Bits and Pieces

I haven't written a blog post in a while, haven't I? Truth is, I have tried about 2 times since my last post, and both times abandoned them. Today, I looked at them again and I realised that there are no conclusions to such topics, so I decided to cut them out of their original posts, and write them all together.

Here is goes.

This one was called: “Heartache VS Headache”

There’s a weird similarity between the two. Sure, one can be caused by hitting your head, and the other by not seeing your lover for a while, and sure one can be caused by excessive drinking (actually, now that I think about it, both can be caused by excessive drinking…) and the other by forgetting your daughter at an afterschool study club that was supposed to end at 6 o'clock, but you left her over-night. Regardless of the situation, at the end of the day, either way you feel extremely shitty.

I came home today feeling both. Double the feeling. Okay okay okay, so a little overboard again, maybe not really heart aching, but I wasn't feeling well. I felt a little dumb, and light-headed. But then I felt like I was getting a cold too.

I tried to get up quickly and take my mind off of the events of today, but that just made the pain in my head stab my brain with knives from every corner. Then when i settled into a chair, and began to browse some YouTube videos, my heart began to tug on me, telling me to be depressed. I didn't  listen to it of course, but that doesn't make my cold and depression any better.

Its funny how one gives off this throbbing, hurtful feeling, while the other makes this tugging, pulling, hopeless sensation. I went out with some friends today, and then decided to search for a birthday present with this one girl. We don't really know each other well, so it was a little awkward, but it was fine. What wasn't fine, was how pressured I felt. 

***

Looking back on this moment…jeez that was a while ago…

As I was saying, I felt incredible pressure to make something happen. She was very quiet, but I wasn't sure if she was shy or whatever… I just kept trying to start a conversation, but she just kept butchering it with little “okay”s and mhms (nods).

If it takes two to tango, then dancing is just the same as chatting.

After the horror of the day, before leaving the subway I decided that a hug was in order, and so as we said our goodbyes i held out my hands and she, without a trace of feeling on her face, hugged me back. It wasn't even a second, but whatever. I immediately regretted it, and I guess I felt like I described above. In a couple of weeks, we both knew that both liked each other. And then in a couple more, she stopped talking to me completely. And that was almost a year ago – and we still pass by in the halls in utter silence. I laugh at it, but she really tries her hardest to avoid me. What is this, grade 2?

Yeah, in retrospect, i was dumb. I learned my lesson though. She was the last person I felt complete attraction to, because I later realised that, well - it wasn't worth it. I’ll never “love” anyone like previous girls – its not an attractive quality for one to have. They might even want someone who cares less – No one wants someone who is clingy.

 

This one had no name:

There’s a certain amount of effort required to write an online journal entry. The expectation that thousands of thoughts and emotions need to be compressed into 5-8 paragraphs is quite a pressure on the mind (My mind, anyway). But…it’s not condensing that seems to be the problem – it’s the simple fact that you have to bring back those feelings & memories. You have to hold your breath, dig them up, dust them off and turn them into undead zombies(that, not to mention, could turn on you at any second) just to write the damn thing!

I’d expect that after such a ritual, one would let out a long heavy sigh. And the sigh would be just. When one buries thoughts and memories…they don't expect to bring back them back – especially if they are the  repressed kind.

****

I hate writing about things I’ve put to rest. It doesn't flow - the words tumble and fall and a great deal of effort must be put in before they somewhat arrange themselves into a presentable order. And when they do stand in a line, one sentence feels separate and disconnected from the previous. (See what i mean?)

 

I'm going to wrap this up before I embarrass myself further, before my stitches come undone from all the concerned glances, and before I once again submerge myself in the calm autopilot my mind provides (The Current), before I cant bear it anymore, and before I rightly explode into millions of…well, bits and pieces.

Acid Antlion

I feel like I can’t move or else I’ll touch the acidity. On a post sometime ago(sometime after Halloween), I explained how I fell in love with someone, and how she cracked me. Im okay now, but she’s no more a rubix cu de, but a spider. I guess she had once injected a poison into my mind that only now seem to have come to life and completely stunned me. I was already healed from her previous cuts, but now it seems that the true virus is only beginning. I don’t hate her, no, how could I? Nor do I hate what she’s proposing. But I admit, I wish I was like what she wants, because that would make me something that so many others want. I would become something I sometimes strive to be, because why else do I exist on this damn rock if not to strive towards a goal? Her proposal isn’t ideal, and although I wish her the happiest fortune, I can’t simply allow her to continue. But what can I do? Will I hate the outcome, if positive? Most definitely. Will it change anything about the situation? Not at all. If everything goes bad, which I feel so incredibly guilty for wishing that it will; will I be there for her, not for my own interest? Of course.

A Mirror Image.

She stared at the mirror in deathly silence,
Her hair was dirty and tied with rope.
The world outside was full of violence,
But her own reflection gave her hope.

A tear went down her perfect cheek,
Like a dove plummeting down from the blue,
Crashing in pile of feather 'nd beak.
She hoped the image outside would be untrue.

For in her mirror which filled her gaze,
Hope and love slept
And dreamt of better days.
It was only her who now wept.

When men were angry at each other for reasons now gone rotten,
when the armies attacked each other then,
And left the world withered and forgotten
The spirits of good fortune, went into hiding once again.

She'd faced the daemons, who tried with out luck
To steal her mirror,
but in the reflection of bliss and happiness they all got stuck.
No one of ill fate had ever gotten nearer.

But she saw beyond the good
that the mirror used to show.
It's fatal flaw was understood-
she blew out that candle with the only glow.

And then the spirits were free,
from that wretched broken glass
"To fill the world with good" was their guarantee.
and the first change came to the withered grass.

And the world began to fall back into it's rightful place,
The women picked up what was left of the reflection
And her other stared into her face.
And then she understood that the Hope and Love only masked away the true beauty that she never saw before....

...Her Mirror Image.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I feel so worn out today. I try to move but my body wants to stay the same. Its bad for me to put so much energy into one thing that the rest of the day feel like crap. The poem that I wrote above (Although it begs to be edited) is trying to capture in essence that sometimes we must not be afraid to take away all other feelings that may be making a picture look so wonderful, and embrace what the reality is - come out of the mask - and see the image for what it really is.

"I won't believe the horror that I see
Is more than your poison inside me
Lets tear away these faces we hide behind
Cutting through the airwaves
Open up our minds
Show ourselves to the world tonight
Cause we are... No longer in disguise!"
-Faces - Scary Kids Scaring Kids

A Mad Man's Tirade

You're terrible.
Okay, maybe in the lightest meaning of the word - but you still are. You cant even make a conversation, much less pretend you care. Okay okay, I dont hate you. It's just a dream. That's what everything feels like. I dont understand anything anymore. I catch myself sometimes, as if I am breaking free of a spell. The best way I can describe it is trying to break to the surface of a current in a river. You can do it for so long,until you mindlessly fall back into the waves. There's no drowning under them either...just a feeling of indifference. It's this "current" that drives me around my day. I get up, go to school, eat lunch, talk to people, go back to class after lunch, go home, and do my homework. There are times when I snap out of it - these are the times when I'm doing something extreme and not something I should be doing (...like when I talked to you about everything on the subway train.) - and I ask myself, "What? Did all that just happen? I cant believe I didn't react to that.". But then I just take a deep breath and let the current take me back in...

I'll probably never talk to you again. And yet...

Nope. Nothing. The Garden that once falsely seemed to flourish for you, has now wilted and curled into a dead clump of rotting petals and bark. Dont worry, it's not you. It's not. it's just...frustration. It's the inability to process information.

Nope, I dont like you. I just...I forgot myself. Stabilo once sang:

"Stick around i got a hunch, we'll bomb this town and stop for lunch and never, nevermind these awful cries it's not as real if you don't look in their eyes"

Im crazy, heheh!
If I am, then whatever. This song thats been playing for a few months is drawing to a close anyway, and I was okay with how it's been delivered.

Do I hate you? No, never. I'll never hate you. They say that the five stages of dying are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. For relationships I believe it feels more like bargaining, depression, denial, anger and acceptance. And maybe it's even worse than dying, because you feel everything all at once. The closest thing to hate is anger i guess, but I'm not angry with you. I'm angry at me.

At any rate, I just dont want to talk to you, because to talk to you is a lot like talking to myself with pre-recorded "Hum."s and "Yeah."s .....Just like a pitch black sky-rid of all but a few stars that shine a little when I raise my voice. Sure, once in awhile, a firework will blast through the darkness, and I'll remember why I once liked you - but fireworks seem to run out quickly with you. And the stars can fade with time. And then whats left? Just a pitch black sky.

You're going to avoid me now, I know it. I dont mind. I respect all your choices, so Im going to stop looking up. I'm going to stop trying to gaze at the pitch black sky - waiting for a shooting star or any other sign of life... I'm going to turn around, and head back home.

Them. Or How to Assemble the Perfect Rubix Cube.

Ok so I am sort of back, but then again you care as much as the next guy…and since there is no next guy (or girl if you’re that picky), then I guess I can do anything I want and get away with it.

Luckily I am not an asshole, (as a certain few might think) and therefore I wont start doing something completely out of proportion and start linking every word to a porn site.

I will however drag out some points that are currently happening in my life (read: undead-infested shit hole) (Ok..so I'm a little ass.) and try to present them in the light of an ever dimming flashlight.

Speaking of shiny things, ill make a stealthy smooth transition to my first point. (oops)

I don't understand rubix cubes. Ok, sure - they’re fun, very colourful and pretty to look at and completely make me feel so happy inside when i develop a connection with them…..but seriously. You NEED to one time just stop, and walk back up the cliff you’ve been going down and look at the god-damn thing from a mile away to realize its been leading you into a pit of fucking magma. HOT BLAZING MAGMA. If by then you’re not scared to your pants, to run all the way down, kiss it in the cheek and continue walking then you, my dear friend, are a moron.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this analogy actually, But my point is that the rubix cube is like almost every woman you meet these days. Yes, their hair resembles a bloody furbie that you want to run your fingers through until they bleed (your fingers – not the hair), and sure you want to kiss her all day long and roll around in b- sorry. too far. But YOU CANT DO ANY OF IT. You need a freaking Webster's dictionary for the Blind Men to decipher whatever she’s throwing at you. Here is a couple of entries that I'd like a definition for:

When she looks you straight in the eye and stares at you with a slight smile on her face for a few uncomfortable minutes-

When she ends up beside you…and unreasonably close beside you every time you look around-

and there are of course millions of others that would make a nice change than from just updating the English language with words like “Muggle” and “screenager” that no being on earth will ever use other than in context. (…and in a very low context).

But while Oxford Dictionary tries to copy Webster; all I can do is wonder why someone does these things which to me seem to be great signs of “HAI LETS DATE!” but which turn out to be random mishaps….that happen every single fucking day.

All in all; I'm ok with this if you don't count the massive brain damage i might get after being hit by so many blunt rubix cubes. But maybe destiny has a huge rubix cube in store for me with lost of shiny surfaces and colourful squares…..maybe even gradients :D That’ll be fun.

I also get comfort from not being alone. I met someone else a week ago who is also looking for a rubix cube. Except he`s looking for one who wields a light-saber and understands every Star trek reference he throws at her. Im a little more….open, so to speak. I wont hold a grudge against the person I like if they are unsure of what “Nintendo” is, or if she has no idea how to shoot a shotgun.

No; Im worried more about other things…which leads me to my next subtle topic:

Drinking

Gawd I hate it. It’s not so much as the thought that drinking is “bad”or anything, its just that I hate the way people act when under the effect of alcohol in their veins. It takes over them. It makes them turn inside out and makes me want to slap them in their face and ask them why in the world they would do such a thing.

Hey - I've got nothing against a few drinks or two (other than the fact that any % makes me want to puke from just the smell) But I guess child-hood nightmares always somehow relate to adolescent life. In my case; I guess it’s been drinking. You see; I was born and raised in a family where every goddamn event is spent splattering your liver with vodka (like all good European cultures) – And I’m serious. Birth? – Drinking. School?-Drinking. University? – Drinking. Marriage? – Drinking. Death? – Drinking and more fucking drinking.

I’ve seen so many drunk faces in my life, and seeing someone who is usually such an elegant and beautiful woman with her pupils dilated at some party with her cell phone stuck in between her body and a bra-strap just completely breaks me down. That’s the fault I see in my school. Everyone drinks illegally here. Okay, Okay I know it’s not supposed to be a big deal – it should even be great since you can “score sum chicks at teh partay – bro!” But I don’t go like that.

I already said why.I hear people have so much “fun” while drinking.

If any of you have found out how waking up in an alley, head hurting, ears buzzing, not knowing where you are, hugging some girl, is supposed to be considered fun, then please inform me.

Same story with drugs as well. When my friends get together, we’re more than just high – we’re plain crazy, and not even a drop of alcohol has touched our tongues. Now looking back at this, I may have over reacted a tad bit, so I’ll just say this: Sure; I’ll drink with my friends when I need to, but I don’t think I want to get wasted.

Alice is long gone. I still have her in one of my classes, though. It is annoying! I was sitting behind her, and she switched seats! I swear I was not going to talk to her ever again long before i went into the room but she still saw it best to move away. Grrr. This wont be fun.

( Summer Entry has been combined with October entry.)

*******

They say that writing helps sleep.

But then again, they are usually wrong.

 

I am writing this because I think I can prove “them” wrong, elaborate on “their” faults, and maybe teach “them” a lesson.

The sad part is – this is all being written by hand, since I am in bed with no internet connection in about a 2 meter radius around me. There isn’t a living thing in about 3, and frankly, even if we increase the radius to about 20 km around me, there wouldn’t be a single thought being carried out that could link back to me. It doesn’t bother me as a whole – no. You may think that at least my parents would be thinking about the events of today, but they aren’t – mother is talking quietly on the phone and father is busily typing on the keyboard down the hall – and me? I’m just sitting here. Wondering what exactly is bothering me, what exactly is carefully peeling away the flesh at the top of my head and gnawing through my bones, ripping through my insides – tugging – pulling, trying to cut me in half – all the while my heart pounds in exhaustion – both trying to fuel my need for oxygen, but careful to not overfill itself, burst the arteries, and my brain swims from images flying through my eyes – diluting my pupils – freezing my body – trying to stop the flood with a piece of see-through paper – and all – every last one of me scream in unison with hoarse voices – STOP! STOP! STOP!

But it’s too late for that. I'm already analyzing. I'm already trying to comprehend. I'm already trying to put the puzzle pieces together.

It’s ironic how good I am with physical puzzles but when its the puzzle of something else – like a feeling – I am completely lost. It’s just too late for anything now. Truth is…I don't know what I’m feeling.

Jealousy. Yes, I guess it is safe to call it that. It’s not perfect though. It’s the fish in the fish stew, but that doesn't mean it isn't stew without the fish. Anyway; I guess i have to feed some story before the events.

You may have guessed it, but this is about a rubix cube.

(How dare you roll your eyes at me!)

Anyway.  She’s special. I have NO idea why she’d be. But I don't think she’s a cube. A hexagonal prism maybe? At any rate… I guess I see something in her.

She knows now. I preferred she didn't, but that doesn't matter. Nothing’ll change.

I realised a few days ago that in my mind there isn't a difference between “like” and “love”. To me, they are synonyms. I believe that’s “their” fault. My life has become what I see on screen. I am a copycat by nature – I copy qualities I see – well, my sub-self does it by its lonesome, but that's hardly the point. I don't know what I feel. I love (loved now) the hexagonal prism, but maybe its a less-love. “They” portray love too quickly – too suddenly, since the most they have is two hours to show their most recent work of “art”.

The 31st was Halloween (ironically the anniversary of this journal of hell :) wooo! ) and I had to sit 2 hours watching “Rocky Horror Picture Show”. Even after 2 bloody hours I remained indifferent to the film, all the while everyone else once again sang the songs, repeated cheesy character dialog, and danced the dances. I pretended to enjoy myself for the benefit of them all, but I didn't really understand anything. Hopefully, I will never watch it again.

If I do, the feelings I felt a couple days ago will flood back again.

I guess you can take what I'm saying with a great deal of scepticism, since I am very likely over-reacting and completely killing my nervous system for nothing. But I am, all in all, jealous.

I'm a very soft, needy person. I cant stand being ignored, and in this case, I couldn’t stand being there without attention. The prism was leaning on Pages. (There’s the eye rolling again.) Yes, I know she’s a flirty prism, and sometimes just does what makes her feel comfortable, but gosh, it still killed me. Okay, so she put her legs on me, (we were sitting on a long couch) but that didn't make me feel any better. I knew she was not interested in him, but that didn't change the fact that it looked like she did.

Jeez. I hate how I’m moping and whining about this. I’m supposed to be all tough and uncaring for women. I'm supposed to move on and not remember the girl I kissed last week (or something along those lines). But that' doesn't seem to be me.

My guess is that’s what “they” want me to be. I don't like that. Not one bit. So I sat there, images of her resting on him shot me arrow by arrow, until I was completely dead inside. Completely lifeless.

I think she doesn't know what she wants. There have been moments, where there were situations where I felt her hand feel me. My stomach when I lay down. My shoulder muscles when we are sitting. Nothing to feel, sadly. So those were failures.

I want to fit a little into the mould. You prisms say you don't care how we look, I say B.S. Because that's what “they” have told you through countless of soap operas and books about knights and sparkling vampires, and on and on and on – but your consciousness still wants to behave on its own. They made a study, conclusion said that prisms liked nerds better than jocks in the long run. But it also said that there’s no reason a few muscles here and there could do any harm. So I’m lost. I feel like I’m drifting away from it all. I don't care anymore about what happens with this whole romance novel that never gets to a goddamn end. I have watched it for too long – seen it be pushed back to later and later times on Tuesday night, and now the plot is so twisted and full of so many holes that I could care less. And now I’m going to change the channel.

Yeah, sure – now I want to end this with something “sweet” like “If only you were mine…” or “I know you don't care, but please find someplace in your heart…” or end off with a modified quote as “Curiosity killed the cat, love killed me” or “Sticks and stones may stick to my soles, but you have no idea how much you hurt me”

…But that’s just “them” talking. I already said what the problem is “They” don't usually get things right.

But the truth is “They” don't know anything… and besides…

It’s all about me from now on.

___________________________________________________

What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness.

What.

~~For your own good, don't read this :)  it makes no sense and will just make your head hurt~~

What if love was hate?

What if hate was love?

What if self-esteem was what we never wanted?

What if rejection was hard to find?

What if happiness would be prosecuted?

What if violence would be welcomed?

What if recessions were good to the economy?

What if being lied to, was a turn-on?

What if rape was the only way to reproduce?

What if apples grew from bushes?

What if gravity ran on batteries?

What if friends had to be fought for?

What if affection had to be payed for?

What if humans had to be hunted?

What if chocolate was considered meat?

What if sweet was sour?

What if sour was sweet?

What if the seven sins were the only rules to a happy life?

What if guilt was a the new drug?

What if condoms were actually a snack for children?

What if we where moving back in time?

What if due dates were never assigned?

What if acting was an Olympic Sport?

What if Sport was banned from the world?

What if we all died?

Would the World still be the same?

Would the continents still be similar?

Would the people still look the same?

Would I be the same person?

Would I still be ...Max?

Raceless

I wrote this a while ago, and decided to share it:

 

I’m not a church person. I’m not saying I don't believe in God. I just don't usually go to talk to Him about all the crap happening in my life. He may listen, but I believe that to let some else fix your problem while you sit on a chair, praying, is cowardly.

A church to me is like an art gallery, payed for a price. It’s a beautiful place to walk to on a Sunday morning. The way the trees bend into arches, making a small path towards the stone monuments? It just awakens me like nothing else. I'm not a church person, but something did pull me there today.

Going in through the arches of rock took me into a large hall where two large water basins stood. I looked into one of them, dipped a finger in and sent ripples through out the basin.

As if for a greeting, the bottom of the basin changed - morphed somehow. At first I thought I was imagining it, perhaps the ripples I had once created changed the water I looked at now.

We did what had to be done, to make the cold wars end, we all be and came one.

Not understanding, I moved on.

He greeted me, limp in the shoulders, crown of thorns on his holy head.

But I am not a church person, so I didn't kneel. I did, however, nod. I knew he was up there, watching.

Why did they always show him in the position of being hanged on the cross? Why would they never show how he is being risen from the dead? That’s the happy part – why depress ourselves with the bad parts? I shook my head; clearing it, and moved on.

I sat down at a bench mid-way to the alter and mid-way to the door, hoping that I didn't come at a time of mass. I began surveying the glass.

Time saw us in different shades than you.

and

The brother of skin will be no more different than the imposter’s child.

stared up at me. I didn't understand. But I moved on. My gaze fell on an angel.

St. Cosmas. A healer.

said the inscription below.

I stared at it for a while, examining the wings and the body of the saint.

“Isn’t it just beautiful?” a voice asked after a few minutes.

I looked at her. She was sitting beside me. The lights danced in her hair, illuminating it.

I shrugged. “I'm not really a church person, I don't know what it all means.”

She laughed. It was a musical laugh. “I'm not really a church person either, but I understand.”

I still didn't understand, so I wanted her to talk more.

We sat in silence.

“You know what would make this glass painting even more beautiful?” she asked finally.

“You being in it?” I replied, grinning. She laughed. I was happy.

“No,” she said slowly, her smile vanishing. “color would.”

I screwed up my face. “Color?” What a funny word. “What’s that?”

I hoped this wasn’t something a church person could only understand, for I wanted to know too.

“They took it out.” She gestured to the window panes. “The most beautiful thing in the whole wide world, was taken away from us.”

More beautiful than her? I couldn't imagine it.

“It was all different before. The fur of the dogs wasnt the plain thing we see now... The trees where beautifully colored and swayed with the happiness of the world.” She looked at me. I could only gaze in her eyes with wonder.  “You’d be colorful too.”

My mind tried to race through the passages of memory to find a way to comfort her, to bring back her smile. All in vain.

We sat in silence again.

“Why…why did they take it all away?” It was I who spoke first this time. The silence following after my question rang in my ears loud and clear. We sat so still – that I had to double check if she was still there. I was never a church person; but today, I couldn't help but think that He was watching over me and her. As if this very conversation would change everything.

Something slid down her cheek. Tears. I hated them. She didn’t deserve to cry.

“Because we were all so different. More different than female and male; more different than adult and child…we had different colored skin back then, different colored personalities, different colored water, sand and - almost anything else you could have possibly imagined!”

I was confused again. Why take away such a beautiful trait? I listened on.

“But with the differences..comes problems. Racism, abuse and so many other horrible things. People used these things as excuses to get back at their enemies or just from plain old greed…Remember “money”?”

I may have not been a church person; but money was one thing I remembered. I smiled at her and nodded.

“Well that was what everyone was after; money. Back then…money meant power. And people used “differences” to get more of it.”

“So color was used against ourselves?”

She nodded. “Beauty was shattered and became nothing more than a memory to some.”

We sat again. I understood her words clearly, they rang true with each syllable. I turned to her after a long moment. “How is it that you know so much about color and money and everything…when I have never heard anyone say anything about it?”

She stared up at “The Healer” glass painting again, probably imagining how it would have looked with color, and then, quietly, as if to make sure not even He could hear, she pronounced the next few words with such clarity that I forever remembered them. “Parceque…Je me souviens.”

I may have not been a church person, but I could speak French alright.

“You…remember?” I asked her.

She didn’t respond for the longest time. Her head was bowed down and if I would have not known better, I would have said she was praying. Then her whole body trembled. And then she pushed herself to my chest, her head pressing against my shoulder, crying. Something sweet and fluttering rose in my stomach and warmed up my whole body.

Love.

My hands wrapped around her frame and I hugged her back. We sat like that, clinging to each other as if losing one another would end the world more that color already did. A warm body was all we both had left. And we clung on for our dear lives.

I have never been, and hopefully never will be a church person, not after what they have done to the color, but when I sat there, hugging her…I saw a spark of understanding. These sparks caressed us both; illuminated us, gave us knowledge and made us both stronger. Many minutes passed but we still clung on. Then we finally let go. Wiping off the tears in her eyes, she leaned in…and kissed me…and I remembered everything.

Now I know, that I have none other than God to thank for that.