i, in the 3rd person: a love story (1st movement)

just going to publish this; no re-reading, no editing...

borderline fortified product of narcotics at the depths, and at best, a lonely narcoleptic who went to bed often solely to awaken; mistaken he was for a narcissist, but instead, kept from the public was that he bred with the better part of the partition that is morbid contorted fantasy and his dream reality -- or did he have it backwards?

meanwhile, in the hazardous parkour parks that reside in the confines of his mind, she undyingly contests for his attention and watches the route ever so carefully laid out, not knowing he'd plotted to pick and weed the rogue seed and gouge the sprout that is, was, and will always be, she...

how i discover random shit that never comes up in conversation

i just got done reading a most interesting short story that i found online, but i don't quite know what the ending stood for - perhaps that was the point. anyway, it's a "post-romance" article: (http://zsg.tumblr.com/post/25773652375/post-romance). how'd i stumble onto such a random story? well, i was watching a Star Trek episode, but paused it to retrieve my headphones, since my brother just entered the room to go to bed and i didn't want to disturb him. so i go to resume my episode, but, since sound only comes out of the left earpiece on occasion, i paused the episode once again to adjust the headphone jack. having now lost my place, i rewind the episode a bit; but since i'm far from my wifi hub, it takes some time to load. so, as i wait for it to load, i play some music on iTunes; nothing too obtuse, since it is about 2am (and since i'm already close to passing the fuck out, anyway). about the seventh song down from the top is Alone in Kyoto by Air - perfect! well, as it plays, i can't help but recall one of my favorite movies, Lost in Translation, who's soundtrack this song belongs to. and as my eyes slowly wander back to the computer screen, i notice that the genre section is left blank; i google the soundtrack (well actually, i "bing" it), trying to meticulously satisfy one extension of my OCD, which, like i just said, includes painstakingly labeling songs who's genre section is empty. on the hunt for doing so, and subsequently finding myself on the wikipedia page for Lost in Translation, i scroll down to the "Analysis" section which tantalizes my interest, and find that someone has used the term "postromance" to describe the unconventional romantic plot that the events of this film rotate around. being the google (and that means bing) addict that i am, i watch my other opened tab kick back a list of links containing the novel term, the third of which i click on, and BOOM, before i know it i find myself identifying with the main character, who is a cynical misanthrope and does not see the point in superficial, time-killing conversation with the fellow drones commonly called human beings.

the funny thing is, part of me sat back watching the whole thing going on like a third-person observer, and i thought my lack of an attention span yielded quirky enough results to write about here on my blog. i actually also really love the title i chose for this one. and, even as i type these v e r y   l e t t e r s   t h a t   c o a l e s c e   i n t o   w o r d s , all i'm really thinking about are movies like Spaceballs and Being John Malkovich and wondering how many of you realized that i've just broken the fourth wall and that this is a run-on sentence and that i'm about to make the object-reference after the upcoming semicolon vague and if you even know what the literary term "fourth wall" means; but if not, then you should look it up!

heaven only knows

heaven rests but a mere step beyond nocturnal reflection

and i guess i'll never get there

especially with this damned furnace ringing in my ear.

pressing questions left the mind stressed

as the senses intercept quiet messages

nearly whispered, but clear, nonetheless.

nearly cleared for takeoff, taken off the first class guest list

the third glass nurtures erratic attention

up until the vastly vivid void swept in...

free association 5

white
ice
blue
glass
window
sky
water
ocean
jellyfish
transparent
bioluminescence
neon
ambient
dim
atmospheric
quiet
calm
frozen
statue
marble
pillar
stone
lava
magma
hot
fire
coal
carbon
diamond
mine
dark
black

math and that imagined

the life of a nihilist, defiling icons with strife
heightened supreme crumbles silently at midnight
mise en abîme supplied a final dream with the missing scene
the calm before the storm, peaceful, serene...

___

see, baked up in the kitchen was a feeble snack plate
a disease-ridden needle, cut smack and crack base,
subtract some from brashly tapped veins and lips cracked
that not even a slab of fast-acting chapstick can patch...

the door latch had detached, but attacking wasn't an addict
a few boots were added, divvied semi-automatics
but the cops suddenly jumped, shocked from watching a pump-fake and
stopped as the pump popped up, waiting as aching gums draped--

the sum reclined on the base of a mouth full of grit,
residing in the basement on a couch with a hit
and on the come up he went down, off to imagining static
he had it coming, but actually, he had let HIMSELF have it...

winter heat

it's about seven am in

central November, when

ice manifests on steps and the

sounds are toned down by

white piles
lying

out on the ground.

her

tired eyes met those

mounds where she'll

eventually tread, some

seven hours ahead of now -

but for now, just
rest...

resting on a

twin bed at ease, her

head sets on his chest,

nestling,

surrounded by

red lights and a

dressing of fleece;

above it, at least, is

seven degrees less than that of the sweat of

bred heat

met beneath.

see, the temperatures

read differently between, and,

just between you and me, some

zealous squeal revealed a

brief trip to ecstasy and

concealed the

best hit of 2.7183, slightly prior to this ordeal...

mealless, he'd wondered if

ordering sweet peaches between

spreads of pasted marmalade will

leave his taste buds in a daze,

so he

grazed the barren landscape, searching for

traces that might lead him astray, to a

temperate and eventful place where

he might be able to stay, perhaps a

waterway to

waste away the rest of his day...

___

seven + seven + seven = 2 + 7 + 1 + 8 + 3 = 21

2.7183 ≈ e

catharsis of a narcissist (pt. 2)

"oh you don't know him? wait, do you even go outside?"
"not really..."

damn it, the damage is done, and in one second he had handed over enough ammo to gun down a brilliant and proud young child -- but the suspect and coconspirators committed to a far more twisted ordeal. see, our hero had taken the bait and bit into a mild tasting apple that bites and fights back, just you wait. a bookworm with nook-learned knowledge unearthed and gobbled thoroughly, taken hostage and made shook by the urban dwellers, kept yelling in a cellar where they'd first lightly burned his pride and then tried harder as he eventually eyed the black and blue blights and blisters that emerged from the surge of blood prying down his side...

it happened as fast as thunder and lightning, but fighting was something he'd never gotten to know. a few shoves were thrown around and those times his hands planted themselves abruptly on faces were where large red palm prints branded those spaces; it's the closest he's ever gotten to a good ole scraping.

untaping his hands from behind, his fist glided, guided by his faded sight and, after a slight adjustment, made its way to a snide smile and then on to the rest of the pile. see, revenge is best served cold with a blend of old dressings and topped with a hint of success, as i'm assuming you've already been guessing...

___

not a single one of us is a perfect person, and so i'm fairly certain that delusions of grandeur simply serve to ensure the nurturing of one's own easily beaten and over-enduring ego. ergo, it's the most effective defense mechanism, if you ask me...

Philosophy Major Memes

I found these downright hilarious. What's even funnier is that I took up Philosophy to try and rid myself of this existential crisis and the damned classes made it even worse. Oh well...

__________________________________________________

__________________________________________________

3 months of abstract hell = C-

_____________________________________________

I was that guy...

___________________________________________________

FUCKING PLATO >:(

half-written

a beautiful mind, pious
imperfection lies in that she is
sometimes tongue-tied and
blatantly contaminated with
raging lament,
raving about the days prior to
underscores of boredom...

unfortunately, she was never
afforded the knowledge that
her divinity lies dormant under
scores of
white lies and a
poorly-placed
layer of
superficiality

but i have faith that
one day, surely
she'll see--

i exist, but only in a mirror

"c'mon, you are NOT crazy. i saw some of those other people in there... really? you really think you're like any of them? let's be honest... really?!"

right before that short visit, my mind was traveling a mile a minute and stopped promptly at the hospital. i'd arrived at a peculiar affection for her, despite the fact that she was many years my senior - but that didn't matter; her voice propagated a sort of mysterious, yet inviting, youthfulness that seemed to transcend her physique. the silk that draped her weathered frame coupled with her soothing tone thoroughly shattered the glass barriers that indicated rigid boundaries my mind worked long enough to create. she was erratic; ecstatic at times but when her demeanor declined it was tragic. i sneaked a peak at the sheet lying on the desk and how i managed to do so i guess was somewhat impressive; i'd gotten a real glimpse at what they call a manic-depressive...

ah, and then there was her, she was a neat one. she spoke with a speed that kept her condition quite sheathed and discreet. quick and swift, our conversations would drift about and come full circle, reminding me of where it was i forgot we started out. she seemed rather shocked when i told her my plan to clock out early and, furthermore, retorted that there was no reason to hurry. that i was keen and rather practical, tall, smart and attractive; that i ought not to detach from this world just yet and that i still had much more fight in me left. she saw no reason for my weaned self-esteem and truly believed i was incredible in every way - and the unforgettable part was that i'd only known her for a day...

one day...
a day was short enough to disrupt this downward cascade barely displayed on the vacant spaces of my face

______________________________________________________________________________

mere days prior, his mind's diary recited how liquor filled the vague places where life was abated:

here's to number five: for the guy who can't decide whether to live or to die;
and yet again, number seven: for the gentleman who's spent quite some time trying to buy his way into heaven;
finally, to number twelve: for that part of himself who's already ungrounded a few encounters with the depths of hell...

incorporeal bridge

certain experiences are not able to be represented through a sequence of symbols arranged in such a way as to adhere to normalized notions of semantic structure and, effectively, are not able to be communicated sensibly through verbal or written discourse; however, it is true indeed that we may perceive the end result(s) of such experiences. unfortunately, instead of acknowledging that they are suspended in isolation, we try to categorize them by confining their parts to nouns and adjectives in a failed attempt at expressing them.

i propose we leave them be, as some things were never meant to be shared. i suppose hedonism need not be a complete taboo...





and yes, at the moment i'm sort of obsessed with this song...

memoirs of a junkie (pt. 1)

attitude adjustments deconstruct past factions but
a drug addict he still was -- actually, that can be somewhat annulled because of dastard and disastrous actions he once practiced


but finding a needle in the greystack of feeble white dust and black tar wouldn't be hard because
trust me, he needn't look far...


and yes, guess what? once again, our friend is
dumbed, dense and doubtlessly doped
but above amends, he'd outwardly hoped
i'll give you a hint: he's on a downward slope


spiraling out of control
holding a viral vial from which he vouched for a toll


one afternoon he had a mad dash for the attic
a bit scuffed up and duffed up he was right back at it.
there he sat aghast for a fraction of an hour, scratching bare gashes, and acting out past happenings


past the mirror he lashed, at a more transparent glass
he slumped, jumped and
dumped his own trashed ass


a blind dive from up high, kind of like the adrenaline rush that comes from driving at night,
minus the headlights


instead of nighly sighing and finding bright sirens striding to his side for a second time,
he collided with the divine...

free love

vintage flick
nine minute clip of an interracial couple cuffed up and in loving bliss
not literally, but they might as well have been attached at the hip
must've been back in '76 or something like it,
no dispatchers in the background or packed rounds in his black mound of skin

just him...
just him and his lovely miss...

free association 4

dream
sky
fly
high
tree
weed
seed
pick
choose
now
time
space
vast
blast
rocket
ship
sail
drift
float
water
mist
breeze
cool
blanket
tea
fireplace
holiday
sleep
dream

catharsis of a narcissist (pt. 1)

blinking, partially thinking,
he starts charting sparks through the bits and parts of matter that are
incarcerated and jarred
in his skull.
the head's better than the chest, since
matters of the heart can be dark
and rather dull...

darkly scanning through broken glass, he fathoms the reflection of a partition;
it's this that is what marks the inflection heard
in his remark as he
barks on about some part of his youth
that a group once abused and then handed back to him and, in due time,
abandoned...

but granted, he too used them in a sense,
later on as the subject of recompense,
for subjecting him to undue
lies; fooling him, cooing him, wooing him away from the truth.
he tried to maintain his muse, ascertain his cool, but
it was useless; he believed them when they said
there'd be no rest when he eventually laid
in his tomb...

the only option left smack dead center in the back of his head
was that for the rest of his life,
there'd be eternal doom...

outside looking in

vexed, much less perplexed
starring ahead at his mess of a head, reflect
shunning what's left of his reflection, vest resting on his chest, flexed,
veering at his earring, dreary and hearing left near-deaf
initially his definition let his gaze spread, but the
motion sickness left him with a refreshed theory...

___________________________________________________

looking at a mirror, he sees a black kid, about 6 feet tall, kind of lanky
kinky hair, skin fair, slim jaw and lean neck
wide hands and sporting clean b-ball shorts
broad shoulders, thin legs and big feet
an all-around clumsy demeanor

looking at his friends, he sees someone who's easy-going
composed and somewhat stern
sociable, concerned and a good listener
quick to hide his temper and a bit too analytical
witty and down-to-earth but easily as fantasy-stricken

looking at some old pictures, he sees a kid hugging his younger brother and little sister
a mom who looks hispanic and a dad as dark as the couch with slouched cushions in the living room
a young bride and groom, hard-workers and faithful Christians
images composed of clean clothes and a few cheap pictures hung
an older son who one day unintentionally abandons them

looking in at me, i've no idea what i see
and maybe that's exactly why i need nothing less than
a set of reflections to set me free...

Thoughts of an Agnostic Theist (if you had to put a label to it)

http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/technology/2012/08/bill-nye-the-science-guy-hits-evolution-deniers/



Well, first off, it's nice to know this guy is still alive and kicking. I guess that explosion incident was just an insensitive rumor...

Anyway, as a kid I had trouble trying to reconcile my understanding of the Universe, because in one ear I was being told not to question God and His doings from those who held a somewhat literal interpretation of the Bible, and through the other, I was listening to science shows that supported Darwin's Theory of Evolution and a physicalist view of the Universe - the two seemed mutually exclusive for quite some time to me, so naturally that resulted in a lot of cognitive dissonance. After a while I settled for the middle road (Philosophy) and realized I'm actually no closer to understanding the Universe than I was when the big questions hit around age 11 or so.

Right now, at this point in my life, I identify as Agnostic. But I do still try to live as if I were religious - probably because some part of me still is...

lazy day daydreaming

and so here i sit, head lifted, arm pulled back
holding stones, scoping out bits of broken glass
or perhaps a mouse to throw them at.
they'll end up bouncing off the sheen side of a recently cleaned dumpster,
pouncing through bitter-cold air before
skidding across small holes on the concrete floors
once more
and stopping.

tick-tock
tick-tock...

a clock occupying the space above pinched skin
just inches below my wrist
died a while ago, so when my eyes
glide down past my closed fist, they're watching
idle time

but here i lie, on this sofa, pressed against an upholster
under a couple of wanted posters
among cluttered clusters of rust, i must've mustered up just enough to keep warm in the face of an imminent storm
the icy white swarm is approaching...



approaching was a wide-eyed driver of a stolen coach,
she motioned for me to board, to
abandon my hoard in order to forge a gorge to our
pre-ordered salvation
overly excited and full of animation, i noted
"let's go home", she boasts,
"we may have to squeeze through valleys and pounce over mountains, but we should keep going until we've reached the coast, and we'll board a boat and get as close as your inner most desires might hope to inquire"
but a choir of letters embedded in red
sped through my head,
so i conjectured an interjection and begged my thoughts
to tread lightly through this unlikely trough,
in spite of my desires, a plight - disguised as a flight of fancy - was required...


there was nothing i wanted more than to dance high up on the shore and
stand there like a lord, trumped by only the sun,
glancing down onto the land where boredom was a chore,
gritting my teeth as i see that this side is rather sweet, being more like a
heated four-course meal concealed in a scored gourd
all the more reason to oblige her ordeal -

but now my body is quiet, and my mind just can't sit still...

don't even trip...

i trip and fall too goddamned often.
well i don't trip so much any more, or at least that's what i thought then...

one of the times i recall falling was on a patch of blueish-white smooth ice,
this was back during junior year of high school, before the times of getting high prior to attending class at a classy higher-learning institute where you learn how to say fuck high honors in lieu of simply getting through
that day i slipped but did so with a sort of groove
my foot decided to act by ungluing itself up from the surface as my ass touched down and made first contact
back up i propped myself in perfect sync with which i dropped
blink
it's almost like i never stopped
i only missed two steps on the beat, i think...

the only two to see my misdemeanor were my arch-nemesis and his equal
i was briefly disquieted and quickly alighted when he decided to leave it unspeakable
i owe the bastard for that, especially since there was a bus in front of us full of people
classmates, rather - that's what i mean.

but that embarrassment stemmed from how OTHERS saw me at the moment
this is a bit more personal...

i remember another time a little later on, a few autumns had gone,
mauling at my wall was the call of a goddess from across the hall
i'd had a small thing for her that barely lasted at all
i was thinking all the while of how i'd approach her and poach her with a gift of swift guile
but that shit faded to the back of my head when the sound of a loud orgasm roared from somewhere between the sheets and her bed...
dead.


i'm actually laughing right now as i type this,
but i wish i had thought back then to tell myself,
don't even fucking trip...

over

it pains me to try and remain sane when i'm the only one leftover
solely striving to stay sober,
can you do me a favor and humor me by crossing over
to this plane?
can you invade this pane in front of where i lay,
drain my veins and replace the remains with liquid icosane?
let this wax collapse - flat, detached and mundane...

and as it dries i'll watch the time as i fly by
see sea blue hues move beautifully through the sky
glancing back through this cool, smooth opaque i'll try and view the memories of my

daughter, as she was
growing up and throwing up from sharing her first a swig and
throwing up a bit more from bearing her first kid
until she heaves and breathes and squeezes,
just like her mother did.

her son, running across and around corners, clutching diamonds, trying to
come home
and eventually running 'round diamonds, clutching crosses and sliding
toward home...

and, oh, at about 6pm on june 6th, an officer will call a phone and visit a home,
saying a young guy just out of his teens came flying down the street doing about 23 over limit speed,
saying he remembers seeing something in the passenger seat and hearing the breaks screech, followed by a slow, soul-shattering scream,
something or someone?
i remember, you'll both lift me up out of this horrid dream,
croon me as i swoon from downing the contents of this bottle,

and out of here, we'll retreat...

collateral for malicious intent

she's enraged and she's taken to playing with cocaine and propane
quick silver builds momentum with her guild, a solitary molotov cocktail
feet drumming on concrete, paralleling heart beat, minion in tow, she starts to squeeze; this brief union between the brainless heat and she seems to be unpleasingly foolish
disrupting aggressive destructive sessions, something pressing messages questions through her nerves, her forearm tenses, drenched in sweat and second guessing the verb and it's intention

sense and sensibility fenced against a repressing tension, and perhaps i've failed to mention, her intention is pretty clear?
weary mind, dreary eyes, she despises the place where her own space was denied
many nights she's cried, lying weakly beside her sheets where blood stains seep, unable to speak -- a fable, she thinks?
life is stifling, bane and bleak

again her feet graze the pavement, no more pretending to accept amends through recommended recompense
fuck the law, she sprints in amazement with eyes squinted and glazed, her intent is hell-bent on preventing this demon sent from selling his eternal debt
the bottle-rocket launches from her gauntlet laced hands, her demands branded in the frantically fluttering flame
but little does she know, inside, now ablaze is a wife and babe...

basic shit

gaseous gastric acid blasts past his casted esophagus
candid cameras manned as he stands banded o'er ceramic, then faceplants in the space between paste wall and waste
basic shit, gravity.

splattered on the plaster is the source of a brash laughter, his brain remains transfixed, stomach wrenching, picked this position in which to fix his catatonic twist
stupidly, stupid he, frequently he disputes cupid's glee, trading brain cells for pained hells and painted wells equipped with bottomless pits
he omits quick acquisitions of lips locked in a cosmic haven of delayed gratification, struggling to pierce the stratosphere through an alternative sphere prior to the inevitable fear of sheer loss of control when he veers downward, beyond his initial point of departure...
you following me?

follow me, i'm in the lead, 22 shots, best get me a stretcher please
let's guess if i bleed 22 proof, just profess it if it's true, a true legacy
the burning brew broods down the chest of me, let me be,
fade to darkness, rest in peace...

mezzanine (eternity in a night, pt. 2)

abandoned warehouse, hardly before dawn
a swirled mix of lavender and indigo seeps through transparent blotches in the ceiling
oversized bulbs cast golden-amber blankets onto the chilled concrete floor
shadow patches contrast the incandescence; a plaid apparition emerges...

"Feeling the past moving in 
Letting a new day begin 
Hold to the time that you know 
You don't have to move on to let go..."


directly ahead, an infinite platform is hoisted on a structured cluster of steel pallet racks
animated bodies form statues, perfume and cologne perforate the scent of aged stone, the two aromas engaged in a courtship dance
two sets of meandering eyes are brought to a fix, gaze locked, immortalized in the confines of an instant...

"Add to the memory you keep 
Remember when you fall asleep 
Hold to the love that you know 
You don't have to give up to let go..."


resonance, reverberation, ubiquitous flux
swift echoes quickly consume the void between these walls, filling the volume unoccupied by roaming souls, yet still encased in a decaying hypercube of vacated, post-industrial property
trespassing is evident, but there are no signs of forced entry
paradoxical liberation in an enclosed space...

"Remember turning on the night 
And moving through the morning light..."


ten seconds, or ten aeons?
erect sculptures yield plasticity as increasing heart beat rates invigorate the two forms
blood rushes back to skin surfaces, intensified
infinity eclipsed by the blunt reinjection of temporal order
supplying source? unknown...

"Remember how it was with you
Remember how you pulled me through--"


bending and curving space, the two foci cede themselves to the weakest, yet most discernible, of fundamental forces in the universe
pressing forward, they abandon promises of physical conjunction and embrace an imminent incorporeal union;
a fusion of loci, individual essences become blurred, identities are rendered obscured--
obliterated...

"I remember..."

reckless abandon

a hearse,
clutch turned
in reverse
much blur

gives birth
to her
lips, pursed,
spurring instances;
bliss

reminiscing
this blessed
gift,
her head
rests
on my chest

hit?
miss?

souls arrested, but abreast
is this question:

perfection?
do we fit?

INTPs and Architects

scientists.

we spend our lives carrying out experiments, engaging the empirical world, trying to quantify the physical universe. but what we don't realize is that everything is not necessarily physical. perhaps we know that the smell of something comes from the olfactory detection of atoms that are no longer bound to the object; but others might be inclined to wonder: can we ever really just suspend our analyses and enjoy the sweet and slightly bitter aroma of a fresh batch of oatmeal raisin cookies? we are the inspectors of the world, and we make sure it fits our paradigms...



philosophers.

we spend our free time conceptualizing ideas, speculating about the nature of the signified, arguing over the existence or non-existence of the metaphysical and its potential elements. what we don't realize is that it is ok to disagree as no two people have observed an identical succession of events over an identical amount of time; ergo, we seem to have forgotten that chaos theory is a fundamental property of the universe. we are the devil's advocates, constantly challenging old paradigms and proposing new...



aestheticians.

time has no objective or universal meaning for us; everything can be interpreted as the observer sees fit. we understand that the external world influences the internal, and vice versa. it is up to us to find order in the chaos - or perhaps to create it. some of us become these when we take a break from being the studious scientists and philosophers that consume most of our waking lives; aestheticians are our alter egos, they're who we become when we allow ourselves to sleep. for those few hours a night, we no longer succumb to the natural laws of the universe...

we spawn them.

free association 3

i just realized i forgot to specify the rules:
1. write down whatever first comes to mind (preferably in one word, but if not, try to use as few words as possible);
2. the proceeding word should be the first thing the current word makes you think of;
3. if possible, try not to repeat words - or rather, try not to repeat ideas;
4. try not to delete anything
5. stop whenever you feel like it

light
dark
empty
cold
hot
warm
soft
smooth
rough
jagged
spiky
prickle
sharp
point
object
thing
that
there
away
distant
far
horizon
sun
circle
oval
egg
hatch
spawn
create
life
structure
building
concrete
floor
ground
grass
green
house
room
door
doorknob
turn
hand
arm
lift
rise
float
fly
soar
bird
sky
blue
sad
mad
angry
aggressive
innocent
convicted
jail
brick
white
blind
sight
hearing
sound
wave
particle
speed
distance
time
slow
motion
paradox
contradiction
false
true
knowledge
academia
college
degree
temperature
fire
flame
ion
electron
photon

green light (revised)

anemic matter amalgamates, materializes
diminishing distance dismisses dividends, white light christens the night
closing calefaction counteracts calmed cognizance
profane names claim pervaded lips...

rewind.

semantic singletons succumb to satiation
signs cease citing benign types
words writhe from grip and wither, arrested from vexed context and weaning from forms of normalized meaning
cotton clouds disperse and diverge, purging screams of a God from the machine...

freeze.

prestige immediately relieves received anxiety
but bits of grits, fits and hits witnessed sit uneasily
and though concealed fields left at rest yield depth,
promises of absolution are kept, while alternative solutions are rendered inept
alas, i forget
i can finally forget...

go.

victim

when presented with a threat, those who can neither fight back nor run end up one of two ways:

the lucky ones die quickly;
but those who aren't so lucky are slowly tortured while their sanity diminishes...

reactive hyperglycemia...

...might just be the cause of my depression, irritability, panic attacks and dysphoria.

i'm going to change my diet and see what that does for me.

lost in translation

how do i translate my passions and affects into words?

i've been stuck on that for some time. i've tried and tried but i can't quite get it. the words i chose almost describe the ideas in my mind, but they're not precise. does anyone else have this issue? does everyone?

no? perhaps i'm projecting...

free association 2

life
entity
being
the letter "b"
blue
color
perception
consciousness
awareness
ego
self
whole
part
division
mathematics
logic
consistency
validity
truth
knowledge
thinking
speaking
movement
time
space
extension
attribute
god
universe
infinity
set
set of all sets
{set of all sets}
contradiction
meaning
language
sign
signified
point
abstract
wonder
disjoint
separate
individual

contradictions

anti-consumerist, minus the shirt on his back, the pants on his legs, his hat, his trousers...

resist the urge to buy... but what will people think of him wearing the same clothes multiple times a week?

seeking to be an individual in a society that thrives on conformity...

expected to work a 9-5 office job, alongside the masses as they promote and produce incorporeal products like property ownership and insurance.

the free market must encapsulate players; choice inexplicably requires submission.

"be a leader, not a follower." those words continue to resound in his mind years after their induction... but how? observing the actions of others and subsequently taking the path untraveled requires a) a complete conception of the universe of discourse which, in this case, includes knowledge of every road possible, and b) the ability to become entirely self-sustaining.

the contradiction of existing and being free launched an existential crisis that nearly set him over the edge. narrowly able to regain his composure, he engaged the entanglement again and again... but there was only one deduction that remained consistent:

the one action that expresses an individual's true freedom is that which opposes his/her autonomous "nature." 0.

confused. alone. detached from the network. freethinking. grappling with epistemology and ontology. questioning logic and creativity.

hardly unlike a computer stuck in a recursive operation. and i bet you've never wondered why the number zero is circular...

what is a signifier?

what is the signified?

what is meaning?

what is knowledge?

what is a question?

what is "what"?

what is what.

what is "is"?

is is what "is" is.

what.

is.

period.

tautology, the only truth.

truth is validity.

validity is a tautology.

infinity.

circle.

idle.

dead end.

end dead.

suicide.

0 is infinity.

infinity is 0.

eternity in a night (pt. 1)

hey, just trust me on this.
when? oh believe me, you'll know.
anxious? don't worry, i was too. but the nervousness will fade off. it always does...
it's never been terrible for me, and i don't know anyone else for whom it has.


...


anything yet?
yea? how is it? :)
wanna know a secret? i've been enlightened before.
how? well i'll show you!
come, dance with me.
but first let me just hit repeat...

green light

small clouds form out of thin air, like magic. the diminishing space between the weightless fluid produces grey haze, swirling elegantly. the smoke collapses and condenses, collapses, condenses, getting smaller and brighter, smaller, brighter... until the scorching hot white ball is received by full, protruding lips.

reverse.

the system frantically searches file cabinets, extracting files and reading them -- scanning them -- incinerating most when finished but hiding a few. those few are unwillingly recovered later, when grazed green is transformed into cotton clouds. organic machine.

think.

things desperately hidden cannot stay covered. that which is seen cannot be unseen and that which is done cannot be undone. the mission: prove myself wrong.

go.

resolutions

so i guess i haven't been taking pretty good care of myself lately -- and by lately, i think i mean over the past few years. i don't usually go to sleep when i should, and i don't eat when i should either, so i guess it's easy to see why i tend to oversleep and overeat fairly often. irregular sleep patterns and eating habits can easily contribute to anxiety and depression.

i typically don't have much optimism when people talk about new year resolutions because, for me, if you say you're going to change just because it's a new year when you could have been striving to do so at any point, then it seems like you're only making those resolutions because everyone around you is, and that means it's only a pseudo-aspiration. however, i think i need a few resolutions in general, and the fact that it's a new year is just a coincidence.

that being said, i will put myself on a schedule with all things involving work and sleep, and i will be more conscious of my body's needs -- both physiologically and mentally. and i'm writing this not necessarily for you to see and confirm, but for myself and because i need to. i know this is a blog and not a journal or diary or whatever, but so far it's functioned pretty well as a journal so i guess i might as well continue treating it like one.

dream hypothesis

remember that time you started walking to your best friend's house in the pouring rain with your other best friend, laughing about how she sneaked out, since she was grounded for having gotten caught cheating on her physics quiz? then, as a car pulled up on your left, you recognized your cousin; he told you he was getting married to his fiance of three years, to which you excitedly jumped around a bit while your sister stood next to you grinning. you were so glad to hear this wonderful news that it didn't matter how the sun was hurting your eyes, and you completely forgot about trying the new burger at that restaurant you were just now headed to...

her

i wish i could tell her that i was in love with her before she told me she loved me...

...how much i cherished the time we spent laying in bed all day during that rainstorm...

...how much fun i had that day we went on an escape and fooled around at the lake...

i wish she could understand why i was slowly losing myself in her and how hard it was to let her go...

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i wish i could thank her for overlooking my misbehavior and asking me to help her teach the class, since she could tell i was bored from having finished the work early...

...and thank her for pushing me when i didn't know how to push myself...

...understood why she contacted my parents when she saw how disorganized i was and how i had been slacking...

and oh, i wish i hadn't helped contribute to her frustration and watch her storm out of the classroom from a bout of overwhelming helplessness...

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i wish i could have been there to stop her ex from raping her...

...and her ex from raping her, too...

and her friend from raping her as well...

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i wish i had told her how much i appreciate her all those times she cooked for me, cleaned up after me and tucked me in at night...

...i'd done a few more chores just to give her a break...

...got up and offered to cook and clean up when i saw how tired she was from a long day at work...

i wish i could apologize for those agonizing words i spoke to her and didn't have to watch her eyes tear up in subtle despair...

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i wish i could apologize for every time i heard someone call her a "bitch"...

i wish i'd tell her to stop referring to herself as such...

i wish she hadn't walked away disconcerted after he drove up beside her in his car, stared at her like a piece of meat, and drove off when she declined his offer to hop into his car and let him drive her somewhere, yelling "bitch, well fuck you then!"

memories 1 (ignorant bliss)

first:
- maybe about 3 years old, outside with my mom, riding my tricycle behind the apartment complex my parents and I lived in. (ignorant happiness, joy)


toddler:
- being at the hospital for my sister's birth and my brother's birth a year after. (interest, curiosity)
- walking through a massive building where my mom used to work, the lounge and hallways lit by dim lighting and ample sunlight piercing through the dark, tinted glass; elegant elevator servicing about 60 floors, transcendental. (intense wonder, visual)
- walking to some daycare in a plaza downtown; an icy bluish-grey sky and its bright precipitate, the first snowfall I can remember, the air was cold and crisp. (intense wonder, olfactory and tactile)