Lazy from C-Z

A lot of things could have been much worse. I can say that about a lot of things. But time is a cruel mistress; it does not wont for anything. I should sleep this off, but the thing is I can barely contain my anxieties. In a few hours it is back to work for me. But before so, I want to say that my dreams are all that matters to me now. There is nothing that will hold me back any more, not even the images of failure will prohibit me from trying to attain. So in the midst of all this commiserating, I will finally enable my senses to run amok. No more fetters, no filters, no shame. I will be whole again. Yet in my mind I find I cannot rely on myself. 

Every muscle in my body is on lockdown, tight leash, morning glory, permanent aches. But I must roll my reserves. Months and years ago I would question my decision now to persevere. I simply do not have the will to go on like this. But here I am and here I must, for absolutely nothing at all. Superstar was what she called me, and funnily enough my neuro-otological impulse was to horripilate. I never respond well to compliments. Welcome as it is, I think it is superfluous, gives room to complacency and misplaced ego. Olly told me the same thing last Saturday. I must needs stand up now for it is time for me to show a well-rounded confidence befitting my station, although to be fair nothing at the moment still feels much deserved. Everything is a hand-me-down for now. When I do get to that point -- or if -- then murder is the quickdial I will first peruse. One day I shall see the wood for the trees. And I also had a similar interaction with Ainhoa about it. Not much can be said but more a

A small lightning in a bottle. Nothing that I deserve. But every hour hurts and the last one kills. Misery tucked away in pints for posterity. It will be over. That is what I tell myself. The destination is nowhere with no means nor how. Smile as if I meant it. Cry as if she died. If only I let this one slide out. August chills. Let me go. Let me go, let me go. If only I could tell myself to end. Time flew fast and nothing to show for it, still far and away. I could be happy, if nothing else, just be happy. Rise, no ashes. No hope. I give up. Rise, and one day die and die again.

Time flies but it is never enough. Perhaps the most damning tell about how life has changed is the preference to be outside the realm of norm. Getting older and being more composed -- well, I have never been composed. These things supposedly are the hurdles to overcome prior to reaching natural maturity. Some are moulded by their circumstances, some are moulded by necessity, some by fear, and some by heartbreak. In the grand scheme of things, I have had none of these things, the things that give some value or flavour to being. Mediocrity has somehow always been my opulence. The rest of the short days ahead will never be valued as highly as I have ever had since last I had a proper taste of true happiness. That is a primary issue -- I no longer ever remember the event that I consider to be the happiest I have ever been. Kate's arrival a few days ago kind of shook my boredom away, but it meant very little in the end. We shared precious moments together, and she even spent a few days

Right before my night's sleep I took a stab in the dark and saw a glimpse of light on the floor. A tiny wick barely lit. It was as if it expected me to gape at it in awe. The next thing I knew I was transported into a vortex of unknown quantity. The moment's blur was too quick for me to count the time, but I quickly collected my consciousness not too long after the sordid affair, and I was standing in front of a kiln with a haunting figure attending to it, and the creature that stood before me had a terrible countenance, almost demon-like in its appearance, neither man nor woman. It stood there as if it expected me to be there. It paced around as it lit the machine. It never acknowledged my presence, but I knew it knew I was there. I neither spoke nor moved out of fear until it opened its mouth revealing a hideous-sounding voice, deep and gravelly. The creature, still attending to its machine, then asks, "What is your verdict?" I had no inkling of his subject, so I st

There is a feeling inside me to want to be deposed from my current position just so I could step back and start the longstanding rehabilitation of my soul. The setbacks are almost pronounced, even subliminally to an extent, without the need for an outside intervention, but the more I think about addressing it, the more I realise that the fundamental issues raised herein are subcutaneously programmed to eke out of my being and be expunged from the main concern of the argument, which is the person that I am now. No amount of liberal thought processes will cure me of this impediment unless I myself will it to be so, but in order to even cross that threshold I must slowly allow myself the excuse to be absorbed in its aether wholly. I have to let go, horizontally, vertically, in all diagonal angles possible. This is the only way. Love comes in a form of a speck of hope, and in this micro-reality that exists tangentially from my current disposition, it is in my best interest to lose everythi