Way Too Faded (WTF)

Walking, walking on my hands. Hands that stare and breathe and make love. Walking on top of faded clouds of green and brown, upside down. Colour me special. Look at my face, how my hands creep, how my eyes weep for themselves like what they see is the saddest thing. Looking down from the middle of the sky. Not too high. But faded enough to think about myself and how my wealth is in my interactions with the ground. Walk me to the door please. Get in touch with me when you're done. Walk out and never come back until you do, but never warn me. Warm me. I'm so cold in this freezing room with the windows wide shut. Make sense to me. Make me a legend. I will take you and make you faded. My hands walk off the edge of fhe world and lead my body back down to the ground. But my mind is the last one to get there. Always somewhere else when it's needed, no regrets or thinking. Just. Faded.

Runaway

I've been hiding for the past few days. Sometimes I just need to be incognito for everything to make sense. I'm no longer part of the anything, but I'm still something, you know? Anyway. Big shiut out to my friend who let me crash at his place for the past few days. I really needed to kust get away from myself and that was the perfect thing. Now that I'm back, I just lock myself up in my room and wait for the sun to go down. It's a bit sad, admittedly, but honestly I don't mind. At least I can keep my head and my thoughts away from the outside world. Also, it's been a while but I decided to free myself of my mind and get out of my body. A form of meditation. It worked so wonderfully well, I hate to admit. Well, the next piece is about my experience. I hope you enjoy it...

I Wish

I wish I looked like you. I wish I spoke like you. Had confidence like you, had success like you. I wish I had love like you. I wish I had hope like you. I wish I knew where I was going like you. You are what I wish I was like. But I wish you were curious like me. I wish you felt, like me. I wish you loved like me, I wish you would take breaks like me. I wish you saw the beauty in everyone like me. I wish you enjoyed seeing people smile like me. I wish you would hurt like me. So you could understand why I feel like being me isn't enough, but I'd never have it any other way.

Letter Writing Lessons

I wrote you a letter once. You must not have got it, or I must not have sent it. Doesn't matter anyway, we don't talk much anymore and that's fine by me. I have enough voices in my head to keep me conversaturated 24/7. They know me better than you ever did, or ever will. But, I know they aren't real. Just figments of my overactive imagination. You know, that place where everything makes sense. I doubt you'd know about it. We stopped making sense some time ago. I wish they were real though, so I wouldn't have to shut my eyes to block out the bull. I wished so many times on every falling star that they would be real. I know it isn't going to happen, but, what is life without hope? I could explain to you in 10 000 words and photographs, but I doubt you'd pay much attention. You rarely do. You see the surface, but deep down, there's a whole team of sadness anchoring this iceberg to the floor. It's cold, and heavy and hard to keep in place, but at the same time, it's a crutch that keeps me balanced and able to walk into anything. I'm sure you've noticed it. The way I look into the absent minded space between here and there. There's always a memory in that place that brings back some kind of feeling. And there's always a reminder when I catch myself that I'm supposed to be elsewhere. And then I come back. And I end up doing something stupid, like writing you a letter I know one way or another, you'll never get to read. It's how I stay connected to my emotions. I put them down on an arbitrary piece of paper and put them away, never to be seen by anyone else. Sometimes though, I'll let you see what I've written, just to show you how far away from what I want to be I am. Just to show you I do feel pain and loneliness. Just to tell you that I wish you were listening.

One More For July

So I've decided that I'll publish two pieces this month. Firstly, because I've really been slacking and secondly because I have some things that needed time to make sense to me before I try put them down. July... Wow... July has been a rollercoaster so far, and I don't know how I've almost made it off without shitting my pants, but here I am. Not much else to say, really. I just hope I can get to sleep after this...

We Ran

We ran. Hand in hand to the end of the stars. Blind deaf and dumb to everything, eyes bright and hearts open. We ran, never turning away from what lay before us, galaxies in our eyes, mouths open, sucking in the starlight. We ran hard, we ran far, barefoot moonwalking. Hope hopping, heart pounding, toothless smile, swallowing up the mortals' universe. Taking in everything. Feeling with numb pores and false extremities. We ran. We ran so far we forgot where we started, Caroline. We ran so hard we forgot about time. Our time. We put our fate in time's hands and we got the starry eyed love we wanted. The yellow dress, blue shorts, white t-shirt love that we dreamed about together by ourselves. And we never wanted the dream to fade so, we ran, Caroline. We signed the deed without a thought. Hollow framed, skin and bones us. You held my hand and we jumped from the precipice of reality. Our past leaving, seeping through our pores. We might have stopped at the bottom when we caught our balance, but, we couldn't. Your hand felt so perfect in mine, and we ran. Away from the blurry mess behind us. The stars lay before us, and we didn't stop. We ran. Into space, our own reality of stars and planets and galaxies that were smaller. Smaller than you and I. We were bigger than the universe, bigger than everything. But then time, Caroline. We went so far we ended up at the beginning of the end. And we had to let go. We had to part ways. I'm sorry I'm only writing you now. You mean the world to me but, I felt the way we left it was for the best. Still starry eyed, still hearts pounding, mouths gaping galaxies, blind deaf and dumb to the world. Your yellow dress turned to black and gold as you turned away from me for the last time. A tear of moonlight ran down my cheek as I reminded myself that I loved you, and turned my back to go my own way as well.

Parental Guidance is Advised

After much consideration, I've decided to cut the bull and kick my writing into high gear. I've had a bit of a block for the kast two months, and it recently dawned upon me that maybe I'm trying too hard to get the words right. Theoretically they ahould just flow out, right? Well... That's where things get a little dizzy. See, I find value in vulgar language. It makes writing and understanding how people feel a lot easier and it also manages to pack quite a punch when it comes to imagery. I have included some vulgar language in my writings but not nearly enough to fully depict what the state of my mind was at the time of inception. This being said, it isn't a deliverate practice that I am looking to engage in, it's something that I'm more likely to throw in for added effect without fear or inhibition. I've been trying to keep my work quiet, laid back and non-aggresive, but really that isn't as accurate a representation as I would like. The real stories that I want to tell are dark and with a few curses here and there, they seem to allow things to fall into place quite nicely. With that being said, I feel like my block will unblock itself with time and with determination, introspection and some solid hours putting pen to paper (or typing, really). Like most ideas though, this one didn't come from nowhere. I recently reread a poem I wrote at the end of 2013 (i think) and I recognised a part of me that had been hidden since then. As a thank you to my vulgar self three years ago, I'll let you guys read that poem now. Enjoy!

In The Meantime

Inbetween being here and there I struggle to be anywhere mentally. Having purpose is the main drive for some, working hard to get a car, to have a nice house, to be living a comfortable life. But I sometimes struggle to see the logic. Let me put it like this. You trade the skills that your body possesses (after education and work experience and all that) just to put food on the table? How can that be your purpose? That's a very roundabout way of getting to your end goal. But there are some who do it for more, and some who do it for less. Who am I to judge? I just have an opinion and I share it. But you see, with me the drive isn't about all the fancy things and the lavish lifestyle; I just want to find what makes me happy and hopefully I'll be able to do all of that and still be able to put food on the table. Sounds like a dream, right? I would not hesitate if the opportunity came my way. But all this talk of opportunity and privilege and money makes my tongue curl up because I know deep down that I probably won't care about all that extra stuff that people want. I don't know. It's like there's a kind of power that money has over us. It's become so subconscious that we blame it on other things and use words like "need" to justify our excessive consumerist tendencies. But alas, this is our reality and we do need some form of money to get us from day to day. I have yet to decide what I want to spend the rest of my life doing to placate my inner consumerist, and that is the scary part because between now and then, I have to seriously think about every step that I make and how it's related to the next step I'll take and so on. It's a challenging thing to just be thrust into the world and be pressured - if not expected - to flourish. And many people have the mindset for it. I am afraid I may have to mull a bit linger over that one and see how I fare later on. In the meantime, I'll just write about my feelings because that's all I have for now.

About my Dreams

I often wonder how I can be a stranger in my own skin. Or an imposter, a fraud, a fake. Sometimes I feel so far down that I start to feel like I am not who I think I am. The doubt sets in, the constant picking on the flaws, the self-hatred. And it weighs down like a metal blanket over my body pinning me down for what feels like indefinitely. But somehow I manage to get back up. It's a nice climb, but I always worry when the next time I'll go down again is. It's inevitable with me, but it doesn't get any easier. I always end up wanting to curl up, to hide, to forget about the stresses that the world puts on us, on me, and sleep and dream of anything happy that will let out all the bad and hope that some good can find it's way in. I like the illusion of good that comes from my dreams. It often manifests itself as a companion, an extension of myself that gives me the courage to stare into oblivion and smile because I know that what I see isn't real at all but it gives me the greatest sense of calm.

Bear With Me

It will always take some time for you to realise what you want out of life. Sure there are things that can make you happy and there are things yhat you need to do to survive. The way the world is set out, those two things often don't coexist for me. But that's life right? You have to go out and find balance, and you have limited time because everyone will compare you to other people your age, with your skillset, with your goals. They only look at what you can do from the outside, not from how hard you have to struggle to overcome your own personal obstacles. It takes time, and time we dont have because our lives are shorter than we think. Every day goes by and we just seem to be going through the motions; making ends meet, doing what's asked of us, trying to make a living. We've changed the nature of survival so completely that we no longer look to just survive, we look to thrive in our own context. It makes it a bit more difficult because the bar gets raised higher and higher with each new generation, with each step forward we take as the human race. Keeping up isn't always as easy as it seems though, and those that fall behind become the antagonist of the story titled survival of the fittest. We as humans have given up the right to judge who is fit to survive and who isn't because we have placed a higher value on life than anything else. Or so they say. In real life, if you're plagued by notions of self hatred and despair and every day comes as a challenge not because you're struggling to survive, but because you're struggling to find purpose or a reason to live, you get left behind. Catching up is hard, it takes time. So please, bear with me.