Time is going to take my mind,
and carry it forward where I can find... ...

I feel that, no matter who I meet, or what I do, I cannot escape the worst parts of myself, and so I feel I cannot properly live. And, until I fix myself, I don't think I shall ever be able to truly trust, be truly in content, and laugh, and love, and live a 'want-less' and rewarding life. Perhaps, this ruminations are cliched but I do recognise that life is all about choices, making choices. And thus far, in my life, I fear I have genuinely only made a few. I generally shy from decisions (I fear the consequences even of good decisions), and for as long as I have existed, I feel I've never really moved anywhere concrete: I've never had a real direction; no goals, only desires. Yes, indeed...I need to start learning to shed things which hinder me, and to move forward, in a direction I choose.

Of course my first reaction last week, had been to mentally recount everything that could go wrong financially. I've been taking a lot of time off work the last months without so much a thought. But now, in the face of my new situation, I no longer can do so. I was (still am) worried about my tottering finances, and the weight of the commitment I had perhaps foolishly enrolled myself into. Suddenly, I was unsure of my state of schooling and working concurrently, and though I am confident of excelling, the huge financial commitment has got me quite rattled (still).

All that said, it's probably the last worrying you'll hear from me, for now (but only because there is naught anyone can ado about the situation). I guess, at the utmost worst, on poor days, I'll just eat beans and rice. My consolation right now is the fact that my professors have been kind on the assessments so far. Mishaps: there will be none --hopefully. If a plan disintegrates, I suppose I'll just build a new one out of twine... soak it in spit and vinegar. Seriously though, the bigger plan is of course to hold out for the next year no matter how heavy things may/ will/ can get.

As you can tell, my problems, while rather devastating at this specific moment, are weak (in comparison to the tragedy that is life for say, third world citizens) because they will and can be cured by simple changes that I promise promise promise are inevitable. I only just need to catch my breath, then move on with life, and I'll be fine, ready to droll endlessly about my new set of problems which I will probably talk up just like the ones I have.

Also, almost everyone it seems, have big problems to solve these days, so I wish you all luck (good luck) in your ventures.

oi.

There are not enough hours in any week to devote to myself and all my pursuits (save one). I've been suffocated and quick to exhaustion for several weeks now as uni and work at work slouched onward, but now they are finished.. well, at least for the former. Finito! Fertig! 停当! I must say I performed better than I expected for my first paper, but I must have overestimated myself and the second paper, because I am now expecting just a low distinction, or even a credit at the minimum - hopefully!

None the less, my weariness has not blunted my spiralling desire to see and do new things, or learn new things, or, really, learn everything that can possibly be learned. Today, I woke up at 7 and now have just completed The Great Gatsby. I now have 1 less, and 6 more books to go!

I haven't posted this way for the last years or so because I cant bring myself to speak. Truth be told, there hasn't been anything inside me that needs to be said for awhile now -- nothing worth ink or kilobytes. But here's a tentative plan, at least. To start from scratch. To write a word, then a second, and finish a paragraph, and feel like my life isn't a dismal parade amongst the much-too-many, leading off a cliff, to drown in the sea, forgotten.

So, to begin, I have begun to write fifteen minutes on a single word prompt; another fifteen on another prompt; and another again, and again... whilst remembering to breathe deeply....

like death that is ever so eminent.

i think about this alot, i do: the discomfort, the awkwardness, the feeling of absolute despair in my own skin. and i hate it. thinking back on it, had i dug myself deeper into a trench, or somehow managed to grasp the pinnacle of intangibility? at each instance, did i knowingly place myself in games i could never win, or did i truly believe i controlled my every move with ease? - because i seem to recall a time when the idea of it all silmutaneously kept and ate me alive. i starved for a concrete manifestation of my illusions: i lived, i breathed, i dreamt in it, and i talked about it until i was empty and satiated. and in the end, i thought i had it all figured out.

for as long as i can remember, i have always chased after the things i couldn't have. and it isn't just about wanting because the intangible is something completely unhealthy and unproductive. rather, it is the constant craving for what i didn't have that led to the fact that there was never an extended period of time where i was happy with my life. i will be happy for hours, days at most; but when i try to remember a certain period of my life where i was truly and genuinely happy, i couldn't. i can't! i tear apart memories until i crystallize tiny instances into what seemingly constitutes the best and worst times of my life, and then i lament over lost opportunities and passing time. my obsessions with the implications of certain songs or bands are unhealthy - i connect them to feelings and people and ideas about should-be's and could-be's.

i dont know if things will ever be the same again between anyone and the context; of which we place everything in, that will inadvertently be different - evolved - that's the word. people moving on, and maybe some of us will make new friends and forget old ones. it really is the end of an era each time i decide it is. sometimes, maybe something new will start that is the continuation of the old and maybe it will be alright. i would like to believe i try as much as possible to maintain friendships and patch up broken ones. but for the most part, i can't really explain why i'm feeling the way i am now - my life is overbrimming, full and complete, yet there is an unexplainable huge void of empty space in me that i dont know what to fill with...

too you for me

i remember everything you did, everything you said
your words were never beautiful so i made them up instead
and sometimes the road saved a place for me inside
when it knew that we were sick and i had nowhere left to hide

once, we were runaways, but only in our heads
our dreams were always beautiful but we gave them up instead
and sometimes the road would let our mapping come undone
when it knew that i was leaving but had nowhere left to run

inspite of the haze in the sky

with those eyes
like porcelain beads on the height of the waves
now so much less and lesser words
wash their way into my mind
absence marking days off like deaths
roots growing into other grounds
patterns broken by time

in me
a tongue that needs to touch the unreachable
pictures of swans dead float in my eyes
moths find a closet somewhere in my heart

'scatter', he says
for i'm always everywhere at once.
and around twelve he's always right so tonight,
i'm Here.
I'm Out and Near.
Never far so never fear.
in nights that lie like blank paper
where dreams will write them stars

if this is what it takes
then true intensity lies in this paralysis
i promise to always be your morphine girl
and dizzy my way through the banks of your mind

forever
rock me like a storm
and you can move my earth
and i will ask for you to stay
for i see those eyes and know inside
tonight im not afraid

Let Me Breathe

found Me/filtered thru a stitching of cells.
thru sealit urbania in wave-washed hair.
in polish on the walls. mermaid stance.
you found Me in the scent of
your sweater.

look higher, thru celestial decay.
thru rapidly unravelled constellations.
or lower, thru the Earth's Atlantis.
uprooted flowers. dirty child's hands.
look.

and there you will find.

but is the earth as full as life was full, of them?

in the middle of sulking in some sort of fever-induced delirium last night, i suddenly realized that text messages are the curse of the millineum, at least when it comes to communication. a week without talking, you say? why, i text messaged you with a one-liner but two days ago! so i can't exactly say, "well that fool hasn't talked to me since we ___ last week," but you know, it's more or less the same. texting a completely irrelevant question does not make it communicating.

i just found my page from the fiction writing class in year two from about a million years ago. have i not gotten smarter since then?!? "there is no such thing as the search for truth. there is just the hunger for something new", i wrote, and reading that i thought, "hmm, i still agree. and how apt." man. five years and i'm still at square one?