Lazy from C-Z

Much can be said and much has been said about matters of my core, whether intentionally or inadvertently. Regardless of mine own opinion of myself, the fact is that not much can be further said without already digging up the carcass of yesteryears. Reaching a crossroads, something not totally alienating and, in a way, already tainted with hint of perversions from living. It is not a complaint but rather an indictment of truth. Somehow my matter of factness antagonises that with mine relationships with other people, particularly with Ani. We stand tall in between transgressions; too early to tell, but my optimism is in outstanding merits. The pain that was injected to her intraspiritual being manifests itself too often. Scars of the days before I came. An all too common story for the common man. I have no idea how to fix hers, nor do I assume that I can, we can both simply live our lives as if we were ignoring what was practically huge chunks of our lives absent one another, because if

Someone falls to pieces; someone else gets led astray. There from the mystical bonds of those united stands from behind those unbehoved; the constantly nagging, cringy, and scrupulous lot. I sit behind a small room wider than a sardine can, wholly satisfied. Ani thinks I am at work, of which I am. Everything is hitting a strange plateau. Wherever I am feels good . Pieces of notes fall down but the letter said...

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.

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.

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. 

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

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

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