the table, then I see no reason to share it with the world.
Somewhere, out there, In a very different but all too similar way as right here, life is happening. I would like to know, to be there, to taste it and feel it. Feel as the very winds of change blow mountains into dust and dust into ideas. I want to taste that breeze, to fall into its embrace and let it sweep me off into that other, where all things go eventually. But I feel that life doesn’t always happen that way. I feel that sometimes it just happens in the small moments, and even then the results can be shattering
Lights fade slow on this mid winters eve, a slow flicker of faded sight. We are the revenant, the witness to nothingness, the deep empty of yester morn. What tongues do speak the words of lost nights? I am the foul. The forge of the abyss, the pit. I slumber in fear, in reticent hope of a rising of light that I fear will never come. This was never for you, stop and listen to the whispers I have sent upon the wind. You will know