Lazy from C-Z

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.

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...

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

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...

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.

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. ...

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

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; 

  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 ?

 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;

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.

 I could have found this perfect soul to navigate this narrow goal that never seems to disappear and yet did disappear when I needed it most beyond black trees to which I aspire beyond bright roads where glories transpire only to dream above and beyond eating me up inside day in and out knowing that that happiness is probably now someone else's instead of mine when I could have earned it waiting to live waiting to die only to give only to cry once and again for the longest time

A long week ahead. Sometimes you just allow the momentum to propagate. to marinate, by and for itself. Better than being a carpenter without a saw. I had a dream that woke me up, almost sweating profusely. Knew I had rested enough that the body had to rebel, once again. It was another dream about Ainhoa. And should I even discuss this dream? A dream that we know always ends on a deadend is not much for conversation. Only stirring up echoes of the past that never was and never will be, no matter how much I would want it willed into fruition. To suffer in silence is preferrable, and suffer and suffer some more, ad infinitum.

Quantum was just the beginning; quantum was just a guess, a formulae, and apparently not. Somehow the solution was resolvable with simple rationales, complex algorithms. It was always the purpose on the back of someone's mind. But does it really matter whose mind it really came from? Perhaps not. Ideally it would be someone less socially averse. Hoarding such knowledge could prove fatal in the gran schemati. So I hand out my faith into someone else's share, and in doing so, surrendering what little is left of thoughts begotten. Now work is done to implement it, nurture over nature, even if in the end nature always wins. 

It was never in the cards really. That poor sod of a man making an announcement of pure embarrassment and nothing to show for it, crumbling deep down inside. Shamed and half-awakened at the dead of night at the thought of a wandering trapeze made mockery of himself, sorely mistaken; eternally perplexed; forever bent and broken, where brokenness was never even hinted a question, a point of contention, or a manifestation from a headlong twirl, forever will be lost in the heat of it all.

I never forgot the 21st. It was arguably the best hour and a half of my life, and a year later, oblivion... Spent my first week of holiday gallivanting around Skye, thinking exactly about the same day last year when I lost Ainhoa, where I faltered, and where I stumbled apart. It was disastrous, but it was glorious in the moment, and it is just unimaginable to fathom where I would end up now when my hope back then was at an all-time high. Prior to leaving for Gran Canaria, I kind of anticipated that outcome, but not to that same extent, a slow death, clinging on to unheeded desperation. She was as beautiful as beautiful can ever be, and I was just me, belittled by mine own defeat. It was hard because red flags were sprinkled all throughout that condensed time, and yet I ignored it, just completely enamoured by the nymph that drew me in wholeheartedly since the start. A love that grew from a lot of doubt. A few vignettes of warnings from someone who supposedly cared. Where have my life b...

Images of death lingered on in my head, like fireflies in the night, waiting to be shattered. Words never coincided in precisely the same moments where life begins and worlds collide. Some of the things appeared so menial, so unperturbed, that the only way to fully understand the enormity of the attempt was to actually engage it head-on. Fear was on my side. It was like a goulash of emotions sifting through my system. Past and pasts living in the present, terrorising me whole, crawling, feeling isolated in the moment. This sense of desperation is all I have. These days I see the light writing its own reasons to feel the sense of being alive. I do not know what is in life, but I can sing and dance to the tune of bewilderment alone. Where did my love ever go?

 Dandelions after roses died. Lavender replacing vanilla. Something took a part of me. Safety in numbers. I have always imagined forty-two to be the answer, now I am not so sure. One is the only legitimate number, even if it is not primed. Numbers are painstakingly difficult. A deep thought occurred to me a few moments ago, unable to harness that slippery profundity due to being too abstruse. Counting the days of an unnecessary post-apocalyptic breakdown. I am slowly fading away, succumbing to the every other day epistaxis that I have had for years . My vessel is falling apart. I need to heighten my acute sensitivity, taking control behind these four walls. Time is not my friendly neighbourhood arachnophilia. And during my deepest of profound thoughts I found myself mingling about the universe and time and ainhoic transgressions over and over again, as usual, but this time it will not be for naught. I must persevere, even if my head hurts and I cannot recall anything soonafter. My ...

Happy birthday. 

People always told me to be wary of how you act, My mother always made it a point to respect women. This was at the nadir of her lifetime. She reiterated things over and over like a broken record, especially after what happened with Mioseon, and the same when Miriam left. The final month where we had the short opportunities to actually dig into each other's minds, that was all she ever preached, as if I was never good at all. But there is some truth to it, otherwise those things would have worked out much differently than it did. She never knew about certain things of my life, but deep inside she felt the knots in my ropes, hard as I try to disguise it. She is of my blood after all. I miss her. I try not to miss her. I try not to think of her at all. Because I do not deserve to. I was complicit. It will live on inside me for the rest of my life, and I will live with that fact with no one else to hopefully know the full extent of this sordid affair. I do not deserve anyone's sym...