You can't escape from your own mind

I have ... little that I have a right to complain about at this current moment. Past this, things may change violently. Well ... I have little to complain about that I am currently aware of. Not sure of how that should be phrased in order to be most ... accurate. Yet, I feel very uneasy. Extremely uncomfortable and for all the wrong reasons.

I don't know what it is that I am uneasy about - well, I do, but let me clarify. There are circumstances in this life that I have been forging. There are wants. Balanced with ... things that I don't want to encounter. I don't know if I'm purely uneasy cause I'm throwing the tantrum of a spoiled child. Or for a fear of something that I should very well be scared of.

I hate snide words. When someone says something that's just unnecessarily negative and somewhat malicious directed at me, but when it isn't really said with the intent that you can react to. Cause if you do - you're just overreacting. A hothead. There's only so much I can take sometimes. And now, that threshold is far lower. I just want to crawl into a hole and hide.

I feel so very alone. I I I I I. Once again, I'm sure of my own doing completely, I just feel adrift in a mental ocean. I have these sights and sounds and distractions from reality. Some that I "rely" on and others that I turn to and none of them provide the sustenance that I hunger for. I mean ... who can one Really speak and communicate with? An invisible audience, a fourth wall. What kind of reading does this make? Why would you be reading this? Ask yourself this. Normally these posts aren't of this nature. I think. You can be the judge.

You have come into existence for this writing now. I acknowledge your presence. Because if I say that you aren't there ... well that would be wrong ... it's actually a bit of a revelation. I mean, you obviously exist cause you're reading this. But if I said that "if someone were reading this" - those words would only be processed if that someone, you, were indeed reading this. Odd. Hard to encapsulate in these words.

Well not "exist" in the strictest of senses. Well, you would have to - even against my arguments otherwise. Right now, I'm the only one existing until someone else can prove their existence to me. If everything is a bolt of electricity in the brain. A pinch, a word, a smile - then what's a headache. Overload? How do you lower the load? Run less programs. Process less. Shut your eyes, close your ears and go to sleep. Will that really work? I don't think it has. Unless the brain keeps processing during the night enough to negate any positive result there.

I'll leave though I don't want to. I suppose it's one less shell to hide my lonliness in. This virtual place. Till it comes round again.

Death by Neglect

Am I on the threshold? Or merely peering over another crest in this hilly field through which the path of life leads? How much longer do I have to roam through these bittersweet smelling flowers. Stalks of exotic flowers that caress my hands when their thorns do not prick me. I am struck with wonder, even after all the jabs and the pricks and the drops of blood that drip from clogging veins, that I am as fortunate as to be in this field of measured wonder. How long can this ... will this go on?

I dream that there are more beautiful places yet to stop at in my journey. Vistas more wondrous than even my contorted imagination could conceive. Beyond android women. And screaming babies and mothers with no compassion. Beyond thoughts of creaking necks and crackling thumbs. Above and beyond reality that is current and now and present and gone all at once.

I dream of things that should not be spoken. Perhaps they must be uttered outside of my head. Or perhaps they are simply dreams of what could have been if time could be rewound like an old pocket watch.

Before I drift off to sleep - my eyelids that are curtains closing on another lonely day. A play of five acts with five monologues and all with me. The shadows keep me company. The light that shines through misty windows ancient grilling.

Good night, my precious day. Good day to another dream of old and new - of concrete trees and ships that sail anew.

I'm dreaming of screaming

With a million objects flying around your head like a sandstorm, you're left with two "options" - stop and pick an object to focus on, something to represent the chaos that now surrounds you. Or to hide. Forget. Run away. Images and moments that never last more than ... well, the moment.

I find this difficult to get to grips with sometimes. This overcomplicated reality of ours. This one that I've fed into. I mean, I believe in a "simple" existence with games and music and books and the occasional film. The slimy theatrical personage paid enough money to feed a million starving children - and why? Because he can portray another character with lame familiarity? I don't understand this concept of paying more than 20 million pounds to some shit-licking football player who does NOTHING to really contribute to the planet and our existence. Does his playing football somehow eradicate poverty and disease in the boroughs of his own city? I think not. Then why are these people glorified? Their lives and friendships? Why not doctors and paramedics who go out on a limb every single day of their lives to rescue those that were otherwise lost? This sickens me. Fuckin shit-fuckers - each and every one of them.

Yet, at times, in my weaker moments, I subscribe to their mass-media entertainment. I'm not much better. A product of the masses. I want to fit in. Be a part of it. A cog in the machine of the ever evolving party that is society and peers that I have not.

In this "ever-so simple life" of mine (have I mentioned how much Paris Hilton sickens me?), there's been a measure of gaming. A recent dive into the extraordinary mind of Tim Schafer's Psychonauts sets one thinking about the possibilities of gaming landscapes. My upcoming play with Shadow of the Colossus has me wetting all undergarments in excitement. ;D And Sid Meier's genius continues to blow me away in the simplicity of Civilization 4.

The other day, I was quite shaken by work. More so by people at work. When I think about this now, I can't really find a reason, a point to focus on, that I can highlight as being the moment that broke me. But somewhere in a series of events was one that cracked me down to a broken mass - so much so that I don't want to face the one that cracked my spirit and hope. It's strange and quite painful.

Where do you expect us to go when the bombs fall? Where indeed?

Till it falls upon my shoulders to carry my shell that extra moment.

No shortage of excuses ... ahem, I mean Reasons

So I haven't been around. I feel sad that I haven't. Feel sad about a lot of thengs. And then I feel bad, or guilty. And then I run and hide. And, consequently, things get worse. Like not wishing someone a happy birthday on the day even though I remembered it and felt really proud to the point of wanting to let them know. Like people who I really want to contact and communicate with, but just do't get around to - for whatever reason, cause it's never "right" and I won't have anything of value to say ... the case changes as it does.

Life is about gaming lately. More so than usual. FEAR, Civ 4, Battlefront 2, Pro Ev 5, it all sounds like gobbledigook if you haven't a clue, doesn't it? A lot of numbers, letters. A mish-mash of what could be sequels, spin-offs, pretentious abbreviations.

And ... once again, there isn't much of value in my words tonight. A lamentable return, if there has ever been one.