Disorientation

This place extracts inspiration. The mere look of this blank space is always intimidating. The absurdities of this loop are strikingly disorienting.

 

These short sentences are a witness of change. Change that cannot be put in actual words. Words that carry further complexities yet provide more proof of an obscured being.

 

Obscure. I have always liked this word.

 

It is indeed quite tiresome having a brain that is in constant circular motion trying to piece itself together, with unprecedented dimensions of confusion explored every day.

 

I urged myself to start using short sentences today. I'm trying to piece together patterns of change. This is more confusing than I thought.

 

I don't know what else to type, so in the following line I'm going to share a word that I like:

Detoxification.

 

Well, I thought this might help, but it certainly has not.

"This Might Be An Adventure,"

... they said. But, is it? 

 

Now, I am known (strictly to myself) to be an inexpressive bastard. I have a habit of covering up in unnecessary complexities that leave the unresolved... well, a mile farther from being resolved. Well, I am right here today at this precise minute and this exact clock strike to state one thing, and one thing only, which is;

I am tired of this shit.

All of it.

 

One would ask me what exactly it is that's tiring about shit. Or if one is a snark, he'd state that no one is really glad of the presence of shit in life. And to both, my reply would be the following: Fuck. Off. 

 

Yea... anger management now?

 

I thought I love the professional opportunities thrown at me every other day. I thought they were all blessings that I'd feel guilty if I did not seize them. I often questioned their sudden existence, but disregarded the suspicions and left it in the hands of high power of wisdom. 

But, hey, now I know! They're a curse! Or a mere reminder that all what I thought I believed in is as profound as a Pitbull song. So, here I am, having loads to do, discarding what's left of the depth of my being, failing something that I am not aware of and most of all, not having the least bit of fun in my life. 

 

I am 20 years old. 

The Amazingness of Some Little Things... and Their Siblings

It's amazing how we are. Or how we be. Or how we become. Or how we get to be, or made to be. Or flipping in hula-hoop-ish fashions to be, and right back, without having the slightest clue what a hula-hoop flip is, or why it could be a fashion of being.

It's amazing how it's amazing. Or how we want to regard it as amazing. Or how the mind stretches to find reasons for it to be something else, but settles for amazing. It's amazing how it swirls, dancing in electrifying illumination, sits still, then settles for 'amazing' . And after it's all done, one slight back-swirl holds within the true amazingness of some little amazing things combined. And when you think about those little amazing things, you get introduced to their big amazing siblings on the way, whose nature you're entirely unaware of.

It's amazing how satisfying those little things are, only when they're not. And when they there, complete, but nowhere near fullness. And you'd try to piece them together; try to sight a complete picture that is dysfunctionally gaped. Scrapes from one corner and some from another, dashing them together and fitting it together, when you know it can never fit.

But amazing it is, and amazing it will remain.

Because who ever said amazing is amazing? Amazing it infuriating. Amazing is implicated and inflated. Amazing is so many things with letters swaying and twirling to be that thing that your mind only wishes them to stay intact, only for once.

And once it's all over, there will be room for being.

And further to the edge of your seat you move...