skip this one.

I don't know what you think of me,
probably very little, or much less than that even.
That's alright though, I don't really know what I think of you either.
To be honest, there's never been space for consideration, or any
form of understanding. We occasionally exchange words, sometimes
many, sometimes few, sometimes often, sometimes rarely.
Things I've learned about you..

You're cautious, and naive. Not that that's bad, we all have our
little quirks, in fact I'm probably more anti-social than you are,
I just happen to attract people for some reason.
You're very smart, and creative. It's something about you I respect,
I'm always wanting to see your creativity in action although I rarely
get the opportunity. I'd like to have the opportunity though, right?
Well, I don't know.
You're wonderful, even if you don't notice it, beautiful, even if you
won't acknowledge it. The world could easily collapse under your
bidding, if only you allowed it, though I doubt you ever would.
Sometimes I feel like you're lying to yourself to protect yourself,
though I can't argue with that without being a hypocrite.

I wonder, if you read this, would you know it's about you?
Would it matter if you instantly thought it was about you?
Maybe you'd take this as some kind of confession,
though I don't know why you would, there's nothing of
the kind here. To me, a "confession" has more mutuality than that,
more substance.
Would this scare you? I'd probably be disappointed in you if it did,
your personality isn't nearly that weak, if weak at all.
I wonder, if you read this, and knew it was about you,
what would you do? What would you think?
If you knew this was about you, maybe I'd tell you that it's okay to
let others in, find help and build bonds with those close to you -
not saying I'm one of those people of course, I don't know what
you think of me - you're much too confusing a person.
You never paint a picture in black in white, there's only ever a
canvas of greys, what should I think?

If you read this, and thought it was about you..
What do you think the chances are of you being right?
Am I talking about a real person? Who knows.
The fact is.. I doubt there's anyone strong enough to
react to this anyway, though I highly doubt you're a reader.
Or are you? Or aren't you.
Is this confusing enough?

You, who I'm talking to, who you don't know if it's you or not,
may or may not exist. I may just be speaking figuratively,
imaginatively, while that's a little odd in itself, it follows my.. character.

However, also talking about a real person would make sense too.

BAM.
I decided not to do the PC game blog thing, my irritation ran dry,
and I decided it would break any flow this blog maintains.

*cough* "flow", yeah right.

Caffeine High 51

Apparently that last one was the big five oh, whatever's big about that.
Fifty blog posts in nine months, I honestly could have done much more,
but I'm extremely impressed with myself for sticking with it this long.
As a present, tonight I'm going to rant about video games,
specifically what's ruining PC games, and fascism or whatever.

Not much of a present, I don't know who my supposed readers are,
but it's something I want to do.. Just not yet, maybe tonight if I can
manage any form of a caffeine high.

there's a silver bullet for you in the cupboard.

clarity.

I honestly don't know what I think,
there's a great many things that have been washing over me lately.
From friends, to family, to everything and anything that may or may not be.
Today I stuck a needle in my heart, to try and sew the gap closed -
figuratively of course. I'm not fucked up enough to actually try that.

What I realize is that I don't usually have what people need,
and I'm alright with that. What others sometimes don't realize
is that I don't have what they need.. I wish it were easier to
deal with that.
In my own special ways, I'm fairly broken,
and yet there are many who wish to lean on me.
It hurts as my soul cracks and creaks under
the collective weight of my gathered fate.
To be honest, I only truly have enough of myself for one person,
and while some may think that's odd - it's true.
I don't have it within my power to make the right people smile,
nor do I have it in me to express myself in a way that feels right.
It's a common curse, I don't think I'm special because I'm not,
no matter what anyone might read in my words.
Pulling meanings from them that aren't there,
like pulling off the toe nails of the clueless.

I'm not special, in any way shape or form,
and this isn't a method of self-deprecation,
it's just the honest truth.
Because just as I'm not special, in most ways..
Neither are you.
It's not a bad thing, of course we all have
little quirks that make us who we are,
we are unique little flowers, and blah blah blah.
But no matter what I have that you don't,
I'm definitely not more important than you,
nor am I less important.

No matter what issues anyone may be dealing with,
we're not the first to suffer by any length,
and there are definitely those who have suffered more.
Every life is significant, I guess.

It's officially August, and I hate this month. I associate it with a bad memory,
and use that memory to funnel every single one of my other bad memories,
a way to deal with my PTSD on a yearly basis almost (as unhealthy as that
is in reality), I've slowly been doing better with it though.
But still, I don't like August, it makes me feel sick to my stomach at times.
Even now realizing it's here, I don't feel well. But I'll get through this, not
like I've never managed before.

Goodnight, right?

love, hurt, pain, and love again.

to cough, to scoff. to lick and be licked by the flames of pain that have no aim but to close itself to those that have no wealth of self, holding a rose by the thorns until their palms are torn and their patience worn. to laugh, and laugh away what might be right or wrong, whether or not the choice belongs it is a moment we shan't rejoice or revel in - and a liar so-called might find themselves a mired soul on this day to inspire. inspire what is fake, the very thing that makes our shitty souls quake in such nonchalance, a chance to burn and learn, to make what's ours to take and let it be for your sake - a choice never-ending but always-ended, as we rip rend the flesh of the mesh of reality, so unequal in rite and spite, like a clock broken on a dock or a hawk crushed by a rock, we don't know one from eleven or two from blue. our souls, they vomit subtlety and cascadian viridian, a mountainscape of blatant pain. pain that licks the eyes dry, and cracks the lips wet.
pain, the undeniable emotion that's the source of our ever-eroding soul, that which makes us whole.
pain is chemical expression, a splatter of any colour on any canvas in the world.
it branches and weaves around heart and never sets apart you and I,
you and I.
the ever subconscious progenitor, the ever realizing subjugator,
hurt is the fleeting epitaph of negativity, bastard of wrong and relativity.
locked in a bad space, it seeps into our veins and corrodes our heart,
it blossoms into hurt, and so willingly blooms into pain.
it's pain I want to share with you,
to bring our negativity so close together,
a chemical.. atomic.. anatomical reaction.
don't console this blooming black rose of pain,
whose thorns so wholly dig into what makes me sane.
I share this pain with you,
watching your budding hurt, bloom into beautiful pain,
as it starts to rain, the drops drip splatting on my window sill,
and just by pure will we find tearful thrill in this chill.
as I force pain into your vein,
and let it coalesce in your heart,
your soul.

humanity is stupid and broken, unwilling and messy. but we were born this way, it's a reality. no matter how much we want to help those we've come close to, they often just want to bleed out into your stupid soul, a role I willingly take every time no matter the reason. because I'm stupid and broken, as humanity is.
when we hurt from life, and feel pain, we almost always want someone to help us shoulder it, rather then let someone lift us from the shallow hole we've dug. it's the human way, and for some reason (with great complication often) it works.
it works because we let it work. because for every time we do it to someone, there is bound to be one to do it to us. we share in each others pain, and let it bring us close - a gothic beauty, and idealism.
I wouldn't say that I like it, no.
I wouldn't say that I in particular find it beautiful at all, no.
but I find a kind of.. realistic attribute to it's philosophical implications.
to live is to to be, to be is to experience, to experience is to feel.
to feel is to inevitably hurt, and revel in self pity and pain.
and as a response to that hurt, that self pity, and pain,
we shake the chains of the bonds we've made.
and we find clarity.
and we find a smile.
and we find love.

because to be human, to have this figurative idea that is our soul at our very core, is to love. even the darkest, and most broken among us feel this, this love so clearly bubbling and bursting from within us. and as love can birth hurt, and pain.. it's the emotions sought to recover from those experiences that can lead to more love, as life so ironically loves to come full circle.

goodnight,
internet.

damn.

A couple of years ago I was sitting with my friend Dominique in class, and she was talking about how she was doing the vagina monologues that year. I was curious about it, and she had me read the piece she was performing that Valentines Day, or Vagina Day, or whatever you want to call it.
I read it, I enjoyed it immensely, and I felt oddly.. Inspired. I then proceeded to write a short monologue, from the point of view of an older woman and her past experiences et cetera. It was fairly well received by Dominique, who I'd written it for, a new bit of experience to add to the ol' arsenal (or something silly like that).
I wanted to share it with you, but sadly (for the time being) it is lost.
I hope to find it, or maybe she'll find it and send me a copy, but either way
when I have it before me again I will surely post it on here for the semi-plural mass to read.

rant end.

What about the term "riptide romance"? Nah.
I kind of find it funny how people can be openly dishonest with themselves, something I can never quite achieve to the level of which is currently on my noggin. People are, on the whole, annoying creatures. They're constantly fighting their nature, fighting realism, fighting against everything that is, and might be, anything. I find it annoying, amusing, trivial, transparent, simplistic, and entirely unnecessary. But they won't realize that any time soon, if ever, so how about I go ahead and cough up some text on the subject?
The entire concept of romance seems as though it's being bastardized by my generation (though this may change when we start hitting the ol' midlife crisis, so that it might be passed onto the next generation). Romance has become an overdramatized soapbox of trepidation - yet another annoying label for us to bear as a whole.
We all have our own overbearing issues and crippling disorders to triumph, sure - but there are limits. Humanity, humanity, humanity is a beast, an incomprehensible number of bodies, of litres of blood, of souls. We all fall in love, whether we define it in that manner or not is of no consequence to me, because loosely termed it's the best way to describe it. To love, to marry, to share in age, and to bask in a wealth of good health. It's not about falling to the status quo, or succumbing to conformity - you idiots. It's about life - it's about evolution - it's about the continuation of the species sure. But since we're humans, it's about emotion. It's about the future. It's about aspiration. It's about everything and anything.
If you don't think you're going to fall in love, to copulate and in turn reproduce, if you're "against" that very idea, then I'm glad you won't be the ones doing it. Humanity won't need to suffer, nor survive your stupidity and masochism.
Even my friends that still claim they'll never be with someone again - that they'll definitely never marry - that they'll never have children.. I kind of feel bad for them to be honest. Humans are dragged along by their feelings - commonly referred to as what they feel in their heart (which is a simplistic way of describing that tight feeling in your chest when you're emotionally committed to a situation).
I feel bad for them, but at the same time I know it's alright. The majority of people who are standoffish on the topic will meet someone. Or realize how they feel about another. The ball will roll, and the feelings of anxiety, confusion, and nonconformity will simply melt away.

There's that group of people, who needlessly lie to themselves - but there is another group that needs addressing forthright. Those who are in denial about the reality that is relationships and the sharing of human emotion. Sometimes it's because they're emotionally broken, like myself, and unlike myself unable to overcome themselves. Other times it's simple stupidity (a word I seem to like lately), a quaint disregard for how the world actually works, and paving their own special individualistic cell in which they must equate irrationally that "My sour one month relationship definitely hurts worse than my Grandfather felt when his wife of sixty years passed away, and his consequent near suicide." That may be an exaggeration, but I think you'd be surprised if you delved a little deeper with some of these people. And it's not just that emotional and logical disconnect that I'm encompassing with the word "stupidity" either.
It's the ones that are more.. Simple than that. The people that simply give up before ever really starting - who've had no real experience in the world and feel they have full comprehension of how it all works.
To those people, I have this to say:
While it's not difficult to comprehend by any means, it's definitely something you can't even begin to understand until you've stood there with your own feet. Talking to a best friend about their broken string of hellish relationships that eventually end in keyed trucks, stalking, and house fires doesn't offer you any actual experience. The fact of the matter is - you don't understand how the whole thing works until it's your truck that got keyed, you that's being stalked, or your house that was set on fire (or your exes truck you keyed and set on fire while he was inside during your stalk-happy-rampage).
Even things as endlessly simplistic as an embrace (note, I'm not saying hug, those close semi-empty things you share with friends, but embrace, I even put it in italics so you'd notice) is going to be beyond your comprehension until you share one. And don't get me wrong, even then you have a ways to go. A lingering kiss, a candlestick dinner, a spur-of-the-moment adventure to nowhere, a sky full of bright stars, a night of passion - they're all beyond you until you're brave enough to put yourself out there. The issue here isn't whether or not they're good enough, it's all on you.
And some advice to you, you who totes imaginary experience and situations, you who speaks as though you know better than those who have, and are going through these moments in your life..
It'll hurt.
I can't say how often, if at all.
Maybe you'll meet Miss/Mister Perfect-for-you right off the bat.
But the entire concept of opening yourself up to someone,
is also giving that person the ability to cause harm.
You may not think you're strong enough for that,
but I honestly think you'd be beyond surprised.

A few moments of genuine happiness,
a few memories of times that were,
are sometimes all it takes to make the hurt worthwhile.

So my fakey wakey shake and bakes, how about putting yourself out there to get stepped on now and then? It's definitely not your whole "No one walks all over me, by Jove," thing so much as your cowardice to start looking. "What if they turn me down?" you ask? "What if they don't like me?" you ask? "What if things are too complicated to work?" you ask, you ask, ask ask ask ask ask.
I say those questions are cowardice as well. They're procrastination, they're fear.
Because what if they don't turn you down? If they do, then you have closure and you're not hung up on it.
What if they do like you? If they don't, oh well, you're an adult now - act like one.
What if things work out well? To assume there's no such thing as complication in a healthy adult relationship is naive and silly. Complication comes in colours from "best friends ex" to "difference in religion". Complication is  easily described as a pillar of failure, or a hurdle on the track. Knock it down, jump over it - it doesn't matter as long as you overcome it. Because when you do, you'll feel much better.
You have no reason not to act like an adult and chase your human desires, so just fucking do it already and stop filling everyone around you with lies - it's annoying them.

Random bizarre rant - end.

soul.

Dear not-diary-but-public-accounting-of-my-life-that-anyone-can-read-bur-probably-doesn't-but-that's-okay-because-I'm-mostly-writing-to-you-to-let-off-steam-or-exorcise-irritating-emotions,

I'm not having any epiphanies of late,
not that I've ever had any at all, certainly not in a manner that would suggest it's odd that I haven't had one recently.. But still, I haven't had any period, and while it's not odd, it's a little annoying. Why? Obviously the reason is because I want to have one, isn't that how it usually works?
I mean, clearly there's some kind of great emotional disconnect and discontent within me at this moment if I'm reaching out for something that I don't usually, if ever, have - that being an epiphany - and I'm more than casually aware of what the problem is. Oh yes, indeed I am, I know every reason why I'm feeling every single feeling that's coursing through my body.

On a separate note, I like to refer to my soul and other peoples souls often in my expressive and documentary writing. I'd like to make it clear, I don't really know what to think of souls or their soulfulness, just that it's an idea I'm constantly reaching back for. I don't believe it's some kind of freudian subtlety in conjuncture with my self-proclaimed atheism (or aforementioned circumstantial disbelief), so much as it's a comfort word that I pull into my word-spillings to define something that has no definition.
I suppose in my hip, and now disreligion, a soul would be a mixture of ones conscience, subconscious understanding, morals, and overall convention of feelings. A soul is the best available word in a metaphorical symphony of boredom and patched-together letters that don't stimulate the proposed (let's underline proposed) reader.

Now, back to the silly things I was talking about before with a little bit of tie-in from the in between.
My soul is feeling uneasy, like my stomach feels queasy, my breath is wheezy, and my mind is breezy. My soul is expressing my hearts, well, heartache. It's giving me a depthy feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that is often times toeing a fine line between sexual stimulation, unceasing depression, feverish guilt, giddy excitement, and overpowering joy to an extent where they're sometimes indistinguishable. And I'm sure it's the bit about unceasing depression.
I'm stuck in a pit of pathetic sadness, like a Jedi who has lost touch with the force, or a first-time convenient store clerk that just got robbed on his first night. It's not unbearable, not the worst pain I've ever felt, not by far - and I realize how young I am. I realize these feelings will all pass, regardless of any clinical aspects.
But it is sadness, and I think the worst part of it all is how undeniably confusing it is, because by definition, I'm just not even certain how to begin describing why I'm sad, or depressed. Reaching back into this post, it has to do with my subconscious understanding, I subconsciously understand why I'm upset - but I can't consciously grasp that idea and work it out.
Honestly, I was going to put a Star Wars reference here - but decided against it because it really didn't flow well, and it felt a little redundant what with my previous Star Wars analogy about a Jedi losing touch with the force. Anywho..

I have these feelings. Feelings that won't go away, and are more than likely unrequited.
I've always liked the term whirlwind romance, defining an event in ones life that is quick, and fleeting. But I think most people forget that there's also an aspect of destruction in this term, as it's quick, and fleeting sure - but it leaves you wondering and confused, picking up bits of yourself that you'd left open to the experience.
And I think these romances are so startling and profound, because they end in odd ways - often without closure (not that you'd want any in this case, it'd probably make things more difficult), and with an abundance of confusion, discontent, and great many what-if's.
However, I think as great as my whirlwind romance was, life could have pulled a few punches this time. Demitri Martin sang in one of his songs about how fishing should be called what it really is - trickin' and killin', and as inelegant as quoting a comedian is, this term feels sufficient.
I was in a state where I wanted to remain as an emotional Fort Knox, because I'm so used to disappointment and a great many adjectives that feel very.. inadequate in describing how I let people treat me in relationships.

Anyway, there's some thoughts and some emotional exorcising for my soul.
Tomorrow we'll tackle people who lie to themselves constantly, and certain corners of humanities foolishness. Or I'll be so completely excited about the new episode of The Guild that I'll forget I even have a blog for another few weeks.

Adios.