thoughts...
There is a constant quivering inside of me and i have to run and run until i'm somewhere. I want to die if i can get up in the morning and die again. god left and hasn't been back. I don't think he's planning to return. God, I feel so sick, i feel so terrible. I never want to think or talk about anything again. If i wasn't so scared of dying, I'd kill myself.
Life is such a precarious thing, change the angles of words and the slipping kaleidoscope alters its pattern. Like pieces of shattered glass, our day takes form. The trees are full of music, the sunlight is dancing. I feel the way i haven't felt in weeks and I get that old pain back again, filling me with sorrow. Only in the momentary shadows do i remember my heart. no thinking today. no remembering. you can't capture love and lock it up. if you really love someone, you set them free. i've only done what our parents want to do, put the heart in chains and hold it close, so afraid of losing it to life. I am like a plant, without an opinion. All my emotions have been diluted. Fast or slow, it's the same as raining or shining. But like the plant I am, I do nothing, make no decisions, i simply exist in the flower pot of my world. I allow msyself to slide back and dwell in dreams, memories of what used to be.
Lost in a sense of time, aware that when i emerge from this world into reality, reality is now more harsher and more disturbing than it had ever been before. Now i notice too, that the fantasies draw me increasingly farther away. But all together, I'm alone. That's true, of course, that everybody's alone. Even lovers are alone, no matter who, or when, or where, or for how long. As long as you're alive, you're alone. Those old couples you used to see in the sunday papers - eighty years together - eighty years alone. I ask myself why i go on living. The answer seems perfectly clear now. I live, only because i've no reason to die. I can understand some philosophers. yes, i can understand a lot of values in my head - but not in my heart - they're like the trigonometry theorems at school - and that's all they're like - you ought to be able to apply them - they are ment to be applied - you must if you can - but how? How do i still believe in myself? Perhaps not now; i'm sure i could once again if i could hear a familiar voice; i only believe in tolerance - yes, that's right, i believe in tolerance. So it comes to this: i've hardly any fundamental beliefs, therefore, i've no prejudices either. Well, you'd expect me to be open to conversation then? On the contrary. Still, as people go, i am tolerant; i mean you can always argue an intolerance out of me; and i always have the most enormous respect for you, when you do. it is a very unlikely an experience will bring me wisdom; serenity is a description that only applies to old men. If they ask you how you are, always say you're well. Saves a lot of trouble to pretend lifes good. So the time when one "knows" never arrives or merely for that short time before the knowing is discovered to be false. The patteren is always changing, each new moment contributes to the changing. As we try to hold onto the past, it slips out of our fingers, indistinguishably merging into the colors of the present. The past is a chameleon. If only wisdom i can hope to acquire is the wisdom of humility; humility is endless. miracles do happen, but most of the time they're happening unnoticed. Maybe people who chan't bear suffereing aren't ment to try. Once you get properly aware of death, that's the first time you can live. Images of something so deep you can never fathom them. Anything worth doing's worth doing badly - but how badly? The parable of the talents is very fine, but some people seem to have a misguided idea of what talents they've got. I don't want much. I just want to be free like everybody else,and it seems the only way to be free is to find yourself something to do that lets that part of you, that you honestly respect, express itself. And keep on expressing itself. you look back toward heaven; you look back toward hell. there are two natural view points.
I realized a heart is a clock - but not mine, not now; i had a sense of space and a sense of time but not now. A pulse is a clock, breathing, temperature, and photographs, they're all clocks too; abnormal clocks. You see, i'm a specialist. A specialist intent on my private discoveries, but a quick death's all i want now. You work, you act, the future's more real to you than the past; all the things that threaten you you can put into your books and get rid of, but the future can get on without me, and what i've lost i can never get back. No one could care for me now: I'm a fake. I said today I only go on living because I've no reason to die - it seems to me at last, there's nothing left but to be silent. Survival is the one unshakable thing, isn't it? It is, i know, whatever i feel. And that's irrational, isn't it? i certainly think so now. Couldn't i turn myself away from myself to the irrational then? I know i'm tired out because i don't believe anything anymore.
Life is such a precarious thing, change the angles of words and the slipping kaleidoscope alters its pattern. Like pieces of shattered glass, our day takes form. The trees are full of music, the sunlight is dancing. I feel the way i haven't felt in weeks and I get that old pain back again, filling me with sorrow. Only in the momentary shadows do i remember my heart. no thinking today. no remembering. you can't capture love and lock it up. if you really love someone, you set them free. i've only done what our parents want to do, put the heart in chains and hold it close, so afraid of losing it to life. I am like a plant, without an opinion. All my emotions have been diluted. Fast or slow, it's the same as raining or shining. But like the plant I am, I do nothing, make no decisions, i simply exist in the flower pot of my world. I allow msyself to slide back and dwell in dreams, memories of what used to be.
Lost in a sense of time, aware that when i emerge from this world into reality, reality is now more harsher and more disturbing than it had ever been before. Now i notice too, that the fantasies draw me increasingly farther away. But all together, I'm alone. That's true, of course, that everybody's alone. Even lovers are alone, no matter who, or when, or where, or for how long. As long as you're alive, you're alone. Those old couples you used to see in the sunday papers - eighty years together - eighty years alone. I ask myself why i go on living. The answer seems perfectly clear now. I live, only because i've no reason to die. I can understand some philosophers. yes, i can understand a lot of values in my head - but not in my heart - they're like the trigonometry theorems at school - and that's all they're like - you ought to be able to apply them - they are ment to be applied - you must if you can - but how? How do i still believe in myself? Perhaps not now; i'm sure i could once again if i could hear a familiar voice; i only believe in tolerance - yes, that's right, i believe in tolerance. So it comes to this: i've hardly any fundamental beliefs, therefore, i've no prejudices either. Well, you'd expect me to be open to conversation then? On the contrary. Still, as people go, i am tolerant; i mean you can always argue an intolerance out of me; and i always have the most enormous respect for you, when you do. it is a very unlikely an experience will bring me wisdom; serenity is a description that only applies to old men. If they ask you how you are, always say you're well. Saves a lot of trouble to pretend lifes good. So the time when one "knows" never arrives or merely for that short time before the knowing is discovered to be false. The patteren is always changing, each new moment contributes to the changing. As we try to hold onto the past, it slips out of our fingers, indistinguishably merging into the colors of the present. The past is a chameleon. If only wisdom i can hope to acquire is the wisdom of humility; humility is endless. miracles do happen, but most of the time they're happening unnoticed. Maybe people who chan't bear suffereing aren't ment to try. Once you get properly aware of death, that's the first time you can live. Images of something so deep you can never fathom them. Anything worth doing's worth doing badly - but how badly? The parable of the talents is very fine, but some people seem to have a misguided idea of what talents they've got. I don't want much. I just want to be free like everybody else,and it seems the only way to be free is to find yourself something to do that lets that part of you, that you honestly respect, express itself. And keep on expressing itself. you look back toward heaven; you look back toward hell. there are two natural view points.
I realized a heart is a clock - but not mine, not now; i had a sense of space and a sense of time but not now. A pulse is a clock, breathing, temperature, and photographs, they're all clocks too; abnormal clocks. You see, i'm a specialist. A specialist intent on my private discoveries, but a quick death's all i want now. You work, you act, the future's more real to you than the past; all the things that threaten you you can put into your books and get rid of, but the future can get on without me, and what i've lost i can never get back. No one could care for me now: I'm a fake. I said today I only go on living because I've no reason to die - it seems to me at last, there's nothing left but to be silent. Survival is the one unshakable thing, isn't it? It is, i know, whatever i feel. And that's irrational, isn't it? i certainly think so now. Couldn't i turn myself away from myself to the irrational then? I know i'm tired out because i don't believe anything anymore.