Power

I don't, however, know for sure how 'depressing' the fact, that I derive some of the greatest comfort from ending my own life, is.

Shouldn't there be a 'cheerier' way to restore faith in having control over ... life?

Remember when...

there was too much time
the summers would never end
somehow everything was better
someone would always cook for you
a little money was more than enough

silly rules could be overcome with age
the worst enemies... weren't
endless patience was that of another
you didn't have to, you could
you couldn't, you were going to

Did you; are you?

I love you

Being a douchebag helps contribute to meaning the good things.

Where did I forget my manners?

All tied up in trying to telepathically transmit information.
Impossible to hear what you're not saying in the meantime.

Stop reading, untie these knots

Choices

It may be that I could do any one thing
at any given moment

only one thing
out of all those alternatives
is key here

saying yes to something, but
ultimately
saying no to everything else

This will always have been your one thing
as well as mine; at a different time, place
we will have shared the same different thing(s)
together, alone

I met an amazing man today. He said many things standing in the doorway between my room and the living room and I'm glad he did. I'm glad he seems to enjoy talking much more than I do, although I don't agree with all the points he makes. I'm glad he spoke my thoughts for me and whether he was (un)intentionally funny makes no difference, because the way he speaks has always been amusing in the way only my philosophy teachers have managed to be funny. It's a shame he's never been my teacher.

It's a good thing I don't often give a shit and disregard entire paragraphs of speech.

Three cups of tea. Thank you for comparing philosophiers to suicide bombers; for speaking words that have restored my trust in a lost cause; for.

I could be free

I am free.




I forget the option of running away.


I forget not caring, indifference, truth, honesty, contentment, joy, your voice and the words you've spoken.

I forget.




When I remember, sometimes, when morning hours creep around the corner; I remember, I am relieved, I breathe again.

I remember you and I remember thoughts, dreams; I remember the wall I'm supposed to climb... when I'd much rather stay in bed.

Exhale

Erase all the shit, take a deep breath.

It's going to be a long day, because short timespans seem to stretch beyond your comprehension when you've been up countless hours and there are no memory traces of moments spent unconscious covered in blankets and sheets.

It's almost breakfast time, but I haven't prepared.

Hiding in plain sight

Maybe I'm unhappy, because I'm tired and my fatigue is ultimately due to my laziness. The best way I know how to fix this is by sleeping, but right now I don't feel tired enough to sleep and have dreams about French airports and misplaced luggage and buying pear marmelade packed in plastic pumpkins that you can find at shopping malls hidden beneath the subway; running and trying to find the words to express myself in French and that obnoxious girl from school standing naked across the room explaining how good pornography is made.

I wish these months passed by faster...

Wall of sound

I miss this; if you're part of this, then it'd only be fair to admit I miss you too, occasionally, for brief moments. The way the chords of an acoustic guitar reproduce with my soul, like when you poke fun at me and find the weak spot and I wonder if you know, if you know, do you know. Do you not realize.

You play the piano and you whisper words and when you are quiet there is nothing. I worship you in the silence of that nothingness, the nothing that is everything that it consumes. What I say means nothing, unless they are the words I try to keep from you to prolong whatever we have now.

But you don't know about the violins, they weep when you're gone and compose in your name. The violins that laugh in your presence. The laughter covers everything, blinds my vision and certainly I'll never see enough, if I'm looking in the wrong direction. If it's dark I'll still hear you breathe, are you still there, are you there, you're there, you're close but you're far away; enough just enough.

Excitement I thought I'd never feel again, but I'm still doing it upside-down and I think I'm happy. I'm glad. I'm content.

Instead of trying to make a list, I'll try this

Apparently a stolen couch does not help one at a lack of words, but it's amazing how little things you don't care all that much about make all the difference in the world, when you're not surrounded by the four familiar walls you're used to. The thing that's most concerning I suppose is that anything I might have to say hasn't really been practiced in any way and rehearsing never felt all that appealing. Basically I'm causing obstacles for myself here.

Basically I produce large amounts of shit.

Fuck you all, Christmas lovers

[...]

P.S. I also hate birthdays.

Thoughts on urges;

completely destroying everything. [...] how much damage could I really cause by saying something?

I'll inevitably explore unknown waters disregarding any voice of reason whatsoever. This has made me a sad panda in the past, but it has also created countless exciting, life-changing experiences, which seems to be the best excuse I have for my idiotic behavior.

I'll see you all in...

Cozy feelings of inadequacy

Thinking about what I mean with words that could mean so many things, I wonder how much I could ever understand anyone who uses the same words I do, but give them different meaning, or how much I'll ever be able to understand myself.

Nothing is more frightening than the dreadful thought of tomorrow, yet nothing more is as exciting, nothing more is worth such great expectance.

Forgetfulness may lead to destruction

Every statement has a whole world behind it and all my explaining is a sign of my lack of trust in your ability to see beyond anything I say. Maybe it's become an obsession due to my own bad vision. I don't assume people comprehend a thing when they nod yes. I don't count on there being any reliable connection between their expressions and understanding. I see broken powerlines swinging about; glimpses of light that will eventually disappear.

It's wonderful to have the skill to paint captivating sceneries and compose enchanting melodies. What happens when the ones on the receiving end discover they've been hanging the paintings upside-down and playing the records the wrong way round?

Self-inflicted extreme displeasure

Whenever a performance of any kind goes well, I'm very pleased. Today is one of those days that started out with a panicky stress-filled atmosphere and maybe even with a tiny bit of fear in the air, yet ended with a relaxing sensation at the front of class while I clearly knew what I was talking about and talked as if I really, truly, sincerely cared... about animal testing and the wrongs of the world in general. This all took place after this morning's gym class and ditching half of my literature class (for great justice).

When your old yet charismatic Swedish teacher fills an entire class room with his enormous ego, he somehow manages to irradiate a special kind of warmth on a cool and foggy late afternoon. The same person you've managed to have an incredibly sick, disturbing dream about earlier the same semester is still able to make you chuckle in your front row seat with jokes I'm sure someone might find offensive. Not everyone likes him, but nobody's liked by everybody, and I still admire the old chap even though my arrogance allows me to question him in the depths of my mind from time to time. Sometimes I'm sure it's merely an attitude that comes with age - you feel the need to get up and say "Hey, mister, you don't know everything, even though you act like you own the place" but you never follow through with this act, because you know he'd tell you to sit back on your ass or throw you out of class adding he damn well knows what he's talking about after over 40 years of doing his job well. He does a great job; an excellent one, in fact. He's quite possibly the only Swedish teacher to ever teach me a damned thing and he doesn't hesitate when you ask him something, he tells you the answer and you had better accept it for what it is. He's the type of person who'll put you down, but you can't hate him for it and when he states how a phrase is cute after he's instructed you on how to form it perfectly all you feel like doing is cuddling him.

Very, very, very disturbing indeed. I feel like washing both my mouth and hands now for typing that.