I can't get away
Outside of shimmering thoughts,
It haunts the quiet
mirages
negation
I come to have a complicated relationship with the contradictions between my body, and my mind. Rationalising anything is easy, yet coming to terms with the most minute emotions can be a humongous task. The diaspora of feeling, lacking, wanting, seeing, smelling, thinking; it overwealms and swallows. Our flesh drowning in chaos caused by tiny particles, acting in tandem with the laws of physics, causing what we have come to call a consciousness. The mind however doesn't bend to our will either, perhaps as our flesh had desires, our mind does too. The want; perhaps even the need to fill an intrinsic void, a void that is forever expanding if the way we live doesn't come to a stop, one way or another. A void being ripped open deeper and deeper the more we are forced to deal with the mundane alienation imposed upon us by the very system we live under. The more we come to see that the only path ahead is not the easy one, not the painless one, but it is the only one that doesn't end early. I don't want to go, I don't want to have these feelings, I wish I were not myself, I wish I was born differently, or elsewhere.
perception
There are seemingly mundane things that mortify me. Unavoidable pillars of existence that will haunt me wherever I go. Being perceived is one of those; the fact that you are observed immediately recontextualises and binds everything you do. Not only are norms and expectations imposed upon you, but it's restricting in another great plethora of ways. Perhaps the truly horrific detail is that even when alone, it is as though someone was watching. Not a person, a concept, one looming in the psyche itself, an ever-present observer that we impose upon ourselves. Even in the absence of such a voice, it's unsustainable for humans to be without social contact for a prolonged period of time; such a venture would result in vast and severe damage to our ever-increasingly frail minds. As such, we need to be perceived not just by ourselves but also by others, yet I am deathly afraid of it.
flesh
I sometimes come to see the world in a clear light, at least parts of it. I realise that I am trapped in a flesh prison from which I cannot escape. I touch my face, feeling the slight trail of smudge left behind by my fingers. I feel the amalgamation of flesh, fat, and skin hanging off of something I perceived to be mine, realising how little I actually am. I am a being of flesh and bone, yet I am entirely separate from this prison. I touch my face with dread; I barely recognise it.
ties
It's horrifying how quickly ties can sever, perhaps not by choice, without rhyme or reason, they just passively fade away. A passing impression left over moments, days, weeks, months or even years vanishes only to be remembered by the stars. It's perhaps a beautiful thing, everything being in a constant dialectical shift, forever moving and changing, much like a river. People you might have cherished not long ago, forever disappearing from memory, simply because the binding agent once imposed by external forces ceased to exist. A falling out not by choice, but by causality. This makes me think how strong are my bonds, how much is simply the binding agent, how will its disappearance affect them. I think the answer, as much as it may be unpleasant to admit, is that after a period of time, the stars are the only thing keeping the memories of our fleeting impressions, pleasant encounters and meaningful moments, us having completely forgotten we even had them in the first place.
words
Why am I like this, over a simple word uttered without any malice or intention I let myself feel worthless. I cannot control how other percieve me, even those who I've shared my sorrows with. However I try, I will always only be an amalgamation of vague impressions and appearances, fragments out of my control. I can't impose interpretations onto people, and even if I do it doesn't change their internal perception, the one they've built up over days, weeks, months. Yet it still hurts, it hurts profusely, only a single word. I can't be upset at anyone but the world, and myself for letting this effect me at all.
slowly
Im taking the steps, slowly but surely, I'm building the passage, my chest is not taking this lightly and I'm stressed, but I have hope that I will come out happier on the other side, whenever that comes. Clothes are a part of that, I know I won't wear these for a long time, but it really is the only step towards the goal I can conceive taking right now, especially with my budget. I was in a casting for an ad today, it's possible that at least that problem will fix itself if I get picked
construction
I'm building a passage. It isn't simple, it isn't easy, it isn't very rewarding and I feel like I fool, but I continue to build a passage nonetheless. One I pass through to shed myself of what once was and exit as me. I will break myself into pieces to use as building material if I must, and put the rest back together. gradually a passage will begin to build up, I may take a step or two in the process, but once the moment comes when the passage is ready I will pass through it all. One thing worries me though, what awaits for me at the end of the passage? A private hallway was never ment to be seen, and the leading up to it was to be forgotten in order for it to work. But the world doesn't forget. No one does. Will I come out of the passage only to find out that passing through it was a mistake in itself? Only the builders are allowed to know, only the builders can appreciate how hard it was to walk through and build, but there's not many builders, especially not of this passage. The thoughts are still jumbled and the passage while certainly appealing leads to places I'm not quite ready for... That I'm afraid of. I wish there was a way to confront the buzzing lights, the red carpet, the vast expanse of closed doors stretching as the passage extends, tell them to turn ever so slightly so I don't have to encounter the same world at its end. As the curve of the hallway ever so slightly shifts, may it lead me to a world in which my name is nothing but a howl of the wind, one without an answer, unknown to the rest of nature. Grass gently caressing my feet welcoming me as a new guest.
dreams
I've started hallucinating recently when waking up, it's usually ominous figures staring at me or things buzzing over my head and once my open my eyes turning into insect like shadows that run against the wall and immediately disappear. Sometimes scenarios play out, someone running into my room and talking to me, or just simply me thinking I woke up before I truly did, someone calling out my name or laughing. I have a tiny bit of autonomy in these, I can jolt upwards only to find myself laying on the pillow in the same dream again, I can move my hand a few centimetres or touch something only for it to disappear, or I can be paralysed unable to do anything but think. Today I dreamed of someone visiting me, not someone I like, quite the opposite, but someone who was laughing perhaps mocking me. I sleep on an elevated surface, lead to by a stairway. While heading down with what could be described as mild dread, I stumbled upon an object which I could not comprehend. It was vividly red with fractal like reflections stretching for what seemed like a distance between a dagger and a spear, though constantly changing. I picked it up. When I got to the "visitors" I pushed them off the stairs and watched them fall with it in my hand. There was no specific amount of time between this fragment and the next, I woke up once again, there was a pair of elderly hands next to my head, a feminine hand holding the somewhat bigger hand. The gentle wrinkled hand wore a golden ring with a rectangular Black obelisk in the middle, it was a bit hypnotising. As I went closer to join the holding of hands, they slowly shifted towards a single open inviting palm, perhaps I wanted to do that intentionally as I was somewhat aware at the time. When I touched it, it dissipated like it was made from layers of colourful fog. I woke up.
distractions
I've noticed an odd pattern in my life, the things that I hate the most and dedicate the most time into, make me feel well... Nothing. My thoughts are jumbled and my mind is a mess, seemingly good feeling only make me feel bad afterwards and sad books fascinate me and make me happy. The distractions imposed by school make me forget all of that, I no longer have thoughts or an identity I'm only an agent of math, physics etc. even seemingly innocent things like skiing can completely distract from any and all thought, I still think about the same things but there is no emotional feedback no way to access them. Maybe all this distraction is good, maybe this all is happening because I'm not distracted enough, I still feel the longing.
vestiges
I have this desire to sometimes just leave everything behind, not simply my surroundings but also my memories my pains and my appearance, to become another person in another place no longer shackled by what once was. It's different from the usual want to cease existing entirely or to get through a problem, it's more abstract. I'm chasing a dream in which I can be someone else, that will never happen though, I'd like to have at least a new begging a period of peace and solitude through which I can come out finally being myself. A long passageway a liminal space in which I can sort everything out, stare at the velvet carpet and listen to the hum of fluorescent lights, a peace from everything, I'd like to come out a different person one that is more me. I pray for the moment a passage appears making this form nothing more than a vestige as I pass through it.
wall
I want to go into a small room with cold walls and lock myself in, I want to lie
on the floor looking at the vast sea of darkness above me. Reach out my hand and
touch the dark mist. My hand will be only met with emptiness, streams of vapour
escaping even the tightest grasp. There's a peace on that floor, empty but true,
a solace. The content of the floor isn't enough, not anymore, I don't want
solace I don't want peace, not this form of it. I want a room with all but one
wall, all slightly colder than the body temperature, I want to curl up in a ball
and fall in that space, the walls offering protection from all sides. I want the
gentle cold embrace, it calms me.
dream
This has been a recurring dream. There's boy who I'm not certain from time to time enters a post apocalypse overgrown brutalist pool house facility. One that defies logic and reason, stretches infinitely beyond reason, monotonous. There he finds a robot girl, a trapped spirit perhaps, a vessel tied to that place itself they bond, he then starts coming to that place from time to time. It is implied that it is in another world almost. It's a place with layers, the top has grass and is overgrown beyond all the concrete, but the deeper you delve the darker it is... It's haunting
machine
It feels as though the body is a machine that's almost impossible to understand. It's connected to so many different inputs and outputs who each communicate between each other in complex ways, even while we can get to know the muscle structures and other individual aspects, the way they all connect to the psyche is a mystery to me. Feelings and emotions forever obscured for reasons which I myself can't explain. Today I entered a state which I don't often enter, I felt vulnerable for however much that is worth, I wasn't sad in particular, but I felt like anything could tip the balance. The delicate machinery in my body seemed to function differently than I'm used to. The best course of action as I figured would be to reset the machine which acted strangely, sleep serves that purpose well. When I laid down as one has to in order to sleep I felt as though the balance has tipped and tears started flowing from my eyes, this was for no reason that I could come up with. I needed something to weigh me down, something to squeeze and hug too... I pressed against the wall and the shelf that was above it covered in blankets all while still laying, it was... Nice. When I woke up, everything went back to normal as if my unusual state was nothing more than a distant memory.
fire
I like burning things, it's calming. There's a kind of finality that comes with burning something, an end to its life as an object and a beginning of a new one as the fire starts to grow. You can see the individual masses of red move as if they're alive, while they destroy what's left of its predecessor. Ultimately, they all cuddle up and preserve the heat they have left in small clusters. Something about that process shows closure, the object has been completely consumed and repurposed, it has been used to create a spectacle which I at least enjoy watching. The hypnotic dance of red and orange, I wish sometimes it could be as simple, open myself to the embrace of warmth and join the clusters of embers.
cycles
I don't know what will happen any more, everything is constantly shifting, everything seems uncertain. The only solace is the fact is the cyclical nature of it all. Wake school repeat, wake school repeat... It seems inevitable now, even escaping the current cycle will lead me into another. There... there really is no escape, I can only hope to find peace within it. Making the cycle positive seems impossible, since the not so frequent hardships seem to be more common than positives. Making tea is nice though, drawing is nice... Maybe that makes it ok. I don't know yet, I'm hoping the next cycle will be better, I'm content with only having hope for now