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| There comes a moment in the night, where the numbness creeps back in. Where a void grows bigger with the nevermore’s of Poe. The rapping and tapping of some visitor at the chamber door.
The clawing and the picking of naked threads. Unravels the lost caverns of Minotaur. Followed and dusted with the flecks of skin visible in whispers. Glorified breath in every twitch.
It burns. Against the grain of the rope pulling through your chest.. Warm at first. Inviting on some frost covered path. Look back at the road less traveled by.
THIRST for something black. That rips the veil of serenity. And causes you to eat the deaths of each victory.
It numbs. Like I have forgotten it to. And misses that light in the attic. Where Silverstein rolls by unable to stop for that missing piece.
Bartleby. Thy red walled, Bartleby. | | |
| The other day while I was driving along my way to work some dimwit decides to cut me off on the highway. Being particularly moody due to suffering withdrawal from Taipei, I thought it would be a fantastic idea to cut the dimwit right back. There I am pressing the accelerator all the while thinking this is going to feel so so good. I pull up next to the jackass and wanting to make eye contact to burn him even more I flip my head to my right and I quickly recompose myself. The jackass had a police uniform hanging from his back seat. >< Now all I can wonder is if he was a real police officer on his way to work or was he a stripper?
Other than that I embark on a year long journey starting next tuesday as a student teacher for a public high school. I’ve also recently added two new characters along my commute to school. Kermit has been gracious enough to allow me to adorn him with Mr. Bao Zi and Turtleton. So far they have proven to amuse me throughly when stuck in traffic. More tales with Kermit, Mr. Bao Zi and Turtleton to come!
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| The only reason why we can sink to levels unheard of is because of our complexity. And our complexity is caused by our ability to reason which sets us apart from animals. But the joke is we are the animals. We are far more gruesome and sadistic than watching a cheetah sink it’s claws and teeth into a gazelle. There is beauty in that natural occurrence. It’s implicit that out of the blood that smears across the plains something good will sprout out of it. We can’t say the same for the blood caked on the concrete of our own minds.
Why do we think of things that torture us? Is it to provide some kind of cushion so that when we fall, because quite honestly we WILL fall, we won’t break all of our bones? If we try to prevent something, doesn’t that presuppose that something will happen? So in actuality we plan the possibility of having that what we want to prevent happen. WHO DOES THAT? Thats right. WE DO.
There comes a time when the anxiety of living gets to me. Between skipping heartbeats I sometimes hate myself because I can see a tomorrow. Like the croaking of a frog in the backyard. A return.
There will always be a return.
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| I remember I used to watch fruit flies or these little insects with wings fly into my desk lamp. They would fly with such purpose to the one thing that drew them in until they hit it. Their little bodies would make a disproportionate sound against the hollow of the fluorescent light bulb. A sound that traveled the distance to my ear and I would watch them fall onto my desk motionless. Perhaps burnt. Much like how moths flutter and catch fire when they flirt with a flame.
When applied to humans, we are very much like moths. We incessantly fly towards it. Whatever it may be. Yet we are regenerative. Singe off an antennae and it grows back in time. A little skewed, a little off but working just like before.
And I think about addiction. We can remove the action but we remain addicts. Addicts of all sorts. We’re all just dancing between degrees of it. Two stepping to the thing that makes us tick. Sometimes faltering, out of line, and against the rhythm but nonetheless holding on.
So we come to a choice. Indulge and give the out of line dancing a purpose. Much like a scar purposely put there for the sake of living. Or two step sober and glance off the hollow of the light. Fly haphazardly on.
Funny thing about indulgence, too much of it done for a purpose, even if the purpose is only revisited at odd times, creates a living void.
Dash down to the bar to go insane
I'll drench this city with your name
Beatsteaks - E-G-O
On the lighter side of things, happy year of the ox to all. May us rats finally get a break from the shit streak we’ve been having all year.
<3
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| For the most part we, as humans, spend the majority of our time building something. Creating something. Whether it is a relationship, a job, a back yard project, a bank account, we put in the effort to create it. And upon its creation we automatically fear its fall, collapse, its end because we never want to lose something we put so much effort into creating in the first place. Then again it can be something created from very little effort but that doesn’t diminish its value in our eyes. We fathered and mothered it.
Sometimes we fear losing it so much or put so much of ourselves into it that we forget how to enjoy it. It was created for enjoyment but in the end nothing is enjoyed.
We’ve all had moments where enjoyment from the thing we created is felt but we monitor that feeling. We suspect it. It can’t be real. Because if it is real then when it ends it’s over. We refuse to be in the moment. Always constantly thinking about the past, about how much was given into it. About the present, am I getting what I really need from this thing? Or about the future, when is this going to end?
The one thing I’ve managed to learn so far in my dingus of a life is if you want it to end it will end. If you keep asking yourself, when will this end? You actually sabotage yourself into ending the thing you created. Treat yourself how you want to be treated and things will change to fit your reality. If you keep thinking, this is how I should or ought to be treated then all you are doing is thinking.
You can’t fear the end. Enjoy it while you create it. It’s the reason why you created it in the first place.
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