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I was on fire for you, but where did you go?

All the things that could have happened and still feel that I am fortunate to be in this current moment given a new breadth in life, albeit everything else, through all the somethings that seemed so distant not too long ago. It feels like forever now, my post-post-apocalypse has emerged, even if the lingering effects of the yesteryears remain swimming in the nakedness of my utter lack of self-awareness and failures, no more. Perhaps it is a feat that was always meant for me, and I tell Ani that here and there. Too much fire engulfed me for one single person who was neither here nor there. A mere flicker of the unknown bursting into fray like a moth to a flame only to be extinguished as quick as it happened. It has driven me before and it has a massive consequence to my person, but now this renewal has given me a sort of swansong. It will be as it shall, and it shall be because I will it to be.

sed nemo nos consolatur

Success should suck less since such test would be tested of its mettle almost immediately. The loneliness of the word evades itself from within the limitations of its realm, its capacity. Would I have succeeded had I not have failed just a few hours sooner? And would I fail still even after finding the best of luck in the worst of ways? When you lose after you have just won, it was never a victory. It was nothing, nothing at all.

Might makes right

I have no social cues. Those that are emboldened by the belief that I will falter under their pensive need for approval will no doubt fall on my deaf ears. I have very little patience for those that have little to no value in my life. Long gone are the days where I have to humour other people's clamour for my kindness; I have none left, drained to the pus of the ever living boil nagging at my sore nog. I will not falter; those that dare to challenge will be challenged. Somehow I feel like I could crush vermin in the palm of my hand, and the satisfaction of owning will always permeate at the back of my nog right behind this boil telling me that what I do deserves some level of respect, and there are times when you have to lock someone's ankles to attain it. The world deserves its comeuppance, and light only shines when righteousness becomes audacious, because the path forward moves forward regardless of the level of intent. 

Kombucha-drunk Love

She could sense a palpable tension in my messages, like she knew that I was going to give up on her. Only recently have I learned not to burn bridges along the way. I certainly did not want to burn this one, but eventually I will have to deal with it one way or the other; it is inevitable. Trying not to let go of something that could potentially be a needle in a haystack seems so much of a waste of meaning that you cling to it hoping that what once was a paradisiacal possibility would turn out to be a potentially disastrous recipe for another paradisiacal possibility. I merely chose the one I felt in tune with the most. But now that the cat is in the bag, my hopes are that the cat remains in a catatonic state of both alive and dead, of me not knowing until the need for it arises once again. It seems to me like I have burned way too many bridges in the past for me to start now, and finally I have reached a point of transcendent realisation: do what is best for me. So I chose the best op

Loving Ani

The niceness is a welcome stray, a wooly feline looking for a warm spot to scratch itself on. Almost like a raging need to participate in the human nature of everythingness. It forms as a social consequence of being in a tandem, or a group of more than three, and in any objective plurality. It could be measured by the desire for an absence of a certain something or longing, or neatly by chance, or a compulsive necessity for survival.  Right now I am massively burdened by the tugging of strings in many worldly directions. I feel like an active participant to something greater and relevant. It feels to me like for the first time in my life I can actually do real change if I only learn how to harness this, but at the same time is it really much of a necessity for what I need for myself and others near and dear to me right now? I cannot be compelled by my own personal delusions any longer. The dubiousnessf my own sense of self-importance is an impending futility that must needs be taken in

This too shall stay

We have heard of this before. The awkward pause tiptoes on my tongue as it grates on its own lack of indulgence. The deed is done. It did went well ever better than it did in Spain. A week of excursions, full of emotions, the intense weight of heartspuns weaving arrogant torrents within a single point of failure. Where do I even begin? You wrap your head around it in the end and condense everything in a more mature endeavour. This fire suffocates, but that suffocation aspect is like a conundrum in itself. You will want to stay inside this microcosm and try to last for as long as you want. Everything is finite, for the good and the bad. And it often toys with the longing. Nostalgia in the face of someone you feel nostalgic about, and melancholy in the heat of the blissful intertwining of our lips wreathing in agonising ecstasy. I worry about where to go from here, back to the ever-moving sameness of the responsible you, rather than the ideal version of whom you portray yourself to be, b

Merhaba

Quaking at the boots, part two, mostly delayed. I am over the moon and under the sun, washing waves, breaking thunder, and a murderous desire for love. The first one was a major disaster and swallowed my mental health whole, pushing me back for months in disarray. It was self-inflicted but nevertheless this time I did not want this to overshadow the presence of whatever was coming, and come it shall, with righteous fervour, down to my throat and into the belly of the beast. Turkey, be kinder with me than Spain.

Autumn Moon

One could say that this next few days are well-earned rests, but not when it meddles with the financial aspect of it. Would have been apropos to assume that the holidays were meant for making cash, not celebrations. It is the best and only time not to be burnt out by work. Alas the tragedy of working under, not over, a certain playing field requires no qualms in participation. You get a pat in the back and a bottle of wine and go home and feel proud of it. My days in Alanya are sure to be a spectacle, if only I can stomach the anticipation. There is nothing I would not do to get to this point, and now I am almost there, albeit mildly infuriated by the anticlimax of it all. Those days are over. This was the cause indeed, and I must need fortify myself for future endeavours associated with it. This will be my salvation, not a pity fuck, where words are drawn and sins are forgiven and making space for new ones as we go, as we march forward to the reality of where we currently are, that no

NWZ

The end is coming of what was allegedly supposed to be the best year of my life by far, and it seems farfetched now to imagine why I believed such nonsense. The whole notion of believing that having an amazing year right after last year's end is quite painfully absurd. More absurd than believing that I still have a few more days to commit before it kaputs into the annals of history, and still somehow I believe in the strength of conviction. I will have my final attempt at joyous victory in the company of Ani in Alanya, or so I hope. So far, so good. All the world I have seen before me passing by. Perhaps it is time, once more, to stop worrying about myself and learn to optimise love, with me or against.

Schrödinger's girl

The green curry inside me was tame. Something felt missing about it. Could not for the life of me figure it out. It was fine. Mothers filled my senses, but the girl stood out. She who was dead and alive at the same time. She always fell asleep early. If I should trust her for saying so, I must trust her. Imposing my own wants against anyone's desire is a clear recipe for disaster. Sometimes I feel like being swallowed into a dream that I could not for the life of me walk away from, because it is completely insane to think that this is happening to me all of a sudden, driven by the madness of a morning twilight's melancholia. She wants to be saved, just unsure that it would be. However, it will not be me.

Ammonia

A warm and tingling sensation has never sought to drive me to madness until recently, when all the little things do is just run tightly on a headship. There was nothing more to think about. Little things like love for all the little people. You cling to the urge, hoping for it to subside on its own, only to balloon into a wave of emotions that no mortal could hope to contain, because all that it is is just a reminder of the salutations of an even greater concern. But the more you insist, the more it endures, until all that is left is the memory of what it once was and should have been. When Lady walked away the other night, regret overcame me, like I did something so wrong that could never be reconcilable. What did I actually do? And today, of all days, Friday the thirteenth, seeing the birds fly low and fly away, watch bits of my soul be gagged and clutched, for the rest of this early autumn melancholia. It will not overwhelm me to any degree. I hope. Anastasia would wait for me to ge

ANI

Irate by a fire That could burst in me alight Taken up by a choir Of the voices in a blight The abyss she desire Where a war rages in fear Shaken up by desire To fly over to here

Arme de choix

There was this altercation. A woman from a faraway land tells a man halfway across the world that he was insufficient, incapable, and unalarmingly passée. He disagreed; he thought he was worth more than what he was described. But there is a truth indiscernible from the comment by the woman; there was weight to it. It could have been palpable. He could simply be misunderstood. But by the time he held his tongue, his fingers were already wriggling about and doing the work outside of his own volition. He acted by impulse, not by desire, but by a knee-jerk reaction. One that he himself would not approve, but he nevertheless allowed. Expressions are merely authenticated by the mind. Nothing escapes it unless authorised, and this was no exception. The words he slipped on to her rattled her to the core that she swept him off immediately from her life from then on out. He could not be bothered, why would he? The man felt he had done nothing wrong, that he was simply disagreeing. Later on, they

Seed is strong

If the intention too close to the bone, I would have already done it. Amongst so many attempts, the results always seem to default to close but no cigars. This whole effort is fatiguing, if not intoxicating in equal measures. Tired of all the resistances and the rejections and the mindgames of it all. Otherwise it would have simply been a dire misunderstanding, which is an all too common motif when it comes to me, and apparently shared amongst so many others if I were to be completely blunt. Some of the seedlings have sprouted, even in such short amount of time.

The persecution and assassination of Inua as performed by the inmates of the asylum of Mri under the direction of the Sin

It is always a question of the when rather than the how; will I be able to sustain this or will it forever remain a farce? Boy looked dishevelled, and the seeds have all been planted and the ladies crossed, absent rizz. None have sown promise thus far; one will not be bothered. My focus needs to be redirected towards this reason for me being in this supposed holiday... of sorts. I may have some rest, but like I said, will it ever sustain? Life catches up too soon. My job is too stretch it too thin before it breaks, and once it does, pidele al diablo que me permita pagar mis deudas . There is no point in asking what it all is for, none of it ever matters, but regardless of the situation, one must make the best out of it. Priorities are what I need; the distractions are in abundance. I must needs pass what I came here to do (the light at the end of the tunnel), and fuck the requirements for now. Plans, plans, plans. We all get there eventually, but for now, this. Get to the destination.

Diveler

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  What are you crying for? What are you crying for? When it's just a feeling They are just feelings These are just feelings

Ain Somnia

If it's not so hard to understand At least see me for me If you were the wind you'd carry me To find joy and serenity If my madness can find miracles Yours is always free So release me; If it's not bogged down by tragedy It was always meant to be If the time is right we can sail away To find our melody If I can't hold on to the miracles You will still be free So believe me; If we were to play this symphony Why'd you have to flee? Because mine is yours like a reverie Deep in a deep blue sea If your madness can't cure miracles You could still be free So relieve me; If I had more time for this fantasy Believing that you'd be Mine one day as a destiny To our endless symphony If this is more madness than a miracle I'll never be set free So bereave me; 

Salvation à la mode and a cup of tea

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  But where do we hear of that which most deeply inspires man; where is the innate desire to give as much meaning as possible to one's life, to actualise as many values as possible -- what I should like to call the will-to-meaning ?

Eunoia

 Don't be afraid Of the things one would say Just to lure you to fray You are not bird of prey; Don't be okay If you want things to stay Just to lose your own way You are not a grenade To fusillade For someone else;

Man bites dog

Trying to make sense of slowly kicking things into gear. Making it make do is harder than it sounds. Feels like a carousel of wanting to go all in and making a mess of it and starting all the way back to zero; tail bites snake, man bites dog. It seems as if this purpose has no purpose tangentially, but it is slowly working its way back up, I do believe. Only in the chaos of it all does one permit itself the meaning of its purpose, to pick it up amongst the debris while all else is suffering intraordinarily, as it should be. No matter what the chaos brings, even the brittle mortality herein that is slowly withering.