Possibilities

Love and murder pretty much go hand in hand. Dreams and possibilities as well. Some day, they all go, that love we though would last forever, the life we thought too long and heavy to bear, even dreams that are intangible, who's elusive lives flit between the reality of secret whispers, stolen glances and silent moments.

Where does reality stand in this, where does the truth begin and the lives we formerly led end. The question is simple. Would you die for what you believe in? Put in another way, one might ask, if you are to die for one thing you believe in, what is it?

Of course some flippant answer like food or clothes or even money comes to mind. Simply because we either cannot comprehend living our life for anything other than ourselves who we have no choice but to stick with until we pass on. However, instead of death, which the living can not comprehend, imagine the most gruesome death painful death you can. St. Catherine's Wheel for example. What conviction do you have thats strong enough for you to suffer. Fully aware of the transient nature of the world.

You who do not know are empty. You who do are either romantics, or retards. Sometimes I wonder if I can ever trust someone that much again. That even when that faith has been broken, I still find it in myself to keep it alive.

I prefer to live in a world where I'm not alone, throughly enjoying my solitude.

I found my muse, though more accurately, she found me. Thanks T, I've been waiting awhile for someone like you.

I believe, in you

It's not like I have a choice. It's not like things are the same. Things have changed. I'm a different person, worn down by cynicism. I feel so little, and very few people can tell me "this is you" without me being severely pissed off. You think you know me, you think you get it, what I'm after, what I want, what I need, and how I feel about you. Only 2 people get it right. Mostly i just nod is agreement because its easier than explaining the alternative. I hate thinking, I hate trying to figure out how someone feels, i have enough problems with myself. You do it effortlessly. Where so many have tried and failed, you didn't even try, yet you seemed to say all the things i needed to hear in exactly the way i needed to hear them. To me you're perfect, you're my million in one person. you mean more to me than anything in the world, and everyone pales in comparison to you. I love you more than anyone, and i don't need to make you to be fulfilled of my existential angst. I just need to know that you're happy, and i will be happy for you. I know i need more from you than you can give, but its alright. I'm not asking, I hate asking, and i appreciate when things are given freely.

Coming home, coming down and calming down.

Say you love me.

I don't care if you mean it. I don't care if you even do in the slightest sense. I don't care if its pathetic. I don't care if you can never look at me the same way again.

Some part of me still craves: Affection, Intimacy, Tenderness, because I am human, still almost human. Is that what separates us from the animals? Do dolphins have souls? Do we love, or is it just a biological need?

Such is the burden of a developed consciousness. Of course many things confuse the pot. Like sheep shaggers, and inter-species erotica, and people who live their lives dying a virgin. There were probably 11 commandments, the last being thou shalt not love thy cow. Moses got down the mountain, saw these people worshiping a golden cow, flew into a rage, destroyed the cow, and let out a sigh of relief. "Lord," he probably said, "it is taken care of!" The lord being the lord of mysteries did not enlighten Moses on the discovery of New Zealand many years later, and the issue was laid to rest, on a slightly hardened greenish sheepskin carpet.

There are other mysteries we were built with. Such as the differences between men and women. It is something we have never been able to measure, men don't know what women want, and women don't really get men either. No matter where we're born, men and women speak a different language, an extreme example would be French or Japanese. One of mankind's greatest inventions was measurement, however, its still not perfect. An inch is about the length of a thumb, a foot, about the length of a foot, head, is about two fingers from the top of a glass, depending on the beer you're pouring. All guys like head. Women on the other hand don't (yes its a generalization). Most measurements are a rough estimation, due to things like parallax error, and the world being in constant flux. This was inspired by Bill Cosby trying to figure out what a cubit is. After his son died, he died as well, and a part of the world died with him, there will never be another great comedian like him.

Part of me would like to be loved, part of me would like to be isolated. Part of me would like to live, and part of me would like to end it all. I have to apologize for being vague. I do know what makes me happy, music, art, books, things that are beautiful, life's little ironies, the few people I actually care about. I do know what's missing, my drive, my conviction, my direction and destination. Who's going to drive you home, tonight?

Drive me home sweetheart, hold my cold lifeless body next to yours. Share with me some of your warmth, and blood will stir in my veins once again, my heart will beat once again, my eyes will open, my ears will hear, my tongue will taste the sweetness on your lips. There will be beauty in the world once again, the eternal kind of beauty, the kind without cynical critics who love the sound of their own voice above all. There will be you and I, in a moment, the closest to eternity and god any human can ever hope to achieve.

Say you love me.

The difference the meaning and the reason is that we try.

We work in the dark - we do what we can - we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents... some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

James, and Lovecraft

All Broken up and Dancing

I just finished all broken up and dancing. I feel like i'm breaking up again. I will send my copy to john. I want it back. Its true, its not a book you can leave idle on the shelf when it has so many lives to touch.

Finishing leaves behind the lingering emptiness in my mouth. I miss John, I miss Aff, and mostly i miss how the way things used to be. I've tried, and i wonder, if i'll ever find the courage to live like I used to. I miss the dream, that died, i feel like crying like a baby, is that so wrong.

After reading it, I realise I still have a long way to go. I'm not fixed until I can feel pain, not the worthless I cut therefore I am kind of pain, but the rather the more profound I dare to put my heart on the line for you kind of pain, the one where theres no control, no brain telling the hand where to stop the blade, the kind that only ends when it has run its course, and theres nothing left to hurt for. I'm not half the person I decided to be. I'll finish this later, going for drinks now, and i think writing will be better when I'm high, floating, dancing.

Cut for alcohol.
_____________________________________________________________

Its 6 the next day, I crashed last night. Came home, closed my eyes, and let the world fade into nothingness around me. I figured I should have a post script for after every session. I always walk away feeling that theres something left to say, something more to do. Like every resolution still needs re-thinking. Every action needs some sort of gratification, some way where i can say thank you, i appreciated that.

I met a Mormon on the train on the way home. I think its God who's missing in my life. Some kind of stimuli. I need to argue, to be more fixed in what I believe in. Religion has always been that. Maybe I can convert a few religious fanatics into thinking for themselves.

This would be my second last post, its time i stopped the show. Time to heal, time to try and make things the way its meant to be. I feel resolute, I will earn the death I deserve. It will be dignified, and as your friend I hope to make the eulogy easy, some kind of ironic parting gift.

Of all the characters in the book, I liked Brenda the most. She resembled of me the most. The book ended for me when she died, it was bittersweet she finally got the release that she wanted, but she could have had so much more. I think she died because she knew there was no turning back. She could have tried again but it would never work. What else can you do, having spent the sum of your life, searching out this one person, having found that person, and being rejected. How can you live in the pretense that your life still has value and meaning.

Maybe she should have waited, maybe she should have listened when people told her there will be others. But I believe she knew, if you keep waiting for others, it cheapens the whole thing, it will be less perfect, because for every other that you wait for, you accept the reality that there could be a thousand or million others. This begins the idea that there is no love just for you, and ends with the idea that you are not unique, you are not special and you are not deserving. It ends with a valuation on your life. That there is no plan, there is no greater good, there is no eternity. It ends with life being the sum of its time, the here and the now, the way that it is, and will always be. I still need to choose, because my life as it is has a value, and as time goes on, it depreciates, and I don't want to die when I'm worthless.

Wearing your heart on your sleeve. (blanked because its gibberish)

Is not a good idea. In fact its a very bad idea. Its like standing beneath a falling tree in an attempt to catch it. Its for people who don't mind endless pain, either don't mind or just don't care. I don't think I'm a masochist, neither do I think I'm some kind of torch bearer for the greater good, or the truth or other ideals like that. Maybe once, when I was younger. People loved me for it once, now, no one can see beyond this empty shell. Theres this reason, when two people who love each other go their separate ways. They say, I'm sorry, I love you, but I cannot support the person you aspire to be, I cannot make you happy, and you do not deserve someone like me, so goodbye. And they leave, so seemingly without regret, so seemingly unscathed, untouched, un anything by you, as though you didn't exist. Eventually they move on, their routines change, they become different. And you call, you try to find the person who used to believe in you. You call again, you try to find some part of the new them you can love. You lie, and try to make sense of it all, try to rationalize that everything is still the same when the world has gone unbearable wrong. Its harder to move when you have your heart on your sleeve, because we move in time with the beating of our heart. You can't pretend that someone else doesn't know how you feel, because it shows, it bleeds down your arm, and droplets form on the tips of your fingers. The same fingers that used to feel, to comfort, to hold, now rendered ineffective. It doesn't make much sense does it, fragments of truth we sacrifice to the altar of lies.

You swore this wouldn't happen

Is one of my favourite lines in the song. That line never fails to prick the skin on the back of my neck. It never fails to stab a knife right through the hole in my heart. It never fails to hurt. Love is about knowing, the best and worst. The greatness and shortcomings. Being human is about being able to make a choice. Its about transcending the way we are conditioned to think. Its about being able to do the impossible. To surpass convention, to imagine, and make our wildest imaginations come true. To dare to dream, and live our dreams. Unafraid, undaunted, and unloved.

Here on the altar of truth I'll sacrifice whats good for you

Because we hurt the ones we love. The ones who love us. The ones who make our lives worthwhile. We tell the crafty lies, and come out smelling like roses after starting a bloodbath. Whenever I think of sacrifice on an altar, its always Aslan, on the cold stone table, having a stone knife cut out his heart. Its the only sacrifice, the loss of ones heart. When we lose a limb, or an eye life goes on. When we lose the heart to do anything, to live to believe, to take steps forward, life still goes on, but we don't. We stop, we rot, we attempt to self destruct like some kind of robot we were brought up to believe we were. We scream like children who don't know any better, looking for some way to satisfy our needs, our wants. We forget all that we have transcended, we forget to make our lives and the lives of others a better place. We become selfish cold and bitter. Because this is better for us, to be ice cold, to be defeated, and to have our dreams robbed from us. Its better to feel numb than to feel pain. Its better to live half a life than an existence without the life we once deemed whole.

It's the coup de grace. I believe in euthanasia, I've however never found a cause for it. I acknowledge that I am not god, and I will never know whats best for you, or even me for that matter. I like the finality of death, there is no second chance, its the only time i believe the term too late applies.

When you're shining around the world, its hard to imagine that you're thinking of me

I miss you, everyone everywhere. Sometimes I think, when you think about someone, they will think of you as well. And you're connected to them, you love them, and they love you. You're not alone, you're part of a whole, and you're more than you think you are. It is love, because i still do love you, its not about chemicals, its not about my body close to yours, its not about the way you looked, its not about the way you smelt, or stroked my hair, its not about the soft words and the comfort I found in you. Its about the way our minds met, its about the way we did the impossible, its the way that for once in my life, I had no doubt that i could be happy.

I believe that loving somebody is believing in them. It is knowing without a doubt that they will succeed in whatever they do. It is wishing the best for them, and helping them have that. It is sacrifice. It is giving up everything just so they can be. It is trust, knowing they will never take advantage of the things you are willing to do for them. It is humility. To give and expect nothing in return. It is being happy, after you have let them go, after you have watched them succeed, you turn to look at them from the distance, and look at them with nothing but pride in your eyes. When you can smile and be happy for them, even though you're not the one who can stand next to them, hold their hand, and make her happy.