qpskcnvb

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I train in violence so that I can learn peace

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What lesson is to be made of this story?

You see an angry mob encircling a lonesome, deformed, and pitiful figure. He is broken down and bloody, from the stones powered by the rage and fear of the mob.

You break through the crowd and guard Him with your body, with the resolution to take on His suffering. The mob stops, recognizing you as ally though a foolish one. They warn you that He brings suffering to those around him, that it is in His nature to do so, that He knows no other way to survive, that to free Him and invite Him into your world is to designate yourself as the welcome host for the parasite that He is.

Those warnings fall on deaf ears. You lead Him out of the circle and into your shelter. And then He feeds on your spirit. Day by day, you grow dim. You take on His suffering, but that too corrupts your soul and plants the seeds of something you had not known before: resentment.

Fearing the day you’d become part of the mob, you instead cast him out. Day by day, your spirit recovers. And then one day, you see Him again. Lonesome, deformed, and pitiful, encircled by a mob of those whose lives and minds and spirits had been broken down by Him that the only thing remaining had been anger.

You break through the crowd and guard Him with your body, resolved to take on His suffering.

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On Enlightenment

The devil that is I

paints images of destruction, and of loss

a price of freedom

fear takes over

I retreat into self-captivity

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I don’t need much

Only you

And even then, that’s asking

For the oceans to split

For you sit that high up in my sky

At you, I gaze always

Absent of lucidity

Before you, I kneel

Full of longing

Your embrace, I lay

cradled, so your kiss invoked

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Because you indulge me so

I have a greed to fully enter your being

Ask away and away, you say

To the tide of questions flowing scattered out

Piling out on top of each other

Your patience reaches it hands out

And nestles it in mine

And together that mountain of questions we climb

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You’re crack but good thing I’m a responsible drug user /s

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I wonder if God can hear me

Should I shout at Her, or just tell Her in a normal voice?

What if I just whisper it?

How do I get Her attention?

Deeper, deeper inside is where She lives

Deeper, deeper inside is where She’ll hear me

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Random hypotheticals (pt. 3)

You ask too many questions.

I do?

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Why does it take angst for words to bleed freely out of your heart? Why, in this moment of ambivalence or calmness or any state resemblant of gentle waves or still waters, is the mind not enthralled upon to speak? What is it about mania that pushes one’s thoughts - true thoughts - to the podium?

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I think you’re just one of those people that have a magnetic pull over other things and other people. Maybe it’s your voice, strong and calm.

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Random hypotheticals (pt. 2)

Why do you ask?

No reason I guess.

Oh, ok.

…

…

Well?

Well what?

Do you think you’re attractive?

Why do you ask?

I fucking told you!

Told me what?

That there’s no reason behind me asking

Asking what?

Why you’re attractive!

But you asked me if I think I’m attractive, not why…?

For fucks sake dude…ok fine. Do you think you’re attractive? I have zero reason behind asking that question and I just wanna know for the sake of knowing. There you go, is it clear now?

Yes, yes it is. Thanks for clearing that up.

…

…

Are you gonna answer the question?

Oh right, the question about whether I think I’m attractive?

Yes, that question

No

What?

No, I’m not gonna answer the question

Why?

I’d need a reason why

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Early webpages were like the scrapbook of the kid that uses 6 differently colored pens and highlighters and stickers and tape and all sorts of shit to take notes

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How do you know if someone in your dream belongs there or if they’re just

?

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Burned brown sugar

The eagerness and ease of jumping into the pants of the white knight

Tied belts, wrapped bandages

hand slipped along back

hand rested on knee

why do they do this?

my favorite: when they grab my leg and drag me across the mat

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NO RESPECT FOR THE DEAD

Granny: “What are you doing?”

Runner stops, looking bewildered. Takes off earbuds.

Granny: “You shouldn’t run here. It’s disgraceful. Have you no respect?”

Runner: “Don’t you see I have the greatest respect, giving them company when even their families don’t? And, don’t worry, I’ll be sure to be there for you too.”

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If the way you see a person matches the way that person sees themselves, then, yes, that is a validation of said person’s experiences. But what if the way you see yourself is grossly erroneous? What if your perception of self is the perception of self that you aspire towards, that you are biased towards, that you are perhaps antagonistic towards? A lot of people center their identity around their value or belief system, but do they follow said system? Of course not, otherwise there wouldn’t be a word like “hypocrite” And if values are out of the picture, how else are you supposed to define who you are, at your very essence?

I don’t know myself. I can’t trust myself to figure that out either, without whatever conclusion I churn out being mired by illusion. I place more faith in other people’s recounting of who I am because although they may have their own modes of illusory thinking, there isn’t that level of corruption that occurs in your senses, at least your recollection of them, when evaluating what’s internal to you as opposed to external.

Thinking about this, I feel trapped in my own mind but I also find a lot of absurd humor in that because of the reflexivity. I’m so tired and all I yearn for is the truth and it’s an exhausting journey. But I think I should consider the following: pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.

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Curiosity turned to interest when, on the day I needed it the most, you gave to me a light handshake