Sunday, August 22, 2010

Lover, you should've come over

Artist of the day: Jeff Buckley



Geometry class taught me the meaning of a line
Declaring it as a collection of points extending infinitely
On opposite directions. One point followed by another,
Connecting. And I speculate on relation, points struggling

To connect, saying my hand is stretched across waiting
For you to come, and hold it. An ardent point A, relating
To a fading point B, meaning extension. To give
Part of the self to another. At night, I dream of lines,

The kinds that make up the four chambers of the heart
And what lies in each of them, how they set themselves apart
Drawing lines to distinguish their insides from the exterior.
Outside, a train pulses to its arrival; a child rides for the first time,

A man forgets patience, and a faraway place is near again.
I define lines simply as something that exists in everything
I see. Is this what holds the world together? The margins
Of this city, finding necessary slits and openings, blue horizons,
The lines on our palms, the trail our footsteps leave.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Strange Condition

Everyone's so intimately rearranged
Everyone's so focused clearly with such shine.
-- Silversun Pickups

And so I've decided to do myself a favor before finally trying to get some sleep. A lot of terrible mental nonsense has nested in my head these past few months and to be honest, I don't think the damage it has caused in my head, my heart, and my life can ever be reversed. People, places, events, everything-- these past 6 months have slowly began to redefine how I see my life, and most probably how I'd be living it for the next few years.

I'm currently living inside the body I've always dreamed of being when I was 12. The dream was simply to be older. Now I'm 22 and young, yet old enough for so many things. I guess I just didn't think I'd end up like this. Nobody had a clue, not even I. Growing up, I always thought I was meant to live a life of predictability. There were things that mattered to me when I was 12. Some still matter now, but they didn't get to hang around long enough for me to realize I really wanted them. Yes, vague. One day I'll figure them out.

The process is painfully unnerving, I find myself caught in a threshold-like state where everything is gray. Just being at that point where I see how my actions affect others, and stopping to try and predict how this will all come back to me, is just so overwhelming. I've taken certain sides that don't offer much comfort. "It's my own design, it's my own remorse," as more aptly put by Roland Orzabal.

Because my love is strong, and my heart is weak after all.
-- Delta Spirit

It still makes me wonder why, after all these years, I (and people like me) still choose to hurt myself in the process. As I try to rationalize, I reason that I put up with self mutilation simply because I believe It is worth the risk. If It's one thing I learned the hard way, it's this: you can't tell your heart not to love what it loves. You can deny what it wants and still its four chambers will hold every memory for you. It cannot ever forget. However, it can let go, for sure. And when it does, it's surrenders itself completely, accepts its fate, and resumes its constant pulse.