| relationships are utterly disgusting things |
[27 Mar 2011|03:27am] |
"and when im angry or upset, or just plain frustrated, i can solely rely on you."
"every day that blindly passes me by becomes a filter to what has happened."
|
|
| im angry |
[20 Jan 2011|01:25am] |
with this world.
without an outlet.
with these people.
with disinteresting conversations.
with this era.
with your ideals.
without a father.
with nowhere to go.
with your consumption.
with this cold.
with all the bullshit you rained on me.
with this music.
without a better sense of being.
with this time.
with myself.
|
|
| i wish we couldve been friends, and i wish i couldve been a different boy |
[03 Jun 2010|01:24am] |
OR
back when stopping seemed like a sardonic thought
|
|
|
[16 Mar 2010|12:33am] |
the problem with this city is that more than half of the people here hate each other.
i guess its a "i've been here longer than you" contest.
egos are funny things. theyll make you jump to conclusions about anyone youre willing to judge so freely.
funny how the ones who have been here the longest overlook this.
|
|
|
[22 Dec 2009|08:24pm] |
the countryside is my crush.
the desert is my bride.
the ocean is my temptress.
the mountains are my mistresses.
the rainforest is the one that got away.
and these streets are nothing but one night stands.
|
|
| a reminder of what i used to be |
[01 Dec 2009|12:35am] |
all the particles came closing in,
like moths attracted to light;
pouring in one over another,
waiting to bask in a millisecond of glory.
eventually the light began to succumb to their mass,
and was swallowed whole into darker places.
where was it now,
this treasure trove of paradise?
hallowed and rotten.
|
|
| this old castle is cast aflame |
[22 Nov 2009|03:53pm] |
i dont know who you are, or were.
all i see now is a selfish lie.
what disgusts me even more is how long it took me to realize this.
|
|
|
[19 Oct 2009|02:33am] |
Minamoto Nobuakira, Gosenshuu 103:
If only I could show them to someone who knows,
This moon, these flowers, this night that should not be wasted."
|
|
| this doesnt feel like circles |
[21 Sep 2009|03:06am] |
i dont have strong opinions about anything.
im too passive most of the time.
i let my indirect dialogue speak louder than my words.
i dont have a strong sense of passion for any particular thing.
but most of all, im being overly analytical about my sense of being.
im tired of disappointments.
im tired of shitty attitudes.
im tired of living in this trap with all of you.
i dont know what it is i need anymore. i feel like things arent materializing into anything id like them to anymore. this is the grim truth i have constantly put off and condemned.
i need a change in life.
|
|
| *** |
[04 Sep 2009|02:34am] |
the only reason i have hated time for so long
is because it has treated me like a stepson.
|
|
| intertwined |
[30 Aug 2009|02:19pm] |
how simple is it to say that you can be missing out on something?
what if you really arent? maybe its all just a fabrication, a curious thought that leaves you grasping for any kind of wonderment. perhaps im really not missing out on anything, and am living the life i intend it to be: driven by my own will and determination. these are the only weapons i need.
but why is it that i constantly feel this "loss"? i havent lost anything, except for maybe the experience of whatever it is i thought i missed out on. this ride goes backwards and through itself, looping around parallel presents and mind-twisting futures.
i suppose the only way i'll know is when i cant relate.
|
|
|
[15 Aug 2009|02:53am] |
vermin.
theres oh so many colorful words to describe you.
you're like a fucking disease, just itching to infect everyone.
|
|
|
[05 Jul 2009|02:14pm] |
i almost laughed every time someone told me that you wouldnt change.
i felt i was just the catalyst needed to make that happen.
looking back, everyone was right.
my biggest flaw is that im too considerate, to the point where ill let you step on me a little. the funny part is that ive known this for too long, and have no desire to change it. it truly lets me discover your main intentions.
|
|
| this world wont let me go |
[29 May 2009|03:03am] |
of all the things
i want right now,
all i want is for
you to hear me
through the sounds
of old compassions...
shining like burnt out stars.
|
|
| on the mathematics of sensibility (parts three and four) |
[21 May 2009|03:42am] |
//:morality and judgement.
think hard to a certain time, where you knew what was the right thing to do as well as the wrong thing to do, both in your favor. which one did you choose? its easy to favor oneself over others, but if you happen to be a slave to others, then you come dead last. however, you dare not pass the opportunity which can change your life, potentially (and usually) for the better. morals have come and gone in this time. nowadays its more a perception of ones own judgement, anticipating the ramifications and bending them to fit what you choose to be right. but how do you know whats right? theres so much to take into account.
is it okay to have morals and judge others?
do you judge others based on their morals?
//:selfishness versus consciousness.
what happens when whats in our best interest potentially hurts the ones around us? on the contrary, how does a person selflessly contribute to anothers gain, emotional or physical? the levels of sacrifices divide and multiply. when do we know when we have to give up on ourselves to improve the livelihood of another? when do we take initiative and take full control of whats being put in front of you? its all dazzling, really. this spectrum of questions is beginning to fill itself out.
the willingness to grow and let grow is another factor to add onto this ongoing equation.
|
|
| ~ |
[09 May 2009|11:50pm] |
all of these ghosts
simply pile up into
this cramped room.
--
a cup of water
nothing more than a beacon
guidance for long roads.
|
|
| on the mathematics of sensibility (part two) |
[30 Apr 2009|01:01am] |
//:perfectionism.
sometimes its a matter of doing it right or not at all.
i equate perfectionism to be of the same level of neurotic behavior: by obsessively asking ourselves what our problems are constantly, we begin to lose what we've actually worked for. whats the point in putting yourself through such a stressful, anxiety-filled rollercoaster? it just doesnt make sense to me. why strive for perfection? its not something you just put on one day. you cant wear it, and you most certainly cant buy it, but people starve themselves for it. but somethings wrong with that picture. what happened to growth? since when was being perfect an ideal image for yourself, or anyone for that matter?
ironically, the most important part of perfectionism is always being overlooked. the stutters. the falls. the unforgiving, infinite feeling of knowing you arent where you want to be. imperfections are what binds you to this world. its cold, clammy grasp doesnt just let you go one day. you have to learn to deal with it and to grow with it. adaptation. this, to me, is my unparalleled perfection: a constant struggle; a permanent work in progress.
sometimes to start over again, you have to fall down.
your mistakes shouldnt be just that; they should be lessons. cherish them, because they're a large part of how you build yourself for the future.
|
|
|
[26 Apr 2009|05:33am] |
this feeling is on fire.
oh, how it beckons.
how do you hug a wall thats limitless?
horizons bend beyond belief.
these boundaries hold no end.
(all there is to do is to climb over it...)
|
|
| on the mathematics of sensibility (part one) |
[20 Apr 2009|02:44am] |
//:differences.
such an odd complexity.
think of how unreliable you would be on yourself without differences. does being different bring an unforeseen, unwanted change onto you? does having a difference create a tension in your environment, where you either adapt or continue to struggle? does making a difference alter your state of mind, regardless of what people say/do/think? when did your hunger for individuality become over-fed by the fears of being "too different"?
indifference, the other white meat, cringes in its seat, at every opportunity it gets. it shouts at the top of its lungs. it rages in its small corner. it throws a tantrum capable of bringing your mind to crumbles. how easy it is to succumb to the void, the convincingly "deep" shadows of nothingness. the simplicity of indifference holds us back, begs us to fore go the offset chance of becoming that difference. indifference stays in the shallow end. indifference doesnt pass go, it doesnt collect $200.
it feels like this equation is dragging on for too long.
its simple:
the difference isnt being seen,
unless you want to see it.
|
|
| 12 x 15 |
[20 Mar 2009|02:07am] |
it had a popcorn ceiling,
painted in what seemed to be white-out.
the walls were beginning to deform,
bending this way and that,
almost as if they were being pulled in different directions.
one too many doors,
available for all of my limbs to open.
the old wooden floor had begun to show its real color:
worn out magenta,
with a pair of nails every two inches from each other.
so cold and desolate this place can be,
and other times its full of warmth.
maybe its all just confusing me though...
i've always found a sense of peaceful solitude
in such a distracting place as this one.
|
|