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Remember How It Use To Be

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

William Butler Yeats

The Return

Well, I haven't been on here in a loooong time. In fact I kinda forgot this existed. What with getting and then losing a 4 year girl-friend, moving cities, graduating university, riding a downward spiral of alcohol, pain and low self esteem until I came out the otherside and getting a job, I've been a bit too busy to post. Something I am to fix now I have remembered this account. Kinda feels like coming home in a way...

Welcome Home

Dying is tacky

Dying never seemed real to me when I was young. I knew about death, but I was 20 and immortal.
You could always push it that much further.

Now dying is all I think about, I'm angry at god because he/she/it doesn't exist and life would have so much more meaning if they did. There would be a continuation of this self-narrative that is the essence of me. This existence would not be brutally truncated by the eternal sleep of death. I would not cease to be.

There would be pink fluffy clouds

You want to know what the joke is? Until recently I actually looked forward to dying, at times I actually wanted to as well. Now it fucking terrifies me, because there is no afterlife, there is just this and it is all ultimately meaningless. I walk around this city and see faces I know who stop and talk to me with words and gestures and expressions, but I don't feel a thing but this complete despondency. We will walk this earth and work our jobs, see our friends, love our special ones. We will raise our families, travel this planet, live our lives, have and see and feel a million unexplainable experiences, some will even lodge in our heads as memories. We will fuck and fight and have precious moments of serenity and then we will be obliterated. Where is the meaning to life here? Everything we see and touch and do will be washed away, it will be as if we never existed. It seems such a waste of time, dying just seems tacky.

Transylvanian weather

I'm sitting at the Delaney Hotel across from my friends, smoke hangs in the air as clouds move fast against a full moon. Transylvanian weather, all I need is a dark castle. I watch my friends talk, the way a hand holds a glass, the peal of someones laughter, the accentuation of a hip and I think, 'Why are am I here?', 'Why are these people, these multitude of faces, my friends?'. 'Do I know them? Do they know me? Why are we even talking to one another? Are they actually interested in me or is this fellowship a way to pass time?' We don't share anything, we don't reveal anything of ourselves to one another. No one listens and everyone talks. I suddenly feel disgusted, waves of revulsion pulse through me, bad nausea, crawling skin, but at them or myself I don't know. The lower levels of my consciousness are a mystery to me at times. I am merely a passenger on the sine wave of my moods, ebbs and flows, peaks and troughs, the tide comes in, the tide goes out and each shift leaves me transformed as different traits move to the fore in an ever-moving wash of personality.

Got to get out, I've got to get out now, I have to leave right away, I don't reveal anything of myself and I must go before I do. Calmly move, shake his hand, give her a hug, smile and laugh, divert attention quickly, sleight of face comes easily to me, I've been doing it for years. Nobody bats an eyelid and I smoothly exit this vulture pit. I'm driving home, hurtling through the darkness but I'm not relaxing, there's something wrong with my upper chest and arms, they feel tight, rigid, my throat is closing in on itself, I feel like crying, I feel like drowning, I feel constrained but I'm home, I'm home and I'm in my room, safe, cocooned, no-one can hurt you now, my senses fall quite. I look in the mirror, my face is blank, 'But of course' I think, 'Remember, you don't reveal anything of yourself'.

Iron Claws

Anger roiled beneath the surface of his mind, swirling and amassing upon itself, like a storm cell building up to cyclonic proportions. Fully unleashed it would be devastating, ripping through the ranks of loved ones, a force of nature complete as that terrible squall, destroying the web of invisible bonds that link friend to friend, family to family, lover to lover, people to people. The part that shamed him the most was he wanted to. He wanted to let go, wanted to lash out at those around him, wanted to destroy and be destroyed. At this moment, in the fullness of being flesh, muscle, bone, blood, in the weave of his neurons, in the shudder of his heart, in the corners of his awareness, nothing mattered. He could drive his girlfriend off, he could insult and attack all his companions. He could raze his family to the ground and he just didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care. He was tired, tired of obligations, tired of living up to expectations, tired of proving himself to himself. It was no more than he deserved he thought. A yawning desolation of life stretching on into some bleak tomorrow, clawing at the edges of existence with this daily fighting and bickering, this deliberate resistance of self to the hearts and minds of those he loved when all he craved was to be silent and alone.

Alone, the change in mood was subtle now, as unnoticeable at first as a drop of ink in water. At least until it had diffused through the edges of consciousness. He stood on the precipice of it, a silent abyssal void of nothingness. A complete erasure of happiness, rationality and hope, laden with snares of sadness, remorse, bitterness, cold rage and something more. A space of his heart that was a blank reflection of being, it spoke to him in clenched words that he didn’t deserve the good things in life, that he was a base, manipulative fusion of twisted psyches and wrecked dreams. He would lose it all, he would fail, he would fall. It was too late, the force of his past history already poisoned his present and future. Howling into the depths of his soul it took him, heavy, crawling and broken. He wanted to escape, he wanted to run but the truth remained it was a part of him. Inescapable, insurmountable…..this feeling, these sensations, this singularity of feeling that sucked in all the light. It was a part of him and ever would remain so.

Obtuse Eterna

Do you ever get the feeling your dumb? Lacking in the mental department? A bit short of the old cognition or even worse, common sense? I do, all the time. I am surrounded, constantly, by people who are intellectually on the ball alot quicker than I am. Please don't mis-understand what I am saying here. I'm not informing you that they are 'smarter' than I am or 'brainier' than me. No, I'm saying they have the capacity to utilise their intelligence on the spot. They can recall when called upon to do so whilst I am met with a wall of static. They can articulate their point with momentary rhetoric whilst my brain still struggles with the formation of an argument. Basically, what I'm saying is that they can answer a question on the spot in such a way so that they sound intelligent and seem intelligent whilst I (on the other hand) only have a 'gut' feeling about whether the question is right or wrong. For example, if someone asked me whether a duke was higher than an earl I would say a duke is higher than an earl though I don't know why. Some dim memory bank in my brain, long left to decay and cobwebs momentarily fired but only long enough to let me know that for some reason a duke is higher than an earl. I read somewhere or saw somewhere that this is so but I can't exactly tell people what I know based on some half-hearted sensation of being correct. I can't articulate what I feel, what I sense, what I KNOW.

Does that make me wrong though? Of course it doesn't. I know what I know (and just for all you smarty pants out there a duke IS higher than an earl as it comes from the roman term 'dux' which meant 'best captain' or 'best commander; usually of a garrison of 500-1000 men. This term was eventually assimalated in fedual european society as a noble title, a noble at this time being some-one with a number of swords at his command, usually used in the service of their king to silence those without a number of swords at their command). Just because I can't tell someone what I know doesn't mean I don't know it. I just have a problem thinking on the spot. So do alot of people I wager. Keep that in mind. Just because a person can't tell you what they know RIGHT now, RIGHT at this moment with everyone staring at you doesn't mean they don't know it, doesn't mean their dumb or an idiot or mentally deficent. It just means their inexperienced or ill-equipped to deal with instant recall in a crowd. Remember that next time your in a crowd and asked to think on the spot.

Carly Ryan

The emo goth chick above this writing was a girl named Carly Ryan and less then five days ago from the date I write this, she was alive. She was found washed up on a beach in South Australia on the 28th of Feburary, 2007. She was 15 years old. I don't know Carly Ryan, I've never met her, spoken to her, laughed, cried or hug her. Yet she has given me reason to pause, she has given me reason to think. I'm 26 years old, that makes me 11 years older than Carly yet she's the one who died. Why? I mean, I don't think I should be dead, I don't want to die but someone younger than you dying just seems wrong. I know it happens everyday but still, she had her whole life ahead of her. She'll never go to a graduation now, never get married, have children, own a car, walk, talk or smile again. A million, million years could past and she would still cease to be. Was that pre-destined do you think? Was she marked and slated to die from the moment of her birth? There would be something both comforting and disturbing in that statement if that were true but no, the universe I believe is not so forthright and ordered. Events are random, moments, open to mutability. She died because someone or some-people made a decision and that decision snuffed out her potential future with her life.

Still, I'm alive, I've got to make it worthwhile, I've got to make it mean something. I've wasted so many years, people in general waste so many years on nothing, on trival shit, on being who other people think they should be. Carly didn't even get the chance to do that. Whom am I to be given such a gift as this continued existance over her? If it is my life to have, how should I have it? How should you have it? If we come from nothingness and revert to nothingness when we die what is the point of being here? Is it to leave a mark on the mass consciousness of humanity? Or to leave one on the consciousness of a human? On yourself? Who can say? Who makes the world?

Shake the Earth

I don't think I like myself, I can't find one redeemable feature within me that is worthy of my continued existence. I do nothing but complain to my girl-friend, I never look the way I want to body-wise no matter how much I exercise or eat healthy. I have to make a decision about uni...do I continue to flounder in the quagmire that has become my alleged psychology sequence or do I give up on Psych after 5 years of work and go onto science..or do I give up on uni altogether??? I feel like I'm going no-where at uni...in my life, just floundering in circles. I could loose it all, my uni position, my girlfriend, my love, my friends, the house I rent....all responsibility...all gone and the scary bit is part of me wants to. I could finally let go then, I could lay my burdens down. Yet the need to succeed, to achieve, to be better than everyone else so I can like myself won't let me quite. That little annoying voice won't let me quit. My decline will be gradual I guess and will shake this earth like a god.

We are nothing else

Cold and cut
Razoring on the bathroom floor
Just to get to you again.
The crimson line.
Says so much about me.
Pain breeds strength.
Just like my father told me.
And all those moments of whispering wind
With cold fire on my spine
And blue electricty as the essence of me
Showing me catharsis
Showing me the absurd
An electrochemical program
On an organic circuit.
We are nothing else
Nothing else.

Watch me smile

Float on a layer of raw thought
Ragged at the edges...tired and torn.
My mind pirouettes on its own need.
I can..I cann...I cannot handle it
Both fearful and calm
Panicked but serene.
Splitting but wholistic

Watch me burn
Watch me play the clown
Watch me smile
As I drown.


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April 2017