white flag
october 31, 2001: the day the world came to a screeching halt. and here we all are trying to scrape by like idiots when we fully realize in our hearts that we have nothing left but our own happiness to sacrifice in order to try and attain something higher of sharper and more exact value that will contribute to building something better.
there was a time when i can safely say that things were good, safe, and warm. but even in it's warmth, i could still feel the cold but life still thrived. one evening, the floodgates opened, and no one saw it coming. it swept away art, friends and loved ones. the small deviations in the population were too minimal to notice at first, and people kept going. they would put their best foot forward and march on, only to suddenly stop in their tracks to think of a friend that had once disappeared, or something that moved them only to realize that it had disappeared without a trace.
with the fullest extent of my being, right now i can honestly say that the life i am a part of isn't the life that i feel i have a place in. maturity and carrying on regardless of loss may give the badge of integrity and win you the shiniest trophy, but the trophy has no soul. what's so real about the cry of the oppressed that keeps the audience too intimidated to raise for a standing ovation?
in june of 2002 i tried to kill myself. my body was yellow and sick and my eyes were sore and lost. my room had been cleaned and my backpack zipped tight and placed neatly on my desk that i never used. at that particular moment, i was possessed. possessed by the fullest sense of realization of the culmination of events that whirlwinded across the globe and collided with the atmosphere with such force and disaster that would be forever remembered by others as "my life: a memoir". with that in mind, i tucked myself into bed, fully ready to fall into the arms of 0, an empty and inviting purity warmer than any nursing mother and more discerning more than any close friendship could be -- utterly free and unasked for.
waking up was much harder than dying. there was chatter, and a small television with jay leno playing silently in the background. the world wasn't wholly mine yet, and instead lay before me the foggy stillness of limbo. soon enough, psychologists came in, asking me my reasons and intentions and more than anything i knew of at that moment, i knew that in gaining life once more i still sorely lacked the ability to speak of it. i wish i could have said "what i was doing was drawing the last line of the circle but i couldn't when i realized that i had lost my compass"
the years afterward amounted to a trail of everlasting afterthoughts. a drift of smoke easily cuaght by hand and evaporated into dissonance. i didn't want to fall asleep to realizing that this was a very bad dream only to wake up to realize that reality was the very mistake i had made it. but ultimately, this is the fruit of life, ready to ripen into what it fully wants to become. an ideal life shouldn't be the answer on the tip of your tongue that you can never come to fully substantiate no matter how many times you shut your eyes and concentrate.
timing is everything. the right time to think, the right time to observe, the right time to look through, and the right time to finally sit up and take a stand. i've studied the blueprints of the hourglass until i was up to my neck in the sand and what it comes down to is that life is truly meant for those that are alive in heart and in mind. and when that light dims, the skies and stars suddenly become much more apparent.
the universe says, "yes, i was here all along."
.
.
i am a curator of such a great and vast museum, now. i walk the halls admiring all of the things i once had the vigor and vitality to create and fuel only now to dust them off and live in the memories that their creation provided to me. for the sole reason of being able to later appreciate it when i needed it the most? but ideas aren't a constant river. i wax and erode; my face leaving a stark and tarnished impression into the rocks.
life is not only provided from the self, but of the inter-woven veins that fuel the fire that is the whole and complete motivation and vitality of others. thus is the self and the heart complete.
this is he, and only he so he shall be until the end of me.
there was a time when i can safely say that things were good, safe, and warm. but even in it's warmth, i could still feel the cold but life still thrived. one evening, the floodgates opened, and no one saw it coming. it swept away art, friends and loved ones. the small deviations in the population were too minimal to notice at first, and people kept going. they would put their best foot forward and march on, only to suddenly stop in their tracks to think of a friend that had once disappeared, or something that moved them only to realize that it had disappeared without a trace.
with the fullest extent of my being, right now i can honestly say that the life i am a part of isn't the life that i feel i have a place in. maturity and carrying on regardless of loss may give the badge of integrity and win you the shiniest trophy, but the trophy has no soul. what's so real about the cry of the oppressed that keeps the audience too intimidated to raise for a standing ovation?
in june of 2002 i tried to kill myself. my body was yellow and sick and my eyes were sore and lost. my room had been cleaned and my backpack zipped tight and placed neatly on my desk that i never used. at that particular moment, i was possessed. possessed by the fullest sense of realization of the culmination of events that whirlwinded across the globe and collided with the atmosphere with such force and disaster that would be forever remembered by others as "my life: a memoir". with that in mind, i tucked myself into bed, fully ready to fall into the arms of 0, an empty and inviting purity warmer than any nursing mother and more discerning more than any close friendship could be -- utterly free and unasked for.
waking up was much harder than dying. there was chatter, and a small television with jay leno playing silently in the background. the world wasn't wholly mine yet, and instead lay before me the foggy stillness of limbo. soon enough, psychologists came in, asking me my reasons and intentions and more than anything i knew of at that moment, i knew that in gaining life once more i still sorely lacked the ability to speak of it. i wish i could have said "what i was doing was drawing the last line of the circle but i couldn't when i realized that i had lost my compass"
the years afterward amounted to a trail of everlasting afterthoughts. a drift of smoke easily cuaght by hand and evaporated into dissonance. i didn't want to fall asleep to realizing that this was a very bad dream only to wake up to realize that reality was the very mistake i had made it. but ultimately, this is the fruit of life, ready to ripen into what it fully wants to become. an ideal life shouldn't be the answer on the tip of your tongue that you can never come to fully substantiate no matter how many times you shut your eyes and concentrate.
timing is everything. the right time to think, the right time to observe, the right time to look through, and the right time to finally sit up and take a stand. i've studied the blueprints of the hourglass until i was up to my neck in the sand and what it comes down to is that life is truly meant for those that are alive in heart and in mind. and when that light dims, the skies and stars suddenly become much more apparent.
the universe says, "yes, i was here all along."
.
.
i am a curator of such a great and vast museum, now. i walk the halls admiring all of the things i once had the vigor and vitality to create and fuel only now to dust them off and live in the memories that their creation provided to me. for the sole reason of being able to later appreciate it when i needed it the most? but ideas aren't a constant river. i wax and erode; my face leaving a stark and tarnished impression into the rocks.
life is not only provided from the self, but of the inter-woven veins that fuel the fire that is the whole and complete motivation and vitality of others. thus is the self and the heart complete.
this is he, and only he so he shall be until the end of me.