Candlelit

First off, just to have my small say on the internet in the following regards:
Wii is one of the most stupid ideas I've EVER fucking heard.

Having said that, I can appreciate the idea and sentiment behind it. But it's still fucking retarded.

Enough about that. Talk about making a persuasive argument - NOT. I know it. But I'm not trying to make an argument to anyone directly and immediately. Expressing a general feeling within my person in a way that I want to ... yeah.

As it goes, today's a Thursday and the day following this is a ... ten points for the house that can complete this sentence ... SLYTHERIN! FRIDAY! CORRRECT - 10 points to Slytherin and complete control of the whole world. Yes, Friday - believe it or not. And, for that, I'm very excited. It's been an oddly paced week. The Monday and Tuesday were long. Almost unending in nature. Yesterday flew. Today dragged on. And tomorrow - well, we'll see. I'm expecting a really good day. Today was nice, but tomorrow's gotta be great. It'll be really fucking awesome.

For no particular, anticipated reason. It just will be.

Just saw the FF7: Advent Children flick. Again - though this time in a justifiably high resolution and in english. I understood the japanese, especially with the subtitles on, but for some reason, this made a lot more sense. The dialogue was less convoluted and the plot just opened up. Though some would argue there was no plot, but I'd say there was. A simple one, but I do believe is important closure all the same. With the cataclysmic events that ended the game, it told a story of how things got pretty fucked up for a brave few. So to return to this world and examine their moving on past that is something of a necessary epilogue, as in a classic novel.

An epilogue may take place outside of the story-whole, but it's still integral to the vision. Like having a widescreen tv - those extra bits on the side, though outisde of the main frame are still part of the intended perspective. And as important as every other piece of that frame.

The table tennis game is set for play.
People, tripping, all over the place
Tell me, it's not, this way today
Cause I don't feel like playing

Spectator sports suck. No - I'm not attacking you and your personal preferences. I'm just leaving out the "I think" before any such statement, as in (I think) Spectator sports blow goats! ... No, not really. More of a never mind. It was a misshapen allusion to something that is not how it seems like it could be.

Till till is followed by better words.

My Heart on a Seesaw

I’m listening to what is arguably (amongst a group of fools) one of the greatest pieces of music ever. Only the most rebarbative of ignoramuses would have anything to say otherwise. This is music crafted by Gods and delivered to us through the tacky medium of the recording industry. I am privileged and honored to bear witness to these dulcet tones and moving play of sounds. In your grand classical symphonies, you hear the music play with your ears, with your senses – they toy with your expectations and lure you into a game that will leave you drowning in tears of utter ecstasy. This surpasses even those unforgettable pieces.

I offer this soul on a platter to anyone who would dissect it for personal pleasure. Take it and do with it what you will for it is of no use to me. Not now. Feed on the tragedy that I create in the space of this moment. Vicariously, I live while the whole world dies … for some reason that phrase haunts my consciousness.

There’s that point – you’re on the road. In otherwise total darkness, you sit under a bright lamp-post that shines with pride. Stands tall and firm against the flood of nothingness. But no … I’m not sitting with pride upon this roadside. I’m hunched over. Once again. Huddled, trying to fight the shivers that run through my bones. Resisting the urge to look over my shoulder to investigate the strange, sudden sounds around me. The vulgar noises that pierce that pure silence that is in charge.

The reason I huddle is because I’m tired of trying in the daylight. I grow weary every day. And then, sometimes, I gain hope – I try. I reach out and touch the sky. And fall back down again. The cycle repeats itself so many times – why the fuck does one even bother trying. Tangled in a cryptic web of my own creation, all that’s left to do is lose myself in the music. In the chaotic sounds formulated for ears holier than mine.

Beneath stacks of white. In the looming shadows of towers that block out the unforgiving sun, I wait. Garbed in clothes of ancient and historic value, no longer, I query. I scream, shout and cry yet again. These heavens – they don’t listen. The words fall upon deaf ears without a heart or a soul. Much like my own. I wouldn’t listen if I were in their grandiose shoes. Slippers. Socks. Footwear.

Your poisoned silence leaves much to be desired in the way of Justice. The thorns littered among your words rip painful tears into my being. What I believe and what I think I know. I don’t know why I ever think it could be any other way. Well, I know why – because that’s what I have to believe, having been on this road for so long. And why? Were there no other paths? Were all the other roads torn down, broken by the neverending footfall of the madding crowds? Or was I too proud to follow a way that had been tread by others. So determined to paint my own track. At every turn.

I ask for a moment of your time. Like these moments that I have snatched from you whilst you read this treatise on unfocused lamentation. There is too much beauty that lies in the darkened depths of the thoughts that produce this. Too much beauty in hopes and dreams and expressions. The words are all I have, but I am no conductor of their kind. Merely an usher. An unnecessary cog in the machine – part of the prelude to the real thing.

The daylight dims leaving cold fluorescence.
Difficult to see you in this light …
Please forgive this selfish question – what am I to say to all these ghouls tonight?

Now it’s time for me to let you go.

Till next the words flow convulsively through the brain stem.

Karmic Justice

There was a walk in the darkness earlier this evening. Well, not a whole lot earlier. Perhaps beginning an hour ago. Lasting for 20 or so minutes. Before the walk there was thought as I sat on the train. During the walk there was much thought. Two separate trains, of thought, that is. But thought all the same. And thought tha tshall be shared. In some measure at least.

I would like to fly next week. No - I'm not wishing to escape yet again. But a measured trip to a long-since chosen destination. But I won't - because I'm too busy thinking of monetary consequences that are really of no consequence. Fear will bind you and the truth shall set you free. this I speak to you from within the cage, behind bars of cold steel and hard, unbreakable conviction driven by revulsion at possible rejection upon escape from the chains that stay my movement.

Years ago, I was betrayed by someone that I cared about in general terms of a relationship. I felt the utmost of what I believed was love only to have it shattered first by indifference and then by the truth. Later, I succumbed to the devils of loneliness and indulged in a week of weakness, but this is not what I mean to speak of. I've always held the opinion that the actions of this person, this unforgivable she, could be related to no fault of mine - that I was wholly innocent. Yet, earlier this evening, I came upon the stark realization that perhaps I paved the path for these horrible actions through the rules of Karma and its justice system.

Thrice in my "committment," did I betray her - with no physical deed - merely mental and conscious of my thoughts. On three separate occasions, I did seek to shatter those bonds that I claimed to hold so dear. Like I said, there was no physical deed or anything close to it that ever took place. It was all in my own head, but I wonder tonight if, given the opportunity, I would have followed through and did what the mind wanted of me. Would I have translated the fleeting lust to cheap and tawdry action?

This does not make her any less of a filthy, fucking whore in my mind at any rate. A whore who should face every penalty and admit the fucking truth under vials of holy water like the demon temptress that she is ... I like to think and hope that I would not have acted, if anything, to be faithful to that she. Which is a weak excuse and train of thought. Maybe I'm as putrid and repugnant as she. Deserving of the scorn that I inspire in passers-by. This invisible, yet palpable projection that inspires, at best, polite but very reserved conversation, only as needs must dictate. This was my day.

It's no fun till someone dies.

Those are not my words. Yet again, I choose to quote someone in another world than I.

The other thought. That was a question of power that I seek. Personal power. Not something lame like being a super hero. Nor is it about exercising unlimited control over those around me. But being the God that I am - in control of myself and my existence. Of the Person that I am within the shapeless shell that is inhabited.

If I could find the words and the courage to speak, there is so much I would do. More so the words. And to a lesser extent the courage. To tell the person out there of their extreme importance to me. With no reason or consequence, to express how wholly crucial they are. Not merely to me, but to the world, for they are truly special and unique. Not they as in plural - this is purely singular. I would tell this person that the importance that is held is because they are wonderful in every possible way even though saying it sounds trite and stupid. Careless and ill-conceived in word and spirit. That ...

I don't want to die any time soon. Not yet at least.

Till next, a legacy brings me to return.

Against All Reason

It's time for a change of pace. An alternate route through the written path that I tread on an irregular basis at this place. Where you join me in a mental search for yet another question that I refuse to see the answer for. And it's something that I do appreciate, as much as I doubt your existence.

I am the TV
Cause Tragedy Fills Me
Whatever Flavor
It happens to be

Today, I want to write about sadness. I want to convey to you - yes, you and only the you that is here at this second - an immense sadness and pain. I want you to feel the bittersweet treasure that is existence. That is losing everything you love in a moment, left with nothing but the most precious of memories - memories that would survive for fifty lifetimes let alone a measly one.

I need to watch things die
From a safe distance
Vicariously, I
Live while the whole world dies

This is my quest. Selfish in every which way. I am in a mood to speak and to be heard. To hear as well. But there is silence at the other end of this static-inspired unreality. Not fear. Never fear. Why fear something that is there - at the other end of the phone conversation. Embrace it. Swallow and absorb the sorrow. Make this selfish moment a part of your being.

I'm going to remind you that this is no ordinary sorrow. This is Sadness. The meat and bones of a smile in the midst of tears that flow with no end in sight. With no light beyond the curtain of pain. Yet the smile, the most pitiful kind, emerges upon your lips and preys on your mind. This is what I wish to share.

In the middle of a crater of epic proportions, you're alone. With nary a sound in sight, rock and dirt engulf you in a frozen wave only barely dulled by time and centuries. Blood has flowed. And there you are, in the center. How does it feel to be all alone - separate from every creation only to be mired in the remnant of incomplete destruction?

Indulgence in sorrow, in mindless, helpless spirals out of control are cheap. It's that moment where you want to give up. No - not the time when you're tired. Hurt. Physically or emotionally shattered - where Giving Up is an action of a Gigantic Nature. No. This is when it's gone on far too long. Where you've given up a million times before. And now it's just about finding an end. A solution that isn't even that apparent or possible. The blockades in your mind form an infinitely high invisible wall that cannot be hacked or coded past. There is no way to turn off the clipping in your mind to cross this insurmountable barrier. The Stop sign backed by immutable rules set only within your subconscious that prevent you from grabbing onto the one thing that the mind is convinced is the solution.

To chain yourself with steel wire whilst the love of your life walks away in the arms of another.

To hold on to a shard of a memory that you destroyed with your own two hands.

To feel fury directed at a cosmos that allows you to self-destruct with unfaltering grace.

I am still convinced of the existence of love, if only by the realization of the extent of Hate. I do not believe that the human consciousness is capable of truly expressing it. Or detecting it - finding the representative needle in a haystack of carefully crafted emotions. Sold at your local Walmart. Buy 1 get 2 free.

I feel like I've spiralled out at this time. On the last ... ring of the spiral. Now I may head inwards - a reflection of my journey this far. Or I pause. Stop. End on this note. On this spot in the growing structure.

I love what I do not know and I miss what I have never had.

I follow that which I cannot see and obey those whom I may never hear.

Touch that which is not real and be touched by that which will not come near.

Insurance saves me. Obsession cures me. My will is the curtain behind which the rest of me waits. Patiently.

I want to write something more. Let this be said and noted.

Till I walk on the path that leads to that day.

Love, Love Me Do

Love
Love me do
You know, I love you
I'll always be true
So please

I have dreams of the water. Not like going to sleep dreams, but in reading books of seafaring times, I have a longing to be near the sea. To travel upon her vast waters in an insignificant construction of wood and steel. Yet, I fear it. I panic at the slighest wave. The merest breeze that may turn things awry. Even on a mild and tiny river. Being afraid of what the heart seeks.

Cause it doesn't really think things through. It's this entity. The electric impulses - that should be my moniker in some form or another. Electric Impulse. Or something better than that. One that doesn't sound like a retarded 80's film about the Electrical Engineering major at an Ivy League institution who's tired of being picked on by the Jocks while he dreams and aspires to one day be beside cheerleading hottie, Maria Velaquez's side. And somewhere in there is a token, cheerful black man.

South Park isn't very far from the mark for the most part. Whether you agree with them or not, they make good points and decent logical arguments even within the confines of such a sharp and biased show. If you can look beyond the salt in the sea-salt ice cream bar of their message, there's something rich to be experienced in each episode.

Till the chasmatic walks once more.

Step Back, Little Miss Heart Attack

Hello





Is there something you'd like to say?





Yes? Speak up!






Is that how it is? I'm a bit shocked to be honest. I mistook your honored silence for something else. Too bad, I suppose. I mean ... yeah - really too bad. Cause I was beginning to think. Yes, really. Me - think? Hard to conceive sometimes, isn't it? But you'd be wrong to think otherwise. Because I think more than your average polar bear and, sir, I say, I'd be damned if I had half a clue of what the hell I was talking about!

I still press on with this case of mine. This idea. I mentioned how the pure, unadulterated bonhomie that is rarely encountered disarms me. I wish I hadn't, because I'd like to be the one to do so. This me, present me. Stupid past me. It confuses one sometimes, but by the time you get around to untangling the knot of confusion, said moment is in the past and isn't present me's problem anymore. So be it.

You ever wonder how the mind moves? The cause. I know I've mentioned this before - bastard - but it befuddles me. Like so much else in this world and beyond, it's a difficult task for me to get to grips with the idea that every idea is just a spark. It's trippy. Completely weird and it's something that one can just sink in a sea of pondering about it.

The Nightwatchmen do their job in silence. Watching and almost waiting. Always thinking. Or trying not to. When you wait, the mind races. More ... no - When I wait, the mind races. I don't know about yours. It's thinking. Considering. Suppositioning. Only I've been waiting a while. For a lot of things. And so it never stops thinking. Postulating. Analy-til-izing. ...

Perhaps not a lot of things, but - well I like to think that it's not a lot. Just a few and then it'll all sink into place. Cause that really happens, all the time. You wait. The answer comes To you. The path opens up before your feet. And you're guided with no chance of failure to the best possible outcome that will please your every hope and dream. And, in an ideal world, ensure that everyone else involved in said solution also finds their personal heaven therein. But it's not an ideal world, so they don't really find their personal jesus. Actually, it's far from an ideal world, so the whole answer/path/solution track is out of the question. Leaving you with a lot of reality drowning out a little of me.

I feel like I'm saying something that I shouldn't. I don't know why. But I suppose I can look back at this and remove it if it displeases future present self. Or that I'm on the verge of saying something. This is annoying. When I don't even know myself or the other person in there. Me, myself and I.

No, not inspired at all. Quite trite and droll. Unfortunately what makes it worse is that it is imprinted in my feeble brain by some crappy pop song from the turn of the century ... a girl in orange is all I can think of. Other people would know what I'm talking about - only I don't know who, where or what they are. If you find them, let me know and we'll celebrate with a pie-eating contest.

Its like your vision is clouded by this thing that is you. And there is one answer. Only one path to the given question. But it's not what you were looking for. Of course, it wasn't. It delays what you hope will be grand. But you agree. Because you said that that was the answer. But you lied. You refused to look beyond your own regimentations - yes, just flow with this improvised and bastardised use of the word - and just face the two answers in front of you. A) You really don't care that much. B) You're just scared.

There are other answers. But at least you're seeing a choice now. Better than the one answer that you had no alternative to. Little Evolutions.

But B isn't what it is. Nothing is. How can it ever be, unless you're in line with what has gone on and what will based on your actions and words, which is all that really matters - save anything else that goes on. At least you have the choice to act. Unless you decide to forgo it. Action might be as grand as breaking the shackles of oppresion or yielding to its deadly force. You've made the choice and the action to follow. It's beautiful and unavoidable economics of existance. I think the a is there - cause it's not the e. It doesn't feel right.

Till it goes again.

Let us never speak of this again

This is a morning blog. As opposed to the usual, I'm about to fall asleep at any bleeding second, now it's Morning Me to do the duty. So you can expect a stricter and far more efficient tour of duty in these digital marshes. With the enemy armed with though-blockers perched in every corner, I must tread carefully. It's worse during the day than at night. Now they too are awake and alert and there is much that will not be said. Scary stuff, isn't it? A bit epic really.

1 and a half more days left people. And there are so many things that could go wrong - and that is what worries me. But it's not as if they're vague - just ... I know I shouldn't be scared off my trolley for every little thing that could go all pear shaped, but I dread the consequences of such ... possibilities. Like having to return to whence I came. That disturbs me and fills me with the dread of a soldier, back in medieval times, having to walk in solitude to the cave that houses the fel-dragon of Mordreth-Kline, slayer of a million men.

But that remains for another time, I suppose. Now I should eat, drink and be merry - while I can still do so, that is.

Katamari Damacy. We Love Katamari. Me and My Katamari. I haven't done this in a while, so forgive me. These are three different games, the first on the PS2, the third on the PSP. It's something that Everyone should play. Katamari defines gaming at its best. A medium in which you can accomplish feats and experience moments that are simply not possible through any other of the traditional forms of art. The concept is this - you must roll a ball around levels, picking stuff up. Start off small, you're only large enough to pick up thumb-tacks and chess pieces. Eventually, the ball will become bigger and you'll be able to pick up pens. Batteries. Mice. Through the course of the game, you're picking up buildings, people and cars. The scope of the design is truly phenomenal - it's something that I'm sure even a complete non-gamer could pick up and fall in love with.

The mind hears what it wants to and therein lies the problem. If a sentence was understood exactly as it was spoken ... this is where words fail. The idea should be to communicate a thought. Not to exchange words behind which the thoughts lie dormant like eggs. How does one achieve this communication in all its purity and innocence when the mind that must conjure these verbal passages is clouded and its vision obscured from reality.

Till another day stops and says hello.

Imaginary Friend Day

Censored.

The evil riseth

Again in lieu of other emails. Why, me, why? It's easier to speak to no-one than someone. The air is a good listener. Except for during forays into outer space. Yeah - kind of a sparse entity then. Doesn't quite hold sway, no? Yeah - I'll keep that in mind.

I guess underwater too, but then ... there is air ... like in it. So it wouldn't be that bad. Besides, you wouldn't be down there if you didn't have the ability to extract the air from the water. Like nuclear fission. Well - not that drastic, but that'd be interesting - if humans developed/evolved the ability to generate nuclear fission, not the explosive kind, but properly controlled variety. Then people could get jobs as power generators. Like in the matrix, but voluntary. Imagine vast fields and complexes filled with people hooked up to machines to provide power for the world. Voluntary and well-paid of course. With full health and dental and even a pension plan.

"You know, son, I used to be a Generator when I was a teen. It was a great way to make some cash, meet chicks in a chill situation. And it helped get rid of all the excess teen angst. So when I met your mother at the grand old age of 60, after years of rehabilitation, I knew I was ready. Wait till they make a movie about me, eh?"

Perhaps not.

This is like standing at a dark corner at a crossroads in the middle of the night. This isn't a dark corner though - there is a street lamp. But it's empty. With nary a living thing to be seen or heard. But you're waiting. Putting yourself out there in a sense of the word - not waiting for the definite or real. Just for the possibility of what may be.

Is this a brummagem attempt at being philosophical again? Cyrptically pretentious? I'm not too good at telling else I'd stop, or so I like to tell myself.

I tend to have quite a bit to say when I'm drunk or otherwise intoxicated. It's not that I suddenly have grand messages to impart, but purely the desire to be imparting. And it's not that I think that I'm the one and only fool on the planet who does this, but I was attempting to avoid the whole "When one is drunk" kind of analysis that's pointless - tried to give it a bit of character. The personal touch, no? I'd like to listen to people if they have stuff to say, but I'd be lying if I said that I could pay attention to something more longwinded than Humpty Dumpty, even that with the tendency to send me spinning into a swirling maze of madness.

Forgetting a birthday is a horrible thing to do or have done to you. I had the theme in my head a while back for you loyal followers out there, but here it's turned up once more, but with far less positivity to it. There's a guilt that goes along with the error. A shame that's not really accountable or acceptable to shrug off. It's like shaving someone's goat without their permission. It's not going to just grow back like that. It'll take time. Or if you did it badly, never again. I've made the mistake and we'll have to see if I must indeed face the consequences of yet another mistake on my journey.

Belief and faith are funny things as everyone knows. Perhaps not the same thing to be true, but in my head it is. For this .. moment, they inhabit a similar space of meaning. It's like religion - people believe in the most "ridiculous" stuff for whatever reason. Brainwashing (that no religious person will ever agree to ;D ), need, whatever ... I mean when an idea enters the head, it has the power to become so much more. The concept ... that electrical synapses, triggered by what? Another spark? A random event emerging within a brain? A mistake? Like an error in the head that produces the idea that could completely change the course of one's life. That's just bizarre. And it's because of that one spark that my mind is now set. It refuses to change, to see the light that shines in front of my eyes as opposed to the darkness hidden far to the right in the depths of my peripheral vision.

Damn! A pop of blue, but it could not be so ...

This is so familiar. Like waiting in front of a television. Without that intensity, just a random thought. That sticks.

Till the mind falters and moseys along.

Trepidation

There is this hesitancy in the air. I'm on the verge of something. Perhaps I'm already there, but I don't want to admit it yet. Just in case it all falls through and shatters my fragile heart once more. Oh - boo hoo - no, I would not like some cheese with this whine.

So I have landed for those of you keeping track of my life. Landed with enough fanfare to do me justice at this point. And it's good to be here. Away from the other stuff. In the midst of new and old stuff that hasn't changed too much. Especially idiot cats.

I'd say that it's annoying when people ask you questions about this stuff. But it isn't that annoying. It's annoying that I am unable to provide the answers that they want for fear of my own shattering soul. That's a cool phrase - the Shattering Soul. It seems too good to be true and I don't think I shall entirely believe it until it's happening and the immediacy cannot be ignored any longer.

But in conversations, when the brain is tired, stuff leaks out and it's like a bomb has been dropped. Well, not really. No bomb here. Just a confused me. As always. If it's not one surprise from across the planet, then it's something else that's not really surprising, but curious to learn. It makes me feel a bit more comfortable with my humanity, this constant weakness to move away from. Humanity brings fallacy and the awkwardness of dealing with one's errors.

Helplessness - When there is nothing that one can physically do to alter one's fate.

Perhaps mentally/psychologically too, but the use of physically is rather to suggest the real and tangible hardship/obstacle that cannot be overcome through the most primal of forces.

Sooner or later, you have to dive right in. You can't hold on to every possibility in case one falls through. Just let go and take that bold step into the uncertain present and future. If you must inevitably burn treasured bridges and break special hearts, so be it - is that not the way?

As the dust settles once more, the clouds ahead promise rain and all the joy that comes with it. Of everything else, this pat of my roots, I do not deny and I refuse to leave behind. I cherish the rain, not this bastard sun. Few would agree with me, but I would rather go for timid or raging passion than the lazy lust that is our local star.

So after all this, I can say in clear terms that I am scared. Scared of what might go wrong when it looks so right. Scared of losing something that's important enough to the me that is I lest I do not act soon enough. Somehow cross the line and set the record straight.

Tell me that there is something more to this than an unending stream of ideals and hopes and dreams. From the mouth of madness, I speak, yearning to be in a place where calmness is my chaos. In utter despair, I scream out and wonder, ponder, consider - what could be and what lies ahead. For even though I have an inkling, a clue and a possibility of what may be - deep within my head - I know not. I cannot. This is where I stand, confused and ... I really should not be. Jubilation, ecstasy, is not mine, not yet. Is reality what it really is or is it about to turn once more. Like a leaf in the wind, swaying and holding me in ts unsteady path? I dare not speak to the temptress that is the fates lest she jinx me once more in this holy pursuit of a dream. And yet there's the other that's still too distant but greed makes me hungry for the illusory to be real once more. As day fades and night sets in, I question the words that drive this moment of passion. And I see no answer to the question that has not yet been asked. Surprise, surprise.

Till it operates itself under candle-lit skies.