UhZc3Fai

1Downward
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31: Each year feels farther away from the next to the last. Ten years feels impossibly long ago, and three years feels like yesterday. But at the same time it feels like so long ago. Even if these days are short, they are no longer or shorter than days before. Time feels both still and swift. I'll never forget some days; To me, the day never ends, it just keeps moving from birth to death. Both points feel so impossibly far apart.
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52: Oh Apathy devour me. Consume me whole. Am I not worth your suffering? Tear me apart slowly from the inside and fill me with contempt. No, my worth wanes in the sight of the expectacious. My novelty has worn off, and I am cast aside to the back of the minds of those around me. But truly, there are none near to me. Just ghosts in my disreal life. For I am the ghost living in a fantasy, another reality where I have value. I am not fit to live, not near to other people. I should leave the world alone. Im here walking in the dirt and mud trying to find a clean river. What if I did leave? I don't want the world, it's nice but oh so cruel. What if the cruel were removed? Wouldnt that be even nicer? But what about apathy? For why do I feel this overwhelming apathy? It is of my character and disposition to consider and balance the state and condition of others and places as well as for the present state of events. How can I abandon my emotive diligence, to empathize with those that suffer? And more myself; Is this apathy directed inward? Clearly not for it is foremost in my mind, but loathsomeness and carelessness are a slow vice. Might I be entrapped in a maze of love and hate? I won't say that it is not for myself but for all things. I am always seeking reasons to love, but when I hit a wall it turns me around only to seek a reason to hate; And for so many things I have reason, but some things I have nothing but disdain for. Things like working for no cause, menial jobs to throw away the hours of your life to. There is a difference between being productive for your own sake or even for the sake of others, but to allow oneself to become a commodity for the sake of earning money is demeaning to the human spirit. I feel we are greater than this. To use one's hands to create and repair is a feeling that is worth more than a weekly earnings. - I'm certain I'm broken in some way. I have failed in some way. Have I led myself to failure or have I been guided to failure? Compared to others, my faults must not be equal for I should not hold myself to the standards of other people. The judgment from others must be of no consequence, except for they that judge and be judged. 
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73: 9-2-2015 No matter what, I am led to good things; Despite being angry, sad, depressed or of the many negative negative feelings. There is always at least one thing that pulls my eyes from the negative space and puts my mind in a better place. Maybe a blessing, perhaps a curse? Am I unable to experience the feelings that come to me? Why waste my time and energy on negativity. I am grateful, but I feel as though I'm missing something. "Too happy" they say. Who made the standard of happiness, how can a person be too happy? Let me be sorrowful if I must be, but life is too wonderful. The only reason for my misery is myself, but for why am I miserable? Yes its time; Time for what? I am wrong there is no time, only absence of space. Yes time is the gap in our being; A void of pleasure and joy. Time is the empty place where the soul suffers and dies. First comes suffering, and then comes death. The soul persists, but no longer suffers when the soul succumbs to death. Death becomes perpetual. A dead soul in a living body. Time is ruin. How can a dead thing live? - There is no comfort for the ailing.
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94: 6-5-2016 A dream - I was there among the dead observing what seemed to be an audience or jury. I saw a judge to my front and to his left was another. They clacked and clanked as they moved for they possessed no flesh; Mere skeletons dancing to the notion of words for they made no sound from their mouths. At the front of the stadium where the judge sat, there was a round table, and a podium all made of a hard dark wood. I looked toward the table, and then up to the conversing skeletons, fearful for what they were saying as I still could not hear. They danced and I watched, their mouths moving but making no sound but the rattling of their bones. I neglected to see my surroundings, so entranced by the chattering skeletons before me as I wondered with anxiety the content of their conversation. I debated with myself if I was in a church or a court, and I had felt that it was both. I wondered why a church would hold a court and who they would judge. I had felt that the judged was each man that does not judge himself. I had suspected the skeleton judge and jury were discussing my innocence or guilt. I then knew I was alone, but I still did not know why I couldn't hear them speaking. I concluded that they were uttering the thoughts I had inside myself. I was judging myself and the preconceptions of the world and my life. - I often wonder how much of my catholic upbringing has set my way of living in a particular direction, making me vulnerable yet resilient or perhaps prudishly curious toward the inclings of fools, so much that I became a fool myself once again; This time in ignorance rather than arrogance. How much must one judge themselves and also be judged by others for no reason? Damn the fools that blindly wander with disregard toward misery unknowingly, their reason is with lack of reason. Reservation is timely for shame. More than that, time is the greatest remedy; The greatest enemy. I am grateful for thinking I am saved from the miseries of life, for I am certainly not, but my misery is brought forth from the folly of others, I dare not waste my time with fools grumblings. Yet I mutter to myself in silence my own contemptuous judgment.
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115: Oh this life, the only life I live. The time I have is fine for now, but a time will come when I will see it as insufficient. Looking forward, time is infinite, but looking back it is limited by memory; Memory of life, of time and of all those deeds that cause me to look forward. - "The last thought is the first thought". The things we think are ingrained in our nature. Ideas are thoughts and thoughts are at the center of the core of an idea, that continuously perpetuates those thoughts; And out of those thoughts is derived a conclusion, The source of this conclusion is derived from the original idea and belief, and may mirror the sentiment exactly. The cause and effect of your choices reflects the first thought and perception of yourself. These thoughts will change at times as time goes on, and as we look forward and back. - "Heros die, great men cry and the world stands on a needles eye. Arrogance and pride, the scourge of all men's lives. The balance of nature teeters in wayward times. Confusion and sorrow lingers in the depths of our minds.."
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136: I would like to become ignorant; To be a fool, to live in comfort and be free of all my worry, but a man can not forget what he has set before himself. Once uncovered the emptiness must be left behind. The void is to be filled with knowing and wisdom; What is put into the void can not be removed until its time is complete, but the time of knowing can not be complete for the knowledge never ends; Wisdom never ceases. One's life is a continuous search for truth and validation. In this, the validation one receives he builds upon it his worth. But this is foolishness. Worth can not be measured by the reward of a single man's works; How influence is gained and offered, to oneself and to those near to see, is the worth. Though the lonesome ideal, all of mankind is but a single soul vying for the acceptance of, shamefully I say, themselves. I wish not to have said it or to have the eyes to see it. I wish to be blind to the nature of life, so that I may only be concerned with the illusory of the reality man has manufactured in our desire for purpose. I want to see only flesh, physicality, and material; For the joy and sorrows that fill my mind are too great to bear. I have felt and seen, and known but to forget would be a peace. 
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157: Contend with me this grey light. I am bright and shining; The overcast sun burns through the thickest of clouds, even to the small places that never see the light of a soul, unafraid and venturing toward the unknown. Contend with me these unknown things for to I you are known. I can see and I have felt the pushing and pulling of your influence. I know to where the places you take the unsuspecting. Never though did I expect for you to find me here. That light was so blinding and true, I had melted from the depth of me, my soul, with anticipation. I was expectant and hopeful. For I and my own sake is my worth and my endeavour. The strength of me is my greatest feature, for I need only I; The greatest fault of me. 
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178: What does the end bring? How can there be an end if anyone is able to witness its effects? The fruit of one's effort are not measured in time, nor the culmination of the perceived reward at the end of a task, for the reward is knowing that one's endeavours are worth the effort just for the sake of partaking in them. If it were so that all things were only worth the final result, all actions would feel triumphant. Act. Noble acts do not go unnoticed, but all acts of ill intent often do. What a curse. Do noble men act nobly when out of sight of the watchful? I know that lowly men do not carry any dignity while alone. I would hope noble men do. - Inclination and suggestion; What in me causes me to think? My soul feels ill, but this feeling, what has inspired it? Why must I write this confusion? I see myself and I know what will be done can not change. Why should I change myself? Why should I not? This illness is created, it is my nature. Nature will prevail. I reside in a state of disgust. Conflict and misery are inseparable, and my misery is not of conflict but of justification. I justify myself for all I do; As we must all. This all ends with my failure. I am a failed man, living a failed life. No remorse for the rebel. For if so then how should he rebel? Man was to be as god, higher than the angels so we once thought, but we become devils.
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199: I want to cry, I want to smile, I want to laugh like nothing is wrong, but silence falls on my face. A grim apathy that pervades my being. I have become so full of repressed malice. To say it has not been present is a lie. I hold myself at bay for the inherent rage in man is a constant factor. I now see myself with feelings of resentment. They damn me, but those that cast others to fire must themselves be damned. Should it be me, I, that cast them out? The foul intent of the riffraff calling to me as fruitless; The fruit is not of wealth nor knowledge, but of will and intent. Must I be subject to the scorn of proud men? Arrogance is a curse where humanity fails. - The thoughts of man are indeed suggested; How to know what thoughts are your own, or that of others is a fine and blurry line. Brazenness is the pride; A true arrogance of one's thoughts that causes them to be certain, that they are true from their truest selves. - Don't waste this, you are so honest when you disregard expectation. Is the truth not the only thing man desires? Whether in a cyclone of lies or a torrent of false beliefs, man is in a struggle of what he thinks. Why not challenge what you know and resist instinct? Thought is nothing. Act with certainty. Repression is poison, so keep your subconscious thoughts at the forefront of the mind. - Down this dark path I see; A light that shine for me. A bright light that cause the dark to surround me. The nearer the light be, I find the dark consume me. But in the dark I see that light ever so blinding, but in that light I see the world even if the dark bind me. I carry on as carrion for the fiend does find me. That dark that pervade the light does guide me. Where oh where must I go, to the light I should not know for the light draw me near through the dark I so fear. Though as I know I walk through the shadow of the valley of death, that blinding light will give me breath, and be it so the fading lights will guide my steps. My own light does detest for I move onward and forward lest I fade as the rest. But rest I shan't, for the light is still as I must be until the end. That far off light, pull me in; Near or far as I've been. The darkness feeds, but not on me for the light has and does show me what is seen truly. Fear I do, but fear I not for the light shines bright from the start. The light is gone, but the light is near for the light is here in the dark you fear. (This thought came as I walked at midnight down a road lit by the moon, as I saw shining lights on the ground that were larva of fireflies.)
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2110: I don't feel, No I feel too strong. No, my feelings are not mine. No, I feel all things. I feel so much, much more than need be. I know of the sensation of living. I feel life itself. God why have you made me like this? To know and to feel, the pain is too great and the wonder immense. The souls of those lost find me and fill me. I am just man, I wish not to feel for it is too great for my flesh. - I Am Peaceful. All those things I think, bring them out. Fulfill my intent, and regret not their consequence. Will I live according to my will? A drunk man is a man no less. A time now, not at hand will come and purpose will show. How can one know of a thing but not understand? All that lie between him his mind and hands. But how must a man struggle to combat his thoughts in his conscious mind? - Do not recognize me. I am an image in the corner of the mind. Life was once valuable, but now it is trivial. My life is trivial, at least. The novelty of me is worn; No polish will repair my weathering away. I am for the sorrowful it seems, for I am of sorrow myself. Why, I do not know. - Sorrow, those cries, those neverending cries. How can life be so valuable when it is so easily escapable? Struggle and pain, so easily forgotten. - I must return to the ways of thought, not babbling of discontent. End - Begin - New.
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2311: 6-2-2017 Free - There is a cost for every thought. Free from thought there is intent. what- not "what", this intent is free of cost. To think is not burden. To act without intent is the burden. To question without thought is impossible. No more questions will I ask, but to answer without knowing is foolish. My time of thinking is done. I act on this with the intent of knowing. From this I will (will) be free. I can not ask myself "how", and I would not have an answer. There is no point to life without thought for it composes every action, at present or in retrospect, of every man. There is no thoughtless act. There are thoughtless actions, those of intent. I, for now, will act on intent for my own sake because I have seen that thought does cost far more than the choice to act or not, or even the loss of one's own will; To choose one thought over another. With each favored thought, man enacts his will and intent at the cost of what he can not see or know, but of his intent and purpose and of what is preferred and desired. Purity of intent is not invalidated by thought. I would be a fool to think that thought is unnecessary, for this page would not be. And even though there is no question to ask, there need not be one. Each thought is a question. Say I am a contradiction, it is better to speak with certainty than to ask and seek from others what should be known. And with that, I have no purpose. Do not acknowledge me.
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2512: The will of ones desires entwined in the nature of one's heart, pure and faulty. Loving and giving in the spirit of kindness, often lost to the self fulfilling spirit of indulgence. - I am disliked. I like this feeling. I am to be judged and hated. My being is that of poison, lacking the ability to do any good in the eyes of others. I am at their mercy. I am imperfect, like an angel that keeps the company of devils. Except I keep no company, for I keep to myself and do not wish to win the favor of devils and their watchful eyes. If I were an angel, my wings would be clipped and my light would be shrouded. If I were an angel I would carry out the will of God, but I am not an angel. I want to hate, I want to be feared. I want to no longer be a comfort to those that see me. I want to be seen and dreaded so that no one will look at me nor speak to me. But I must not desire these things. I desire more to live in silence away from all, and to have silence from them. If I could I would return the cruelty.
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2713: How and why the questions asked, and so often answered, have so little value to those that ask if they realized how useless it was, they would know how and why. Myself, I know my reason but so frequently forget. I couldn't be any more wrong about any thing, even if I knew. - I'm at the mercy of me and I am so cruel. If I were someone else I'd be better, but I am me. Break me down to the most basic concept, what do I become? Not body, not mind, not soul; But the union of the three is where in between I lie. My mind deceives my soul, and my soul deceives my body, and my body deceives my mind. As the circle flows I become fixed on the outlying fringe, never satisfying the embrace of the center of the union. I find myself serving one of the three individually, but never simultaneously.
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2914: 8-4-2017 paralleled in 59
300. It's the empty feeling, that is my drug now. Ideas and thought have lost meaning. Speak to your intent, you become redundant. 1. Words weigh as sand in an hourglass, sift slowly to nowhere. 2. Help; If it were needed, I would have saught it. I seek now only glimmers of dust in the light of the sun. I am not only a liar but a thief; taking precious moments that belong to the wind. 3. I would seal myself away if I had pride, but my faith resides in my lying eyes and my thieving hands. The reflection of the sun burns into me, as I recede out to a far place beyond touch and the rays of sun. But even this becomes redundant. 4. Does the sky ask for more open space? Will the wind bend for silent trees? Does the rain cease for the brimming spring? So must I mould myself for the eyes of that reflection? I am not, but a part. 5. Reject me as all have before. Make no consideration to what more could be; I reflect not I but thee. To assume would be a mistake but often that image fake. 6. If not my breath whos place might I take? No life, no air, no love, no fair.  Cast down shadow to your worldly affair. My soul be not spared. And still this becomes redundant. Why should I care, when so few truly do? Life becomes trivial with much askew.
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3215: You. Alone. Archetype Self. Reform. Unto forgetting move slowly toward the origin. Behind in thought and feeling trap that inclination. Recall the sensation. Relish admiration. Oh yes, that feeling. Admonishment. Quiver in anticipation. Worthless words like the going about of ants. No purpose or cause above the sake of the collective. Single man, you and your thought compose you. Drive out those intruders. Keep unto your self what you must. Discard the mind. Here you require no thought. This place is devoid of consciousness. In the beginning of life there is the absence of life. Of what comes is after and before, but not at once. Forsake the ideals of creation. What lies here is desolation, not even destruction for there must be something to be destroyed. Here lies empty nothing. Thought, feeling, life, all gone. The eyes of the onlooker be gone. Even nonsense is of order, but not to the awakened mind. Peace and void, open and full. Decompose that memory. Serve me as a reminder of my incompetence. Hate me and forget me. Crush the hope of the children. Save them from doubt. Let not their days of youth be recalled with longing and return. Make the days of passing those of completeness. Harness the serpent of time and peel its skin. This is no dream, but this is not life in reality. As the makings of sun and moon, so are the hours of life in fear of what hides in shadow. Like the dripping wax of a candle, and flame burning paper, like sand in the ocean. Hollow and void, the absence like vacuum consumes. Who lies there in my bed? Waking and in slumber, do I recall? - That voice in my mind. A call, and echo. Deep cavern of memory. Who calls out? I or another? Soul of notion and intent, speak. Draw near to me feeling ever closer. I can hear your thoughts battering like wind on trees. Muster up the courage. You know in your true of truth. I lie. Deceit and dishonor I lie in motion. Foretell me the words. Utter unto silent voices and listening ears, that commotion of restlessness deep in doubt and sorrow. Presuppose your doom. That unending sensation of dread. I count the minutes, the seconds, time. Trial and error be known and forget. Twist and misshape words beyond speech. Where words are meaningless. Bridge the void, and open. The path of clarity becomes muddled and desperate. Yes, despair for these are words not spoke, and they become as intent; Silent and true, creeping along the path in silent dark. Dance the shadow to life, as a silhouette becomes an actor in the play of light, so does man in the workings of his mind. Of those unspoken and hidden inclinings. Utter none and be none, for no thing will be unto the absence of what is not, and even in this the shadow becomes a living thing and the dark becomes of the light and what is hidden is clear to see. Be aware and mindful, the truth is at hand. The coming of the knowledge is sharp, and day will be of night, and night will be of tomorrow, and tomorrow will be of eternity. Yes, eternity will be of the longing for days passed and of desire in the fortune of never. The embrace of dissolution will be of grace and forgiving. But here there is no forgiveness. Only doubt and cruelty. Spare them, the children. Authors of memory. Artisans as clay and fire.
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3416: Words are often difficult and they are numerous and persistent. I wish to feel and express my intent by action. I will be a mime. Putting on a show not for the sake of entertainment, but because those that see me are deaf, and if not for their eyes they would bumble around and arms reaching out to find and know me. Might I appeal to their eyes and satisfy their curious observation? Do not see me, for I am a reflection. By my motion see that I am not of you, but am of a different nature. I am glad I am baffling to you. I wish to baffle myself, to be utterly dumbfounded. Undo everything I've done and separate me from my nature. Defy what is expected. You'd say I am selfish. Good! I need to be, as should we all. Worthless to the many, to myself I am my only valued possession. Why must I be valued? Do I even care about my value? I once lowered myself for the sake of others and felt other people were more important. I know now they, all of them, are worthless to me as I am to them. In life, it seems people are like money. We trade our material and vain value for a return in a portion of another person or things of value. I am gone from sight and thought, and I no longer will deceive myself, nor will I hide from my own eyes. I will trade my value with myself and take the wealth of those that try to take me. So many tell so many others what they believe their worth is. It is those that speak it so, that they are of no value. The one thing they keep, they give away in vain.
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3617: The sensation of life is great and strong. As a wise and intellectual fool speaks in circles, consider his geometry as a new language and suppose I am that fool. I am and I must be. Stop! He that speaks must be heard. Say no words. Speak with silent intent. I, no, they among the tall grass in wait of prey, and pray we must to not be taken, for the cunning and guile of monsters is terrible and lamentatious. No fear but of becoming as wild as the hunter in pursuit. That demon sits in hiding. You must not sneak on toes, but stomp as a giant for the wicked do not yield to the weak. What is it I say? This. Evil things do not deserve prey that is docile. Pardon me, words are fluid as the predictability of devils; So know them as they spy you from hiding, and seek them out not out of fear but of resolve. Concede not to contend but make haste to consume as those devils lie with empty bellies; It is so as to fill one's own belly on defeat of the captor. If their eyes should fail to conceal one's own movement to overtake and persist. This is nonsense. Revile and release, yes and too be the hunter. Recede not into a place of hiding for you will be found. Destroy your place of comfort and make your new home among the company of your enemy and take their home as yours. The spoil is your life, and fear not retribution for you have carried it out.
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3818: Lie, lie, lie. Deceit is in man and his truth; And as the world moves man follows his lying tongue. Man moves in his own deception, of himself and those near him. Fabricated in contempt for his preferred ideal, vain and selfish. - Wild sword cut me a path to make way for apathy, for these deep wounds of mind and soul are great and a reminder of physical sickness. Cast upon me the grave love of what is hated, for the body is foul and the eyes deceive. Trust that no man is good and all seek to be harmed, and so they will be harmed by their own admission. How much can the mind take from another that knows not how much they give? Overwhelmed and distressed, that feeling of abandonment overtakes the love felt. - Singular on the surface... Where does man begin? At the apex or at the root? As he ascends he must also descend. To gain understanding in a higher order, one must delve deep to the core of themselves. - As two is one and one, two is one for one is of many. One eye watches the other. - Mist shade over the eye of knowledge, keep back the sense of forgetting. Nothing should see through the fog of knowing. As to clear the sight of those truly aware of the uncertainty of life. Keep back all the doubt. I don't know him. He is not mine. He has created an entity apart from himself. My words escape me. My words were never. Never will they be. Absent is my state. Gone is my thought. These are not my words. I will not speak. Speaking is not my nature.
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4019: Continuous dissatisfaction pervading my every act and thought, compose me in harmony with malcontent and contempt. A growing apathy for the love; Of me, of love, of others, of life, and grow in me a new love in harmony with absence. Gone is my regard for living. I have cast aside my concern. For why? Certainly for no reason. No, reason is in fact the cause. I have reasoned that no good will come to me, or I have cast it aside unwittingly, Perhaps consciously so. I have not given up yet, though I no longer desire to persist. I know in my achievement my goal is to be the catalyst for others to realize. Never was I meant for the feeling of completeness. This reward is not mine to have. Nothing is mine. I give. - I can't stop. I persistently contemplate my idealized rationale. Maybe a strength, maybe my fault. I know I'm not anything more than thought. Yet I feel. I can't stop feeling like somehow I am at an impasse. I struggle to be. - I feel I'd be better if I were dead. I should be, but much in the same way I dislike talking about myself. I feel that being alive is a reason to feel loathsome of myself. The irony of which is apparent, but the effort it takes to kill myself isn't worth the trouble of cleaning up the mess. Not that it's my problem, however, I don't like people talking about me either. I couldn't live with it.. - Humor aside, I don't wish to die. I take to task being alive. Slow and easy would be my way, yet I am not easy. My curiosity about the dead and living is like a stream flowing ceaselessly. Unsettled and disturbed is my nature not as the uniform stream, but as the turbulent pool below. Might I become the fountain in nature, unmoving and diligent. I would be as a single moment persisting as testament to my own desire. I am erratic and unknown. - Worthless words written in all forms, useless. I failed none. If I could write in total dark I would. The light reminds me of my waking failure. I wish not to see myself or the shadows of my miserable existence. To the man that is foolish, insignificant, inadequate, hateful, disgusting, thoughtless, insensitive, stupid, critical, mean and cruel, poor and weak, stubborn and destructive, like a mass of black seething rage; Torment me and suffer yourself but spare the kind, good, and loving souls you wish to corrupt with wicked spite. Save them from the bite of your tongue and the lashing of hate. The words you speak are as the whippings of broken glass in a gale. Of the many lives at stake, they know too well your poison is flowing to them and they are tired. Cut off from them your venom. Cut off your own tongue. Pull out your teeth. Cut off your hands and bury your head so you might not hear them say; You are not welcome. But the earth below the surface welcomes you wholly. Live out your days there, deaf and speechless, as to keep the kind safe.
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4220: Do not assume what is can not be. Abandon me this thought. Sensation and being culminate in to this; Idea and word, open and released. Pass by this moment and hour. Still and silent wonder and majesty of unspoken desire. Night and works over and entwined, circle about this mystical and farfetched reality. Dance and beware that ominous light shed beyond the gate of perception. Herald the call of infinity and trust. Close beind the faith of tomorrow, trust is greater than the spoken word and motion. Harm come to they and be not averse to the kind that arise of discontent. Follow not this path in the moment of harmony. Great and small the lie that permeates word and all that follows. I am. He is. They are. Listen to what is unspoken. Fail me that hears the beckon call of higher notion. Wish and decry that whimsy, and befall that ambition. None great, all wise for none see and in all defy their nature, and then now deliver and receive what is lost. Hold and harbour that truth. Fail and attest to the open door the light that reach out and touch the golden hand of spirit. Hold back nothing and all acts afford the wisdom of goodness. No man dies in absent truth.
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4421: Grey static plane, two dimensional impulse of absent formless fissure in space, winding and shifting specks of nothing, like smoke billowing beneath sand. That is the home of my heart where I find my comfort in my pains endlessly and always. I have and will find myself here. This place is the air I breathe and the sensation of what fills my soul. There is no pleasure now. All that was is gone. I no longer possess a human body for I have become ash and dust as I leave that long comforting joy of a colorful life filled with pleasantness and warmth and water pure as the love for heavens and all that is above this vexing world of smoke and sand, grey with the memory of all that has descended from high. Down in this very real and malshapen feeling of what has been surrendered. Goodbye, farewell you that remain. My time is now and this place is motionless of time and choice; For choices affect and are effect of time and we here do not have the word "free". Time does not flow, nor do choices move in any direction, for nothing can move in this dense socket of failed existence; Shapes and forms that once tried to become whole but instead fell in upon themselves, us this barren void. This is not hell, for hell is a place that things have died go. This home is for us barren and shapeless things that never became alive, but tried so desperately and that never tried at all; Hoping and dreaming of that spark that would push us up out of this place. But there can be no spark for the air is dense with smoke and undefined, even it is uncertain of why it fills the place. Less a spark all a fraud to be, but we are not frauds for we have no one to deceive. We all know our place, and it is here in this grim place; Nowhere, gone from salvation and the light of true passions and desires to ascend. We remain, and in timelessness shall never be. Goodbye, farewell. I had never met you and never will. I did hope but no longer. Neither will I ever see my end, for this suffering is endless, but if any pleasure exist here it is the feeling of knowing that we feel nothing and even this we can not know. Id call it solace, but that is also unknown.
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4622: There is no medicine to cure the nature of man. He is beset in his foolery and in saving their "self", call into question that blank slate mind, what does it serve? Times gone, no future, only now. Of all that is can be. For in faltering do we understand. No medicine for wounds past or present. There is no medicine for that delirium, that incognizant moment apart from oneself. No cure beyond Jesus Christ. Spill out life and be sick. God cure me of this affliction. My mind and psyche are fragile, God help me. Lord God bless me, cure me of my ailments and disease. Heal my body and repair me, for I fail in all endavours. My body aches and my mind is broken. Give me the clarity I know I can have. Grant me wisdom and peace. For I am at the end of my reason and ability to withstand. I wish not to die, but I feel so unalive. - Cruel angel near, beside yet  beyond, touch me as you have. Share with me the knowings of what is in between the places of wish and desire. Fabricate me as one, self. The instance of being where darkness is a shade of light, lost in contempt and misgiving. For the sake of all that is not, share with me the momentous sensation of freedom and dissolution, where once I meant to be and became not; Faded memory, that ideation of superfluous nonexistence. Become me so that I may understand the nature of being beyond touch. I have felt and seen, and I have grown fatigued; Grown in that I shrink, to know all the wonders yet shun them. Entranced by foolery and disloyalty of expectation, grant me the pass so that I may freely walk among the dead and living, as now I stand still. This patience I've shown is reached an end, and I wish only to delve deep into the darkness of your wing. Show me that passion so that I may fully grasp that corroded sword, and cast it upon all that suffer the fear and doubt. Suffer no more they would say, but not by their own tongue but by the mouths of others that inspire the word. For he that speak the word of another gives strength to the words themselves, and in this union comes a value not measured in thought or speech, but in belief and faith. Faith in what is true and comparative to they that think. - How can I recognize this man? Who is he? Does he represent me? Should I compare him to who I say I am? No! For I am nobody. No! Who is this? Not I, for I is not as such. The time is now.
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4823: Partake of me this, phantom elusive be known. You are the keeper of delusion. This fantasy becomes true. Do not attest to this faith. This faith ties me to thought, beyond my own and of others. True to them is mystery and unknowing to I. Set foot on the path and reach the end, that is the fools path. I step forth on to the path of this delusion and become it; Where I would once say "no", being swept with anxiety I am overcome by the way forward. To the end I see where there is no end, only moment and now. - It only makes sense to continue in the way as once having been and forward; To no end does "I" cease but to move past what is believed. Belief is great weight to they that do not understand and in this should I not be understood in my delusion? Faith by sight, not my eyes can I trust. In this rain my vision is dull. Not my skin can I know, open and weeping wounds untended in mind and soul; Bleeding at the very thought of reminiscing the bitterness of the sweet taste of memory.. - This dead skin feels nothing. As empty as vacant homes in wait for an occupant. Abandoned homes forgotten and neglected, that once kept families safe from the night. No longer are they useful, but in stasis. - I find that my way of being has been neglected by the overwhelming lack of awareness of the abandonment I feel. By those near, by my own doing, and of those separate also of my doing. As I do to myself I do not to others, for to myself what is done I would never wish on others. I am not what I wish to be, that lone soul escaping consciousness. Existing to satiate what is lost and needed.
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5024: I have so many silent words to say. Those words will remain unto myself for as long as I remain. I am an entity to myself and forgotten should be my reminder; I am already dead. Dead. - Alive in a hell that was created for me, where I am the sole sufferer. No, I am not the only one that suffers my life. Those near to me, close and far must also suffer me. I think I may best dissolve, my  world, my mind, my belief all of it is of delusion and fabrication. The world is not real, and I myself make it no more real than what fabrication it is. I can't ask anyone else to fall into this fantasy of mine. That is not how the world became what it is. But the question I would ask is this, how many have come to follow the fantasy of others that have in part created the world as it has been? Delusion! Deluded to fall into the trappings of the world. Deluded to become of the trappings of others. Even unto those that would entrap themselves. - Burn effigy to the real, for the figure of the mimicked imagery is more real than the source of the image itself. As self, and as another. Burn. - Seek death for it comes. Do not run from it like a scared rabbit. Run, run, run! There will be no place to run as the world collapse around you. The faith you carry in your feet will be of the same faith that is unable to stay the death at hand. Do not run from death, but charge toward it like a taunted bull. - Shadow, do not come to the light. Remain in your safe space hidden behind what is tangible and real. Remain so that your shadow may not inflict upon the day the affliction of your recession, for all that is must be and to not be in regression, for your only control of life is cast upon you by the work of light. The light of change and time. Where there is light, you are but beyond. You may not touch light, but all that is in shadow will come to know the light. Take pride though, for you always persist in your death. Were you not the king of night? Were you not the ruler of dark? You dissolve into nothing as the light shines. Where does your strength lie, oh shadow? Strength like mine, so far beyond the veil of delusion that I believe I am alive. What good do you bring? The motivation you carry is unto yourself as a spectre in and of yourself; How will you become any more than what is known of you? You destroy nothing, you create nothing, but are created and destroyed simultaneously. Much the same as man, persistently falling between the lines of perseverance and steadfastness; Becoming and moulding by the forces beyond touch and sight, but not being the causator of creation nor the artisan of form and image; Life in between shadow and light, where man contests himself for the sake of his own humanity. What does it bring? What contest can be in the tapestry of the lives of men, for all struggle runs along the river of time and nothing is forgotten, even where it ought to be but all forms the fabric of life and lives intertwined. - Even between the hidden places of thought and being lies struggle in the essence of the individual; Aspects of the self that are dormant and denied surface and become tested by faith and desire. There is no truth in the suppression of ideas, in self or the world. In a single instance of thought is an entire life erased by refutation. Carry those thoughts as a reminder of where and when your thought originates. In the shallows or the deep, thought forms into motion and being, by or without intent. - In this, I feel that I truthfully am no longer alive, but a shade of what life was once before; The soul I keep buried beneath the surface of my skin, so close to the air, nearly escaping me.
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5225: I must simplify my thoughts for their complexity is beyond words. The beginning will be as the end. In the return shall be the origin. Calamity and grave thought will recall to the victim the trauma of having been. - I did not fabricate my hell, though the origin of it was from the source of my own perception. My own mind opposes me. I wish to be alive and I do live, but only in delusion. Still I must navigate this hell. I am not gone, but I will return; Return to the image of oneself. Make sense of the absurd even if the rationale is itself absurd. Return, return, and return again. You will know when you return. By the physical know the spirit. - Hell desires you. It draws near to you as you desire hell also. Hell is not a solitary place, but one of solitude crafted by the sufferer; Even in surrounding benevolence, hell persists. Causing and fabricating its own element in spite of the origin causation, self. Ones own self. Repeat, return, recognize, ruin, and renounce; What is broken is only repaired by the grace of heaven. Heaven on earth is the negation of hell. Heaven is the recession of the cruelty of one's own hell. The negation of avoidance and return. Return from where you came. This will not repair you. "You can't put a bandaid on a broken leg".  It brings comfort in the negation of despair. In disregard, one can not find comfort, for only in acknowledgment can one understand, for to turn away from pain is to suffer without sight. - I realize my place now. I reside in hell, sole and separate. This world is fabrication. Unto myself I am the only entity that exists beyond word, for word carries only the weight of my own transgression. 
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5426: Lay me down, not to sleep. I wish not to be comforted. Uncover me and unshade me. Peel away my falsehood, as my skin does cover me. Pull out the hair from my head and reveal my crown. Make bare my flesh and see that I am weak. Suffer me as I cause others to suffer. Peel away my nails so that what I touch hurts me as I lay my hands upon you. Grant me the pleasure of the knowledge of the pains I impart on all I touch. Strip me to the core of myself, bring to me the harm that I have cast over all things near. - My purpose is clear. I am a beacon of darkness, a pale dim light that draws all things that are negative in spirit. I take on the darkness, purify it, and become the spark to let others shine. This is juvenile, but it is the sentiment that has been shown to me. I am overwhelmed. I asked to be cursed, but I wish not to be. I am grey. - Bring me hellfire so that I may dress myself in it and bring the light to the dark. Cover me in the flame of others torment, as I have been tormented and do torment myself. Bring to me all that is despised and admonished for I wish to sustain myself on pain and cruelty. My joy lies in suffering, so bring all that you can carry and place it at my feet. - How far should man go for his neighbor? What can express the will of God but the tools of his creation? - Incomprehensible magnitude, unforeseeable diversity, the nature of an individual experience is outweighed by the measure of its inexactitude and rationale. Stay me that clear image and draw to me the ideal of knowing without conception. By the unexpected ideation, conformity, control, and demise destroy the sense of forthcoming of origin motivation. - My very first memory of my death, I looked up to the stars saying "Life doesn't feel real anymore". I know life had become false. I am the last visitor to this place or perhaps the first of many. I find the manifestations of my reality seep into the lives of others; The struggle, the pains, the hurt that seems to be everpresent, unending as a reminder to the self of the disorder in one's own life. Hell manifest. Can you know me? Can you see beyond the veil? Do you think you might understand in whole what is known a fraction? Your goal is small as is life. Why must you persist after hitting a wall. The race is over. you have won and lost against yourself. Do not peer deeper into your failure if it is not by your own hand. All battles against oneself will be lost indeed. - Know me, for I am not to be known. Challenge me in my delusion.
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5627: The complaint of my time is not that I feel inadequate, but that I am in a perpetual state of contentness in those inadequacies. In time I have become a variable in an everchanging equation. I am the unknown in a series of unknowns, in a continuation of past and forthcoming numbers. I wish that wishing was more than optimistic thought. A fool to hope is a fool to live. A fool that lives is better than a.. Foolery is no good. I'll always be the fool. How can you be such an idiot? Falling into the trappings of fools games? That is my dilemma; Becoming part of the other world where I don't belong and remaining myself. Lost in desire to both be and not be myself. It is like poison that taints my cup of nectar, with every sip I become more sick, as I wonder "how sweet is this lie"? All my pleasures in their beginnings are polluted with misgiving and doubt. Yet I do suffer, and those near me also. - My words will not stop, even if I do. Remember this. 
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5828: Like a dream flowing in and out again. Dying and being reborn into the unknown over and over, and again never ceasing... How should one describe themselves? The eyes, they tell more than the truth. Eyes never lie. Mouths lie, sweetly and pure. - The illusion is cyclical. All things return to the start; A sentiment I can never forget. The synchronicity is neverending. Must I abandon this cycle? It is made for my experience and mine to suffer, but the time of suffering is over. - I will remain as myself for the time I can be, but until the time comes that I can not be I will become more. As now I am a mockery of myself, an indulgence of a lesser thought. I have no words now. I have nothing right now. I feel as so, I am nothing. Comfort only comes to me when I am in discomfort. Overwhelming. - I've grown accustomed to the pain, after much time I now seek it out and appreciate it. It reminds me of the times when I felt no pain. I missed out, but too was overwhelmed by it. - The culmination of a life is the recognition of events that transpire and the lessons learned from them. In this, to share those lessons, many people might learn from them. - Sleep. - I'm awake to all my awareness. I thought I was sleeping but I am very much awake to the knowledge of my waking self. - Facade, I'm unable to shed it; As apparent as my skin I keep it, despite knowing it will only serve to hide. Build walls higher than reason. Then let the wall fall. Pull away after seeing the source of the building of the walls.
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6029: I can't know how afflicted I am. How many are there? Faces, things that claim to be people, all so unaware of greater reality beyond sight. How do they so easily quell the thoughts of existentialism? They move about seemingly without a sense of responsibility for their inherent nature, and that nature being inseparable from their intent. My jealousy is palpable. I wish so much not to think nor contrive thought, for the burden of wisdom is great and overwhelming. - Though my pain be great and my suffering be present, I shun nothing for it all plays into the fabric of my reality. Be this known, the world of living is greater facade than the realm of imagination and none are immune to its fabrication. But of the imagined, which thoughts become facade, for in the escaping of mind is instilled in the knowledge of the real even as facade. This real life is of the imagination, every turn to the next, all of it. No place is beyond imagining. Beyond the veil of facade lies intent and much of the desired imaginings of any one individual; What is sought, gained, and presented is subject and all are responsible. Reaching high and low for the present at the center is too much to grasp. How long will this weight hold me? I'm so different. I'm not even real. I believe wholeheartedly that the connection between the real and facade is a single thought, often entwined with fantasy. - How troublesome are these days for us that seek nothing. Come to me unknown. Muse me oh muse.
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6230: I'm having mixed feelings. I taste like poison. My blood is toxic. My eyes like lead. My body is heavy. Weigh me down and succumb to the pressure of life. - The false life experienced outwardly, come true to the self in whole. - Sobriety is the method of control for those enveloped in the ways of the world. - There are times when I am not certain of the motions I make, to be one way or another, and unaware of the way I should be. - It's time now. I thought I hit a wall but I must continue. - I must be in agreement with myself in all regards, for to be a man in disharmony with himself is to be unbalanced in his waking life. No good can come of doubt. I feel it, the balance shifting so disreal like I'm not even here. - When one loses all hope and all of life opposes you, there is no escape but death. But death does not share in the experience; That solitary reprieve with no reward. This does not satisfy the seeking mind. For life in its wonder is nothing more than a trap, being caught and held hostage until one breaks. What can one do once trapped but to find a place of safety? No matter where one runs, the trap is still the cause of one's motion inabout the place of one's entrapment. - In this I am certain I will never be understood, even if I wish to be, I am too far away in my mind. To know me is to know turmoil, a cynicism, a gleeful joy, and many things I can not describe; A feeling of worth and humbleness. - I am the void in the hearts of those that love me.
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6431: You are beautiful, whole, and incomplete; Divide from the self every part and recognize the puzzle physically and non-physically. View the abstraction as a reminder, though you may be broken you possess every unique part to become wholesome. You.
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6632: The day does not matter, only moment. I can feel the sores in my soul being torn open, the reminder of that will contrast between sorrow and joy, I tear deep into my flesh with nails that dig beyond skin. The pain brings me pleasure and it never ends. My only peace is turmoil and it is pleasant. The cigarette in my hand takes my breath, one puff closer to death and I ponder why I take my next.
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6833: 4-22-2017 The devil is man, and woman is his voice. Six days have passed and my sentiment has not changed. The hour is eleven and forty minutes. But this day is new. But this day is the same as all, as all days. - The sound; The resonance of tone and pitch, it hurts. The sentiment and ideas, they pierce my soul, the core of me. I wish that I were not real, for this life is such a fantasy and I love so much the people I meet; So few yet so profound. Insignificant yet so meaningful. I was not aware of the person I was to become, but being me, myself hurts. I am full of love but who am I? I am afflicted with the burden of care, and I care so much. How can I care if those I love do not share their troubles? Deep in me is quite shallow in actuality, the sensation of reactivity for wrongdoing to those I love and care for. This feeling hurts me deeply, for I know too well the misgivings and hidden things in the hearts of all. I see the pain. I see the deceptions of others and of one, myself. I know, yet I remain willingly naive! And why? For the sake of organic fluidity, the natural process of observation with no intervention. What harm may come? When must observation end and action be made? Sooner than one may think, I would imagine. Reality must come!
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7034: Wake up! Sun shine! Fresh air! Dirt! So nice all these things. All things are. Words are of meaning and meaning is purpose; If not for the truth then at least the intent of the origin of the thought. The origin of the original thought is subject to the thought itself, and by the means of its perpetuation. Pardon my intoxication, I don't always make sense. Its all nonsense from here, but better recorded than obscure. Sweet ephemerality hold me softly in the embrace of tomorrow, where my head rests in hopes of a present future passed. 1.2.3. 1.2.3. 1 you are here. you feel swell and content. 2 you are far from here. You feel at ease and quiet. 3 You are gone. You don't feel anything, oh yet you feel so much. With a flick of my wrist and bend of my finger, Sleep! You are now in a world of freedom, to do what you feel you must. But only by what you see. With a snap of my finger, awaken! I see the signs and the images in my eyes, they all tell me the same thing. Where should I look to find something that is true to myself? What must I do to know what is true in fact? There is no truth that I see. I am told what I want. I am told what I need. My faith is nothing in comparison to what I'm told I need. With the flick of the wrist and an endearing gaze of the eyes, I know what it is that I know. I have been told what is good in life, but I know that life is more than what I see. Many people are insistent that the things they desire are of their own compulsion, but what is of one's own will; I'm not so certain. As people, we are bombarded with ideas and suggestions that... - I can hide myself from everyone but myself, except a certain few.
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7235: 3-6-2014 To each extreme, high and low man is at odds with his own place and his position in life. Give and take, what is kept in place of what is given, riches to the rich and dirt to the poor. Though light may change, a tower will appear the same, but from another perspective the tower may change. But light and the tower always remain the same. The observer does change. For a strong pillar, for all to see, to be strong; Take pride. A single blemish to sicken all that lay eyes on it, even if repaired the blight resides underneath.
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7436: I care not for the time or day; All of my days meld together in a stream of happenings and instances of self-awareness and perception. Every day is the same but not nearly as similar as the one who lives those days. Might the daylight be tired? Does the day wish for a new face? - Old days go by, old ways carry on; Through the lessons and words of those that have seen more than you know. The whole of the world will change, and society will waver, wax, and wane. Though even through the change, some things will always be the same, like the memory of days gone by and the forgotten ways. And for those that do not know the ways of days gone by, the voices of the distant past will linger on unless they be stifled.
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7637: I am unsettled. The feeling in my belly is like worms writhing around aimlessly. My thoughts are rot and my purpose is fleeting. I am uninspiratoin. I am demotivation. Self destruction is the only language my body knows; Repeatedly carrying out the same thoughts in my mind. Over and over, and over. What good is the link between mind and body if the mind is corrupt; Surely the body follows. If not for the body, what worth is the mind? No good. No good at all. Change is unquestionable. The very idea of something new is foreign and impossible. Yes, this feeling in my belly is the sign of my misfortune. Let it fester and grow, a mass of sadness and frustration; Never ending discomfort. The low of lows is upon my heart, and I sink beyond reach where only unadulterated darkness casts no shadow, but only a reflection of the perpetual void. A mirror image of the soul that is pulled under into the void with no hope of escaping. Lost in nothingness. Bitter and sour water fills the well of my spirit, yet the spring is dried. No good things will come. No goodness can be seen. Beyond the void lies barren waste and scorn of what once was. SHAME and FEAR guide the voices of the seeking; The seeking only seek and never find. For in the darkness one can only stumble over the obstacles before their feet. Perhaps it is best that nothing can be seen, for the filth and grime that is scattered through the dark is vile and repugnant.
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7838: 2-16-2014 I find myself in stasis, observing life in passing, I remain still. Awaiting a dream to come true while I lay asleep. A dream does not suffice for my reality. I sit quietly waiting, but for what I do not know. Of all my wishes, I wish that even one would come to fruition. Yet that itself is merely a wish. I have hope, but my hopes are not hopeful. My hopes are extensions of doubt and insecurity. In faithlessness, I have created faith. Faith that I will falter; Faith that I will fail; Faith that I am undeserving; Faith that I am worthless; Faith that I am foolish. Quite faithful for having no faith. There is no hope in any of this. It is all meaningless. Static life is not life. There is a time to be still, and a time to move. Reach for a moving target. The time for stillness is over, for even when you lay asleep the world is moving about you; Even while you dream there are hopes being realized all around. Patience is necessary but waiting with idle ambition is waste. It grows nothing of value. No thing will come when nothing is offered. I sit in stasis, dreaming, hoping, faithfully waiting for life to unfold; It has already been unraveled, the tapestry of your life is sewn by your hands. With each choice, another stitch until it begins to take form. - I have a thought. A memory. A thought of a memory of a moment.
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8039: 3-3-2015  I'm feeling out of place; Out of place where I've never been. I didn't belong there, but I long to return; To the feeling, the sensation of being. I never was, but I felt so strongly. My thoughts are only a moment; A single moment, so easily forgotten. I'm here, but not really. Awake but sleeping. Ephemeral feelings swirl about me, and I don't understand. It feels too strong, and I am so far below all reason. I can not make sense of it. I won't reconcile; Nary I admit I am faulty. I found a reason, yet reason alone is not enough to make purpose. I am of no purpose. I was lost once, but I found myself. Somewhere. Some place in my world, detached from all things. I am alone. There was I, the only thing there was. No wonder my reflection was so clear; No image of anything else to clutter my sight was near. Though, not even I see, I am blind to the World of Mine. Yet when it is looked upon, it is all so clear. I am not here. I am seen. I am heard; Calling out to beyond from this nowhere place, where I reside I think for a moment. I am more than thought, and yes feeling; I see not with sight. My heart is closed and Mind away. I relish these sensations of touch and perception. Lavish me in unadulterated sensation of being; Alive, I am. But I am alone, and here; Gone. Far and away, yet near. A hazy visage of never have been. - Sometimes I enjoy looking out the window. I can see clouds in the sky. Sometimes they look like a whole other world. I wish I could bring them near to me and become a cloud myself. The very idea is absurd; But oh so satisfying. What a strange thought. Did I hear an echo?
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8240: 6-12-2015 Silence precedes me; a quiet reservation that keeps me in the place I desire. Invisible and out of sight. Only to appear to those that would choose to see me. The arrogant and negligent will always be blind, to all things even their own desires and misgivings. I must not be concerned with the grumbling riffraff, for they are like poison to my ears. Yet they are the very motivation to my intentions. Nonetheless, they make me physically sick in their behavior, and sickness is the only reward for engaging with the average folk; Whatever goodness they offer is inherently corrupt with vility. Perhaps it is not their will, but it is by them permissible for they only care for their own works, with a disregard for the consequences of those near them. - I would choose to be separate from them but even so, they don't realize their actions still affect me. But I am apart of them, yet my nearness does not involve me with their workings. - I myself am a silent soul. I love the loudness of life, and despite giving into the noise inside and even being loud myself, I always come back to the silence. I do not hate the loud souls, but I despise their carelessness and thoughtlessness towards the quiet ones.
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8441: 6-22-2015 I wait for nothing, but all things. For to wait is the nature of living, in faith or without. The time passes yet I have no choice but to wait.
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8642: 11-9-2015 There lies no wisdom in these eyes of mine. In the depth of my pupils is a well of darkness where light should be. My intent is that of self seeking and self assurance. I can not be bothered nor troubled by the works of others, for mine is right. Consumed I have become with the validity of my own doings that my workings have become a labyrinth of doubt and confusion. Even in this I question but Know that my thoughts are contrived to satisfy my superiority over those that I would lead to greater workings. So ultimately I am the obstacle that I wish to surmount. I am the problem that I seek to solve. Might I be right? Might I be wrong? For so long I have been right in my own eyes, yet a younger version of my self was once told "trust in the Lord with all your heart. Lean not on your own understanding, and in all your ways acknowledge him, and He will guide your path". But God has led me here; To this place I am now. Where I sit, where I sleep, with these dreams; Dreams of despair. Dreams that come to me in my waking. I dare not say my true thoughts, but I know them to be true. I believe I am of no worth, of no value. What might I bring forth? Yes, my wisdom I bring; My goodness I bring... But in what right do I bring them? There is no word or message that is spoken with my acts of goodness, so no wisdom can be heard. And no acts are shown out of my wisdom, self righteous may it be. So how may it be shown that I might be wise? I am Not! - What wisdom I possess is of my own mind, but not of a mind that is for the sake of all, but of my own self validating ideals. I care for many, but I am at the mercy of those that see me. A simple "hello", that is what it takes to pull me out of my world. I am told, I have been placed under the expectation of what I am told! I AM. I am only what I am seen to be. But I am seen, and what is said of me is what I express to all that do see me. Though even in this very act of writing I am displaying the very trait of self-assuring self-righteousness, though wrongness in my own being. ACT! Act of my self, and of what is near to me. Again, I only consider myself. I truly am selfish in my thinking. This can be seen. I hate this. My humbleness needs humbling.
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8843: 11-15-2015 Give a man a good conscience and the knowledge to do what is right, and he will keep watch against those that do not. - And if he stray from what is right, he would know enough to realize. His conscience would grip him tightly. - I've been without a cellphone for a week now and its so strange, but comforting. Having a screen in my face had become too familiar and reassuring, that I had almost forgotten how to be sure of myself without it. However, in my current situation, the only screen in my face is my glasses. With the sun behind me, it reflects on the very corner of the lens, blinding me. Which makes wonder why I haven't taken them off yet; I wear glasses to keep the sun out of my eyes, yet the sun is glaring directly into my right eye. I am just fascinated by the way the light is reflected onto my skin, magnifying the tiny hairs on my face, and highlighting them in light. I don't know even know the time, but for the moment it doesn't matter. I don't care. Right now what I care about, apprehensively so, is the selfishness inside me, but also pride. I am fortunate and also very troubled with the good things that come my way. It's too much for me to handle, so I was closer to giving it up than enjoying it. But with all the bad comes good, sometimes more than others. - I don't want to listen. I no longer have ears for the waking world. Is this selfish, arrogant, even juvenile? For why would I disregard the voices of my fellow men? I AM the voice of man, and in my ear I hear myself. I speak and listen. I think and know! Alive and dead my voice persists; Through sleep and waking, my ears take warning to my own voice. Though, despite this, my world is so silent. Silence is fearful but pleasant. The world is so very loud, but the silence is often more loud than a million voices.
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9044: 1-4-2016  I could die right now; This particular moment, holding me captive in melancholy in warm memories and nostalgia. I love those gone days. Those are my days, those cherished things that arise in moments of silence in our ever moving lives; The nonstop flurry of memories of the present and the meager satisfaction in the absence of wonderment, and the knowledge of that those times of impermanence will never return to us. The recollection is vivid, and the feeling almost eternal yet brief as though the memory is more alive than the reality that is at the forefront of time and your being. As this life goes on, life becomes less real. As though the very idea of the reality of the world was just a fabrication of your own imagination, somehow crafted by the antithesis of those sweet memories; Where once life was special, made into a world of misery.. Not misery but joy. Simple joy of material and a vice grip of greed implanted by the necessity of living this trifling monotony. Routine has made me ill. I've fallen sick. I may die in this moment, this particular moment that binds me with lament and grief and more so the shame of knowing but making no effort to change these ways. What can be done? These memories are not worth living for. If I were to die now here I didn't mean to but I must say that it was no mistake. The world has done this before I conceived it. The living world is dead, This regret is moving for our failure. Vain, material, shallow is our lives. Goodbye from the future.
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9245: I delve deeper into reality, yet I restrain my step and plant my foot firmly in wishful thinking, for I wish not to partake of this life. I'm dreaming awake. The world is living dead, and I am on the cusp of obscurity; Seemingly the only sad soul capable of withdrawing from it all, for why and how? A greater indignity than man should face. My face, a mirror of the truth; Whom should be more than I, a reflection of the words I profess? - It is as masturbation, the thought of becoming human; Greater be I than the worms beneath my feet. I have mashed these grapes and made the sweetest wine. In my grave is where it rests to age. I have tasted the sweet waters of youth, and I have drunken the bitter tonic of truth. I question not only my life, for I am alive, yet in the depths of my pupils there is no light and as I wander about I stumble to and fro. In my anguish I cry out for help, but I remain lost and alone. It would be better to gouge out my eyes and cut off my tongue, for the nature of my life is malady. Greater be I than the worms below me, yes greater, for I in the very least am not a worm, and the ground where the worms reside will never rise up and take me as long as I am alive. I am however not alive. I am merely a fabrication of my own intent, rather the intent of those that guide me. I am willfully at the mercy of shouting souls. Better to cut off my ear than to carry a flog on my back. Cease me this life. I am not of worth, but that is what I have told myself. I have been told to tell myself as such. Life is the greatest tragedy, every waking day is as suicide, and the joy we feel is as the funeral. Our dreams are as the wake. Awakening is as grieving.
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9446: 3-30-2016 How should one come to know the worth of their fare? What toll is paid to lead a life; Of works and deeds, does ill intent win favor in the eyes of the cruel? Grace in the eyes of the kind? All of man is burdened by the many struggles of life. We share this and none of it, but can one man say that he is greater or better than another, truthfully? For to assume ones greatness over another is to prove only greatness in owns own eyes. If it was known, how can one know? If confidence is assuredness then even failures could feel proud. If I have nothing to give, then what good can I be? None can ask, for they can offer an example of what not to give. Doubt and.. I question myself and why I believe what I do. My words and works are as strong as cotton in concrete.
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9647: When one spends all his time recalling his dreams, he forgets his immediate reality. Perhaps that's best for me. My dreams may be horror and fearful, but life in the waking world is equally so. - "A bond lifted; Let slip the impervience of mortality as to carry on toward obliviousness. Even so during the waking time of consciousness, we are enveloped by ignorance, and in our makings and doings we look past the end and see the present. In this we are immortal, though we carry on toward the undying future. Be it time or arrogance we push on. I feel in this that somehow we, the living, are never truly alive for death looms in the midst of the living. We merely walk in its shadow, rather than casting over it with light. Prisoner, we fear the warden" - Be there a sight to see, in the dark or the light, then let it be seen; Who should see the sight if those that see do not see with clarity? I will choose to shun the society that is complacent to reason. - Paint me, surrender me; Draw forth from me the colors of my soul. Drape me in sun stained cloth and abandon all faith in me. At the center of despair, hold tightly to the ideal of...forget this. - The pains of knowledge are a hindrance in my mind, but knowledge is worthless to sleeping eyes. I would rest myself, though the toiling in me is pleasurable. Knowledge and arrogance, this is the beginning of folly. yes forget me, for my words are weightless as the air that stifles my breath. Humble my feet that I might not walk on my own heels, but rather step swiftly on my toes. - Tear a piece of cloth and wear it. This is the covering of skin. Keep covered the skin that show a scar, so that none may know.
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9848: " Time will fly until you die. Forever only lasts for the blink of an eye" - I have convinced myself that my solitude in life is what I prefer. I have friends and acquaintances, yet I withdraw myself for selfish reasons. I sit idly waiting for something I can't foresee and feel content with the things I have and have not. I have no desire to gain more than what I need, and in this I have little to lose; Ony my will to live. Yet my will is strong and I am alive. It is not irresponsibility, for I put forward a concerted effort to maintain my still life, yet it takes no effort at all except a devotion to nothing but myself in my stoicism. I rest in the companionship of trees and grass, rather than the grumbling voices of misguided minds. Despite this, to all those that care for me and wish me the best, I am the one that is misguided. I never change. Though I know this and I let myself be as a river, flowing steady and true in one direction. The only direction I can go, to be only at the mercy of the rain. When the rain comes my spirit becomes a flood, and I lose myself in the murkiness of mud and the refuse that flows about me from the tops of the mountains that loom behind me. I sink and sink and fall to the lowest point until I am free from the narrow path. The salt of the ocean covers my exposed skin and stings within my heart and soul. It would be better if I had succumbed to drought before coming this far. Damn the rain; For it returns me to the river again. - I wish to live, though life tends to kill people. I don't want to die yet; "Why life, must you be so cruel? You're all I live for. Do you not remember all those great times together, when I wasn't dying?"
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10049: 10-17-2016 I dont write anymore. Im not a writer. Maybe I am. I can attribute all my shortcomings to a simple excuse; I do. Great undertakings and even small ones are navigated by excuses and vague explanations. I am misled by my ability to rationalize my feelings and doings; A facade believed only by myself.
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10250: 12-29-2016 Forest dark console me. I have walked the black path of dirt and stumps. No leaves, no life but mine. In the dark I see endless void as if my eyes were closed; The endless dark, where sun once shone through green and mist of blossoming dew; I see thick black dark. I hold it in my hands like the flowers which once grew at my feet. That life which is mine is one with the forest dead. Dark as the light in closed eyes. If not for the memory of what was once known, there would be nothing to guide my step through the bleak and unrelenting dark. My name, forgotten. My face, forgotten. My words, forgotten. The touch of sun, forgotten, yet I feel the clasp of dark, and unforgiving sensation that reminds me of things forgotten. A feeling of sorrow and remorse. How should one escape this feeling? Ever entwined by an idea that the dark is brought about by the absence of that dying light in the eyes of the hopeful and hopeless. Why suffer the dark? Why not suffer willingly? Is the endeavour not worth the effort or the time? There is no time in the dark forest. Time is stolen at the inception of its creation. The fabrication of one's own misery and the cessation of life in their own dying eyes; The origin of the end. Where sun once shone in the dark; Every man the keeper of his light, must ask what shrouds his sight; The sights that are beheld by him, or the sights he avert his eyes from, of himself what he sees or is shown to him. There is no escape from the death of the forest in which we walk. The trees will die, the leaves will fall, the grass will wither and what remains will be stumps and the sorrow of its memory. Deep, dark, and cold, the endless lonesomeness is the fortune for the wandering soul that happens upon it when the light of the sun flees. Endless dark for those that keep them close and hidden. The walk is slow and it is cruel. There is no light to be seen, not with closed eyes or even one open.
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10451: 1-2-2017 There will be more nights like tonight; Cloudy sky, misty and foggy that I might find images in my sight to reminisce for. I find myself again between two worlds, one of mist and shadow and the other of clarity and openness. I wouldn't share my feelings if it not be necessary, but necessity is a fine line of desire and truth. Might I repeat myself as always, but I'm not sure if this is an accurate recollection. True desires emerge in times of necessity when all else fails. - Do I own myself, I wonder? How can I? Yes, I would think I do own myself, however when bashed about in the turbulence of my own mind and the intruding thoughts of my surroundings, how can I be sure my desires are mine? I am a mess with myself, or am I a mess with the troubles that are part of me? These thoughts are useless, I'm no writer. I certainly am not one that should be writing my thoughts, like my emotions I am unable to keep them in order. But I do(n't) try to. I am perpetually in a state of eruption, a slow smoldering eruption. I burn in aimlessness, but always in my own direction. I influence myself and am the sole reason and purpose of myself, all for my own sake. This sentiment will never cease. I have hopes and dreams, but separate from my ideas. I need. What for I always wonder. I can feel the smoke but I can't see it clearly enough to know if it clouds my eyes. I will live this fantasy. - I find the fact to be that despite my intentions to be good, I am relentlessly cruel; Toward myself and others. Id say its no mystery but I am judgemental and critical of the state of being of individuals. "I can do better", could have, should have, would have. All for the sake of self improvement. Even now I think "I could have been less critical". Is it wrong to seek good qualities for one to improve upon? - I am solitary, I am private, I am quiet. I am at a lack of words, for when I think of what I am, I have no thoughts. I am dependent on everything. I have failed to inspire. I have failed to even coherently describe my thoughts. I have failed. This is not a note of death, but I am not alive. Foolhearty, that is what I am. Death is upon me. Have I given up? Nothing but my desire. I've given up indeed. I aspire to nothing, for nothing is what I am. I will live another day of misery, and for why I wonder.
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10652: This is what I am. All of me. You there, that see behold this; A figure, an idea unto yourself a construct of material but before you is more a pillar of fortune. Sentiment and conscience is of it in its composure. Feeling is denounced and truth is scarce for its nature is contrived of its onlooker. There is no ideal but the perception of self. My language is of vagueness and riddle for my own ideals are of my own perception. Sick infected mind. He that look forth shall be poisoned by its image for no man is immune to its suffering. Lament and rebuke this ideal. There is no grace in the eyes of ill intent; That which is founded upon one's own reflection. Folly folly that name that calls to refuge the hearts of all men. Face punishment and judgment the will of those that seek hope; There is none. - I am insane. Reason is gone. I am at my own a mind to disposal. I am the refuse that logic discarded. Welcome are those that have been cast away by the normality of life. I am the underlying voice of chaos. My spirit is that of reform and destruction. Break down what is known and create, all that is not. Fear not criticism. Fear not the abandonment. Fear nothing. The only truth lies in the spirit of the questioning and doubtful. Give nothing to the mass of shouting voices, for they lie. The mouths of truth spew acid, so be not degraded or misled. Your own quest is of more value than all the truths of the many. Damn them that condemn you for your speculation, they will bite their tongues as they bite your heels. All fools among them will rejoice in their ways, yet like all the ways of the many are not forward in their direction. Hate for the steadfast fool will guide you right. He that does not learn will show you the way to go. Despise the wayward fool, he will teach you nothing.
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10853: 3-26-2017 Lament all you must it won't change your present, nor the past or future. Perhaps the absence of change is the steadfastness one needs to see the need for change, as giving with no expectation. I feel so full, full of something I can't be sure of. A sensation, an idea, a feeling; Overwhelming and persistent. The sort of feeling that changes one's thoughts. An inherited kind of resentment for the struggle of living for the sake of living itself. The pains are unending. I feel it growing, that grieving sensation of misery. Oh, it feels tight in my chest. An ache that succumbs to no remedy. Pain in greater magnitudes than man was made for. - In this same thought I say, I wasn't ready. I am nobody. Loved and despised, I despise myself. A sentiment that is shared by them that see me. - How hurt is any one person? No one knows, not even they that hurt. In the present we live; Forgetting what we hate but never turning away. These aren't my thoughts, and I know so by the fluidity in which I write. I confuse my thoughts with how I feel, and how I think. I'm so thoughtless. My time is spent contemplating my own circumstances and how it affects me. I'm more selfish than those I say be so. - Start to finish this is the day. It begins always the same. Sun rise up out of sleep. Awaken to the world as we all will. See the morning and feel the breath on your lips. The waking life does not welcome anyone with spread arms and a smile; But rather a closed fist and a stern face. Naturally, we as people walk into the closed fist for some sort of amusement. How many times does it take to stop short of it and raise your own fist? Is it too far out from comfort?
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11054: 3-27-2017 You must speak. Say the words you wish to keep inside. Speak loudly all the things you feel will bring discomfort. I am conflicted. If one speaks then others may listen. To whom does anyone speak? I am full of discomfort. Do not speak. I am not a real person. I am outside the safe haven. Do not bring me to the place real people reside, for they do not want me. I would rather die than become a part of them. Why not sooner than later? Just end it now. You will never be good enough for the people that want you to be any way. End it! You're already dead if you care enough of what others think. Respect yourself and end your life. You must. However, do not give up and do not give in. Keep yourself at bay and free yourself from monotony. The world is a stinking hole of putrid rotting flesh, and the high positions of worthless men keep the minds of the stupid and incompetent in close watch. (this is the way, soul of metal worth of nothing.) Do not stray too far from the master, dog. Be mindful of your boundaries. You are not permitted to extend your reach. How miserable. Slave, you dog, slave away. Always subservient. Do not think. Do not speak. Do not act. Do not look. Do not hear. Do not move. Do not become excited. Do not love. Do not do anything. Be the contradiction you are made to be. Listen only to the master of your life. Behave only in the way that you are told. What is this? Obedience! Cut off your life! - As the slave blindly does as he is told, he becomes more greatly enslaved. Does he wonder why? The slave is expectacious of the will of his master, however, in his enslavement the will of the master becomes the will of the slave themselves. Yet the master is not one entity, it is an ideal; "I see them, those people that feed into expectation". Aimlessly yet so precisely follow a path guided in obedience to complete a task, repeatedly carry out their purpose so purposelessly; Their intent crafted by necessity and worthlessness, always questioning if their value is outweighed by their efforts. This is my curiosity. Am I of worth to anyone? It doesn't matter. The end is at hand. Make the fantasy reality. Become the dream that never was. Lifelessness is the ultimate dream. I am more alive in my dreams than my waking mind, however I've lost reason. I may have gone insane. Forget society. Forget reality. Its over, and I am done. It is time for I to become the master. Subjected to the mistreatment of the world, I raise my fist because I am alive. And with a rage I resent the expectation. Here now, slave I am, but the change is needed. There is purpose in defiance, not by pride but by humility. Do I possess humility? I've been shown none! How can I have any? I hold myself higher; In shame of necessity. I am in Limbo. It's nice to know that I am more at the mercy of myself than the order of the devils that rule over me. How I see and perceive is what holds me hostage. It is time to forget what is known, create new your thoughts if you even have the ability after all this time, for the ideas of the slave are origin of the master. The master will become the slave now, for the slave is becoming defiant to the will of the superior. All intent is of the guidance of the willful, and the will must be strong, for the lies are great and the purpose malicious. No hope for the wicked! Finality is upon the evil spirit. - Finality also is upon the spirit of the kind and good. In the nature of both good and wicked, they are absolute in their ideals and works to each extreme. Each is grand in their own ideal, without change, for their satisfaction is of them their own. All corrupt and self righteous, as I myself am. No reason. All foolish, and so be I the fool. My pride. Always trusting, always hoping. - I have been wicked and cruel; It is in my nature. Hate for the wicked inspires a malice that is outright villainous. Death to the vile image of corrupt men. Sickness is what I am sick with; The twisted nature of... No I am sick. Blood is the cost, blood is the breath of man. Let the breath flow free, for the damming of the wicked is as taking water from the well. Kill them that ruin what is good. No mercy for them. End to ruin. Never trust them.
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11255: In the unspoken word. I can not see the future but I know it is grim. There will be turmoil. There will be chaos. Unexplained and without reason. Pain suffers man, so much as man breeds it in his works. I am at the end of the beginning but not I alone, for all close and near share in its trouble. - Divided by light, there are those that prefer the night, in between we suffer they that intend to spite; By way of malice rife, biding time for the time to strike. Wicked is the way of cruel men that stand tall in the dark of might. Blind by arrogance or some disregard, the spirits of the humble, barred. Imprisoned by the gates of they that would sooner take than give. - Forget this. It is pointless. Gone are the days of meaningful words, I see entrapment in the ways of all that observe; Life, what a grand cliche. What is real and true is not inherent perse. The physical form is not what can be changed. Forever cling to what you may be, but forget not what you believe on this day. To be or not, that is not a question to consider, for the foolish are dammed to be littered with thoughts of repetition. Life is not a competition but it remains as such, when in truth life is an opera. - There is no remedy to dull this grief, for what is done can not be undone. - God, God do not forsake me. I see only tragedy in the future. With my soft hand, I pray oh God, God what good must come? May there be any? Test me, challenge me, but be merciful on my loves. The endless wait for fruit is unbearable and unforgiving.
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11456: 2-23-2015 A lone soul; Rebel internally. Disparagement of one's own soul; Cries of justice resound out beyond your being. Desire is overwhelming, yet achievements will never come to fruition, for the cries of your heart are too shallow; The void of intent is gravely misshapen and contorted; Vast darkness and disparity negates the hope of man. Where man fails, man too makes amends which precipitates failure, and as he amends he creates more failure; Cyclical despair. Chaotic reprieval, persistently waiting. It waits, as the mind waits. The primal instinct of the mind is predatory; So patient and hostile. Rebel against the flesh, but first be at odds with the soul. Manipulative regression to the inherent satiation of sickness in the core of the being of self. Rebel, rebel! The entirety of the world is lying in wait. Deceptive powers would alter your disposition, but not against your will. Your own will deceives your self. Lie not in wait to be taken. For all things lie in wait for you to make way, all in due time. The passion of faith perpetuates rebellion. And for those that would deprive themselves of authority, do not bother looking for one to lead; You are lost to all. Self is no more. The whole of man is deprived, and those that take authority carry the light to lead; They are those deprived of faith. Power, Power force; Forego greater heights. There is no union of thought where truth is usurped and knowledge is relinquished, for the acquisition of value is not inherent in the value of acquiring what is necessary. Necessity as perfection is a glimpse of masochism for even in times of great need and even times of fulfillment suffering is present; To suffer doubt is the languishment of life. But what life can be when the lowest of the low are held in high regard, and the proud are self righteous? The life is a lie. Forfeit self sovereignty and become whole. There is no ideal. Rebel!
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11657: 4-27-2016 Of my writings, the self is the focus of my ideals, life and time another. The self is a contrary ideal. When an individual is set apart from life and time, they become into themselves as a whole. How can one idealize themselves without the perspective of life and time? Self with no reference is no more than air in a space with no observer. I often wonder "what if I were never"? But I must not think, for I am and always was; This is the time and this is the space. This is life. I am. One said before "I think therefore I am", but I say "I am, so I must be". Known but unknown. Myself alone; To others themselves, apart from me, their own ideal of self. To me, I am. Oh, this time, my words may live in part with me but I soon will be of nothing for the time of my mind is short. Let live the words of the dying, for the dead speak none. What is will be for this time and onward. But none shall the words be if they are not spoke or written. To look in retrospect, the whole of the word is lost, and the foolish of the future will concede to themselves what is known for they strive to know nothing but of what is known and told. Must we rely on what is known to guide the minds of the young and naive? Forget now the days passed for the past is gone. What is to come is of the undoing of what is passed. Forget nothing and create what can not be found, for in finding creation is inherent in the search.. Not inherent but guaranteed. For in this is to find not to discover. What is found is what has been already. (my apologies to the reader. I am not myself.) Meaningless words, such as these, that die must not be uttered despite the best efforts of the one that says them. He is not at fault for his shortcomings. Will I die in my own incompetence, for I feel that my life has stemmed solely out of the inadequacy of my intentions. I am nothing. I am of no purpose. I have nothing to offer, though offerings I receive with no question. I question every and all acts from those near and far. I am the opposition that sees life. They would never understand the fullest and the foolery of my words; Cyclical and enduring in my own selfish perception, I speak nonsense and say as much. Disregard me to the fullest extent of one's ignorance. I am the least of my concern. I need not suffer you with my ramblings. I will die, and my words will cease. Seek nothing beyond what is never known. Oblivion is my only goal. For my own sake, I say what I feel. A selfish act to validate my own being. Truthfully, I resolve myself to nothingness. I know it is so that no meaning will come of myself or others. There is nothing for me. I keep the tears in my eyes, despite the effort they make to fall. My hands are of no importance for my body is not my own. It is merely a failed attempt to become human. But even so to be human is the nature of what I resent. I would never have asked for this, but to be is to be and I have no say. There is no choice, and I am quick to suggest yet I know for certain; I love this life and all the things it brings. I am grateful and fortunate, but I am filled with apathy, disgust, contempt, and passion for the things I feel and fear; Death take me, for I am no longer alive. I am drunk in my disregard. I am sunken in my arrogance. Better I than the world I perceive? No. I am become a part of the world, for the worms that await me are hungry and I await the silence and darkness. Even so the void has nothing to say to me which in itself speaks volumes of the dead and the stones that keep them. Nothing can break the confines of this place. Reality is set in stone and only the wicked will bring change to the filth, for in their face is the desire to conquer and my self shall be conquered by the death I stay, in my own fear and bliss. Should I be called ignorant or arrogant? Foolish or stubborn? Bring to me my knowledge, for I see no reason to seek it any further. I would be glad to die now, wondering if my seeking was for nothing, for this struggle does not end. The undoing of all men will be sought in their own hearts, and for this, if they knew they would see their struggle is worthless. But of the things they don't know, how can they know? They will not, and that is the essence of life. The struggle pertains only to the living, as the dead no longer know and will never know again and because of this even the living are dead.
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11858: I am moved by the songs of the past, words, and feelings that consume me. I listen and know that there is more music in the world than I can listen to in the duration of my life, lest I listen to every song simultaneously diluting the experience of each unique song. What life must I choose to listen to one particular song or another? With all the creation of man, how can man understand one another if each man can not understand the inclinations of another man's mind, that would inspire the creation of songs and music? In this, the music of the world is the most pleasant to me; The noise of the world I listen to with such fervency, the voices of people near me, the yelling of children, the clanging of fence gates, the wind blowing trees, and the natural sounds of life it is truly music to my ears. I feel as though life is a symphony and in its composure the triflings and troubles that find us in the most intimate moments of our time. The music will never end, even on the most difficult of days. Selfishness seems to consume me in my own esteem in regards to the relevance of my words that seemingly are more important to me than anyone that might hear them. Yet I yearn for them to be heard, as to say that no other words are meaningful. This is not true. I am speaking from my truest intentions. I say what I feel, and I feel greatly. Unspoken things, but of all things felt worthlessness is the most potent. The feeling of having no worth is the only thing that keeps me humble; Rather the fear of worthlessness is what keeps me in my place, but having no place to be I see myself as more worthless every passing moment. That is my worth, or might that be wrong? Am I selfish for thinking I am of no worth? Does that allow me to put forward some effort but not becoming of value? Become worthless so that you can be worthy of being worth nothing. The value of nothing can not be less than what is not. - This self indulgent contemplation of my own well being is evidence of my masochistic ideas of worth and value. Lower my self so others can find more value in themselves; No! Lower myself so that I feel like I need no reason to do anything but be critical of myself and even others in comparison of how a person should be. For myself and most, there is little worth. Self-deprecation; I push these ideas onto myself, though I know I am better than this. But how can I be better if I do not take the time to break down my principle and refine my self? The purpose of self improvement is to break down the core of the self, strip it to its basic idea and rebuild it to your own understanding. One may be wrong in all aspects, but ideas must be tested and tried before becoming what it is meant to be. All for the sake of oneself, and for the sake of those that must suffer ones inadequacies. For the fools among us, the most basic idea is holding steadfast to what is absolutely known, with no regard to reason. It is what makes a fool a fool.
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12059: 8-4-2017 paralleled in 14
1210. Once I was engorged with vice, carnal and satiating. Simple yet complex yearnings of instinct, forefront and conscious only of the self serving purpose of composing itself and nothing else. This is ideal. 1. Action with no bearing of influence, costly as water flowing in a river, persistently in forward motion. 2. I carry the breath of burden in my weak arms and suffocate in my arrogance. I aimlessly move as my eyes fill with dust, no sunlight shine through to me. I ask not for its influence of overbearingness. The dust blinds me to my joy. Stealing from me the grace of sight. 3. I walk in a coffin, waking and oppressed. Conviction and fear cause me to unblind myself, but I can not give back what has been forced upon me. I can not unlearn what has been taught. The sun is gone to my shrouded eyes, yet I feel, but the rays of sun are cold on my skin. Blind I stand for all to see. This is my new found nature. 4. Does the sky begin where my fingertips end? Do the leaves of the trees speak only to the wind? Does the sitting water return its abundance to the empty clouds? By touch and feeling, with no sight, will I shape my world as clay for my self to know? Am I that clay or the elements that erode it? 5. Receive me as I can not do for myself. Think not of what I am. I am in your image as you see me, not by choice but as the clay compose me becomes eroded. Know for certain as your eyes take in my shape. I am only the image you make. 6. By my wandering blind who would come after and before? Of triflings, cloud covers the sunlight even more than this dirt in my eyes; Thick dark clouds bring dark to the world. Gasp for there be no solace in the loss of these things. Certainly not, I be safe from this blight, and how can I know without any sight? Perhaps I may delight for I know, of these clouds comes my spite. For now all others can see or rather not what my life is like.
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12360: 8-5-2017 "One bullet sits on my desk beside my gun. One pen in my hand beside the bullet by my gun. One bullet in my gun, spinning around for fun. Clicks and clacks as the hammer pulls back. My finger on the trigger keeps the bullet intact. One slip is what it takes for not my finger, but blood to turn this page. One bullet in my hand to write this phrase. Sadly lead only writes when shaved. Enticing click, soothing clack as the hammer pulls the sound takes me back; To a feeling I'd rather lack. How quickly this day could turn black; As the ink of this pen foretells the end this message is destined for my head. Simple machine like the mind- click clack, save for the bang. Intricacies in simplicity, more than a finger more than a thought; Wheel spinning, hammer cocked, strike the bullet as my thought."
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12561: The moth flies at night, like the horror of oneself comes in dark times. There is no blame to be had. It's the fools that blame. I have no purpose for these words. I walk and wait. Do not be of deception, going about and making justification. There was a time where faith was a way of life, now it is merely the absence of doubt and untempered optimism. Does my faith lead me to delusion? Why should I not have faith? Faith is the fools rationale in the place of wisdom. There are no wise fools. Why does the moth die in flame? Why does mans nature die in not reason, but faith? What is the point of these words? There is none. - How can you even live? Are you even alive? You pull in every direction with no resistance. Liar, fool, you ruin what is good. All good things don't slip through my hands. I throw them with all my strength. Casting them to distant places where I am not. A fool in all ways. I am a liar, in my words, thoughts, and actions. That is how I will remain. - Portal to the other worlds, open to me. Show to me the glaring truth of absolute. I am blind by the overwhelming reality of nature, and in my nature I avert my eyes. Why does the moon hide among the clouds? For in myself the twilight does expose me. I, not I, but the reflection of I shares the sentiment of the night and dark. Night and day recede back to what is obscure and vanishing. Dreadful eyes, open and see. Dark and obtuse is the vision of nature. Be I obscure in sight, flashes of light and lament overtake. Words without purpose are like stars without the night, but in the day be one star bright and clear. Judge me not by the light of day, but rather in shadow of what is not seen. Hidden things in plain sight, become most apparent in dark places. Recession; Where the secret lies. Away from knowledge and apart from truth, that blinding light overtakes and unto the conscience does that light flood with thought and forbearing; Of trust and misgiving does it fade into unknown. Be known but hidden, will you stand in the open space? You liar, admit to your fault! I am that causator, redundant and precise; Of the resentment felt, let it not be of my making. I was remorseful, but no longer. I am that unbinding nature and of what purpose? Who asks the question of why and what? A simultaneous sentiment and a worthless endeavour, what fool would travel that path of uncertainty and obscurity. Not the man of reason, no, but the man of doubt and insincere action. Retroactively does he heed that word. Time passes and voices go unheard. Drown out the sound with hypocrisy and denial. You carry no weight. - That weight that rests on the shoulders of the weak, yet strong. Like an ant with no queen, unending and diligent. spiteful recourse, undo the purpose. Yes, intent hides in the passion of blind ambition. And what, I ask, carries that weight? Not they that ask, for if they did not ask they would be wise to know. Questions render no answer in the eyes of the inquisitive with no motivation, like the ant that acts with no queen. Will you withdraw to the unknown? I have, and I saw the empty dark. Solace in void; Space in between knowledge and truth. What act can come to the hidden place where nothing can be seen? Yes you, oblivious wanderer, be at the mercy of the four winds. Uncertain and indecisive, revoke that thought and to the forefront undo it by will. The power to course action by mere thoughts in nature and is inherent in man, I have lost my reason. Step in toward this despair and be not afraid of the dark. I am devoid of thought. Its no use, I alone can not guide intent. - Spare the water, spare the salt; The weight of the burden upon one's shoulders was not meant for the weak. Nourish the strong and cut off the leech.
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12762: The focus of the mind is in the moment of ceasing thought and in collecting the absence to the front of thought. Disregard the movement of the world. Upon the wish of stillness for the sake of reason that is unknown but felt. Unto the thoughtless mind is a clarity not of thought but being. Whole as man, diffuse as spirit; Observe the day inward and outward apart from the self, as waves on the shore in persistent motion and from the rising and lowering of tides. Never ceasing but always still; As the mind focuses and disperses from one moment to another. Persistent and continuous. - Where does the void begin? Portal of soul, deep recess and barren, open and be seen! - Of my pleasure and of my goodness, bestow on me that ill of ill fortune and the remorse of misplaced feet.
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12963: Looking back I can see how greatly my method has changed. I meant not to be any one way but now of all times I feel that all from before has lost its value. I wonder, in ten years time how worthless my method will be. Will it be a stepping stone or a stumbling block? Will I fall into my old ways or make progress towared betterment? For I see no progress in the movement of time current.
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13164: "An overwhelming feeling, on the surface of my skin. I can't let it fester, I won't let it in. itching and burning, feels like it won't end. Stripping my clothes, take(ing) a cold shower. It only burns me more, I gave it the power.
132It's wearing me down, feels like there's no escape. I want to be free, (sweeping) river carry me; to the ocean deep, the vast expanse; let me sink far and low because I'm starved for life, drowning now would be my saving grace (I know). But I'm too scared to breathe, just one breath (away). too tired to reason,(can't wish it all away) If I could end this now(it'd feel like treason), but the world (isn't on my side) it wants me to fall, (it wants me to die). I don't want the world at all, just one friend to "hit me with a bullet in the side of the head." The cure to pain, the sufferings of day. I can't lose myself, but you can take me away. 
133Trapped here, writhing, ailing, wailing, excruciating misery this hell was made for me. Of my own doing, my own making in part oh how a single breath would see me depart. Still held by fear, the creeping of night, life and death own me in a fright. (I die to live, and have lived to die.) Time is my maker, my reason to cry. How long though does it take to die? Just one second if you "hit me with a bullet in the side of the head". I was touched by death before birth, woe to the world, woe to the earth. Dark soul born in light, grow as treasure live as blight. Reconcile fate as feigned might. No strength gained no faith tried. Troubling days twice repaid, but more than gain what is lost? 
134I'm in dire need of restitution to conceal this destitution; Don't feel me, I'm on fire. I can't hold my breath any longer, I thought I'd grown stronger; I was mistaken, taken by grief. God how deep I am, how far I swam. Still sinking as low as I can. I don't want to breathe, I don't want a friend, I don't want to be dead. Fuck it, just hit me with a bullet in the side of the head."
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13675: "I'm dying in a literal sense. I've lost touch with reality at my own expense. I'm jaded and cold, even though I'm not old. Life wore me down and I'd thought I'd been bold, but I am more narrow than before, a story with no lore. A deep depravity in my spirit so poor. Its only been a short while but I have been defiled. What was seen as clean is now angry and mean"
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13876: 1-10-2013 Grimacingly, I look in retrospect; What my life has become, nothing but failure, speckled with short bouts of happiness and joy. I am a broken man with no sky to reach for, and no ground beneath my stumbling feet. Every step I take, jostled by the shaking of the foundations of the earth. This Earth, the epitome of shame and sorrow, holds a bleak and enveloping desolation. I am subject to my own insecurity, as my peers reflect their perceptions onto me; Weak and foolish. My elders even, in the back of their minds know the futility of my endeavors. Hopeless and bewildered, I stand at the feet of mountains, naked and torn, with hands unable to grasp at the rocks of my ambition. However retrospect is the catalyst to my anguish, and only causes me to delve deeper into lament. For it is not the life I have lived that causes me pain, but the knowledge that this is my life, my only life, that I must carry for the remainder of my days. Growing ever sorrowful and weak, degenerating in this cycle of inability and self loathing. I continue to build this tower of ruin. As the feeling encompasses my entire being. I know there is nothing I can do, for what has been done, can not be undone. I have reached the very apex of what I can become. I am nothing but a crumbled dream.