sadandincoherent

[sadandincoherent]

My liver can cry another day.

I can only be miserable for so long.

I need this drink.

[sadandincoherent]

Hug someone. Anyone. Do it for yourself. Please.

[sadandincoherent]

I made my own hell.

I don't think I deserve any escape from it.

It's comforting. It feels just. It feels right.

[sadandincoherent]

I take all the hurt and the regret that weighs on my back, and I try to build schools. Try to build hospitals. Try to build churches. To have the pain and the mistakes mean something, and to make it useful.

Sometimes I can't do that. I don't know how to just say that it was bad and nothing can be taken from it. I dont know how to comfort people looking for that solace and catharsis.

[sadandincoherent]

Sometimes the weight of wasted life just crashes onto you because of something small. A couple kissing, a handshake 15 feet away, the laughter of a passing friend group, the height of a tall building. A bittersweet feeling of what was.

The feeling goes away just as randomly, for just as small of a reason. Today, I noticed how the branches of the tree was like a fractal, reaching out in divisible copies of itself.

And I tell myself that, maybe, I will let tomorrow come.

[sadandincoherent]

There is the need to believe in the goodness of people, and that the average person will, when given the chance, choose to do good. That belief extends to the self.

I remember believing the opposite. I don't want to be that hateful person anymore. I hope I don't have to be. It's hard to maintain hope, but it's necessary.

If you hope for the same, know that, for now, there are at least two flames in this abyss. There must be more out there.

[sadandincoherent]

I will admit, I have only recently started using Tumblr. I do enjoy what I've seen in the small pocket I've stumbled into however. It's provided a sufficient number of small motivational quotes and thoughts to keep me going sometimes. Maybe this is the millennial version of boomer Facebook memes about live laugh love. Maybe I can be content with that.

[sadandincoherent]

Sometimes, I hear screaming. Don't know it's from me or a memory of someone else.

I used to believe that I could reach heaven by climbing up a mountain of my own making. That I could drag myself up, inch by inch, and on the peak there will be friends and smiling and the bright dawn of a new day. And I could rest, for the work was done.

Heaven isn't a place. It's a state of mind, of being. It's when you can look back and feel fulfilled and satisfied. That's why when I looked over the mountain and saw all the bodies I used to build it, clear and untrodden at the very top, of course I wanted to hurl myself off. The ends do not justify the means, even if noble, especially if useless.

Will I ever be able to forgive myself? Do I even want to? Should there even be a path of forgiveness? Ambition is hollow. Victory is hollow. It's hard not to look at the past and feel horrible.

[sadandincoherent]

The sun had set a long time ago, but it was recent enough for me to remember what it felt like. That near boundless energy and infinite desire to actualize upon the world. To feel hungry for more, with the whole breadbasket of the earth just visible into the horizon.

It was just a repeated series of steps. It's hard not to feel empty. Drowning is a normal part of life, they said.

You see the twinkling lights of the city, and know that every single light is a person. And you wonder, how the fuck do you keep going? What drives you, like it drove me? How can I get that back? The desire to run towards a dying sunset or a beckoning sunrise? Is Sisyphus happy?

[sadandincoherent]

The rain comes again.

I feel it soak in through the cracks of my skin, piercing bone, impaling mind. I worry that, maybe, I might drown. But I always knew that was a possibility, and lived here anyway.

I wonder sometimes if my daily life is a slow form of self-destruction, barely eeking out a piece of existence one chunk at a time. Maybe one day, I will wrench open the core and finally scream.

For now, all I can do is laugh.

[sadandincoherent]

I like taking pictures whenever I walk across the bridge at any time of day.

During the morning, the rising sun and light bustle add the feeling of a burgeoning city. The rising dawn of crisp fresh air with hints of oil.

During the afternoon, the shouting is strongest and the wildlife is playing and it's hot and it's serene. Everything feels alive.

As dusk falls, so does the hubbub, and yet the orange hue of sun spots across the soft sky with smatterings and streaks of citrus glow.

And then night, when the quiet river waters reverse their polarity, and the sky and earth reflect each other with both swallowing blackness and twinking lights, whether they be stars or lamps.

And at deep night, the random specks of reckless wanderers shout and laugh into the void that won the war for land and sky. A time to enjoy the cocoon of borrowed abyss, for even a fraction of a moment.

When one just sits down and drinks in the world, sometimes it can feel beautiful. It's a nice view in-between endless boulder hikes.

[sadandincoherent]

I used to really be out there, you know. Started my own club, helped play matchmaker, joined student council, wrote music. Used to ride out for an hour by train to attend parties while saving money in college by staying a bit more in the outskirts.

I think it was a combination of things. I used to really believe that if I had sufficient passion, I could do it. Was it when I hurt her? When I abandoned the game I helped develop? Was it when my research contribution amounted to a paperweight of unimportant mediocrity? Was it when I couldn't tug at my parents enough to get an okay enough resolution to their divorce? Was it when I realized I wasn't a good person? Or maybe I just wasn't enough?

It's hard to feel like wanting to try, when the end product of all that fire was a pile of ash. At that point, is it not okay to just laugh at it all? I'm in such a privileged position, and what I feel sad about are my own little feelings. If only I had the courage to walk further on the road that day, the fog would take me and the calming sound of a car horn would be the finale. Why haven't I been punished yet? I hope the hammer drops one day. Then I can finally just lose it, and stop caring about how I hurt people.

[sadandincoherent]

Decided a rename, better for the new purpose.

Maybe this could be a new space for me to post esoteric BS when I am drunk/high/on too much caffiene/staring at the abyss. Maybe someone else could find either comfort or humor in the rambling. That's their choice to make. Mine is to shore up the crumbling effigy of my remaining sanity one vomit of words at a time.

Stay at the bar, have a whiskey sour, and sit a while if you want. Let the wave of nonsense wash over you like the stale air of a rundown weekend shack. It's better to laugh than to cry anyway, in pain or pleasure.

Also, I hate how people equate esoteric to mean spoky or weird. It's dictionary definition is that it's to describe something only a select number of people with specialized knowledge or interest could likely understand or be intended to understand. Kind of like a conceptual-web sized shibboleth. It's comforting, the idea that people who "get it" were meant to "get it".

[sadandincoherent]

Maybe if I drink one more shot of espresso, I can finally crack myself open to the point where too much insanity can transition into being sane.

The alcohol was insufficient, and all it left me was a broken sleep schedule. It's difficult to try to convince myself to go outside. It feels like there's nothing for me out there.

The embrace of indulgent audio dramas and asmr has kept the lack of human contact at bay, but now I think I just want to rip my skin off. God, nothing feels good anymore. But I know this will pass. The answer is not if, but when.

Maybe once I can laugh without constraints then the egg will crack open and I can spill my yolk down the drainage, into the cat's food bowl. Being useful would be nice. I hope I'm useful to someone. I wish I could go back and do it differently. But even in that other world then I think I'll still be as unhappy.

[sadandincoherent]

I always had this idea, that I could provide sanctuary for someone.

To provide a place of respite from all the troubles they had in their lives.

I learned that I could not. Not after I hurt her and betrayed her trust. After being unable to find the words that needed to be said. The necessary honesty. I should have said I did what I thought was right. So everyone could be happy, no matter how unethical that was. Or maybe even then, doing that is unforgiveable.

I suppose that's what I've been doing these past few years. Containment, so I couldn't hurt someone else like that again. There is no atonement or forgiveness.

Friends keep telling me I was too young. I don't find that excuse to be good enough. There is nothing left but sand.

[sadandincoherent]

the first.

the first, maybe the last, of what will hopefully only be a singular post of rambling. time will tell. a shout into a void of nothing, as it should be. maybe I will regret this later? no idea, we'll find out.

if there's any expectation for world-shattering insanity or insane stories worthy of being engraved into a 30 minute youtube essay, please spare the dramaticism. it's just another rambling dump. if drama is what you're looking for, this boring sop is only one of thousands. i pray for your time to be better spent on better locations than with me.

this was all done on impulse with a veritable amount of alcohol in the system. whether or not this is abandoned may also be dependent on the level of alcohol that can be expected to be consumed hereafter. to my future self: please do not go too crazy here. there be monsters lurking, after all.