Das Ende

Not of this
or of you
Not of what I've become.

The end, which is just a beginning as I'm constantly reminded.
I should just be happy. Take horns in the ribs.
Ignore the blood it spills and look forward to riding this bull

til the end?

It doesn't quite feel like a chapter. If it is, then my book isn't balanced.
It has to be a novella at least. I don't want that much more horrific conflict.
Adulthood.
Time to leave being a young adult at 20. Why did I ask for this?
Did I?

How do you leave a place, people, a life, that you were so recently given? Appreciated.
This question makes me feel self depreciating. I wasted years in a Syndrome (Stockholm style).

How do you mount a new life if you are not sure what size large animal you are trying to tame?

Answers would be nice, but they don't know their budget.
Ridiculous.

[end of silliness]

How are you?

Nothing to talk about

Sorry if I have been elusive.

I am trying to be teacher and student. Adult and young adult. Living in reality and trying to escape it whenever possible.
It leads to misanthropy. I really do not think it is too much to ask people to respond to me. Maybe it is. My students did it pretty well yesterday.
I was preached to. If I told them my thoughts, I would be asked not to come back. But they fall in line well.

Does other religions upset you? Would you have had the balls enough to tell your high school teacher that they were going to hell unless they found God?

My time as an undergraduate is coming to an end, and I don't know how to handle it.
I cannot handle people who do not listen to advise.
I cannot handle people act like I am a burden.
I cannot handle the sky blue question mark with gray and green fog.
Nope.
This isn't happening.

Let me run.

Happier

Let's try for something happier.
Good people
good times
and sleep.
That's all one can ask for sans the working two jobs
and trying to cut out expenses like food.

I will tell you anything straightforward
but it has to be deciphered by my head.

Things just happen to take this shape. I don't know if that matters.

I've been rocking out to Finnish cellists, a German chick, and angry Iowans.

Sometimes, I wonder if this is real life. Life seems to be getting more difficult, sleep seems to be forgotten more, and yet...
this isn't what I meant at all.
We will all fall to Prufrock.

I don't want to stop the elements, just to control them.

Mind?

My Usher like mind is falling
I'm trying to live in the cracks.
I hate that I've realized the foundation
but I'm constantly being told to hammer it out.
Break



Break.

What if it all turns to pebbles?
Maybe I should play in it like a child.

And you have no idea what I'm talking about.

Let me back up,
back to a backstory.
Should I leave out certain scenes,
because they are the important ones.

Review:
We have all been hurt.
We are all haunted by our hurts.
Let's not let them get the better of our hearts, as we give ourselves over to apathy.
Like the children. They know better than to get hurt.
Life is superficial.


And I am lost.

Invade

Thoughts seem to be invading my mind.
I am sick of it.
We are supposed to be okay with being alone,
and being solitary for a time is fine.

I know not what to think.
Perhaps I should include you in my memories?
Would you be my amulet?

"Die Wahrheit ist grausam, drum shenck mir einen Traum"

I am a fortune teller
for children and myself.
I make the myths of maybes
in my mind
for you to kill.

And I don't know what I am saying anymore.
And I need your guidance.

Night

Writing

I am told to write
by my friends and professors
by all the institutions I find myself bound to
but I write for the child in me still playing barbies.

Sorry if you take part in my stories. Aliases will ensue.
I'm not asking for a how or a why, but a simple what.
I understand some detachment but
not speaking without talking.
What happened to conversations?
Maybe they are just toxic.

Perhaps I'll run away to Canada to work as a late night cook in some town.
That would make me happy for a week or two.
Travel is strange; I always take too much baggage.

I may look back and laugh, but I doubt my parody of life is that comical.
Too much time alone with only a digital friendship is probably worse than cabin fever.

You told me to write for others, but perhaps this blog is free therapy.
I suppose that makes you my lab rats?

I was never good at science, pardon theoretical physics.

I want to write to make sense
to include others in a private life, getting out of a modern mindset
to fill a void made in humanity
understanding my prayers to symbols


Perhaps next time we will dance, but for now I have stare at the future in the splinters of my bed.

And here we go...

Let's detach for a moment.
I wish it was that easy.
Perhaps, I come off as too personal. And maybe we don't really want to know one another.
Another modernist flaw.

I spend my nights staring at the bed above me, trying to find the future in the grains. My evenings are spent trying to force thoughts through motions.
How about you?
Am I being too personal?

Maybe we'll wait another day to say words as dissociated as possible.
Maybe you'll see through the words and truly understand the book.

Detach.

It is the beginning of the last chapter of this book. This series feels like it can fill a book-shelve.
I dislike books that make you cry, but goodbyes are always hard.
It may even be a farewell.

And I sing
I just want to swim.