Gotta Keep Holding On

(I've basically been autofiring words and thoughts lately. This isn't really "work" as it is relief. Also the first part is moreso about a meltingpot of overwhelming feelings than lamenting over not being able to find THE ONE.)

For what?

For something great to happen.

I haven't felt this way in years. It's beyond romantic heartbreak. Is it not despair?

To be misunderstood. I remain unsolved by companionship. I never expected someone to figure me out.

I wanted to figure me out.

And yet the escapism of two people finding each other distracts me further.

As does the sweet leaf, oh how I love you.

Yin, she isn't on this Earthly plain.

And that dream? In the restaurant, that beautiful woman wearing the red kimono.

Why did she tell me her name?

Why do I still search for a woman, with that name?

Codependency starts with bad parenting.

I'm not fit to be a father. I couldn't handle the strain of looking into my son's eyes
as he calls me worthless. I'd believe him. I'd become worthless.

And one day he'll blame himself for making me such a sorry person, and in turn
apologize to everyone he meets, attempting to make amends.

We're just cycles, right?

Wheels, spinning. That's not right. We're nothing happening.

Every day my head pulses and aches.

I don't have the heart to spill guts. You'd lash out defensively to reassure your way of life. If only I had everything you had, then I'd be happy, right? Because you're happy, right? There are some things in life that you can not work for. That you can not alter beyond superficial means.

You, with all of your growth, you have not seen what that means. You don't understand that your progress becomes meaningless in isolation.

You don't know meaning yet.

Meaning is the most powerful magic at human disposal. Meaning is the foundation and grain of the Universe. It is the force that propels motion and all of its complexity. It is the isolated sound and image of ones own mind. It is the emotion behind reason.

The power of meaning is in the secret of its power. It is a paradox of tangible illusion.




Meaning is the internal exchange of one vast Universe.

And each person, each family, each material connection and relationship, is a form of meaning.



The only meaningless worlds are the ones in our heads. They are ghostly mimes of a world we have already experienced. They lack subtlety and context behind the actions and ideas. To imagine you are president of Earth is not a meaningful world. It is a copy of our world, with gaps between the pieces. Without those vital pieces fully realized, there are no gears to turn these fantasy worlds. No amount of imagination or thought can account for the individual atomic structures of even one misplaced event.

In a way, all things have their place. Humans, people, us, me, you. Our place is together. Without each other, who are we to love, hate, respect, compete with? Our lone selves?
Should I truly spend my entire life believing so firmly in myself? Can't you admit the paradox? Love is selfish. Selfishness is a blackhole of suffering for the rest of the world. The love of food ruins the lives of plants and animals. The love of another confines them to expectations and conditions. For if they want your love, they must compromise who they are.

Spend my entire life, alone. That's what my friend decided to do. I'm considering following suit. Cut off ties and become myself. I'll prove everything to myself, and it will be great. No one is greater than the greatest person I can imagine.

And then what? I've mastered my happiness, life, work. I think that even the Buddha understood the unnecessary pain of such a life. Despite his control, I doubt he could have happily died with his secrets. Never shedding light on another. He had to teach his way; ultimately return to people. His life very much depended on others; whether for their reflection, or for their presence.

Even he could not relinquish his vague, lingering sense of loneliness.

If you need everything spelled out for you; If you believe every impression the world gives you; If everything needs to be expressed semantically, with adherence to your highschool English teacher's standard of communication; If you find personal offense in the world of the abstract;
Then your stability, happiness, and comfort are already forfeit.

Enjoy your 20s, they say.

digression

rebellion and adrenalin composed my early self. i got a nasty kick out of tormenting my parents. even now such antics loosen up the nerves.

i wonder, how many more sides do i have to pull? stripped of loving kindness, and slowly caked with nihilism. i cant de-evolve, just change. a person is not only all they have done, but they are their environment. their own anger brings hostility to their homes. when i learn not to sound like a condescending jerk, people will stop arguing with me. thats the idea, right?

i kind of like arguments, honestly. that flustered, animal side of you comes out. it shows where your emotions are really coming from with your words. some people get scared by this. i dont like people who are afraid and give in to fear. these are the kinds of people who would stand there if you got the upper hand while getting mugged.

when i give up my juvenile grudges against myself, you know, quit being a masochist, then i will find some proper education. ive always had hard, honest work in mind. i can crack the whip.

someone around me is a monster. that monster breaths down my neck and tells me what he wants me to become. i resist. in time my face, my hair, my voice, and even my... motives... became that monsters.

the worst part about this monster is,
its advice is really good. so you end up loving it
but ultimately it doesnt care, so it eats you anyway.

Quit projecting how you feel into my words. Fuck you.

My parents were superstitious potheads and burned their own supernatural stories into my head. I've always felt like a spirit was keeping me from reality; as protection of sort. Sometimes I feel guided by this, others I feel abandoned. Or rather, left to my own devices.

I was obsessed with horror movies and videogames as a child. Nightmare fuel and rollercoasters were my jones.

Now I quietly wait for nothing to happen, wondering what it is my feelings were meant for.



Some people of mine seem frustrated in my lack of motivation. Oh you're so smart! But why aren't you going to college and accumulating debt so you can get a house and accumulate debt? You can worry about your hobbies and your passions later in life, when you're in debt and taking care of little debt monsters. You must be lazy, they say.

No. I'm just afraid of living a life in the dark. You have such a frightened look on your face when you talk about money; how much you wish you had, how much you spent, how long it took to save x amount, how much more other people have for doing y.

When I think about all of the titles and degrees I could pursue, nothing really speaks out as meaningful. Title alone guarantees jack shit. And passing four to eight years of tests ensures a semantic understanding; not a spacial, visual, theoretical one.

My idols had to jump through hoops to wear little lab coats that let them develop byproducts of military research. There's no money in saving people. They want their dicks in our pockets until the day we die, and will loot our burning corpses when we say "no."

Turn on a television and laugh with those pearly white monkey teeth. Let dramatic music and rhetoric sway your senses and logic. Change your life because your parents cried over the fucking BOGEYMAN.


I'm not saying action is meaningless, or that there is nothing to stand for. I'm calling you all infighting twats. Gullible pigsheeps. Speak in tongues and spew chunks of dogma. Quit sucking charismatic cock. Slurp slurp slurp. There, do you feel worthwhile now?



I'm ranting like an idiot now. It doesn't matter.

Master every skill. Focus on survival. Learn to question everything. Educate yourself, and don't feel content with your understanding because some beard with glasses marked an "A" on a multiple choice test of yours.

I'll never get a chance to tell anyone anything meaningful. I'm interrupted even now. When my anxiety and frustration call for complete attention to what I'm expressing, it simply isn't allowed.

I'm not going to hold onto hot coals. There will never be a chance for me to calmly "write things out," because those feelings will not be there in their purity. My breathing is stifled. I'm sorry if I become a crockpot someday. It hurts my feelings when something that feels so true is overlooked for traditional ignorance and reassurance.

I'm running out of sand.