I don’t need to know that I have friends or that maybe, somewhere, someone loves me. All I need to know is that my soul is dead and the world is still moving. Selfishness and self-preservation are the only qualities in life that are admirable.
i want to do what i do best and run away. if an Adult Personality Feature is staying the course and doing what’s best, then i fail. it’s OK. i have been programmed and coded strictly to make use of what’s available to me: space and distance. i’ve mastered them approximately and have been recursively trained to simulate the same course of actions: initiate, engage, run. it’s easy and it’s simple. things that are simple are beautiful and unburdened by mess and clutter, leaving you with what i would essentially consider freedom. i want to be free and untethered from all things. you would say that love and friendship are the building blocks of success in life, really, and that we’re nothing without them. i say that success is whatever you define it as, properties and classes stacked in a very delicate arrangement, propagating that if you spend enough time on anything, you find success in everything, with or without love
(which doesn’t exist anyway, at least not in any coding i’ve seen).
It’s just tables
in a grid
inside divs. Life is nothing
more or less
(unless of course you want it to be,
but then you’d have to live div-free
which is harder than you’d think it’d be—
have you ever used jQuery?)
What appears to you as a dream slowly materialises as sheer truth; as any faceted thing is, reality is perception and a collection of ideas that you form into fact. In life, you’re marginally lucky: lucky to meet someone whose ideas might sync with yours, and lucky to have any idea at all of what constitutes as “the truth.” Singularly, you walk the world alone, doing what you need to do—you tell yourself, time and time again, that “what matters to me, matters.” If you are able to see beyond that and diversify to include one, or two—or many, maybe hundreds—into that niche fold of oneness, then you are either blessed or damned, depending on your ability separate idea from idea and conceptualise that things matter GENERALLY rather than SPECIFICALLY. For you, one human caught in a vast state of personhood, the thought that things matter and dwindle to sheer generalisation is likely daunting and harrowing at best. We’re all alive, though, and there’s another day coming — no matter your decision to fold into the mass or stand alone, forever, weathered and still clinging to the sentimental thought that your opinion has some kind of verifiable weight (it doesn’t).
^_^ ♫♪ ♫♪♫♪ i just keep letting me down! letting me down! letting me down! ♪♫ ♪♫ ♪♫ ^_^
A lot of words plastered across a green-grey field:
There’s nothing unique about it.
It is the death-bell, come for me at last.
The tolling distillation of thought
so volatile, so thick and wrought with
it condenses matter
into minute particles of air. Substance
is only permeable if you can utterly see through it;
and the type of thing that says to another soul,
"Come in. I have something for you and I have been waiting."
Maybe in a certain light I am one thing that seems painstakingly nominal, like a commonly evil person, or someone who likes music a lot, or, of course, someone who likes movies—but in a different light I’m a thousand different things that come and go: maybe I’m serious or maybe I’m funny, maybe the situation alone provides insight for a momentary lapse in personality transitions and there are also just environmental outcomes that can substantiate who you are, at any given moment, and it doesn’t so much matter what your innate nature describes so long as the moment is right. Then, because we’re all amazingly complex and simple and different people, all the time, without cease, we’re able to collapse into ourselves and serve ourselves in the most senselessly erratic way possible. Without functionality, we are small ships against a giant wave; unable to shore ourselves, we’re forever lost against the current. Who is it that sees all these things, and changes, and transitions, and gets the whole of our personalities without judgment or somehow feeling that the burden of our weight of mediocrity and brilliance is placed on them?—no one. I believe absolutely no one.
Then, because I believe in probability, not fate—which is also a beautiful and poetic thing—two magnets coming together because there is nothing to stop them—I wholly find myself accepting that there is a “place” for others. I think that a train pulls into a station each day, with one person on it, every single day, at the same time, with only a variable amount of seats to sit in, or so much room to stand in, and that my friend is moving at the same speed, to the same place (even if from a different direction) — and that sooner or later these two people will match perfectly, and maybe even pass each other a million times before—that’s probability, after all—and that things will come together due to time, space, distance and likelihood. That two people sync perfectly just out of the sheer motion of everyday events. It’s a different type of fantastical world I see, but I know that there are events in motion which cannot be stopped.
sex means nothing to me as an emotional concept. it happens and it is over. it is not even an illusion, only a carnal act. tricks are for believers and i have never believed in anything. the deception of a trick is not the gambit of your skill, but that others are willing to believe it. that’s the real magic.
The moment something breaks, it is broken forever. You would be a fool to think otherwise. A chasm in the earth creates an inevitable gorge: expanded and torn by the due course of time, you wear thin to a single line: one marked moment, set and arranged as if planned.
There was a bolt sent you ticking, stopped
and left you there to die; will you cry?
Or shrug off emotion and vow to avenge
Cut into darkness, marked
And send that bitch to hell?
Guess it’s your turn.