This Blog has been taken over by John Athens.
But you can call me Jon Polite.
This blog is now closed.
You can follow me at jonpolite.blogspot.com
23.12.10
7.12.10
John Athens
Is back from the dead.
Let's play Court, Indie Kings and Queens.
The game looks easy, that's why it sells.
Let's play Court, Indie Kings and Queens.
The game looks easy, that's why it sells.
20.11.10
On being absent-minded.
Last night, I remembered almost far too much. It's like trying to and failing in catching up in a book in one night, so much so you've forgotten the exact lines, but now you sort of understand the plot a lot better.
My right hand does things I didn't know it could do. My left hand doesn't let me know the things it can do for good reason.
I took a long walk with a good friend, to the edge and back. I lost almost everything I found out, but remembered the basic details. I recovered part of personality, as it were. I realized there's a reason why I tried to be absent-minded. It's a good thing that even if I get too far ahead of myself, there's a reason why. I've satisfied curiosity, for once, as well as anyone else's who would care to know. And though the Truth is ever changing and ever wandering, so am I, and I will catch up with it some day. I sort of know everyone else's guesses are wrong to some extent, and I realized that's why everyone has fears. You shouldn't fear failure, you'll only be blocking yourself from acting in a manner that suits you. I've for, the most part, reclaimed who I am and now I lack far less doubt that I ever have since I've started to think to much.
She's out there with my keys somewhere...
My right hand does things I didn't know it could do. My left hand doesn't let me know the things it can do for good reason.
I took a long walk with a good friend, to the edge and back. I lost almost everything I found out, but remembered the basic details. I recovered part of personality, as it were. I realized there's a reason why I tried to be absent-minded. It's a good thing that even if I get too far ahead of myself, there's a reason why. I've satisfied curiosity, for once, as well as anyone else's who would care to know. And though the Truth is ever changing and ever wandering, so am I, and I will catch up with it some day. I sort of know everyone else's guesses are wrong to some extent, and I realized that's why everyone has fears. You shouldn't fear failure, you'll only be blocking yourself from acting in a manner that suits you. I've for, the most part, reclaimed who I am and now I lack far less doubt that I ever have since I've started to think to much.
She's out there with my keys somewhere...
17.11.10
I try to live my real life as secretly as possible.
The truth behind all things is the hardest thing to really hold. I pretend to be coherently crazy, under a persona I invented for myself. I've held original thought somewhere buried in me, letting each wave of the world batter me while I maintain, until I can speak my peace. It's said that you must have the suspension of belief to endure a play or movie, and that one has to give somebody the benefit of doubt before they can judge them. I feel like a heretic unto myself, taking everything in, despite how it feels. I feel the real truth tug at the back of my mind like guilt would on your gut...
That being said, not everything I've learned has been false. There are true thinkers and innovators always prepared to lead the front and find their own Truth, not prepared to think inside the box or outside of it, but to build a better theory in order to find a lost cat.
I respect those people the most.
There are believers and followers, and I can't fault them for it being their decision, not everyone wants to lead. I will look down on those, however, who call themselves a believer of any sense who puts down others to serve themselves or their belief.
Keep in mind, all is fair in love and war, as long as you're truly fighting for it. Sometimes people used to have entire constellations named after them. I could only hope to have my tombstone have a single word that is universally as acknowledged or understood as sets of distant galaxies and stars.
I feel like I rarely write fluff, and when I do, it's almost too much to sound true and yet is.
I wonder what I've done to myself. I feel like a blindfolded escape artist with tied, handcuffed, and padlocked hands who's forgotten all of his tricks.
And then got amnesia.
And in a world of people who think they know who they are, it only compounds my confusion.
It's just a matter of time until I turn all the locks.
That being said, not everything I've learned has been false. There are true thinkers and innovators always prepared to lead the front and find their own Truth, not prepared to think inside the box or outside of it, but to build a better theory in order to find a lost cat.
I respect those people the most.
There are believers and followers, and I can't fault them for it being their decision, not everyone wants to lead. I will look down on those, however, who call themselves a believer of any sense who puts down others to serve themselves or their belief.
Keep in mind, all is fair in love and war, as long as you're truly fighting for it. Sometimes people used to have entire constellations named after them. I could only hope to have my tombstone have a single word that is universally as acknowledged or understood as sets of distant galaxies and stars.
I feel like I rarely write fluff, and when I do, it's almost too much to sound true and yet is.
I wonder what I've done to myself. I feel like a blindfolded escape artist with tied, handcuffed, and padlocked hands who's forgotten all of his tricks.
And then got amnesia.
And in a world of people who think they know who they are, it only compounds my confusion.
It's just a matter of time until I turn all the locks.
15.11.10
I hope she knows we're getting engaged this summer.
I mean, really. I doubt she does know, or even suspect, or cares to think it'd be true for even a moment. Or maybe she already does know ahead of time and has already planned out the ceremony in her head. I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know.
I wonder where she is at all times, and I hold that wonder far back in my mind to keep my mind from being constantly consumed by the desire to be nearby.
I get jealous easily. I am a jealous yet moral person, and I say that I hope whoever I have faith in would do what I'd want them to do in that situation, yet not do it because I want them to, but does it because they want to and it helps that my consideration is similar.
Easier said, I hope that she's like me but better.
This post probably has the most tags I've ever crammed in, ever.
So I think I should justify it.
Ok, recently, I've lost my mind several times, and proceeded to find it, whereupon I was surprised at it having learned far more than it knew before. The problem in this being, a lot of what it learned was a mix of things both true and false, of things either everyone else already knew, or things no-one else knew at all, including myself.
Which really shows there's more to the Truth than anyone knows. Even I don't know how it will all go down, I can only make my plans and live in the moment, trying to catch the next wave. It's a dizzying height every time I go up, but it's better than drowning or half-assing it like some do. Or not even bothering to go out into the sea like so many choose to do.
... Sometimes, I think she's the Moon and I'm the Sun. It's the only thing I can compare her to when she's not around. At her best and most unique, the classic sliver Crescent kind, waxing. When she's with me in spirit, a New Moon. When she gets in my head and drives me crazy, a Full Moon.
There are other times I think of, where the real Truth is she's my Sun, but I've yet to see her show that side, so I'll keep waiting.
I hope she knows I love her. It's true, there was one other true love I had, but she died long ago, true story. [Barring time travel or anything else, that is.]
Maybe we've both changed so much in not seeing or talking to each other that I'm utterly wrong, and to be honest I'm wasting my time over a long daydream, that's lasted for awhile. Maybe I should be dating and getting out there meeting new people and making friends and maybe I don't really know what I'm doing and I'd bring us both down if we ever saw each other.
Then again, she doesn't really doubt herself at all. So I shouldn't either.
Plus, I want to get married before The World ends in 2012.
I think she'd find it funny that I told people I was married to this girl when I was thinking of her, or that whenever I was making plans I told people I was engaged. Though she'd not find it so humorous that when I was looking for her in other women I called myself single. The Truth is open to interpretation, as every day I wake up as a different person on a different day.
I just wonder what her interpretation is.
I wonder where she is at all times, and I hold that wonder far back in my mind to keep my mind from being constantly consumed by the desire to be nearby.
I get jealous easily. I am a jealous yet moral person, and I say that I hope whoever I have faith in would do what I'd want them to do in that situation, yet not do it because I want them to, but does it because they want to and it helps that my consideration is similar.
Easier said, I hope that she's like me but better.
This post probably has the most tags I've ever crammed in, ever.
So I think I should justify it.
Ok, recently, I've lost my mind several times, and proceeded to find it, whereupon I was surprised at it having learned far more than it knew before. The problem in this being, a lot of what it learned was a mix of things both true and false, of things either everyone else already knew, or things no-one else knew at all, including myself.
Which really shows there's more to the Truth than anyone knows. Even I don't know how it will all go down, I can only make my plans and live in the moment, trying to catch the next wave. It's a dizzying height every time I go up, but it's better than drowning or half-assing it like some do. Or not even bothering to go out into the sea like so many choose to do.
... Sometimes, I think she's the Moon and I'm the Sun. It's the only thing I can compare her to when she's not around. At her best and most unique, the classic sliver Crescent kind, waxing. When she's with me in spirit, a New Moon. When she gets in my head and drives me crazy, a Full Moon.
There are other times I think of, where the real Truth is she's my Sun, but I've yet to see her show that side, so I'll keep waiting.
I hope she knows I love her. It's true, there was one other true love I had, but she died long ago, true story. [Barring time travel or anything else, that is.]
Maybe we've both changed so much in not seeing or talking to each other that I'm utterly wrong, and to be honest I'm wasting my time over a long daydream, that's lasted for awhile. Maybe I should be dating and getting out there meeting new people and making friends and maybe I don't really know what I'm doing and I'd bring us both down if we ever saw each other.
Then again, she doesn't really doubt herself at all. So I shouldn't either.
Plus, I want to get married before The World ends in 2012.
I think she'd find it funny that I told people I was married to this girl when I was thinking of her, or that whenever I was making plans I told people I was engaged. Though she'd not find it so humorous that when I was looking for her in other women I called myself single. The Truth is open to interpretation, as every day I wake up as a different person on a different day.
I just wonder what her interpretation is.
13.11.10
Sometimes I feel quietly cool.
There are times when my mind wanders in the night, looking for clues to who I really am.
Other times it's not. Sometimes it lingers on yet, leaving me unable to sleep.
I feel like I die a little bit every time I sleep, as I surrender much of what I know to my subconscious,
which buries it for future reference, as though there are some things I need to forget.
And yet, I learn so much while I sleep at night, as I wonder why my real history is a mystery even unto myself, and I try to recall who I really am.
It feels like a temporary sacrifice, just to keep living.
I dream of a week where I can be myself and not worry about who I really am.
I want a day to be lost in without doubt about where I'm going.
If I ever get lost enough, I'm sure I'll run into the truth just by sheer improbability.
Give me a million dollars and I'd run.
Give me a million dollars and I'd have a dream.
With a dream, an 8th day isn't so faraway.
31.10.10
Halloween.
This is the second most magical time of the year.
It's the only day I can be myself without regard for laws.
I've learned a lot these past two (almost three) days. I've learned magic, astral projection, time travel, what true love is, and even how to be psychic. I started my journey long ago, and now I know it's a dream, a story that never ends. But like all dreamers, I wonder of what could be, and what should be.
So, in truth, what should be?
I plan on finding out what's written into a riddle.
It's the only day I can be myself without regard for laws.
I've learned a lot these past two (almost three) days. I've learned magic, astral projection, time travel, what true love is, and even how to be psychic. I started my journey long ago, and now I know it's a dream, a story that never ends. But like all dreamers, I wonder of what could be, and what should be.
So, in truth, what should be?
I plan on finding out what's written into a riddle.
18.9.10
A page from the King's Journal
I wear red and purple while I can. The midday moon shone it's best, and I kept the day safe while I walked into the night. I now carry a company of children, men, and women, trying to save what I can, someone who still can believe in something more.
It's been a long time since someone's chased after me, but it reminds me that I am not alone on the roads I walk. It gives me greater hope, and lets me dream of a peace to be attained. Because I've found that peace is not something that can be found alone. What is a King without his kingdom?
I've traveled a long way, I've walked through the wind, the rain, through lightning storm and hurricane alike, braved my best alone in the freezing snow more times than I can count on hand. Though never having a place to call home weighed heavier than any other burden, and it was all that pressed on my mind.
Home. The most familiar word that echoes in my mind more than any other, that associates an almost childish kind of longing. I had a people once, lovers once, believers once. Things change. I changed. But now I seem to have found some place somewhere, similar yet entirely different. As is said, not all is well and not every thing is quite right, but maybe that's because of my own account. Settling, moving on. I've found love again, a siren's call here yet there. I've held a place, found it's worth, yet I am still invisible, through a looking glass as one ever was.
I hope to build anew. I've wandered for far, far too long.
If anything, I feel needed, and it's come time to set my tent, rest, and teach something new. I've already begun, in setting forth a motion that will make waves.
I have come to make a mark, to change the world again, as someone who believes in more, and believes in you.
It's been a long time since someone's chased after me, but it reminds me that I am not alone on the roads I walk. It gives me greater hope, and lets me dream of a peace to be attained. Because I've found that peace is not something that can be found alone. What is a King without his kingdom?
I've traveled a long way, I've walked through the wind, the rain, through lightning storm and hurricane alike, braved my best alone in the freezing snow more times than I can count on hand. Though never having a place to call home weighed heavier than any other burden, and it was all that pressed on my mind.
Home. The most familiar word that echoes in my mind more than any other, that associates an almost childish kind of longing. I had a people once, lovers once, believers once. Things change. I changed. But now I seem to have found some place somewhere, similar yet entirely different. As is said, not all is well and not every thing is quite right, but maybe that's because of my own account. Settling, moving on. I've found love again, a siren's call here yet there. I've held a place, found it's worth, yet I am still invisible, through a looking glass as one ever was.
I hope to build anew. I've wandered for far, far too long.
If anything, I feel needed, and it's come time to set my tent, rest, and teach something new. I've already begun, in setting forth a motion that will make waves.
I have come to make a mark, to change the world again, as someone who believes in more, and believes in you.
17.9.10
You can't lose all the time.
I slept for awhile. My dreams are erratic, from full blown lucidity to an immersion where my subconscious takes me where I need to go. With the former, I've gotten to the point where I can stick my tongue out in a dream, open my left eye and look at my bedroom ceiling, and still peer into my dream with my right eye. It's a very odd way of being half-awake. It takes practice to perform such a magic trick, such that I have to walk around with one eye closed frequently.
Some people tell me I'm not a magician. Well, you have yet to run into me in a dream then, because if you had, there would be no doubting what I'm capable of.
With the latter dreams, my subconscious will strip away my absolute lying self and tell me how I really feel. It told me I loved her with all my heart still despite me telling myself I no longer cared, and proved it. I'm a sucker, but it's all I can be. Though dreams can't change reality.
What pisses me off is that I can't even be dramatic about it.
I woke up feeling better than I did last night. Being able to dream is the only reason I've made it thus far, because it gives me something more to believe in. Otherwise, I'd be long gone, driven insane by the mediocrity of most of normality.
I think her room number was 1806, or something of the sort. I even remember what it looked like, and I wish I could've stayed longer before my alarm woke me up, even if it was just to watch a movie.
Thought you mind find it interesting; the only reason I didn't recognize her was because she pronounced her name differently.
Some people tell me I'm not a magician. Well, you have yet to run into me in a dream then, because if you had, there would be no doubting what I'm capable of.
With the latter dreams, my subconscious will strip away my absolute lying self and tell me how I really feel. It told me I loved her with all my heart still despite me telling myself I no longer cared, and proved it. I'm a sucker, but it's all I can be. Though dreams can't change reality.
What pisses me off is that I can't even be dramatic about it.
I woke up feeling better than I did last night. Being able to dream is the only reason I've made it thus far, because it gives me something more to believe in. Otherwise, I'd be long gone, driven insane by the mediocrity of most of normality.
I think her room number was 1806, or something of the sort. I even remember what it looked like, and I wish I could've stayed longer before my alarm woke me up, even if it was just to watch a movie.
Thought you mind find it interesting; the only reason I didn't recognize her was because she pronounced her name differently.
Somewhere.
My brother found me earlier this year.
I was in the darkest corner of my own mind, hiding from the world. I was sorely tempted to be left there, but he knew I'd die sooner than the universe wanted me to if I had. He told me we were still needed. My birthday is coming up, and with it, the shadow of my potential demise. Every birthday I've had for the past several years has been increasingly traumatic, leaving me a distraught crying mess somewhere. I don't know what it is that causes it, but it's something that resembles a reality check, where I look back upon my entire life and see how happy I am with how far I've come.
For some reason, I never feel like I've managed to do anything at all.
This year I hope is different. I am no different from last year, but I hope that my actions will reflect upon myself much better, and will leave me with my barely sustained state of contentment. Otherwise, I might kill myself. I say that because I know that I won't, even if in reality every year I get closer to just letting everything go in such a fashion that the only possible result is I burn out and die young. But every year, I hold on to some small spark of hope that life will reward me for my perseverance, my actions with good intent, my kind demeanor, and the virtues that have held my darkest self at bay for so long.
It hasn't yet. But I suppose the only aspect of hope is that it can only be expected to be fulfilled, nothing less, nothing more.
I am beyond the reach of anyone now. My brother has died a tragic death indirectly at the hands of humanity, his only fault that he tried his best to find good in them, and was inexorably yet needlessly punished for it. I tried to tell him, but he could do no less than what he strove for, for that was his true nature. He could do nothing but believe in the spirit of humanity, because to doubt anyone else was to doubt himself. I cried once for him, and once more for humanity, because they know not what they lost in their ignorance. It could be said his words left weight with me, but they hold no influence over me, for it is my nature to doubt humanity. One day I will take on his hope, but until then, I can only carry a saddened gait that knows no aspiration.
I cannot believe in love. This is because I cannot bring myself any longer to believe in another person as I've seen no-one else is capable of believing in me. I gave myself to the fire only to burn in it foolishly.
I didn't quit smoking, drinking, or venturing into that 'other' world to forget the normal reality, because I am an escapist in half my heart. I feel if I didn't run, I'd be swallowed whole by the maw and pressures of the real world. It is a far too ugly truth to face, and though I know it, I cannot abide by it 'til comes time I am able to change it. Though secretly I fear I never will be able to.
For majority of this year I have slept, and let my now dead brother reign over our affairs, but now I know that to be a mistake. I thought there might be some good left in the heart of man, that I no longer had a need for that dark corner of the mind, but I was wrong. The truth needs to be told, no matter how ugly.
I will not die before my time, because another time is coming, and it is one that requires me to be present and ready. I am a pessimist, but it allows me to account for every wrong turn taken. The universe still needs me to right it, because no-one can work a miracle like a magician.
I was in the darkest corner of my own mind, hiding from the world. I was sorely tempted to be left there, but he knew I'd die sooner than the universe wanted me to if I had. He told me we were still needed. My birthday is coming up, and with it, the shadow of my potential demise. Every birthday I've had for the past several years has been increasingly traumatic, leaving me a distraught crying mess somewhere. I don't know what it is that causes it, but it's something that resembles a reality check, where I look back upon my entire life and see how happy I am with how far I've come.
For some reason, I never feel like I've managed to do anything at all.
This year I hope is different. I am no different from last year, but I hope that my actions will reflect upon myself much better, and will leave me with my barely sustained state of contentment. Otherwise, I might kill myself. I say that because I know that I won't, even if in reality every year I get closer to just letting everything go in such a fashion that the only possible result is I burn out and die young. But every year, I hold on to some small spark of hope that life will reward me for my perseverance, my actions with good intent, my kind demeanor, and the virtues that have held my darkest self at bay for so long.
It hasn't yet. But I suppose the only aspect of hope is that it can only be expected to be fulfilled, nothing less, nothing more.
I am beyond the reach of anyone now. My brother has died a tragic death indirectly at the hands of humanity, his only fault that he tried his best to find good in them, and was inexorably yet needlessly punished for it. I tried to tell him, but he could do no less than what he strove for, for that was his true nature. He could do nothing but believe in the spirit of humanity, because to doubt anyone else was to doubt himself. I cried once for him, and once more for humanity, because they know not what they lost in their ignorance. It could be said his words left weight with me, but they hold no influence over me, for it is my nature to doubt humanity. One day I will take on his hope, but until then, I can only carry a saddened gait that knows no aspiration.
I cannot believe in love. This is because I cannot bring myself any longer to believe in another person as I've seen no-one else is capable of believing in me. I gave myself to the fire only to burn in it foolishly.
I didn't quit smoking, drinking, or venturing into that 'other' world to forget the normal reality, because I am an escapist in half my heart. I feel if I didn't run, I'd be swallowed whole by the maw and pressures of the real world. It is a far too ugly truth to face, and though I know it, I cannot abide by it 'til comes time I am able to change it. Though secretly I fear I never will be able to.
For majority of this year I have slept, and let my now dead brother reign over our affairs, but now I know that to be a mistake. I thought there might be some good left in the heart of man, that I no longer had a need for that dark corner of the mind, but I was wrong. The truth needs to be told, no matter how ugly.
I will not die before my time, because another time is coming, and it is one that requires me to be present and ready. I am a pessimist, but it allows me to account for every wrong turn taken. The universe still needs me to right it, because no-one can work a miracle like a magician.
28.8.10
23.8.10
Oh, we use our eyes to fill in most the gaps.
I'm not sure if I can be as sincere as I feel. And it's been the longest time since I've felt.
I like the shirt you wear. Sometimes.
If I didn't talk to myself I'd never know how I was changing. I don't want to forget what I am, if I ever knew, because all people see are past versions of myself. I feel it's best to constantly keep update.
When every word can be twisted more and more with longer spans of time and shorter memory spans, it becomes hard to stay true and at attention.
So there's a million people to see, a million things to express, but I never end up saying a thing of value these days, or as much as I'd hope the intrinsic value my words hold.
I'll never have writer's block, because I'm always constantly on my mental feet and thinking. And more often than not it all gets lost in translation.
They say every year you get older and wiser.
Well I hope I stay golden and speak lines of myself that reflect my inner value, of the same shine and the kind that won't die in someone's mind, but just stay there to lie for while yet.
Yet, I never get to say much to anyone.
I guess it's because I keep one eye shut too often I'm not thinking properly, I've always been coasting on one track alone. It's no way for anything to get anywhere, least of all my untrained trains.
I wonder exactly what a Half Light is. Twilight? But it doesn't quite sound right. But despite not remembering, I remember what the feeling was of experiencing it.
And you wonder why you cry sometimes. Sometimes you forget, sometimes you forgot you hold the ocean in the shell.
I love too much that I am blind to it. I live my life with a negative misdemeanor, without realizing who I'm really being is all I've ever been. I regret nothing.
Now I know why people often tell me I'm good at what I do.
I want to embrace as fondly as I must've experienced once upon a time.
"I like living, it's easy
Moves like a gift in a weather that's breezy
Blew by my lips
Shakes like the uneasy when seduced by a kiss
I wanna slide my hand underneath your pillow where it fits
I got a set of sticky fingers and a back built for hammocks
But this ain't no doctor's note and I ain't no blank canvas
It's just the way the pen is, I'm good at what I do
From failing to falling in and out of touch with you"
I want more than a vote of confidence from myself. But I can only wonder if I'll hear it from someone I want to?
I like the shirt you wear. Sometimes.
If I didn't talk to myself I'd never know how I was changing. I don't want to forget what I am, if I ever knew, because all people see are past versions of myself. I feel it's best to constantly keep update.
When every word can be twisted more and more with longer spans of time and shorter memory spans, it becomes hard to stay true and at attention.
So there's a million people to see, a million things to express, but I never end up saying a thing of value these days, or as much as I'd hope the intrinsic value my words hold.
I'll never have writer's block, because I'm always constantly on my mental feet and thinking. And more often than not it all gets lost in translation.
They say every year you get older and wiser.
Well I hope I stay golden and speak lines of myself that reflect my inner value, of the same shine and the kind that won't die in someone's mind, but just stay there to lie for while yet.
Yet, I never get to say much to anyone.
I guess it's because I keep one eye shut too often I'm not thinking properly, I've always been coasting on one track alone. It's no way for anything to get anywhere, least of all my untrained trains.
I wonder exactly what a Half Light is. Twilight? But it doesn't quite sound right. But despite not remembering, I remember what the feeling was of experiencing it.
And you wonder why you cry sometimes. Sometimes you forget, sometimes you forgot you hold the ocean in the shell.
I love too much that I am blind to it. I live my life with a negative misdemeanor, without realizing who I'm really being is all I've ever been. I regret nothing.
Now I know why people often tell me I'm good at what I do.
I want to embrace as fondly as I must've experienced once upon a time.
"I like living, it's easy
Moves like a gift in a weather that's breezy
Blew by my lips
Shakes like the uneasy when seduced by a kiss
I wanna slide my hand underneath your pillow where it fits
I got a set of sticky fingers and a back built for hammocks
But this ain't no doctor's note and I ain't no blank canvas
It's just the way the pen is, I'm good at what I do
From failing to falling in and out of touch with you"
I want more than a vote of confidence from myself. But I can only wonder if I'll hear it from someone I want to?
5.5.10
libra
Looking for: someone with a nice voice to come over
and talk to me for awhile, pay scales with time
and talk to me for awhile, pay scales with time
25.3.10
24.3.10
22.3.10
Half the things I write here are not true.
But half are them are true. So it's more than anyone else usually gets close to in the span of a reading.
Weighted tongue.
It's been so long since I've stood in the sound of heavy rain, so please take me out to drive in one lane - alone.
And when I die, when I'm long gone will someone write letters to their loved ones about how they covered my song? And when I'm buried please bury me with the keys, since if I go to hell I'll be everywhere I used to be.
Tongue tied, I swore my breath died when I couldn't catch your attention, though I'm sure that was your nonchalant prevention. So I hope someone good will tell me I'm not good enough, it'll give me inspiration to live up to.
And the one thing I can't talk about are these blinding lights, I don't repeat what's already been said, so there's so much I choose to keep in my head. And I don't keep what's in my head.
I won't lie, but I feel my acquaintance keep using me for their own ends, and they're the only ones I can't depend on, for a solid conclusion to my elusive case.
Keep in mind if I'm being laid down on my death bed, keep my pillows under my propped head so I can die with so meager fleeting grace. And no one I knew or talked to will remember my face, so I will continue to talk about how I never believed in Jesus Christ.
If you're wondering what my final thoughts were, I'll be thinking about where my hands were some time long ago, and how, "When I wear this hat does if it'll make a difference where I am, I think not, it's always awkward from where I stand."
All I ever was was the lost neighborhood dog, becoming soaked and smelling like a too soon April fog. And notice this song isn't about fucking, I'm just leading you on.
So don't take offense when I compare you to everyone else, because I swear, when you talk you sound just like everybody else.
And the one thing I do not on purpose - is mumble, so when you can't heard my words, I'll breath in the lines and breath out one last verse.
And when I die, when I'm long gone will someone write letters to their loved ones about how they covered my song? And when I'm buried please bury me with the keys, since if I go to hell I'll be everywhere I used to be.
Tongue tied, I swore my breath died when I couldn't catch your attention, though I'm sure that was your nonchalant prevention. So I hope someone good will tell me I'm not good enough, it'll give me inspiration to live up to.
And the one thing I can't talk about are these blinding lights, I don't repeat what's already been said, so there's so much I choose to keep in my head. And I don't keep what's in my head.
I won't lie, but I feel my acquaintance keep using me for their own ends, and they're the only ones I can't depend on, for a solid conclusion to my elusive case.
Keep in mind if I'm being laid down on my death bed, keep my pillows under my propped head so I can die with so meager fleeting grace. And no one I knew or talked to will remember my face, so I will continue to talk about how I never believed in Jesus Christ.
If you're wondering what my final thoughts were, I'll be thinking about where my hands were some time long ago, and how, "When I wear this hat does if it'll make a difference where I am, I think not, it's always awkward from where I stand."
All I ever was was the lost neighborhood dog, becoming soaked and smelling like a too soon April fog. And notice this song isn't about fucking, I'm just leading you on.
So don't take offense when I compare you to everyone else, because I swear, when you talk you sound just like everybody else.
And the one thing I do not on purpose - is mumble, so when you can't heard my words, I'll breath in the lines and breath out one last verse.
20.3.10
Venting.
Second post of March. it's getting warm.
There are very few times I feel truly touched. And usually, it comes from an incredibly insignificant source or reason. Though I do tell my family I am grateful for the things I've done, and the same to my friends. And I mean it. But there have been times where I actually felt relief from depression for some reason, and those are the times I am more grateful and I can actually feel my heart thaw.
Once, I was lying on my friend's couch in the midst of a party going on outside. There were about forty people rampaging around having a good time, and I my attempts to socialize failed miserably. If I could be like Smith at any point in my life, that would be it. Unfortunately, I didn't know him then, so I couldn't appreciate the irony of living someone else's misery. I digress; as I laid on that couch, I felt more space between myself and the rest of the world than imaginable. Any hello or other greeting I could have managed failed to suffice, and would drop me into an abyss of awkwardness when the person I was talking to realized I'm not someone they talk to. And a cat chose to jump onto me. I don't get animals. But they like me. And they're more affectionate sometimes than most humans I've ever met. That cat was there for no other reason than it wanted to be near me, and it stayed there for three hours, to keep my company when the rest of the world wouldn't even care to try. And for that, I was thankful. I was happy.
I've spent so many nights staying up wondering if anyone was alive in the middle of the night. I live alone. I eat alone. I write alone. I do everything alone, and when I go out, I am still alone. I am alone when I talk to my friends, when I attend class, when I study with a classmate, and when I'm talking to the person working the cash register of the restaurant I'm eating at. I try to look them in the eyes, and they look everywhere else but mine. So many of the people I've met are afraid of actually connecting to someone. I've been told it's creepy to do more than glance at someone you like. I've been given weak handshakes, or varying "handshakes" that don't last for more that a second. People are uncomfortable to hug me for more than two seconds (if at all), and feel awkward if they don't pat me on the back. It's not manners. It's a fear of getting to know someone else. I don't know what it's like to really know someone else anymore. I've lost the ability to understand anyone. But maybe that's because as we get older, you don't want to be understood. And it really kills me. Because I don't really "get" anyone I know. Not even my best friend, my exes, my forgotten friends, my family, or myself.
I lie compulsively. Much less than I used to, but I still lie. And every time I true, it's believed so easily. But whenever I speak the truth, it's disregarded quickly. No-one seems to appreciate honesty. Am I really so untrustworthy? I can't remember the last time anyone fully confided in me more so than anyone else. I can't remember a time where I was the friend of someone, not a friend. I know those times existed, I can remember names and an occasional detail from a memory, but I can't remember the time it happened. Or maybe I'm just lying to myself.
I have dreams of making friends, falling in love, traveling, adventures both grounded and fantastical, I have dreams of me being someone else that seems more like myself.
It's upsetting.
There are very few times I feel truly touched. And usually, it comes from an incredibly insignificant source or reason. Though I do tell my family I am grateful for the things I've done, and the same to my friends. And I mean it. But there have been times where I actually felt relief from depression for some reason, and those are the times I am more grateful and I can actually feel my heart thaw.
Once, I was lying on my friend's couch in the midst of a party going on outside. There were about forty people rampaging around having a good time, and I my attempts to socialize failed miserably. If I could be like Smith at any point in my life, that would be it. Unfortunately, I didn't know him then, so I couldn't appreciate the irony of living someone else's misery. I digress; as I laid on that couch, I felt more space between myself and the rest of the world than imaginable. Any hello or other greeting I could have managed failed to suffice, and would drop me into an abyss of awkwardness when the person I was talking to realized I'm not someone they talk to. And a cat chose to jump onto me. I don't get animals. But they like me. And they're more affectionate sometimes than most humans I've ever met. That cat was there for no other reason than it wanted to be near me, and it stayed there for three hours, to keep my company when the rest of the world wouldn't even care to try. And for that, I was thankful. I was happy.
I've spent so many nights staying up wondering if anyone was alive in the middle of the night. I live alone. I eat alone. I write alone. I do everything alone, and when I go out, I am still alone. I am alone when I talk to my friends, when I attend class, when I study with a classmate, and when I'm talking to the person working the cash register of the restaurant I'm eating at. I try to look them in the eyes, and they look everywhere else but mine. So many of the people I've met are afraid of actually connecting to someone. I've been told it's creepy to do more than glance at someone you like. I've been given weak handshakes, or varying "handshakes" that don't last for more that a second. People are uncomfortable to hug me for more than two seconds (if at all), and feel awkward if they don't pat me on the back. It's not manners. It's a fear of getting to know someone else. I don't know what it's like to really know someone else anymore. I've lost the ability to understand anyone. But maybe that's because as we get older, you don't want to be understood. And it really kills me. Because I don't really "get" anyone I know. Not even my best friend, my exes, my forgotten friends, my family, or myself.
I lie compulsively. Much less than I used to, but I still lie. And every time I true, it's believed so easily. But whenever I speak the truth, it's disregarded quickly. No-one seems to appreciate honesty. Am I really so untrustworthy? I can't remember the last time anyone fully confided in me more so than anyone else. I can't remember a time where I was the friend of someone, not a friend. I know those times existed, I can remember names and an occasional detail from a memory, but I can't remember the time it happened. Or maybe I'm just lying to myself.
I have dreams of making friends, falling in love, traveling, adventures both grounded and fantastical, I have dreams of me being someone else that seems more like myself.
It's upsetting.
16.3.10
Catharsis
Been a long time. Here's to March, and the oncoming spring.
So many people I know pretend they have standards. Some don't. I think I'm a mix of both. I don't really know what I want from someone else. Maybe because they don't meet my standards, so I expect nothing from them. It's a damn shame people can't settle for less, or they accept less without settling for it. I myself constantly commit the sin of taking what I can get. Be it love, life, truth, or goals. The only thing yet to fail me are my dreams. So while you're happy with what you have, I'll constantly be looking for a girl with sunflower colored hair and blue eyes with a face I used to know. Because that's my impossible standard.
I'm trying to get better at guitar and writing while I waste my life away in college. Because I feel like as long as I can salvage something from these years, I won't regret how I've spent my time a decade from now. Though for whatever reason, I still don't feel like picking up skills accomplish anything if you've got nothing to put them to.
I wonder if I can buy a drug that fuels motivation. If I could naturally produce ambition, I wouldn't be where I'm at. But if I don't accomplish anything without striving for it and actually feeling like I've done it because I tried and succeeded, my accomplishments become worthless. I know on my death bed I'll feel I've lived my life to the fullest, but right now I don't feel as if I'm living at all. I go back and forth between manic and depressive, and I try to get by without thinking of suicide. I don't intend to waste my life, but that's what I feel I'm doing.
I don't have much to write about, since even though I contain so many thoughts I'm fit to burst, they're all things I've said all my life. What I desire more than anything right now is a sense of closure to the depression era of my life, so I can start anew and be content. They say it's teen angst, but I feel as if this will carry on into my late twenties.
Let's go somewhere. I don't care who I go with, or where we're going, but I don't think I can stay here much longer and survive. I hate the cities, but maybe that's because I almost have no money. The only emotion that actively moves in my body now is wanderlust. If I don't get out, if I don't move, my sense of adventure will die as I attend these classes. I've got to find something worth living for. For a generation who spends so much time learning and on the move, we never really go far enough. Because if we did, we wouldn't have the time to complain about our lives. This town and this room are beginning to feel like a massive stagnant pool of water. I don't want to live my life here.
It's 2010 of March, I'm eighteen, and I already feel like I've entered my mid-life crisis.
Maybe that's a good thing.
So many people I know pretend they have standards. Some don't. I think I'm a mix of both. I don't really know what I want from someone else. Maybe because they don't meet my standards, so I expect nothing from them. It's a damn shame people can't settle for less, or they accept less without settling for it. I myself constantly commit the sin of taking what I can get. Be it love, life, truth, or goals. The only thing yet to fail me are my dreams. So while you're happy with what you have, I'll constantly be looking for a girl with sunflower colored hair and blue eyes with a face I used to know. Because that's my impossible standard.
I'm trying to get better at guitar and writing while I waste my life away in college. Because I feel like as long as I can salvage something from these years, I won't regret how I've spent my time a decade from now. Though for whatever reason, I still don't feel like picking up skills accomplish anything if you've got nothing to put them to.
I wonder if I can buy a drug that fuels motivation. If I could naturally produce ambition, I wouldn't be where I'm at. But if I don't accomplish anything without striving for it and actually feeling like I've done it because I tried and succeeded, my accomplishments become worthless. I know on my death bed I'll feel I've lived my life to the fullest, but right now I don't feel as if I'm living at all. I go back and forth between manic and depressive, and I try to get by without thinking of suicide. I don't intend to waste my life, but that's what I feel I'm doing.
I don't have much to write about, since even though I contain so many thoughts I'm fit to burst, they're all things I've said all my life. What I desire more than anything right now is a sense of closure to the depression era of my life, so I can start anew and be content. They say it's teen angst, but I feel as if this will carry on into my late twenties.
Let's go somewhere. I don't care who I go with, or where we're going, but I don't think I can stay here much longer and survive. I hate the cities, but maybe that's because I almost have no money. The only emotion that actively moves in my body now is wanderlust. If I don't get out, if I don't move, my sense of adventure will die as I attend these classes. I've got to find something worth living for. For a generation who spends so much time learning and on the move, we never really go far enough. Because if we did, we wouldn't have the time to complain about our lives. This town and this room are beginning to feel like a massive stagnant pool of water. I don't want to live my life here.
It's 2010 of March, I'm eighteen, and I already feel like I've entered my mid-life crisis.
Maybe that's a good thing.
14.1.10
Time is not a doctor, so get out of the rain.
Quite frankly, I should be working on my Calculus I homework. But hey, I've had a bad night, and although it should have felt worse, I think I stopped feeling pain awhile ago.
All that said, I'm back.
I have a soul again. It's weird. I was reminded I even had one by someone telling me what I knew so long ago. And similar to a movie flashback, I had a rush of thought, emotion, and above all, -conscience- stirring back in my shell. I had actually cut away the bullshit that was covering my eyes, filling my ears, and was resting on my tongue. I feel I can actually think for once.
That being such, I've hit a proper balance inside myself. Honest, yet able to hold a secret. Brilliant, and motivated. Trusting, but not to a fault. From the bottom of my heart, I can actually have emotion again. Weird. It's like learning how to ride a bike when you were young, having it stolen, whereupon a decade later it turns out you just left it over your friend's house, and nostalgia is as nostalgia does.
All that said, I feel like an evil bastard.
For once, I told someone how things really were. I said what needed to be said, and maybe it came out wrong, but I don't regret saying it. The evil part is in saying what I said as frank as I did, and the bastard part in not regretting it. So I suppose being a hero is just being fake, humble, and always putting yourself in the best light.
Good god grief, is that really what this world has come to? Have I not seen it sooner?
... I still feel like an asshole. But functional love is impossible in this world, at least for me.
One day, I hope for a civil war, where the poor and disillusioned (not one and the same, though they might be depending on the person) fight against the rich and famous (likewise) and destroy the constraints we lock ourselves in. And as a result, we can start from scratch.
Because as unlikely as it sounds, people need a blank slate to start anew with, and they don't know they're as blank as they come. You can always change. For worse, for better. You can always remember, for worse, for better.
Let me tell you, the human race needs to stop being a bunch of asshats. Is that frank enough for you?
That's all. Check out [ Subnormality ] to see what sparked my recent revival. If you can't read the lengthlier pages, don't bother checking this blog again or meeting me in person, because I will slap you silly.
People should read more. You'd be surprised how much more understanding we'd be.
All that said, I'm back.
I have a soul again. It's weird. I was reminded I even had one by someone telling me what I knew so long ago. And similar to a movie flashback, I had a rush of thought, emotion, and above all, -conscience- stirring back in my shell. I had actually cut away the bullshit that was covering my eyes, filling my ears, and was resting on my tongue. I feel I can actually think for once.
That being such, I've hit a proper balance inside myself. Honest, yet able to hold a secret. Brilliant, and motivated. Trusting, but not to a fault. From the bottom of my heart, I can actually have emotion again. Weird. It's like learning how to ride a bike when you were young, having it stolen, whereupon a decade later it turns out you just left it over your friend's house, and nostalgia is as nostalgia does.
All that said, I feel like an evil bastard.
For once, I told someone how things really were. I said what needed to be said, and maybe it came out wrong, but I don't regret saying it. The evil part is in saying what I said as frank as I did, and the bastard part in not regretting it. So I suppose being a hero is just being fake, humble, and always putting yourself in the best light.
Good god grief, is that really what this world has come to? Have I not seen it sooner?
... I still feel like an asshole. But functional love is impossible in this world, at least for me.
One day, I hope for a civil war, where the poor and disillusioned (not one and the same, though they might be depending on the person) fight against the rich and famous (likewise) and destroy the constraints we lock ourselves in. And as a result, we can start from scratch.
Because as unlikely as it sounds, people need a blank slate to start anew with, and they don't know they're as blank as they come. You can always change. For worse, for better. You can always remember, for worse, for better.
Let me tell you, the human race needs to stop being a bunch of asshats. Is that frank enough for you?
That's all. Check out [ Subnormality ] to see what sparked my recent revival. If you can't read the lengthlier pages, don't bother checking this blog again or meeting me in person, because I will slap you silly.
People should read more. You'd be surprised how much more understanding we'd be.
1.1.10
Resolution
I like the universe, but she messes with my words
I'm not talking planets or galaxies and the distance just makes it worse.
I know what you're thinking, this probably sounds rehearsed.
So let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep at the wheel.
Liquids, powders and pills, not quite taken against my will.
The tastes test of girls, from all over the world
who refuse to accept my excuses.
She put up with so much of my madness and my self-abuse
She would tend to my wounds and fill me with food when I'd stumble in drunk for breakfast,
She was right to take off before she was consumed
So let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep at the wheel.
So let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep
Let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep at the wheel.
I like the universe, but she messes with my words
I'm not talking planets or galaxies and the distance just makes it worse.
You're totally right, every action was well rehearsed.
I'm not talking planets or galaxies and the distance just makes it worse.
I know what you're thinking, this probably sounds rehearsed.
So let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep at the wheel.
Liquids, powders and pills, not quite taken against my will.
The tastes test of girls, from all over the world
who refuse to accept my excuses.
She put up with so much of my madness and my self-abuse
She would tend to my wounds and fill me with food when I'd stumble in drunk for breakfast,
She was right to take off before she was consumed
So let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep at the wheel.
So let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep
Let's give it up for the New Year
Did this party of two have you slightly confused?
Now that our things are divided
She refuses to speak and I'm driftin' to sleep at the wheel.
I like the universe, but she messes with my words
I'm not talking planets or galaxies and the distance just makes it worse.
You're totally right, every action was well rehearsed.
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