No one can tell you what it's going to throw at you. But the most exciting thing ever is just that. My life takes ups and downs, see brightness and the dark, and the only thing I can offer to you here is that I will stay true to it, and be real. You will find anicdotes from my day-to-day here. Generally these thoughts or confessions will land here if they do not fall into any of the other content catagories.
I assumed that the absolute fluorescent light that is a partner would turn it all off … all of the noise.
“...most people in the world don't really use their brains to think. And people who don't think are the ones who don't listen to others.” ― Haruki Murakami, 1Q84
The foreign feeling of spending the holidays without some (or all) of the loved ones we normally surround ourselves with, can come and sit on your shoulders like a lead jacket. Does it make it any easier to know that most humans on Earth also had to suspend their patterns and forgo the lovely feeling of seeing their family?
I have sat down to write even the briefest of thoughts about Gary Ellis Fossett at least once a week since his passing. Finally, months later, it comes out.
That fear and frustration that used to catch my elbows at the bend lives inside of my jaw now. I am helpless to the vice that feels like it is trying to pry my teeth from their gummy homes one by one, starting from the back.
Perhaps there’s a problem with being THAT productive when the lights are on, because it has felt so easy to be numb and motionless when they go off. If I had more to do, maybe I’d have difficulty allowing myself to get dizzy with dark and velvet thoughts.
Trying to make sense of the million little pieces my heart has been broken into because of your grotesque actions. My heart is broken, not for you and our time together. But for Nicole, and what I can only assume is a laundry list of silence names you've left behind.
There's something stunning about starring up into the night sky to be trampled by a universe and more. It's oppressively impressive.
I adore silence. Nature. The clacking of my keyboard. The spinning of my pen in between my fingers. Not speaking, or attempting to listen and be a part of another's conversation. Just me and my mind--which sometimes backfires--conjuring or conversing within itself.
There's something about the roar in a city that slowly drives you insane. There's a reason why people take vacations, or resort back to the "good ol' days" before houses, and pitch tents. It's nice to be away from it all.
It could be that everything not in this photo is sublime. The way my eyes trick me into believing that the only thing existing in this moment is what's in the frame.
Sitting here, trying to write something, for someone else. I felt a loss. There was a moment. A flailing of my inner monologue.
I've begun the process of rounding out my third decade on this planet. And nothing I have done seems to have cemented me as a successful adult, or dependable human. It's a frightening conclusion for one's mind to achieve.
People walk by. The kind of people I pray don't approach me with their version of “tantalizing conversation”. The only ambient noise being the briskly paced traffic that comes and goes like waves on the beach, however unlike the tired ocean they grow further apart as time passes.
When approached by a stranger, a reader, a friend, or loved one about my addiction to phenomenology, I lack the proper words to reach that point where one person understands the other. At an alarmingly sad average.
But here I sit, staring at three -- ... no... four now -- drafts just waiting to be published. And I am struck by a fear I haven't felt in a long time. That this isn't a safe place for me anymore. What could have caused it? Where did I go wrong? Fuck...
I am standing in the bathroom at work. My head is dizzy. My knees weak. I’m not sure why but there is no breath in my lungs. There’s a tick in the back of my mind that forces me to continue plodding along the current path I’m on, hoping — no, praying — that something comes along to free me from this cage I’ve gone and locked my own-damned-self in.
I've spent all day waiting for the moment that I can get this out of me and it's turning into a waterboarding session. I can't seem to find my footing. No matter how many times I attempt to start a new thought. A million screams to try and decipher. One peeks through.
I can't help but pray for it all to be over, but I also know that each and every time you get that sick, your body couldn't be more relaxed afterwards.
Soon ... we all feel it. It is inevitable that we all come to the impasse in life which teaches us that we're not on this rock for an infinite amount of time. Soon ... we all feel it. It is inevitable that we all come to the impasse in life which teaches us that we're not on this rock for an infinite amount of time.
Magical? No. That's too unreal. This was as real as it gets. Transcendent? No. I could feel my feet rooted into the ground, so that wasn't it. Prodigious. Shocking. Colossal. Marvelous. And beyond comprehension.
O Captain! My Captain!
Yesterday... oh man. I can hardly tolerate the lump in my throat long enough to commence jotting down these words. Yesterday, the world lost a legend. A man whose quick wit and graceful punch lines twisted the guts of endless people.
When I do happen to survive the war and reach my destination chair, I feel more haunted than normal. I sit blankly entranced by the blinking text marker, waiting to be beaten to a pulp by the inferior words I had just deleted. Depleted I press the lids of my eyes closed as hard as I can.
I have tried, and failed, to break up with this city. Any city. Particularly this one. Yet lately it feels like it might be the only tendrils holding me together. The noise. The clutter. The sadness.
And that fucking sky...