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The Past

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)

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