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The Past

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

All that which I feared is now coming to light.
The things I have tried to push back have invaded my space.
The anxiety attacks have started.
The downfall of dehuman is the inability to cope with emotions that should seem familiar but are not.
Those people I have not wished to see have sought me out and they will take me away.

People get what they deserve
I have deserved this for a long time and now it will shine through me like an unwanted horizon of blinding light and solidify upon my soul, paining me to push forward to the end.

I will have my end
If ever there was a doubt of unwitting fortune, then I have stumbled upon the largest cache of it. I cannot be saved and I will leave this place behind. Mother says I must soulseek, but she has taught me very little about such things.

The heat of renewance
Restless feeling and reckless abandon will lead me into the days of de'scoldarian and off into the months that are contained within the musicbox of the heart and the band playing in my mind. In english: This time I need off. Maybe I will go back, maybe I will not.

Le coeur qui douleurs
To be successful, I must find something I believe in. Peut-être amour. Peut-être perte. Peut-être une fille dans ma vie changera la façon que je vois le monde. Elle doit jeter la lumière sur le coeur d'ombre. Only time will tell in the days of coming wind. The wind, though, is another poetic inferiority on this day.

The crow of wane
The visitor unwanted has shown its face twice this week and a conversing of madness took place between the lobe interior and the feathered two of one. Opinions exchanged, hatred misdirected upon the trees that fell upon the grass of yesterday. Tomorrow was an after-thought said the Corvus prince and I shed a tear and nodded in agreement. 'Right all along!', I thought, and only now have taken the time to understand the caw of the black bird.

A day of old,
a day of new,
just one day
for us to renew
all that which has withered now
to leave a smudge-stain on the ground
and ask for just one more
chance at life.
To leave behind this pain
and strife.
To find new ways to make it through.
I wish I was as strong as you.

Grey (1:31 AM)

Tuesday, April 13, 2004
-*fibonacci's cover*-

The umbrella is a tool of the devil.

The umbrella is correct insofar in assuming that rain falls from the sky, and it does, indeed. *but* the umbrella is terribly misguided. Not only is it disturbingly wrong in its one, and only, somewhat-valid assumption that rain does falls from from the sky, but it takes just one more, ill step forward in righteously also assuming that it descends in a perfect downward spiral happily striking your umbrella with a loud 'plop!' or *crackle*, and it fails to appreciate the value of the runoff patterns that water appears to enjoy taking on its way downhill. Coupled with this behaviour, are cars that drive very fast, and sidewalks where pedestrians (ie. victims) travel along from departure to destination point.

I have become concerned with the false sense of security that these 'umbrellas' offer to the mind of my fellow (and not-so-fellow) college students. They are wrong damnit. You listen to me fools - those stupid things don't do jackshit. Fucking car drives by and BAM!, you're fucking wet! And I'll tell you another thing, your friend "the rain", well he never travels alone. He's always, ALWAYS has his buddy "the wind" with him, and he loves to fuck with your head. You thought you'd be a little safer with your trusty umbrella overhead, hahaha! well wrong kiddies, because rain doesn't fall parallel to other raindrops, they do whatever the fuck they want and "the wind' helps them out!!! How you like them apples? (pears, if you prefer)

Anyway, there is a moral to this story, and it has but one premise:
Whether you dig a hole, or dig half-a-hole, it's still a hole.
And the moral is as follows:
Whether you are very wet, or just a little wet, you're still fucking wet.

So next time you're out in the rain, although I wouldn' t suggest that, don't bother using one of those flimsy shit-shovels. Just tackle the sky-piss on your own. Not only will it be more fun that way, but you're going to get wet in either case and it's easier to grab and beat people with large umbrellas if you have both your hands free.

This message has been brought to you by Greyland International.
Greyland, where we don't have umbrellas
because it

Grey (4:42 PM)

Wednesday, April 07, 2004
-*passive disappointments*-

I lost myself too long.

The longer I stay, the more unwelcome I feel. There is nothing for me here and I have nowhere to go. The words seems to fall through the cracks of the emotional floorboards. No longer am I in control of sound narratives or silent music. The camera is turned against me now and I will take the time to rest my soul against a warm lamp post at the end of time.

I spun around in three circles not quite complete. Inside I became twisted; I collapsed.

Certainty was not an issue.
Incomplete sentences lack motion.
Contingency lacks denial.
Inconsistency grasps at the mold.

The flowers will come soon, and the cold will be left behind. The warm summer winds will sail over my skin unwantedly.
The Cold One will no longer surface. The hibernating months of the festival will leave me a heat-stricken mess.

It has been 3h now that I have been trying to post this. I cannot sleep. Loneliness is ever-present and the walls grip my heart tightly. The paint bleeds off, downward into a puddle of blue and gray. The curtains, the sheets, the breath of life reminds me of what I once had and left behind. Each day becomes more difficult and I realize that it is only Wednesday. Not even half way done and I am already being driven mad by the pounding in my head and the vision of the 27s. The T.V. is still on, but the screen is black. It seems so familiar. The light that once was my life has become only a shadow, beating each moment, reminding me that I am alone indeed..

Molecular visions and the best of the kiss. I sense a great deal of passion, fortitude, and complexity foreshadowing a space, lost in time, and the failure to overcome the pencil's rule over the paper world. What you see is the mask before you. And maybe the underlying textures don't mean a thing to you, but I feel them all the time. The subtle ridges, the goosebump-like features, and the malleability of the surface. The truth does not change. To know objectively what the truth is we must perceive it from a human standpoint - one that can never be objective. I asked once: Is it ever possible to know the objective truth. There was a pause. Then, the answer came: Yes. We think so.

But I guess it's not important. Did I pass out again in the last few hours..
I think perhaps I had hit my head. Maybe I have only imagined the pain and the not-so-mysterious remains of the past. Each time I index my memories, it is as though in searching through the files I am losing the skirmish of retrospection and I am belittled by the power of papercuts. The green light says go, but it does not say how fast. Is that the reason the flashes come? No one has my answers. Fuck those answers. I want my answers. I am weary now, a minority within my organismic self. The sap of strength passes over me and as I lay me down to sleep I forget why I came here at all. The fleeting knowledge of reason, premise, and presence forgets me not.

I stop.
I cope.
I reason without reason.
Logically speaking is illogical and blue.

Anthologies of the body require collective cynicism while archives of the mind leave behind only trace bits of lineage and genesis. Understand the simplicity of the words and certainly you shall be blinded by the fruit of truth, forced to devour all that would feedback against your every judgment, your every human opinion, and the very thing you claim a soul in the shell we have received from the magnanimity. I am no longer growing tired or weary.

I am tired.
I am wearied.
I speak without reason.
I cannot understand logic or red.

A kind of terror grabs at me now but I keep a sharp (human) eye and consider my chances. Certain loss means uncertain victory and I reason myself a chance-in-nine. Maybe the cereal box flourishes now in place of rest, cave of slumber.

I need to see a doctor. I need to drive somewhere at 7:30am.. I do not think I will enjoy any sleep. I have not slept in nearly three days but for a 4h nap in the shower. I must help myself now. I must do what I can to get by. I will exercise my knack for survival. I must leave the world of the windows behind.

I shall eat cake.
I shall drink milk.
You will watch this.
You will not see with eyes so unburdened.

But I wish to speak lastly of the importance of the message she gave me.
She said solemnly..

For the moments you are aloft, are the moments I feel you the most.
With each sailing sill, you leave but dust behind. You deal in the dark,
you will only hurt yourself. I will not hold your hand, but I will cry for
your soul. It is the path I had never intended for you and I have failed
to instill the light of choice in you. The magic will fade and you will
succeed in the vision of misery. It is what you have willed, it is what
will occur. You shall see it before and make the choice. You will go
as you wish and be he who distrusts. I have shed my tears for you.
It is your time now to make the decision.

Yes, mother, I have. Perhaps it was not put so eloquently or formal, but to my ears, I heard only the message within the message; be careful. So simple it made me laugh inside but my chuckling ceased as she gripped my soul, unwavering, and I could not blink to save my life. I shed a forced tear upon the linen. I wept for the loss.

Misconception almost bred hate. Perhaps I just need more practice though. I care not to know.

I really
about it

Grey (5:56 AM)

Tuesday, April 06, 2004
-*post-mortem tiredom*-

Fleeting moments lost in time, a catch-22 every one-in-nine. The cereal box said so.

This afternoon I took a trip for myself, by myself. I am not sure how I got to where I arrived. I don't recall any planning, only pre-departure and post-arrival.

Around 4:15pm, I had subconsciously "convinced" myself that I should get dressed. There was an event with keys and a momentary lapse of alertness at a gas station. Pump.. pump. I ate lunch at the palisades mall in the most well hidden corner I could find, away from any walkers so as to avoid any old high school acquaintances that would more-than-likely attempt to initiate a conversation with me. The consideration and acquisition of CD-Rs took place, but none were purchased. At one point, I was so dazed I nearly left Best Buy with un-bought merchandise in my hand.

The loneliness settled in. I took a stroll to CompUSA and Staples, for whatever reason, and on the way it became difficult to discern what was white and what was gray. A busy Monday afternoon I insisted to myself, although there were not many people around and I think I had a close parking space, as I rode the escalator up again. The crowds were few but the people loud just the same. I paid little attention and walked right into a police officer who was talking on his cell phone. I probably forgot to apologize. I wished then that I had brought a pencil, or at least my calculator, but I am unsure why that would have been a sufficient replacement for a writing tool.

It was cold out, I know. I was wearing a T-shirt and sweat pants (my usual get-up) and most of the people around me were bundled to the max. I thought maybe they were celebrating chaunuka or taking a vow of chastity or something. Someone spat gum near my car as I approached. I clicked the car alarm by accident and frightened them, I think. I wish that had been planned. I really need a button on that thing for the turret guns, or at least the hunter-killer missile launcher I had put in at Dan Buckey (was a steal too). You'd be surprised the junk they offer you when there's a seatbelt recall.

I returned home and glanced at my desk. I chuckled at my TI-89. I asked, "Were you there when I needed you the most?". I waited for a response. None came. I took two advil.

I felt that urge to destroy, by which I mean clean my room. I found some large pieces of plastic and poster board. They were quickly made into smaller versions of themselves with the quickness of a katana and the use of a platform chair I found in grandma's room. In the end I made more of a mess so as to busy myself cleaning for an even longer period of time. You're still reading this lame-ass post? Go get a drink and come back.

*insert drink break here*

So after that was all done I had dinner2. Grandma cooked "crunchy chicken" and it was as good as Xerlic remembers it too. I noted that my father and sister were in their usual jaw-dropped T.V. watching positions at the bar, fork in hand, half way to mouth, eyes glued to the set. I imagined that they would both drool all over their food before ever completing an initial taste test, ruining their respective meals. That all happened in less that 1 second and I was faced with a lot of remainder time. I recalled they were watching Star Wars Episode II. I assumed it was on HBO.

Upon arriving back in my room, not recalling by departure again, I dusted off the screen of my very large and clunky gray television with the broken built-in VCR. The remote's batteries had been removed by my sister, I figured for use in some diabolical machine that would later be used to turn me into a wombat. I shook it off and gathered my thoughts. "Channel 53", I thought. Crap, Brittney Spears. The names was familiar. There were breasts. I stared, appreciating the lack of sound. I surfed down to 14 manually and caught the movie about 1/3 of the way through. "Wow. I've seen this like 25 times now," I told someone, and myself, naturally.

I took a short break to code up a room I'd been meaning to get out of the way since 2.2.01 according to the header in the file (that's February 2nd, 2001 for those who can't read numbers). Well that was easily remedied yet I still felt sick from lack of mechanical sense. It seemed like HBO was running on my time schedule and for that I was elated.

The commercial informed me the following feature was 'Insomniac'. The first thing that came to mind was that terrible show hosted by Dave Attell on Comedy Central, but I was in luck; it was a movie starring Al Pacino and Robin Williams. I was finally in my niche. I had found some peace and quiet and I knew I was going to sail right off into bed after the movie and some chit-chat with online friends. The first thirty or so minutes was great. The plot was coming together and a twist or two had happened. Just as the next resolution and/or plot-twist was about to happen, Uncle Danny walked into the room clutching my mother's laptop in his hands. He walked toward me complaining about something. I didn't even notice he didn't knock. I was trying to focus on what Al Pacino was saying but over his bitching (imagine a gay guy bitching at you) I couldn't hear a thing. He sat down on the bed behind my chair and as I was attempting to tune him out for just ten more seconds so I could get the gist of what was about to happen, he did _it_. He touched me. He tapped me on the shoulder. No. Fucking. Way.

I spun my chair around and looked at him.
"What?" I said rather bluntly and rather rudely.
"I thought you said you didn't watch T.V.?" He continued on though..
*futzing with keyboard* "Well, this DVD won't play on your mom's computer and I have the SAME one at home an.."
*grabs laptop from him hastily* "Is it in the drive?" *presses eject button*
"It should be, yes." *drive ejects* *I examine contents*
"Well I'll tell ya Dan - it's really hard to play a DVD upside-down."
"Oh I'm so sorry to have bothered you Steffie."
"Yeah, great. Here." *hands back laptop*
At this point I tried to concentrate on the movie again.
"This movie did NOTHING for me. I mean NOTHING. It was so terrible. Don't waste your time. I have this Will and Grace DV..."
"That's great Dan. Well I guess it won't do anything for me now that I know your opinion on it and I missed the plot entirely just now."
"Okay. Thanks Steffie. Bye." He exited my room at this point leaving the door open.

I finished watching the movie and I enjoyed it. I feel bad he had to sit through that movie if he didn't like it. It wasn't predictable and the acting was impressive to some degree. But, my night wasn't over. Danny came back to destroy my serenity again. I had a subtle thought about mass impalement and how I could build this machine, like the one in Army of Darkness, that impaled people instead of being a giant fan-like weapon. I'll continue since you're _still_ reading this trash.

I figured I would sit back and read this book that Greg had lent me. No, I didn't ask to borrow it, he just told me I was borrowing it. If only education was as forthcoming, I might be learning something. Danny barged in, again, while I was reading said book. He totally ignored the fact that I was READING to ask me where we keep the extension cords in this house. His claim was that I would know such a fact because "you live here".

I stared blankly at him, utterly frustrated from a) lack of respect for my privacy and b) total disregard for my downtime. I started in with words.
"Danny, I'm busy and no, I *don't* live here but for 4 months of the year. And it would be nice if you knocked before entering and had some fucking courtesy for what I was doing"
He took no time to answer, seemingly ignoring anything I might have to say. His reply was simple:
"Yes sweety, but I need an extension cord."

I was dumbfounded. I don't think that in my whole life I have ever made better use of the word dumbfounded until then. Perplexity; maybe. Stupidity; certainly. Flabbergasted; definitely.

I started off the day on a downward slope of faith in the human race. I ended the day on a swing, being pushed by shock and wonder going "Wheeeeeeeee" with every downdraft.

God - if you truly exist, please smote them. If I wake tomorrow and those who I have wished to be smote are smitten, then I will remember to say thank you. Actually, I'll probably forget, but you already know that.
(This section was to be edited, but I kept it in)

Goodnight Lemurs.

Grey (3:48 AM)

Saturday, April 03, 2004

Merona has retired.

Last night she decided she no longer wanted to fight the uphill battles she had been faced with recently. A part of her lost faith in herself and in the people she believed in. Merona was heart-broken. She enjoyed fishing and would spend days at a time in Vana'diel at Port San d'Oria, pulling up moat carp, laughing to herself or with the people around her; all-in-all trying to enjoy the Elvaan way of life.

But Merona lost her confidence. Something inside her realized she has working toward an end not of passion or variety, but monotony and a state of ennui. Merona wanted desperately to overcome the numbers set forth by the world at large. She proposed to herself that she would break outward, humbly, and become a true Knight. A fallacy of the heart.

It took only a short time, a matter of days in Vana'diel, for Merona to come to grips with her own form. She would sit in her Mog House and think for hours at a time about the happiness new adventurers felt, the adrenaline rush that captivates their soul at the strike of the iron, and the elation at high-tide they felt in Port San d'Oria. Somehow, it all fit together and it made perfect, irrational sense. She liked to watch the newbies from her window at night before bed, wondering, attempting to remember what it was like in the simpler days.

Transcendance was not an option. Humility was, to her, the epitome of true Knighthood. No longer would she swing the sword. No longer would she need to heed the call of the Paladin, nor the Oath of the White Mage. But deep down inside the thought of losing the only ways she knew, simply giving them up, was frightening. Deep down Merona was depressed. She was hopeless to help everyone she wanted to help in her life - she realized she wasn't a god.

Merona became content having nothing.

This morning in Vana'diel, she awoke away from home, in Bastok, knowing she must return to see her homeland once more before she would retire. She dressed as simply as she could, leaving Bastok and arriving in San d'Oria with only the clothes given to her from the moment of conception and tarnished Honor Sword at her side. The city gates welcomed her with a warm smile and greased hinges, just as she had remembered from the first day she had laid her eyes upon the gallant landscape she would come to experience as life over the next few years in Vana'diel.

Today Merona is finally happy. She found her soulmate and he was right underneath her nose all along; Moggie. Those times Merona would lay upon her bed, she would look upon the ceiling and wonder what it was all for - all the pain, anguish, days, supposed hatred, and plundering. Moggie was compassionate, caring, and knew just how to make her laugh when she needed it the most. Sure, there were others like Sister Avarice and Sasarai, but Moggie was untouched, free of the understanding of death. Hands bloodied, he would look upon her blemished skin thoughtfully, perplexed as to where she had been all day, and why she was so badly bruised. Moggie knew how to mend her wounds, and he always gentle and quick about it, unquestioning in his ways as to not stir up possible ill thoughts.

Merona is at rest now. Even right now, she is bringing home a bucket full of fish. Tonight though, she cooks. Moggie is no longer her servant, he is her friend. She cooks for him tonight. Tonight it's her turn to tuck him into bed. There, Merona is happy. Forever happy in the realm of Vana'diel. Maybe at night you'll see her peek out from behind her shy curtain and wave at you. If you look deep inside your heart, even your deepest wishes can come true..

Thank you to everyone who put/stood/waited up for me when Merona was busy getting dressed for a night on the town or before a big fight. Thank you Xerlic for understanding why I left and not coaxing me to stay. Thank you Atheldown for being our LS leader. You did a fine job no matter what myself or others may have ever eluded to. Thank you Avarice for being my twin, my Sister, and for chatting with me about silly things. Thank you to Sasarai who was one of the best players I have ever played with on any game. You were an inspiration and a swell companion. Merona won't forget anyone, she promises.

Goodnight Vana'diel. May your morning sun's horizon bleach the mountains in West Sarutabaruta like a magical dusting and the moon overhead cleanse the spirit in anticipation of a new day. Goodnight Vana'diel. I will miss you forever.

Grey (1:05 AM)



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