(no subject)
'Hello darkness my old friend. '
I'm allowed to have conflicted feelings all at once without lessening the nature of any individual one of them.
I'm not a static character, after all.
It muddles things up.
I don't like it.
'The middle-man straddles the fence. He never loses, never wins, with confidence.
And more power to him.'
I like reductive logic. Things are not often as complicated as people make them out to be.
"Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, middling, makes no difference. The degree is arbitrary - the definitions, blurred. If I have to choose between one evil and another, I'd rather not choose at all."
But sometimes things don't reduce. There's nothing to break down.
You're faced with a reality that is. Just is. All on its own. It doesn't need things to stand on.
And so you have to actually face it.
One of those realities nearly killed me, once.
Another one saved me.
Frankly, I don't know which one did more damage to my trust.
So I live as much as possible without dealing with these things.
I lock them up in rooms inside my head and leave them to wither.
Then you go and drop a grenade in the rooms and the doors are all blown off.
Now my realities are wandering around in my head and I DON'T WANT TO SEE THEM ANYMORE.
It may be the sleep deprivation. It certainly is a factor.
But the grenade was weeks past.
For awhile I froze the explosion in time. I can do that for awhile.
Watch the shrapnel flying around, and lock it in a moment. Ignore the moment, and the motion vanishes.
The momentum drops from beneath the storm.
It doesn't actually help, you know. It just gives me a minute to process things before I have to feel the pain.
Clarity is useful in these situations.
Clarity is the theme. I don't have trouble reading.
I don't have trouble understanding.
I don't have trouble seeing.
Here's a reality, one of the ten or so bouncing around my brain wreaking havoc on an otherwise...
oh fine, an otherwise desolate waste of what it once was. Maybe the fire will do it good.
But I don't particularly want to burn up. It hurts.
It hurts.
You distort my vision.
I made it very clear after last time that I couldn't tolerate that again.
But here you are, twisting and feinting and making a catastrophic mess of things.
In the moment, I can't see it. Out of the moment it's still hard to trace.
You spin things about, and I can't get my bearings.
What gives you the right?
I was supposed to be free of that.
I wept. I bled. I -sacrificed- to be free of that.
Then you.
You have the audacity to make me feel hope again.
What the hell do I do with it?
There's your truth. Plain as day, clear as swamp water.
But nonetheless laid bare from my addled brain.
I'm thinking the answer for now is distance.
I don't have a good reason to think that. It doesn't work for me that way, the way it does for people.
I don't even like the idea, which is disconcerting all to itself.
But I've gone and fucking got attached, haven't I? It's not a murder mystery.
Not yet.
But I don't know what to do, or say, and I hardly know what's okay to think to preserve whatever fragments of...something? I've got no idea.
So I'm going to step back for a moment and see if that helps.
It won't.
I meant what I said, though.
And I'm sorry for not being better.
"It is not a lake; it is an ocean."
- C
I'm allowed to have conflicted feelings all at once without lessening the nature of any individual one of them.
I'm not a static character, after all.
It muddles things up.
I don't like it.
'The middle-man straddles the fence. He never loses, never wins, with confidence.
And more power to him.'
I like reductive logic. Things are not often as complicated as people make them out to be.
"Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, middling, makes no difference. The degree is arbitrary - the definitions, blurred. If I have to choose between one evil and another, I'd rather not choose at all."
But sometimes things don't reduce. There's nothing to break down.
You're faced with a reality that is. Just is. All on its own. It doesn't need things to stand on.
And so you have to actually face it.
One of those realities nearly killed me, once.
Another one saved me.
Frankly, I don't know which one did more damage to my trust.
So I live as much as possible without dealing with these things.
I lock them up in rooms inside my head and leave them to wither.
Then you go and drop a grenade in the rooms and the doors are all blown off.
Now my realities are wandering around in my head and I DON'T WANT TO SEE THEM ANYMORE.
It may be the sleep deprivation. It certainly is a factor.
But the grenade was weeks past.
For awhile I froze the explosion in time. I can do that for awhile.
Watch the shrapnel flying around, and lock it in a moment. Ignore the moment, and the motion vanishes.
The momentum drops from beneath the storm.
It doesn't actually help, you know. It just gives me a minute to process things before I have to feel the pain.
Clarity is useful in these situations.
Clarity is the theme. I don't have trouble reading.
I don't have trouble understanding.
I don't have trouble seeing.
Here's a reality, one of the ten or so bouncing around my brain wreaking havoc on an otherwise...
oh fine, an otherwise desolate waste of what it once was. Maybe the fire will do it good.
But I don't particularly want to burn up. It hurts.
It hurts.
You distort my vision.
I made it very clear after last time that I couldn't tolerate that again.
But here you are, twisting and feinting and making a catastrophic mess of things.
In the moment, I can't see it. Out of the moment it's still hard to trace.
You spin things about, and I can't get my bearings.
What gives you the right?
I was supposed to be free of that.
I wept. I bled. I -sacrificed- to be free of that.
Then you.
You have the audacity to make me feel hope again.
What the hell do I do with it?
There's your truth. Plain as day, clear as swamp water.
But nonetheless laid bare from my addled brain.
I'm thinking the answer for now is distance.
I don't have a good reason to think that. It doesn't work for me that way, the way it does for people.
I don't even like the idea, which is disconcerting all to itself.
But I've gone and fucking got attached, haven't I? It's not a murder mystery.
Not yet.
But I don't know what to do, or say, and I hardly know what's okay to think to preserve whatever fragments of...something? I've got no idea.
So I'm going to step back for a moment and see if that helps.
It won't.
I meant what I said, though.
And I'm sorry for not being better.
"It is not a lake; it is an ocean."
- C