Harmonic Oscillations (unstable source, complex eigenvectors)
There's a void that I just keep on filling
My only hope is that it's not a black hole.
I built myself up again, wavering emotions twisting, building on one another and giving me a sense of meaning and purpose. It seems that the more I search to define myself the more slippery the definition becomes. I see the fallacies in my own logic, the things I do that I need to stop yet, somehow, they come again and beat me into submission. I'm a slave of habit, yet aren't we all? Only one in ten can ever really change, or do numbers really determine probability of fate.
I stuff myself full of what I am, ideals and ideas of honor, maturity, perfection. It's ironic that this same pursuit gives me the weakness that makes me fall so easily into senseless thoughts which I know are wrong but choose to believe anyways. I like the darkness, the obscurity of mystery, not because of some self-pity but because I really don't trust easily at all. Trust is too easily broken to be given away easily... and people placate in gossip, betraying the secrets entrusted in them for the entertainment of others and to increase the popularity of themselves.
If the world works as I'm told, my education doesn't matter. All that matters is the little name on my diploma that says who had the pleasure of giving me the knowledge that I contain, yet, knowledge, while provided by a teacher, is really up to the student. My diploma should be the diploma of Chris, my resume, not where I went to school... yet, I'm doomed. Sadly, sadly doomed, as I happened to be under the impression that I couldn't afford a private school, hell, no one bothered to tell me that highschool grades determined what college you could go to until my jr year. So, twisted and set off by fate and my personal lack of realizing my lack of knowledge, here I am, beseeched to lose every job I search for to the man from Harvard, MIT, or Yale - not because I'm any less than him, but because the label stuck to me, my platinum-plated stamp, is not "as good" as his.
I need time to think; but time is one thing I don't have.
If I placate my friends want to see me, to hear from me - it's my want too - I don't have time to figure it out. I need to escape, to be alone away from the world for a few weeks to read and think and watch and get back in touch with myself.
I spiral in and out... one day fine, the next day gone. If others feel like this, they hide it well. I hide it well, except for here, and to her.
I don't think it's hate... just... a strong sense of distastefulness.
Where's my fucking guitar.
My only hope is that it's not a black hole.
I built myself up again, wavering emotions twisting, building on one another and giving me a sense of meaning and purpose. It seems that the more I search to define myself the more slippery the definition becomes. I see the fallacies in my own logic, the things I do that I need to stop yet, somehow, they come again and beat me into submission. I'm a slave of habit, yet aren't we all? Only one in ten can ever really change, or do numbers really determine probability of fate.
I stuff myself full of what I am, ideals and ideas of honor, maturity, perfection. It's ironic that this same pursuit gives me the weakness that makes me fall so easily into senseless thoughts which I know are wrong but choose to believe anyways. I like the darkness, the obscurity of mystery, not because of some self-pity but because I really don't trust easily at all. Trust is too easily broken to be given away easily... and people placate in gossip, betraying the secrets entrusted in them for the entertainment of others and to increase the popularity of themselves.
If the world works as I'm told, my education doesn't matter. All that matters is the little name on my diploma that says who had the pleasure of giving me the knowledge that I contain, yet, knowledge, while provided by a teacher, is really up to the student. My diploma should be the diploma of Chris, my resume, not where I went to school... yet, I'm doomed. Sadly, sadly doomed, as I happened to be under the impression that I couldn't afford a private school, hell, no one bothered to tell me that highschool grades determined what college you could go to until my jr year. So, twisted and set off by fate and my personal lack of realizing my lack of knowledge, here I am, beseeched to lose every job I search for to the man from Harvard, MIT, or Yale - not because I'm any less than him, but because the label stuck to me, my platinum-plated stamp, is not "as good" as his.
I need time to think; but time is one thing I don't have.
If I placate my friends want to see me, to hear from me - it's my want too - I don't have time to figure it out. I need to escape, to be alone away from the world for a few weeks to read and think and watch and get back in touch with myself.
I spiral in and out... one day fine, the next day gone. If others feel like this, they hide it well. I hide it well, except for here, and to her.
I don't think it's hate... just... a strong sense of distastefulness.
Where's my fucking guitar.