Forgiveness is a cornerstone of the religion to which I proclaim allegiance. I'd like to think that I've been able to develop some semblance of mastery with it. But there is one particularly noticeable discrepancy in my application of this tenet. There is always that one person I can never bring myself to forgive and that person is no other than ... me. You know, over the span of the last two decades and a bit, he has amassed quite an abundance of fuck-ups. An idiot of Herculean proportions. I look back and all I can do is cringe and apologize in my head to all those who've been so unfortunate as to having been dragged into the twisted inept logic of my former self. It is truly gut-wrenching my idiocy, the insufficiencies of my rational components.
Thankfully, the degree of disgust associated with my "misactions" nowadays is quite modest, generally (except for those two stupid giant elephant demons that I inadvertedly summoned, but, fortunately, dispelled recently). But me, as the misguided youth as I was, was truly a senseless creature. How does one come to accept that? How does one persist for the entirety of one's life while constantly accruing these regrets?
4/18/2013
4/16/2013
Roller Coasters
It's all going to collapse soon ... it's all been leading up to this moment ... the culmination of all my works, actions, decisions are about to come to fruition, that is, its self-destruction. For a person so unskilled in the art of fire-breathing to play so casually with fire is certainly folly to anyone with half a fucking brain.
Why couldn't I see the writings on the wall? They all glaringly pointed to a spectacular demise, one unseen since Lucifer's descent into the eternal darkness.
Part of me wishes that these fragile supports that still suspend me in the air would just give way already so I'd be able to feel the full fury of freefall, unhindered. That I may hit the cold, hard ground and finally begin my real life, unabated by these present spectres that haunt me so.
But, alas, I must wait. The seconds, minutes, hours, and days pass by agonizingly. A strange and pathetic limbo, neither in Hell proper nor anywhere close to salvation. It is here that I sit, on the top of the hill in my roller coaster, awaiting, powerless.
Why couldn't I see the writings on the wall? They all glaringly pointed to a spectacular demise, one unseen since Lucifer's descent into the eternal darkness.
Part of me wishes that these fragile supports that still suspend me in the air would just give way already so I'd be able to feel the full fury of freefall, unhindered. That I may hit the cold, hard ground and finally begin my real life, unabated by these present spectres that haunt me so.
But, alas, I must wait. The seconds, minutes, hours, and days pass by agonizingly. A strange and pathetic limbo, neither in Hell proper nor anywhere close to salvation. It is here that I sit, on the top of the hill in my roller coaster, awaiting, powerless.
4/13/2013
Is Anybody Home?
I hate Saturdays, that strange fucking limbo between Friday, the last day of work, and Sunday, the preparatory day for the next week's work. I can't do anything but be paralyzed by this constant sense of emptiness and seclusion. Sometimes it really does feel like I'm the only person alive, despite the multitudes that share the common spaces (library denizens and TTC commuters). When exactly did Saturdays become so worthless? At least since 4 years ago... but I suspect it's been even longer than that...
Why am I typing this out... when has any of my outrage ever resulted in anything worth a damn... more meaningless inquiries... fantastic.
Why am I typing this out... when has any of my outrage ever resulted in anything worth a damn... more meaningless inquiries... fantastic.
4/12/2013
4/11/2013
Shaka, when the walls fell
Behind the walls ... waiting ... always waiting. The oceans have swollen and consumed my once glorious homeland. This ruined fortress is all that remains of the now shattered kingdom, and I of its once buzzing populous. The walls creak as the waves batter upon them unrelentingly, as if mourning for times long past. And as I stand and gaze at this place that once held so much meaning for me, I wonder what I can do other than await for that inevitability when my entire world will come crashing down. No, there is no hope, no chance for escape. Although my lungs still take in air with each breath, my heart has already sunk to the very bottom of the seas. But what other choice do I have? I will persist ... stalwartly ... resolutely ... and oh-so-very ... futilely.
4/10/2013
The Hours
Can I wait the hours...
The past few days have been horridly unproductive and I've tried, my god, I've tried... I go downtown and stay in the library... but to no avail, nothing is accomplished... if not only because I'm not convinced that I can study effectively with exams still comfortably far away, the important ones anyway.
So here I am, lying on my bed, typing out this meaningless post. I have a small meaningless thing I have to do for tomorrow but, seriously, who gives a shit? I don't. I'll finish it later tonight. For now, I'm just lying here, listening to whatever to make the time pass as soon as possible...
I'm also waiting for something else ... it's been steadily growing over the past bit and has swelled into a distractingly noticeable mass ... but I am still not totally convinced, my resolve is a bit incomplete ... there's a fair bit of conflict stirring in that chaotic pool of ideas of mine ...
All and all, I think the Beach House lyrics (from "The Hours") above and maybe its entirety, are pretty relevant... ugh, what a twisted web we weave...
The past few days have been horridly unproductive and I've tried, my god, I've tried... I go downtown and stay in the library... but to no avail, nothing is accomplished... if not only because I'm not convinced that I can study effectively with exams still comfortably far away, the important ones anyway.
So here I am, lying on my bed, typing out this meaningless post. I have a small meaningless thing I have to do for tomorrow but, seriously, who gives a shit? I don't. I'll finish it later tonight. For now, I'm just lying here, listening to whatever to make the time pass as soon as possible...
I'm also waiting for something else ... it's been steadily growing over the past bit and has swelled into a distractingly noticeable mass ... but I am still not totally convinced, my resolve is a bit incomplete ... there's a fair bit of conflict stirring in that chaotic pool of ideas of mine ...
All and all, I think the Beach House lyrics (from "The Hours") above and maybe its entirety, are pretty relevant... ugh, what a twisted web we weave...
4/05/2013
Conviction
"We have seven exams."
He said it with such fervour. The intensity in his eyes were like embers burning into mine. Now that I look back, maybe a part of me was intimidated, if only for a millisecond. To be escalated from a placid conversation to a point of such conviction was definitely unexpected. But, he was always a studious one, a lot of them seem to be. Myself, I care, of course. Just passing is no way to live after all. But my conception of good study habits doesn't necessitate a desperate obsession. And, maybe, just maybe, I'm being unfair to the particularly studious ones.
Maybe, it is not them, but me that is doing something wrong. They certainly are a dedicated bunch. Most of them work part-time jobs, while studying, and one even tries to keep up playing guitar for an hour a day. Me... I don't do jack shit anymore. I don't even try to play the guitar, despite not working and not having as many volunteer obligations anymore.
Where did the fire go? Did something extinguish it? Was it ever there in the first place? I don't ... really remember.
Maybe I do need a break...
He said it with such fervour. The intensity in his eyes were like embers burning into mine. Now that I look back, maybe a part of me was intimidated, if only for a millisecond. To be escalated from a placid conversation to a point of such conviction was definitely unexpected. But, he was always a studious one, a lot of them seem to be. Myself, I care, of course. Just passing is no way to live after all. But my conception of good study habits doesn't necessitate a desperate obsession. And, maybe, just maybe, I'm being unfair to the particularly studious ones.
Maybe, it is not them, but me that is doing something wrong. They certainly are a dedicated bunch. Most of them work part-time jobs, while studying, and one even tries to keep up playing guitar for an hour a day. Me... I don't do jack shit anymore. I don't even try to play the guitar, despite not working and not having as many volunteer obligations anymore.
Where did the fire go? Did something extinguish it? Was it ever there in the first place? I don't ... really remember.
Maybe I do need a break...
4/04/2013
Warmth
You're thick-skinned, but it seems
You're hiding in daydreams
Can't find our way to the light
And when this routine ends, through nights and weekends
We'll see daylight through the blinds
The excerpt above is from the song "The Kids Were Wrong" by Memoryhouse. I guess for the past bit, it feels like I've been wandering in the dark, slowly edging my way across a wall, feeling its surface, in the hopes of finding a door that'll lead me back to... somewhere, the place I ought to be? I don't know that part exactly.
At this point, it definitely feels like I'm just waiting. That it's not a matter of me finding the door but rather just for me to endure until the door opens. That time was originally summer. After all these dispensable academic obligations are done with, I was wanting to spend an inordinate time (I was intending the whole summer) in improving my musical competencies.
Well, whether or not I'll actually have an entire summer (rather than just the evenings and weekends) to recharge my empty cells, there's no doubt that the end of this school year (which, I'll admit, has been particularly arduous compared to all my other years) is what for which my mind yearns. I can't wait until those nights and weekends of memorizing things for the purposes of having a favourable number assigned to me are a thing of memory (for a few months anyway).
It'll be nice to see the daylight again, to be enveloped by both its brightness and its warmth...
You're hiding in daydreams
Can't find our way to the light
And when this routine ends, through nights and weekends
We'll see daylight through the blinds
The excerpt above is from the song "The Kids Were Wrong" by Memoryhouse. I guess for the past bit, it feels like I've been wandering in the dark, slowly edging my way across a wall, feeling its surface, in the hopes of finding a door that'll lead me back to... somewhere, the place I ought to be? I don't know that part exactly.
At this point, it definitely feels like I'm just waiting. That it's not a matter of me finding the door but rather just for me to endure until the door opens. That time was originally summer. After all these dispensable academic obligations are done with, I was wanting to spend an inordinate time (I was intending the whole summer) in improving my musical competencies.
Well, whether or not I'll actually have an entire summer (rather than just the evenings and weekends) to recharge my empty cells, there's no doubt that the end of this school year (which, I'll admit, has been particularly arduous compared to all my other years) is what for which my mind yearns. I can't wait until those nights and weekends of memorizing things for the purposes of having a favourable number assigned to me are a thing of memory (for a few months anyway).
It'll be nice to see the daylight again, to be enveloped by both its brightness and its warmth...
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