The past and what I remember are all melded with my dreams. My future is part of the present and subsequently inconsequential and vague. My consciousness is lost in the flood of my subconscious and the emotion which ensues only lasts as long as my energy survives. As quickly as it surfaced it sinks in to the murky trenches of failure and disappointment that makes up my perception of my efforts, and I am left with the bitter taste of guilt that I did not do more. Guilt's companion is self doubt but neither stays long enough to ward the numbness off for a consequential amount of time.
Emotion abandons me to intellect and I am left to question what today should be, what yesterday will be and what tomorrow won't become. The questions are secrets and the answers don't exist today. Like a flooded mountain, my character is hidden by the murky water and all that is left is a vacant reflection.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Humanity Lost
Humanity sold for an imagined experience. Respect lost by all parties involved. Your corpse is not worthy for the dogs to feed on. Even they realise that.
Your ideal is something your soul detests but your desire out weights your very character. Cunts and tits, their scent the driving force for the pain you inflict upon yourself. This self created obsession will never subside, its fire ever yearning for more of your fibre. Feeding it rots what is left of your being, but its worth had deteriorated beyond redemption. The remains of your soul choose not to resist the disappointment it now relies on.
You are less than nothing, and I am hurt by your condition. But the scarring pain is that which you cause the one I love. Their lives mean less to you than the body you sacrifice and for this you should never recover. Neither will I. I only pray they will.
Hate isn't enough to describe this. I am somewhere between screaming and crying.
Your ideal is something your soul detests but your desire out weights your very character. Cunts and tits, their scent the driving force for the pain you inflict upon yourself. This self created obsession will never subside, its fire ever yearning for more of your fibre. Feeding it rots what is left of your being, but its worth had deteriorated beyond redemption. The remains of your soul choose not to resist the disappointment it now relies on.
You are less than nothing, and I am hurt by your condition. But the scarring pain is that which you cause the one I love. Their lives mean less to you than the body you sacrifice and for this you should never recover. Neither will I. I only pray they will.
Hate isn't enough to describe this. I am somewhere between screaming and crying.
God Forgive Me
I don't know what this is. I don't know what I feel; what the world around me looks like. I don't know how to respond to it and I wouldn't know what my response looked like if I acted.
"The world around me has taken a turn for the worst,
I'm left alone crawling through the dark.
Should I jump, should I stay, can I make another day?
Should I jump, should I stay?
I am the one who's wrong.
God forgive me"
I don't remember what is around me, and the memory of the light only serves to show me more darkness. The light which is present brings more uncertainty that the hope of a future and as it fades the certainty that none of this will pass becomes the hope a future should never provide. This hope has become part of what I am, and the fear it brings has defined my sanity for longer than I care to admit.
But at least I'm sane. This comfort afforded me is one I will never forget, but the comfort I will never be able to repay is the true tragedy. This comfort I speak of is the one of knowing I am not alone, that she is with me. I don't know what that means a lot of the time but the knowledge trumps any hope I could ever desire to experience.
And yet his darkness is worse, and the pain I cause unforgivable.
I will forget my darkness, and shun my light to stop this pain.
God forgive me.
"The world around me has taken a turn for the worst,
I'm left alone crawling through the dark.
Should I jump, should I stay, can I make another day?
Should I jump, should I stay?
I am the one who's wrong.
God forgive me"
I don't remember what is around me, and the memory of the light only serves to show me more darkness. The light which is present brings more uncertainty that the hope of a future and as it fades the certainty that none of this will pass becomes the hope a future should never provide. This hope has become part of what I am, and the fear it brings has defined my sanity for longer than I care to admit.
But at least I'm sane. This comfort afforded me is one I will never forget, but the comfort I will never be able to repay is the true tragedy. This comfort I speak of is the one of knowing I am not alone, that she is with me. I don't know what that means a lot of the time but the knowledge trumps any hope I could ever desire to experience.
And yet his darkness is worse, and the pain I cause unforgivable.
I will forget my darkness, and shun my light to stop this pain.
God forgive me.
First Encounters Assault Recon
I felt myself begin to break. I felt the stress and I saw the fractures turn into cracks. My mind began to exhibit the strain I struggled to hide from the people I never turn away from. I counted the days until my return to sanity and security, and when the number was up so was mine. Home had deserted me, its comfort has dissipated like the mist on a winter's morning leaving the bite of the cold, and all around me are the bodies of the battle urging me to press on. Has this work been in vain, or am I simply too selfish to give up on a dream I never carried as my own?
As humans we are told we can do anything we want, we are equal to all around us and we must choose our paths. We are told to celebrate our accomplishments as they are what defines us. But if we can all do anything we want, shouldn't we all be doing everything we can? I think that the thing that separates us from the people around us is not our accomplishments, but rather our fears. It is our fears that drive us in a direction because that is all we have left. It is the only way out and the only way in a direction we convince ourselves is forward. But publishing my fears is not what scares me. My failures are the things that I want to keep under wraps, they are the things that I want to keep away from the rest of the world. Because my failures are what show me and everyone around me that not only am I not moving forward, I'm not moving.
Maybe this is my fear.
As humans we are told we can do anything we want, we are equal to all around us and we must choose our paths. We are told to celebrate our accomplishments as they are what defines us. But if we can all do anything we want, shouldn't we all be doing everything we can? I think that the thing that separates us from the people around us is not our accomplishments, but rather our fears. It is our fears that drive us in a direction because that is all we have left. It is the only way out and the only way in a direction we convince ourselves is forward. But publishing my fears is not what scares me. My failures are the things that I want to keep under wraps, they are the things that I want to keep away from the rest of the world. Because my failures are what show me and everyone around me that not only am I not moving forward, I'm not moving.
Maybe this is my fear.
Crude Honesty
"Artists use lies to tell the truth, politicians use them to cover the truth up."
There is something refreshingly honest about crudeness when it is a lie. I think people tend to hear things that are crude and write the person off as being an idiot, or not worth listening to. But those are the people who are being most honest. They are saying the things we all think but are too afraid to say, and they are the ones who we should be paying attention to.
But when those people's crudeness is a lie, that is when their true feelings come out. That is when their souls are exposed instead of their honesty cast out to the world, and therein lies the beauty of a lie. The perception their language creates is the defence their frail characters crave and the safe haven they run to when their need for vulnerability overtakes their terror.
I have a friend who really likes a girl. She really likes him but because of how things have worked out up until now they can't be together. Not now anyway. But they behave as if they are. The other day they were lying in bed watching tv. She was talking about something and he was sick of it. He turned to her and said "Can't you just shut your mouth and open your cunt."
She of course burst out laughing, and wrote it off as him being crude, but this was him expressing his soul's desire. He doesn't want to fuck her, but he does want to tell her he loves her. He wants to tell her how much he wants to be with her, and he can't do it. So he disguises his love in an attack.
But this attack is a lie, the words were a lie. The emotion was not. And I am convinced that her laugh was a lie too. But the interesting thing about a lie is that it provides the teller a picture of honesty they would have never come by any other way. The reaction and emotion invoked by the lie is what the teller is after. And that is worth all the stigma in the world.
There is something refreshingly honest about crudeness when it is a lie. I think people tend to hear things that are crude and write the person off as being an idiot, or not worth listening to. But those are the people who are being most honest. They are saying the things we all think but are too afraid to say, and they are the ones who we should be paying attention to.
But when those people's crudeness is a lie, that is when their true feelings come out. That is when their souls are exposed instead of their honesty cast out to the world, and therein lies the beauty of a lie. The perception their language creates is the defence their frail characters crave and the safe haven they run to when their need for vulnerability overtakes their terror.
I have a friend who really likes a girl. She really likes him but because of how things have worked out up until now they can't be together. Not now anyway. But they behave as if they are. The other day they were lying in bed watching tv. She was talking about something and he was sick of it. He turned to her and said "Can't you just shut your mouth and open your cunt."
She of course burst out laughing, and wrote it off as him being crude, but this was him expressing his soul's desire. He doesn't want to fuck her, but he does want to tell her he loves her. He wants to tell her how much he wants to be with her, and he can't do it. So he disguises his love in an attack.
But this attack is a lie, the words were a lie. The emotion was not. And I am convinced that her laugh was a lie too. But the interesting thing about a lie is that it provides the teller a picture of honesty they would have never come by any other way. The reaction and emotion invoked by the lie is what the teller is after. And that is worth all the stigma in the world.
Update
So, for those of you who don't know I have had a bit of a rough time of late, and I am still trying to figure out what is going on in my mind on most levels. But I have been writing quite a bit, but haven't put any of it up for two reasons.
The first is that what I have been writing of late has been rather morbid and dark, and people probably wouldn't be able to understand most of it without wanting me to be put under suicide watch or something so I thought that the best way to avoid a lot of misunderstanding would be to not communicate at all.
The second reason is that whenever I write something, before I put it up I read it a few times, and I decide if it is what I am wanting to communicate, as objectively as possible. But the truth is that when I am feeling emotionally thin and overwhelmed I struggle to objectify the things around me. So, I felt that I wouldn't be able to objectify what I had written, and rather than trying to and failing I just left it all.
But I don't know if this was the correct approach. So what I am doing now is putting up a lot of what I have written over the last few weeks because I always want push myself to continue writing and being honest with everyone around me. I have taken a lot of it out, because it was very dark, and I have also left quite a bit out because I didn't finish writing it. These are what is left after I finished, and I hope that you can gain a bit of insight into my mind and what I have been thinking, and I hope it will help you in whatever you are trying to figure out.
Jeb
The first is that what I have been writing of late has been rather morbid and dark, and people probably wouldn't be able to understand most of it without wanting me to be put under suicide watch or something so I thought that the best way to avoid a lot of misunderstanding would be to not communicate at all.
The second reason is that whenever I write something, before I put it up I read it a few times, and I decide if it is what I am wanting to communicate, as objectively as possible. But the truth is that when I am feeling emotionally thin and overwhelmed I struggle to objectify the things around me. So, I felt that I wouldn't be able to objectify what I had written, and rather than trying to and failing I just left it all.
But I don't know if this was the correct approach. So what I am doing now is putting up a lot of what I have written over the last few weeks because I always want push myself to continue writing and being honest with everyone around me. I have taken a lot of it out, because it was very dark, and I have also left quite a bit out because I didn't finish writing it. These are what is left after I finished, and I hope that you can gain a bit of insight into my mind and what I have been thinking, and I hope it will help you in whatever you are trying to figure out.
Jeb
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The Statue
I know what I want to feel. I know what I want to look like, and it isn't what anyone truly desires, but I don't believe I am worth of being desired. The happiness my beauty affords scares me in a way I don't understand and am still learning to give to others.
It is like a beautiful statue carved of marble, left out to be displayed for all to see and appreciate. As time goes on more and more people appreciate the work, the effort and the sacrifice which has made this piece of art what it is but this delay carries a weight the piece will never recover from. Cracks and stains are left on what was intended to be perfection incarnated but as the price of time is paid, the reward of work becomes richer and deeper.
The lost perfection creates character which identifies the appreciation fewer and fewer people feel but the true reward of the intention becomes an engulfing and life changing event that will be echoed through the years of all parties involved.
My degradation is something I enjoy but it's reward is unbearable. So I deny the cracks my feelings are expressing in a selfish act of maintenance. But perhaps these cracks lead to something that will heal my feelings and assure my fear. Perhaps this is my degradation in an unfamiliar format.
"And I can talk, I place pride on tick and tock"
It is like a beautiful statue carved of marble, left out to be displayed for all to see and appreciate. As time goes on more and more people appreciate the work, the effort and the sacrifice which has made this piece of art what it is but this delay carries a weight the piece will never recover from. Cracks and stains are left on what was intended to be perfection incarnated but as the price of time is paid, the reward of work becomes richer and deeper.
The lost perfection creates character which identifies the appreciation fewer and fewer people feel but the true reward of the intention becomes an engulfing and life changing event that will be echoed through the years of all parties involved.
My degradation is something I enjoy but it's reward is unbearable. So I deny the cracks my feelings are expressing in a selfish act of maintenance. But perhaps these cracks lead to something that will heal my feelings and assure my fear. Perhaps this is my degradation in an unfamiliar format.
"And I can talk, I place pride on tick and tock"
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