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Doubleplus ungood

Somebody once told me that I only get to experience once the perfect moment of elation. He, while in a state of drunken stupor, in many ways, was talking mainly of my life in romance, but the words he uttered stuck on me and lingered for years to come. Not to mention he was a drug addict at that. Assuming that the guy was a whore too would not be impossible. Those were some of the darkest times behind me that I am glad to have pursued despite the anguish. Even at that instance of weakness, I still managed to have personal control over my influences and was even respected for that overall. At that one moment, we were exchanging rum with water, and the heat flowing into our gastrointestinal tracts kept us awake long enough to stand and walk for miles in a warm, sunny day in the wild. I should not even have to defend the idea but I have to admit, it kept me hoping up until this point.

I can not even remember his face anymore, let alone his name. And in some ways I consumed his spirit into me, and I let his essence frolic within me to give comfort and hope to the neverending prayer of redemption, that one of these days my tide will turn for the better and that his words serve as the prophetic mark for salvation. I grow weary and exhausted the more I lingered, and the more I breathe, the more the unfortunate truth bears the stigma, and I realise the folly that Thomas kept on mentioning, and my endurance turns adulterated, and now introduced in a whole new perspective of contrition.

I stopped hoping long before today, but not completely withdrawing the possibility. It reflects in many ways the concept of theology in general, and my own point of view to the whole array of debatable order of things. That evasive moment of elation may have to wait, I reckon, but the ease of having to accept that it might not be fully possible comes more naturally as maturity progresses. That is how I learn to grow up. In moments of depressing migraine, I understand even in quarters of percentages. The sorrow of having to leave that youth behind is overwhelming at times, and even that is a point in learning. We learn because we believe, and that belief suddenly fails. If we have nothing to believe in the first place then obviously there is nothing to gain. It is a whole new process of elimination.

I see the opposing window open from my balcony across the edifice and a blonde, seemingly fit woman with sky blue spaghetti shirt walks out and lets her arms rest with the bars that support her balcony. She glances left and right, back and forth, with no purpose, and goes back in ten seconds later, probably realising the chill the evening wind provokes, and then I realise the chill myself and I look back and see my window swinging to and fro. I did not even have the time to finish the coffee beside me. As a matter of fact, I do not like coffee. I do not like the practise of inflicting more headaches upon my own to stabilise my mental acuity. The opportunity presents itself and even multiplies the adverse effects with a simultaneous groaning. I enter my room to meet the bed that betrayed me the night before without even so of an apology. The relationship in tension resonated all across the space like warm, fuzzy gas, and I told myself at least I do not necessarily have to rest my eyes tonight benumbed.

The anvil that rests within my chest is the only foolish thing remaining that keeps me apart, and I am currently in the process of separating that anxiety. The fresh wound still gobbles up the bigotry of the brains apart from mine, and reconciliation proves irrelevant no matter how sincere. Whenever I speak in riddles, it always brings me to calm, mostly because of the security it possesses. I have no qualms whatsoever and I prepare myself for the backlash ahead. I look around now and I see blurry images of skyscraper lights blinking from the horizon, as if it signifies a calling. These are the moments I need to avoid, because whenever my sentimentality fries itself into overdrive then I go whirling into an abyss of madness, stunting the growth of my development and wasting precious time that could have been made for something else worthy. And I stared at the light for a couple more seconds convincing myself to learn from past infractions. It never stopped blinking even as my eyes deviated into the sad tractor below, in a middle of an empty space, unused. Reminds me of someone dear I used to know. Sarcasm, of course, for it is apparently obvious who I am referring to. Or is it?

The windows across the balcony now light up yellow as time passes forming squares of blocks similar to that game about elimination and survival. I kept my room as decrepit as it was the moment I entered so as not to attract unwarranted attention to anything or anyone. The foul stench of brine bounced off the walls and back, including even the salty presence of sweat and semen. I put my hands under my chin and lie on the floor feeling the shaky range of motion, the pent-up emotions and such, not even considering a common earthquake to be a possibility. My mind has made up its prejudices and has closed itself away from the barren tracts that lay outside, it lands on my feet. I no longer have control over my cognition as it clearly announced its rebellion earlier today. I wished myself more hatred to counter the opposing hatred, because love was not an option. And options are not a means of last resort. My vocal senses were astray due to the multiplying pain, and miscommunication is inevitable. I could not handle the clash of words, I could not be denied. If I snap, I lose, and if I fall meek, I go misanthropic. Either way I lose, whichever way leads me doomed to failure. Perhaps I am not as gifted as I thought I was. The illusion is as illusion was today. Like I am waking up awake in a dream sleeping, wave after wave of paradoxes. I shifted my weight to the corner raising both my arms to acknowledge my participation, and at the direst point the consequences remained the same. Branded am I as the et al of the wheels of fail. Never hardened, always mismanaged, forever doomed, still fortunate enough to not be homeless for some reason, or probably a nasty joke from the wide list of Peter reprimanding all the other cherubims for having been so meticulously unworthy of otherworldly wisdom. The lights were almost at my reach when I happen to come across an excruciating pain in the abdominal region, usually perpetrated by none other than milk for some reason, perhaps as silly as that joke-from-heaven theory earlier. My face could almost taste my face which was oily as ever, almost to a degree of ugliness. I bellowed a loud roar to impose the image, probably convincing myself there was still hope hidden within the pretentiousness of the initiations, hurting myself wondering how the light manages to keep still even at night.

The brine still causes that uneasy smell which I tend to ignore. My legs were too lazy to respond even though the knee-jerk reaction from having to sit idly for long minutes forces itself to move, even though it is merely sliding sideways. My eyes now burn like hydrochloric acid as I stare blankly into the space. With nothing to respond, it is nearly impossible to acknowledge each and every antagonists that protrude from out of nowhere. The darkness felt to me like home, and my breath grew thinner but milder. The suffocating silence except for the wind and button clicks made it seem slightly relevant, and I am back to that whole moment of longing once more. I remember the whispers of wisdom from an addict, revolving around my head as it did a few hours before, only now supplied by the darkness from which it stemmed, from which it opposes, from which its purpose is supposed to negate. I said goodbye to the sun for now until I come back again. The thirst has made me demand a moment's rest. I close my eyes and nothing changed.

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