I wish that this keyboard were my piano and that I were plodding away at a beautiful new melody. I miss the feeling of the keys beneath my fingers, tapping lightly, or slamming down, sometimes nearly deafening myself, but truly feeling awake, alive, and passionate. I’m not capable of producing that kind of passion with words. They don’t allow the proper sentiment that is portrayed in a harmony, or even a single piercing note. Sounds produced with intensity have the power to amplify emotion. They are complex stories, tailored to our own imaginations, allowing us to explore our own subconscious.
An existential crisis is a crisis because it is a realization that your depression is dominated by truths. The world is slowly and definitely rising to the challenge that has been provided by it’s destiny or whatever you perceive it to be: The challenge to ultimately accept destruction by the incineration of the sun. Our written history is as useless as are our memories. Within a century our memories will escape us and flow into the existing chaos of random memory fragments, contributing to the increasing entropy within our universe, but fundamentally contributing to nothing. Because our species contributes nothing. Naturally, we destroy. But who is to say that destruction is bad? Nothing is truly good or bad, and if it is good or bad, it remains inconsequential because of the fact that our thoughts and judgements are merely hormones firing, proteins binding, and cells. Cells, cells, cells. Masses of cells. Atoms. Matter. Therefore our judgements are insignificant. They are just a way to occupy mental space. Insignificant. Yet so significant that it creates our consciousness and sense of self… an illusion that is only shattered by a few individuals who we medicate in order to avoid understanding the complexity (or simplicity) of “who” we truly are. Or should I say “who we are not.”
You are not who you perceive yourself to be.
You are no one self.
There is no self.
The depth of my unconsciousness is unknown to me
Because it is unconscious
But I fear that it may be shallower than it should
If the ocean is deep
My depth is a pond
My depth is a pond
My depth is a pond
My mind is a pond
A well kept pond
Fish swim here
Though sometimes in circles
They keep me company
But provide no use
No further depth
For the confines of my pond
Are too small for even the fish.
As the fish grow
They become increasingly frantic
Hitting the sides
Bleeding into my pond
Soon my pond is tinted a red hue
And even though the filter cleans the water
And the gardener wipes the sides
The blood remains
Unnoticed for years.
Fascinating take on the “meaning of life.” I was asking myself the same question the other night. This intense analysis kept me riveted all the way through.
Today she runs, she sprints through the rain. And for once, she laughs a heart-wrenching laugh, and it brings you to the brink of tears because you know she hasn’t felt so free since the spark left her eye.
I’ve seen the scene before your eyes better than you ever did see it
I blew on the wind until it lept forth and stole your breath on it’s way
A day away from leaning too far
Observing anything, anyone but yourself
It would be absurd
Don’t you think?
Because you are alone in this world
In daytime it’s night
Never a soul
It’s terrifying! It’s new, and it’s wonderful. It is the beginning of my future. I’m in the blocks, knees trembling, jaw tight, just waiting for the gun to go off. And when it does, ohhh will I ever be ready. My mind is thirsting for some fresh knowledge…a kill that will satisfy it for any prolonged period of time and as it grows, it’ll feed more and more. I’m hungry for adventure. New territory. New people. I’m excited for those nights that I’m so afraid that I’ll have the windows locked, door bolted and will be hiding under my covers convinced that there is something in my closet (my imagination has never dulled as much as it should have). One day soon I will invite people to my home and I’ll be proud to display it. Freedom, oh sweet freedom I can taste you as you bloom and come closer and closer to my outstretched palms. More than anything before, you have provided me with endless opportunities to put my life through turbulence as I live on uneven ground because really what else is there than excitement, adventure, and the feeling of butterflies in your gut when you really don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to plan it, control is something I feel repelled by. By taking control, I’d only be setting myself up for absolute devastation. There will be a moment in each of our lives where what happens to us is unstoppable. I will control my reactions, but to feel as though I have “lost out” by the hands of fate is something that I will not perceive as an option. I am better. We are all better than that and we have the ability to catch whatever falls upon us and make the most of it. My contribution to this earth will not be forgotten because I know that what I am doing, and what I will be learning and discovering throughout my lifetime will be important and worthwhile. There is no judgement that will pull me down because the ultimate judgement is my own and I trust it to be true. The moment I begin lying to myself is the moment that I become worthless for if I can’t even tell myself the truth, how am I supposed to find what I’m looking for.
He’s hell bent. Literally bent in half by the devil, seeking his heaven. Since his youth he’s been searching, yearning, knowing that he will one day find his place. As he came closer, he folded, an irreparable mistake. Like concrete he can no longer bend back without making the choice to break. His vision; that of success…why couldn’t he have seen that it was a trap all along? He’s alone now. Forging in the only direction he knows. The street signs leading to the ominous finale that will put a cap on the confusion of what may be the soon to be end of his not so long ago beginning.
This wintry world causes bodily harm to those not strong enough to withstand it’s growing rage. We feed, and feed, and sleep to hide away from the ever present chill that makes it’s way beneath our skin. The sun hides it’s guilty rays from us for months on end as if to undo the damage that it’s already done. But we do not understand why it is that the sun is afraid to show it’s face, and so we continue searching, with hope for spring to come.
There has to be something more when our plans fall through. When our hopes take a turn and our dreams don’t come true. A back up plan. Think of the majority of people, working without class. The working class. The likelihood is that we will be with them too. Filled with regrets, but what can we do? We tried for a while until we realized that we’d been looking at the world through a different lense. One that pushes away the darkness and causes us to believe in what isn’t there. What will never be there. At first we charge forth, and then most of us slowly recede as time passes, discovering that what we thought we wanted is nearly unattainable. Nearly. But not completely. It is those few who keep going who sometimes make it. Those who were blessed with the ability to see hope where there is none. They crash through the doubt until what they had even deemed impossible, becomes some sort of twisted happy reality.
But for those of us who can’t go forth,
What’s your back up plan?