| We'll live in birds and flowers and dragonflies and pine trees and in clouds |
[21 Dec 2012|11:11am] |
|
Friends only, I'm locking majority of my posts not because I want to conceal things I think/feel/do from everyone. I've grown to become pickier and fussier as to who I divulge myself to - especially when it comes to depressing recounts and personal news. You're welcome to add me if you are interested in what I have to say and offer (i.e. my posts are often wordy and more often than not I try too hard to be poetic) it's not exactly an anti-people perspective, it's more of an I-want-to-be-sure-you-truly-care-about-what-I-have-to-say perspective.
Besides, I'd have embraced creating a new journal if the effort necessary was somehow disassociated from the task. Sadly that lazy condition is not available, so this journal remains with restricted access. I'll gladly add you to the legions if your journal displays something beyond the touchstone. If you add me with entries displaying a lack of intellect, I shall not only ridicule you behind your back, but flaunt your boggling mentality flagrantly to others. *beams* I also possess an overabundance of sarcasm. If light mocking or bluntness of ideas/comments you've made from me are characteristics you are incapable of withstanding, adding me would be a masochistic idea on your part..
The posturing is a joke, you guys. Lighten up, develop an intellect and I'm all yours. Comment this entry to be added.
|
|
| For you |
[05 Mar 2011|02:10pm] |
Her eyes fell out. And they were superseded with bright glistening iridescent burning stars. And her arm was extended at 180, she was reaching out to you, but you had no part. So her hand transmogrified into the universe and she sat cross-legged to etch out something worth looking at, something worthy of your veneration. And her other hand lifted to wipe the irascible fire from her eyes.
Gone, into that secret place where no one dares to go. Her orchestrated breathing became smoke and stardust and just as every awe-inspiring moment of sublime joy every paradisiacal hypnagogic fantasy every whimsical sense of happiness, culminated, and then faded; she lost everything.
She is sprawled out in the dirt and her insecurities, in a picnic of adolescence. She watches the sun sink, along with all her hopes and dreams and fears. She fights the stars off with her intellect. She conquers the moon with her depth. She battles the thick blanket of darkness with her ferocity. She invites brighter days to cradle her logic. She begins to construct new hopes, craft new dreams, feet stretching miles, stepping stones pave the illuminated sky.
Dogged and wary but with adamantine determination she ascended cumbrously (albeit gracefully) in weathered rhythmic motions. With a tired mind. With a tired heart. She spread out her paper wings and returned to see you. Crystallized atmosphere trailed behind her as she flew. She pushes on, even if she's pushing down.
In her palm rested a Daedalian puzzle. And it is in the form of a sentence. Without a beginning or an end.
|
|
| 1 |
[01 Mar 2010|10:35pm] |
I'm awake now. I know you're awake too.
I wonder if our thoughts will cross each other's tonight. Like in a compact room when there's a sudden noise and everyone pauses to look and even if just for a split second, we've all shared thoughts. You have thought mine and I have thought yours and the line between our exclusive thoughts blur and fade and become unimportant. When our knowledge and sensations are shared it feels a little like we're sharing the same body. And a little of that feels as if we're sharing the same consciousness the same mind, and a little of that the same soul. There should be a name for that.
|
|
| There's something contradictory about you |
[08 Jan 2010|04:42pm] |
Maybe I adapted to be more taciturn and sparing a long time ago, when someone told me that what I was feeling wasn't valid. Sensitive, you face the struggle of rationalizing that you were wrong. There are too many things you think you cannot say, because you think it would be inappropriate or that your emotions were just too big; They would fill the room, expanding and suffocating and pressing against all the corners. You know that others would grow tired of your constant paroxysms of fury, the need to be pacified and validated. You think after a while, keeping mum would be good. Your feelings of anger and hatred are unhealthy, afterall.
But you think you're feeling too overwhelmed by the sensations of many strong and conflicting emotions but you cannot let it all out and it is consuming you, causing you to feel as if you're about to implode. Eventually bit by bit it builds a little nest of habit inside of you, a deep labyrinthine of hidden words compounded till you feel compressed with every unsaid string of sentence inside until it all comes out, all your insides, hideous and brutal and an unsortable chaotic mess.
You feel too much, but you bottle it all up. You just can't share; every other sentence would be fuelled by some backdrop of sorrow contempt envy, some element of you trying to get out for some notice; people would be sick of you.
|
|
| Messy thoughts at 3AM |
[23 Nov 2009|03:10am] |
I have discovered songs and pictures and stories that awaken me, that plucks the strings of my soul beautifully and without skipping a beat. In intricate, dark and nebulous corridors and rapid twining passages, lyrics images words composed with heat haze dust and the colour Red. Written with smoke with ash with danger. With despondence, rebellion. Spirit. Desperation. Romance. Penned down with pieces of the Earth of the wind of the clay, something of grime and grit and at the core the center the matrix of something genuine, something unquenchable.
Is it selfish to be happy? It might just be. We are all suffering. But we are suffering together, in unison - even if we are struggling to see with all the dust and fire in our eyes.
|
|
| i |
[20 Jun 2009|04:39am] |
Lately, ive been listening to the same lyrics over again, rereading the same tattered books over again, dreaming of the same things over again. I’m done with temporary patches that seem to break over and over; I’m sick of useless words that pass through your ears like water slipping through my cupped hands. I’m full of excuses, I’m full of insecurities. I’m not going to do this for you anymore.
(I need to start living for me.)
|
|
| I'm still here |
[30 Sep 2008|10:09pm] |
"Do you know yourself?"
"As much as anybody does"
Posting here is becoming harder and harder. Everything is a touchy subject lately, and no matter what I do to mask it my voice is heard loud and clear. It's like we all sit here with fingers on little triggers, waiting to detonate each other like bombs. A well-placed charge can blow us all to bits. We all persist in blasting away, anyway.
Hoping to just get rid of the things we don't want anymore.
|
|
| Lost |
[14 Jul 2008|07:58pm] |
|
I hate feeling like this. It's like when you're little, and you get separated from your parents. There's nothing but extreme panic and overwhelming fear. You have no control, but you keep looking and looking and hoping and hoping, but you can't find them, and you don't know what to do... and you're all alone.
|
|
|
[26 Feb 2008|06:31pm] |
|
I'm suddenly really, really sad about nothing in particular. I just am not satisfied with the way things are but what's worse is that I feel so completely helpless to change them. People change, kids grow up, pets die, bad grades happen, people get sick, loneliness is inevitable and we all get let down, usually at the most inopportune moment. I really think I could be ok with all that if I just had someone there. As much as I love all the people in my life, everyone has limits and everyone reaches a point where they quit trying. I just wish I had that one person who would care enough to never stop trying to fix things. And I know it's selfish and immature and weak and demanding, but it's still all i've ever wanted.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
|
|
|
|
