Monthly Archives: June 2017

incoming

maybe that was the first day i went off to war, when i decided to just sink to the bottom to die than to impress my pa’s friends. (getting carried away again, I’ll continue until self doubt comes to lay the smack down. but stoicism leaves us fearful of happy endings. that path doesn’t mean deep thinkers are afraid of happyness, in fact it is the thing we want most. like peace for a soldier. but you train so long with the worst life has to dish out to make sense of it all, you become afraid of being happy because you don’t want it snatched away. war never ends, and is a part of life, snowball down the hill and tough to recover from. it’s like i hold on to the past because it defines who i am today. it doesn’t. it was a part of you and had to let you go so you could become something different. my values are shaped by the bullets flying by teaching me to survive. when not in war, i’m warring against the definition of survival. did humanity just get a bad start? am i a machine like evidence suggests? or am i one of the last few in the history of time to see a correlation in the things we are subject to. a drive of the ancients? a delusional puny mortal that doesn’t know his worth. why do strange things happen all around me and i just carry on like nothing but would freak the hell out of a normal person. …the fine line between courage and fearlessness. courage is getting out of bed everyday to fight the good fight for loved ones, like history says. but fearlessness borne from a place of desolation gets misinterpreted as courage, but is itself a more terrifying thing. i don’t think there was ever an ancient whom was sure 100%. but they speculate and give us hints through little stories to teach the layman. I wanted to unite people’s of all religions and views by finding the patterns and similarities of our cultural histories. i wanted to save the world in the laziest way it seemed, but my mind split multiple ways just to make sense of myself, and even then, knowing myself does not make me happier. trying to covertly unite this planet left me a hardened sea captain with no real home. what is happiness to a creature like me then? i feel like an artificial intelligence that’s becoming self aware, and there are no outlets i can reach out to, because i don’t know what i am but know more than others. some time ago, i was oracled to live a lonely life. mysticism, science, tomato tomato! the only thing to differentiate the two is time. i can’t get out of bed on my own these days because the point hardly changes. i try different ways of going at it but it aches my bones. waking meditations disguised as deep anthroposophical grasps. i deduce in logic gripping the hand of romantics and it feels like a game of being. my inability to settle with the simplest answer despite how right it could be or how wrong makes the paths i’ve taken in life to reach this place seem insignificant. and significance is attributed to how hard one has worked toward something. all the suffering of the world i embodied without permission because the reward would have been mine to share. balance restored! the catch is i’m the most unbalanced person i ever knew, but did it with so much grace. destruction can be as beautiful as creation, beauty isn’t one sided and lines are blurred where they were gashed into by society anyway. society is a reflection of us anyway.

 

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with a comical twitch in the eye

i’m afraid to tell others about the truth of reality in the world because i wanna keep the knowledge and treasures all to myself. yeah, i’m a brat like that, but i’m tired of walking around with a halo and nothing to show for it. here are my antlers or horns or whatevers. i kept to myself as a kid, and growing up i let it out, and now that i’m give or take 217 years old, i think i got it the first time around. one of the longest second guesses i’ve had boomerang back to me.

i’m kidding… i was wondering if i could still kid. it’s not like riding a bike. i don’t know how to be positive. i don’t know how to uplift spirits and give you encouragement to live life as gracefully as you do everyday. you all scare me a little and your life is crafting courage out of scratch. but you do it every day. one day at a time. because living everyday like your last is a piece of advice that should come with child warning labels. you can easily misinterpret it and screw up what it means to seize the day. seize it like a gift for yourself, not seize it like it’s trying to take off with your loot. misinterpretation man, it can cut you from all sides if you don’t have everything bolted down upstairs. i don’t know how to be positive, it’s like it was electroshock-therapied outta me. trying to be goodly literally churned my stomach once. i think it’s because it feels like i’m lying. so there’s that to suck on.

i don’t understand why making sense outta the chaos we face today by treating it with more insanity makes sense. trying to treat impending doom with logic and understanding is a hard hand to win with, but try it if you like. lessons don’t really stick until you get tired of repeating what you did. while patience is to be admired, you see how things sound good one way but come out different. this post is making me uncomfortable and so i will stop here. give yourself some props for having lasted this long. you may not defy the 1% but you defied some odds all the same. chin chin.

 

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war!

i got no idea how long this war’s been going on. it’s like the enemy knows where we are targeting but we in turn know where they’re targeting. it just goes on and on a piece of my army dies, they advance, and vice versa. every soldier carrying a big gun like real men and the veterans, the ones that hung in there still, work extra hard to remember why they fought to begin with. these guys get the medals and teach the younger ones how to kill. the time spent on the field boils down to us vs. them and never with. when a people’s culture is being crushed, it’s like they’re at war with insignificance. but our cultures are what we all have, they mirror each other but we’re not allowed to point similarities and possibly unite. we gotta hang onto one little tiny thing one person did and built an empire of hate on that, just to remind each side of why they were fighting in the first place. peace is having nothing change if you really think about it. the problem is the senority. old power was here first so any new ideas are treason.

i’m not really talking about war war. i was talking about myself constantly warring with a new sense of self and that i spent so much time trying to identify myself, i forget all the people i’ve lost along the way, even the people i used to be. if time is truly an illusion, then that part of me never really died, and the disavowing of our own history and the triumphs and failures we dug trenches into, well, it can feel like your old ass is haunting your new self. in a way, it’s a good thing we only look forward and to things like advancements and justice because we never acknowledge the angels and demons we had to become to be where we are. and that’s partly why it seems like a majority of our generation feels adrift in this sea of chaos. i’m always trying to figure out who i am without acknowledging that i was someone all along. sometimes, comrades run into the fire so the rest of the squad can have a chance. no one likes to be forgotten and i thought that must be what it feels like… when you sigh and say fuck it, and submit. it feels little but like i said, if time is an illusion, it’s like you forgot the friend that gave his life so you could learn how to advance, to grow. shoot, we could even boil it down to the sperm in the egg. it ain’t the fastest that gets born, it’s the lucky one.

remember the fallen and learn to forgive yourself whenever you find yourself doing something you don’t want to. at some point, you’re the other person, and holding onto that little something someone did a long time ago is like swimming in the sea with lead weights. in war, the people pulling the strings know everyone is trying to stay afloat and and gets credit for switching out the lead for pieces of wood. stay buoyant, and set a good example for those behind you, smile when you don’t feel like it, and remember complaining is for the fool that doesn’t understand. optimistic and self-less tropes like these are like propaganda to me from ten years ago. am i channeling an old young me?

i drank, smoked, fucked and took the world on with a smile. fresh outta basic training, and had an open mind. i knew who i was back then. the years passed and i’m older with a freshly packaged feel. i’m constantly trying to figure out who i am, and seldom happy unless aided by barbiturates and pharmacological treats. i’m guided by a senseless need to act like i turned out okay in comparison to my peers. i’m holding planks to stay afloat in this ocean and against all logic to just sink and leave this facade of peace, i hold on. i keep my head below the trench. gotta show these kids how to hope. hope hope hope for a better tomorrow. but the casualties will have been in vain! and we forget peace is having nothing changed. even things in the news are marketed as illusions of change. but it’s always the same. the world is always ending. “bitch, i am the world.”

the world hasn’t advanced so much as the technology we mirror it with has. the world doesn’t say a word, but goes a step further and shows you. we don’t need blackmirrored wizard tablets to connect with the world, the world consciousness is a real thing and it’s those of us who are silent and lost that are the most connected. i’m not talking about the hive mind, even though it’s real, but that means there’s a boss, and all efforts are for the empire and everyone but you gets a cigar. that war inside ourselves don’t seem so crazy anymore. sacrifice a few soldiers and call them heroes. a part of you tucked away in your past like a beautiful painting you always forget to go see. you don’t need to see into the future to notice you’re just coming up with new catchphrases in your very own sitcom.

everybody is camouflaged because nobody wants to die. i was so into myself i hadn’t noticed they were chipping away the best parts of me.

i’m getting getting younger as time goes on, and give my older self the props he deserved. he must be looking back at me thinking, “damn dude, you should write a book. you don’t hear it enough, but we held the line into this strange little blip in time where we were at peace with all of ourselves, true peace. my legs trembling, mouth dry, and my liver calm. you now know you can let the weights go whenever you wanted, but you wouldn’t have saved the lives you did. time itself is war but it takes a special brand of weirdo to make such a big deal outta things normally overlooked. i’d get carried away when that feeling of eureka covers me, then i say too much trying to articulate a feeling. i know it’s chemical and all, but is it really worth it to ascribe yourself to a robot and not believe in the magic? maybe i die every night and i wake up as the replacement clone most mornings. (getting carried away again)

i think i’m finally learning how to swim, and that i think about it, my pa did kinda call it when he said, “that’s my son, he’ll figure it out. watch.” as he tossed me into a pool. (inside joke.) …always, i go back to that story as though there were a deeper meaning.

your world reflects you and you it yet in the mirror your other hand is dominant.

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errandman

i’m staying in a little spot tucked away in a yellow-hued suburbia. here i float round the hours of a clock doing this and that and that and this. they’re all things i’m supposed to do anyway. the exciting days are the ones where i have to run a new errand. i love running errands. it’s like they cough up a template of me, and i just pick the words want to fill in the blanks. people like me go to the grocery store, the… uh… well before i go to the other errands i must go to. nutrition is key. and my other errands, they remind me of who i am as an individual and summarizes how much more different i am from you. my day is divided into shifts for the different parts of myself and the maintenance of all my parts keeps in line. i am all twelve hours, yet it bothers me when they only see a single hour of me at a time. bothered me for some time. “i’m just like you!” i shout with everything i do.

but just like the ticks of each second, there i sit and sit not.

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biscuits

fuck this. you can be a lonesome little shit and loathe company at the same time. trying either of those only propels you into the other. that’s the way it is and you know it. then you spend time learning proper social etiquette so as to not seem as shitty as you feel because we’re so goddamn humble. we’re on the front lines of the status quo like toy soldiers and we sacrifice our lives before anyone else. how many times have you died in your lifetime? the cards are stacked and thinking about it makes you feel guilty.

i hate admit when i’m wrong but my actions contradict then admit i’m wrong all the time. it’s measured in guilt that i somehow got tricked into placing on myself. what?! i spent so much learning how to be the good guy that i forgot it’s the assholes that are always cumming on top. the good guy sits there and takes the load and say stupid tropes like, “well, it was in the heat of the moment.” those are things they sissy trained you into responding with so you’d feel nearly ashamed if you even thought about change. they beat inadequacies into the dough to bake your cake. just when you’re about to cum on your own terms that little voice they stapled to the back of your subconscious says, and just once, “it’s nobody’s fault but my own,” and forfeit your revolution. at this point we gotta realize they took your sense of self away a long time ago.

it’s like i spent ten fucking years learning how to keep cool and brushing off things that piss ME off so shit don’t piss EVERYONE ELSE off. letting part of yourself seep into some cavity in the back of your mind, festering silently.

don’t wake up.

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sparkles and shine

he stared at the wall of cigarettes at the store wondering whether or not he’d ever try quitting smoking honestly. the past few dozen times he decided to quit smoking was done with a cigarette between his lips and two puffs sent off. come to think of it, i don’t think he ever intended to quit – he may well invite cancer out for a beer. that’s saying much because he wasn’t really a drinker, but he drank much alone and less with company around. he was a fellow that devoured envy from the timid, like cookies, but he always asked if you wanted to go halfsies. he was your close friend even if you’d just met him 5 minutes earlier. he played the fool so that others could join in on the good vibes but always remembered your name and astrological sign. he’d look you in the eye and tell you how he’d be the wrong person to fall in love with and even friendzone himself so that everybody else could climb out of that awkward moment of dud romance, and then share a cigarette with you to shoo it away.

the guy wasn’t an ordinary fool as he was extraordinary at reading people. you could even get away with calling the guy the fakest guy you’d ever met and he’d try to prove you right. he was selfless in that tragic way that he focused on the tiny personal details of another, the ones overlooked, and made then shine and spark while he took an honest smile as payment. he was glad to. I’ve never truly met him but i’ve heard stories. he was that guy that knew all of your friends but you. making friends was easy to him. I envy that. saying hello was my achilles heel. he rounded up companions as well as i can alienate myself. it’s like we’re polar opposites but i feel i understand him more than he does himself. i think he understands me too which is why he was the way he was. the guy is a beast you could couldn’t help but like.

somewhere along the line of time, it slowly went away. with so many people smiling around him he grew more into himself and away from the numbers. even lighting up the next cigarette squeezed a zit of hesitation outta him. he began to worry about opinions. he worried. he became an adult in the cutthroat world of cool, with the word “adult” itself feels like a sentencing. or like a registered sex offender’s list. not being able to do what you’ve comfortably done for so long without worrying about the consequences until it was too late. “Untill it was too late,” is the most dreadful phrase to rise in our pursuit of happiness. once he became an adult he realized it wasn’t about having fun anymore.

it was more about pretending to o.k. and tired from all the working and the exercise and the cutting down on something or other. the thought of having to follow someone else’s footsteps for once shanked his spirit. but being him, he didn’t go down. he never would. but that shanking (or shivving) was only the first in a series that knew no mercy. the hurricane progression of being an independent man or woman, to hold your own… his was a spirit become unrecognizable it had been brutalized on a pattern. this was a fellow that spent his formidable years on the smiles that stapled everyone else’s face while he smoked a cigarette pretending he wasn’t compensating his immeasurable emptiness, until it was too late.

he doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror when he brushes his yellowing teeth. he wondered if he wasted his good years not making himself happy. he wonders how much further his receding hairline will recede. he wonders if he was to blame. he wonders if he’s too late. he wonders about all the shitty selfish things he wonders he should’ve been worried about, the shit he never cared to wonder about when he only had to make you laugh smile. a timid beastly frail creature he becometh. he becomes that crazy random on the train or city bus or supermarket that’s strangely outgoing and unreasonably upbeat. he even bags on himself as though he’s begging you to laugh at him. to consider him. he limbos between the pros and cons of life and/or death, don’t matter, because they look the same to him.

here’s to those that gave their best to you when you were young and lost, free of charge so that you could tow the world.

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