Tar And Feathered Words

The Wanderer by Dániel Taylor

I am always afraid that as I put words to a page that content of those words become meta. Words talking about words, language talking language, and yet I can’t divorce myself from these words. This language for me is as muck and tar, stretching and pulling me inexhaustibly to get stuck and dirtied. I fall back into them because of this apparent mismatch between me and them. Like an abusive relationship where I am betrayed over and over again by these things that I give my heart to only to fall back into their arms again.

It’s in a lot of ways the an inevitability as I am so scared of my own voice for it to ever learn to fly. So afraid of my words evaporating into entropy, crumbling into dust in those who they happen to reach. This why words become so focused, like a fetishism that my words are never allowed loftier dreams and goals as I just want them to work in the first place.

If only their were a tangibility to these abstract figures. To manipulate more fully with my hands aside from the language we have all agreed on. To put my mind down on paper, to transcribe these inner thoughts and feelings in a way that does justice to them.

The destruction of this fantasy is what spurs these regular meta commentaries about my inability to articulate in my everyday life. I keep telling myself to be more deliberate with my words, less is more and more is less but I spew them as a safety net as saying something always feels better than doing nothing. A fallacy I repeatedly find myself falling into, but trudging forward just the same.

I’ve already said too much so I shall leave it for now, but I am wise enough to know this is not the end but just another step on long journey.

Twisted Letters

Room – XilmO@夕末

I’m starting to think that only good writings which anyone may find of value are the words that mark my end. How poignant it would be, to write something so perfectly but knowing I would not be able to find the words to complete such a masterpiece. A cold balance between the practical, the apologetic, and the incomprehensible musings of an unfinished man. It is a poisonous twisting of letters and phrases that attempt to reconcile the irreconcilable and cast an act of selfishness as an act of self mercy. There are days where it becomes manageable that I don’t even think about these dangerously dark thoughts. Still, it feels as is if I am in eternally stumbling across ground with no debris with only needing but a spec of dust to send me falling through the earth.

It’s the fluctuations between okay days and terrible ones that makes me know the spindling hasn’t stopped. It brings me high to then send me low, making my morning filled with despair, afternoons feel manageable, and cause my nights to be sleepless. I carve moments away from everything, but they don’t last long enough as either the external or the internal constructs interrupt any semblance of meaningful peace.

My mind keeps going, running on fumes that have all been snuffed out. I consider what will happen when I find myself at the end of that rope, pulling hard to make sure there is nothing left for me or anyone else. An empty person, devoid of any merits other than existence. What then will I think of myself, will my true value be revealed if I hold onto nothing anymore. Will that value be low enough the pay for these costs of my sins and follies.

Part of me wants to get away from it all. All this clutter of my mind, or reduce it all to ash before my eyes, an outcry of the pain I feel inside. Maybe it would be better to lose everything. Start from nothing because it is less complicated than the life I am currently living. I know in some sick way I asked for this, asked for this type of life, and the trajectory that I am on, but I could have never anticipated the outcome. How can I have been so wrong for so long, and how do I rectify things. It’s effortful, these changes, these emotions, the things I hope to find and enact. Why is it that I always feel like I have to pour out so much to get anything in return, and even then, I do get something back. It’s never enough.

I’m in pain, and part of me prays that a hero would come and save me, but I have known for a long time that those types of things don’t happen. No hero will come to save me from myself and my twisted thoughts, and all there will be is silence over an indifferent universe. So that leaves me, but perhaps I am just too tired to stand up right now, but how can I heal I haven’t been much good at resting. For now, I will consider whether I want to or not, the words that may speak to many or few about what is worth saying at the end.

To Have and To Heal

Pain by catzz

How does one heal from circumstance? How does one find peace when chaos ravages the soul. When in those moments, we felt to should have been able to trust that trust is broken. Days have been hard and long, finding no sanctuary these thoughts that continue to pervade my mind like a virus. How do we heal from these ills that set the set fire to the soul and brings a spirit to the brink of darkness?

It feels both counter-intuitive but also apparent at the same time. To be removed from these tribulations, one has to let go of them. It reminds me of a quote attributed to Buddha:

Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.

Some of this pain and anguish that I feel is internally sourced. I am responsible some of the continued pain I feel after the initial moment of experience. A perception of reality that continues cloud my eyes may not be clear but fog or filter that obfuscates the truth.

To remove this clever guise from my eyes requires me to see with eyes on unclouded and release all that I am holding onto. To breathe out all this anger, frustration, fatigue, and pain and to let clean air finally reach my brain.

I need to forgive all these transgressions in my heart, for if I don’t, I will be haunted by them. If I don’t, I will carry these moments with me like a knife in my side, bleeding out slowly for everyone to see. To heal, I need to remove the blade and allow myself to move forward, not to forget but in an honest space to grow despite the challenges. To not allow for the flesh to fester but to scare and to heal. I will wear these things carved onto my body for the rest of my life, but the story I tell about these unnatural grooves upon my soul is for me to choose moving forward. Will these be the moments of pain that crippled me or the triumph I learned to persist?

Letting go through is easier said than done. I had not received the closure I wished for. Life is usually never that easy or clean. The human moment that longed for is but a distant daydream, one clung to for far too long. For now, I need to sit and pass the poison in my blood. To let go and heal. To forgive others of their trespasses, and most of all, forgive myself.

Below I added the poem of Invictius, it’s one of my favorites especially in hard times like these.

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

Recoil

Maryannemade

Dark days and nights give way to for desire for the sun but a call for rain. A look to the sky speaks to the wanting, the waiting for the lightning to strike to feel the easiest reprieve for the karmic destiny that has befallen me. Wondering why not just take it all, why leave me then to weather the storm and give the hope for brighter days ahead. It’s under that rain and wind where I feel like the world and I are finally aligned.

It’s that recoil from the sweet, the pleasant. It hurts at times to be helped because in the my mind, it feels as if I am the poison that would corrupt and corrode all those around. The sweet that gives me shade as the barriers begin to crack and break, the adrenaline which I used as fuel begins to get used up, and all I feel how much the frustration and despair turn to pain and sadness. The way I had always learned to cope it to continue to push forward unrelentingly because I knew if I stopped, I might never get up again.

It’s in watching the sky as rain falls do the tracks tears begin to form. A welling up of emotion finally begins to overflow, and the water of the world becoming indistinguishable from this water pouring out from within. There is some solace in it as it assures me that I exist. The cold no longer bothers me as the clarity of the moment lets me breathe easier. The up and down stabilizes as these emotions I had been holding inside begin to settle.

I spend many moments there, sitting under the sky wondering what my purpose in this world, and if there would be a purpose to my suffering. Those nights when lying in bed become easier as the exhaustion from those emotions put me to sleep quickly. By the time the morning comes, the clouds have gone away, though I know not forever. I will appreciate the sun while I still have it as I try to find peace within myself and quell the storm brewing within. Long days and nights are still ahead, but the whether it’s one storm or many, there can be peace in the recoil from both the pain and the promise.

One Day Darker

Ajimita

The sun shining high in the sky through the blinds on my window frame with heat emanating from the clouded glass, magnifying itself as it enters my room. A long night passes with this light representing one more night done and one more morning received. Normally a representation of the simplicity of the day, taken for granted through normal processes of living but these nights and sometimes brutal mornings fluctuate between insomnia and certain kind of darkness. I don’t understand why these feelings come but it’s not the lack of understanding that hurts me, it’s the the intensity they arise this time and unwillingness for them to dissipate

These motivations I held on to so well in the proceeding months have all but left me with this feeling of aimlessness crowding out everything else. Perhaps it’s a need for me to step back and process these events that have captured both my world and the world at large. It feel so frustrating though that none of my usual devices seem to work, that my body and mind will not operate the way I would like. These darker moments showing up and not letting any of my reasonable thoughts speak, just pouring out of me like a wound not yet healed.

These nights are particularly painful as they entice the me in ways that I hate. The feeling that scares me is the imagination of my wrists strewn apart and the blood flowing through them. A feeling that parades upon my skin is so real I can feel warmth and wetness of blood tickling down my arms. These thoughts which ordinarily would be so abhorrent are tinged with certain sense of sweetness and provocation that makes even these normally distressing acts seem a possibility.

It’s about surviving now, these long nights and troubled mornings. To give myself enough time to recover from these feelings of helplessness and haplessness. Mounting difficulties persist and even through my running and moving I can’t seem to outpace these thoughts. It’s scares me as it saps from me of my strength. These thoughts pervade in a time when I can’t get lost in the world. These struggles persist with my mind entertaining the thoughts of the usefulness of my departure. I seek help and hope for salvation. My heart is silent, it has been for some time. What did I do to turn away from it. Where did it go when I needed it most. I don’t want to quit and regret, but I don’t know any other way out.

Life can be hard and words can be difficult. There is a degree of a need to be honest with one’s self and other people. I struggle with that every day as step closer the edge not wanting to people to pity or look down on me. I’ve already had those eyes trace me for far too long having to wrestle with these perceptions of undeservedness on my own behalf. What I need is time, time to correct myself in this space. I don’t know when everything began to fall or what the last piece to come and throw me into this place but I keep fighting. I hope to be alright in the end but to honest, I don’t know anymore.

Dealing With Discordant Whispers

Better Days Will Come – Maryannemade

It’s the echo, that soft echo that we all hear which takes our thoughts, those ones we normally would not be heard over the cacophony of life, and begins to speak loud that our world has shrunk to the size of four walls and a ceiling. Initially, as soft as an almost inaudible whisper, so weak that only when the world is quiet that you begin to hear, but with time the voice starts to resonate and become the only thing you can hear. With so much going on in my own life, it has become a full-time job to deal with the onslaught of these whispers, these voices that would seek for me to burn with anger and outrage at my world, and destroy everything within it.

There is no illusion in my mind when I say that the past weeks of my life have been arduous. Beyond the calamity of the year, which seems in some way like a final recompense for building troubles we have simply put off, my struggles has made this year memorable in ways I would prefer they weren’t. There is no doubt about the eventuality of overcoming these difficulties, its’s the multiplicity of discordant events that have made the struggle forward so difficult.

Life change is an inevitability, and our reaction to that change determines the resulting outcome in our own life. It’s though a frustration that some of these discordant whispers come to speak in ways that would undermine this peaceful reaction. Phrases like “This is all your fault.”, “You deserve everything that has come to you.”, and “You will never be good enough.” weaken me as it is hard to refute the words that come from within. I can tell them to be quiet, but the more I attempt to avoid them, the more I find myself intertwined with these thoughts and feelings. Like a burning inside that feels like a constant powder keg explosion. This fuel of frustration is nothing new to me, but the circumstances do not allow for these feelings to dissipate easily the only way out now is through.

It’s in these moments that despair sets in, and a distorted sense of nihilism takes hold. A questioning of self, self-worth, and purpose takes hold. In the most extreme regards, it removes any desire to proceed further and replaces it with a desire to curl up in a ball and implode into nothingness. It strains me, this feeling, though thankfully not unfamiliar, allowing me to self actualize and take the necessary steps to recover before harm comes to me.

It was in this that I found the need to reflect on everything that was burning deep within my soul. A burning, mind you, that was not fuel but kindling that incinerates all that is good within my soul. I have found myself in a new land, and all it has done is stack wood waited for a flashpoint for all of this to go up in flames. It’s the internal I have to start with. Why do these emotions come over me, and what is their true purpose. Is this anger and hate simply pride or envy I feel. Is it because of my insecurities which these feelings arise? The flimsiness of stature allows me no sanctuary when the foundations of self are attacked.

This time is difficult in general without making enemies of self. It’s a need for calmness in lieu of apathy, understanding and compassion outside of circumstance. Being kind and knowing that these internal voices are fears harbored inside and not objective truths. The struggle will continue, but I am the one with the ability and the strength to change it. We will all get through this one way or another, we might as well do it the way I want rather than take the path of self-destruction.

The memory of days and nights over the longest weeks of my life – Part 2

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The memory of days and nights over the longest weeks of my life – Part 1

“Keep an open mind and open heart, you are here to attack the problem” I told myself. There I found myself once again on the other side of the screen waiting for this cataclysm to be lifted. For me to take the pain and the punishment that needed to be dished out as was a natural part of the learning process. It was there though, staring at me with its red eye that I knew this was no longer ab,out listening and understanding, this was about commanding and accusing. I sat there, listening until there was nothing left to say, and talking when words needed to be spoken but no more. The sentencing for my supposed crimes came crashing down and washed over me. These words were fatalistic, having already given up the hope of a future, or the respect once held.

No sooner had it started did it finish, but this time, these words left me not in a place of sadness and despair, but utter fru, station. A fuse was lit as the arguments and comments made echoed through my mind. What was clear is that this wasn’t over, but I didn’t know where to go. After it all, I sat there on my front porch calling the people I knew I could trust, trying to figure out what my next steps were.

The long days and long nights continued with finals making it all the worse. My eyes continue to burn as I pieced together all I could to make my life work. Even when the weekend hit, if I wasn’t resting I was working trying to find shelter in this hailstorm. I found solace in the voices of my friends but the music of the night was one of discord and difficulty. Those late-nigh,t hours were there for contemplating my circumstances, and that early morning sun to question my existence.

By the time Monday hit, I was ready for what was to come and what I had to do. It was in those moments that the final piece of validation came through, that all of this pain and anguish was not the result of a normal sequence of events but from a downpour of extracurricular madness. I spent the next few days organizing myself, working, and steeling myself for what might come. Tests and papers kept me busy, and life kept moving. Soon enough the day had come for a second reckoning, a moment to face the music once more. I walked in there the best I could, as brave as I could because I found my reason to keep on fighting.

Life hardly ever gives us clear cut beginnings or ends, and though things continue beyond when we would like what is important is finding the reasons to keep moving forward. I can’t say that I’ve recovered fully from my experiences or that they are truly over but I can say that I will keep fighting. Lessons are not always easy but with an open mind they will never be wasted.

Here are to the long days and nights to come, and the fighting spirit we all hold inside.

The memory of days and nights over the longest weeks of my life – Part 1

I had that reoccurring dream again.
The one where I just disappear.
A quiet evaporation leaving no traces behind.
Gone. Poof. No More. The many years and memories dissipating along with me.
It’s not the disappearance that makes this vision unsettling. It’s the quiet moment that descends on the world as the dust of my existence falls into the sky. The subtle light of my existence goes out, but the world keeps moving forward. No mountains shattered, no storms called, and no seas calmed. Just the world as it’s always been, just simply without me. As if nothing had changed and that mark I meant to leave simply faded away like water in the sun.
I had that reoccurring dream today, but where do I go from here.


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It started with words, sent to me with the intent to punish and harm. A morning shattered in a moment from reading the keys of someone else’s keystrokes. The reality I thought I had been building so fervently had crumbled from just a look.

It’s was hard to keep composure, confusion was my first response than fear and sadness. An inner turmoil began to build the pit of my stomach, like a black hole sucking in everything and making my life feel so heavy. What had I done to deserve all of these feelings flooding in?  My mind unraveled looking for answers, but as I traveled down the rabbit hole, all I found was more darkness. It had been months worth of work, late-night hours, and early morning suns that seemed all but wasted by the comments of another. What was it all worth? These feelings of tire, sadness, and grief that I had been putting off were unrecognized by the perceived enormity of a slight which I had never sent.

My heart burned, my head felt heavy, my hands already tired and spent. I had been slowly drowning over weeks, trying to keep my head above the water, and this pushed me under the waves. Why now? We were almost to the finish line, and yet it all fell apart before we arrived.

I reach out as I could, trying to understand what brought me here to this place. Was I crazy in all of this? Is all that was happening a reckoning I had simply put off for many years, a reckoning that would finally come to take me to the place back down to the place I truly belonged. That long day turned into a long night, and I was sad when the morning came as it meant that what had just happened wasn’t just simply a nightmare of my own creation but the reality that would not go away.

The dissonance got worse, and so did these feelings inside. I needed to keep strong and productive, but the feeling of kissing the front end of a fender grew slowly. Heavy thoughts and feelings thrived on the shattering of the pillars of glass I had been standing on, falling among the shards of broken confidence and self-respect. I had to deal with these feelings, these circumstances, while also trying to hobble together projects and work. Finals that I could not put off were simply the weight to ensure I could not move and adequately deal with the circumstances I found myself. Each prod and poke, however benign, felt like daggers in my side. It used all my strength to keep myself from imploding at any given second. So much energy to keep my composure as much as I could.

It was then I found myself in the forest. Contemplating the value of my existence and ability. It was among the trees and leaves that I broke down, someplace no one could see. Why was I here if all of this would explode in my face at the drop of a pin? Was I so bad as to warrant all of this heartache? Many questions came but not many answers, aside from the ones whose voice was that of pain. I talked and talked with those around me, which lifted these weights enough to breathe. For that, I am truly grateful. If I had found myself truly alone, I do not know what would have come to be.

Day became night, and when I rose in the morning it was to a sweet song of sympathy. Echoing the voice of my friend and family, it put my heart at ease to know that the circumstances I found myself were unusual if not problematic but not from the way I had originally known. It had given me types of solace to know that perhaps this may turn out well.

So many scenarios had played through my head, but perhaps there was a light at the end of the tunnel. As the day pressed on, so did my desire to face these things head-on. In the evening, I head more voices telling me that things will be okay. I was nervous, heartbroken, but nothing else persistent. I was ready to work on myself, and on the problem. All I wanted was to be better and to learn as much as I could. That is what I am here for.

I planned and thought. I considered all of this and opened myself up to feedback. Soon enough, the day had come. The day where I would have to face the music came, and I meticulously prepared everything I could so that when I tuned in, I was ready to work on whatever I needed to do going forward.

That day, which I thought would be the end of all of this turned out to be only moving to another chapter in this long and arduous process. That day when I arrived, sparked the start of something else entirely. These long weeks had just begun.

To Be Continued…

 

The Amorphous Day

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Days and nights move through the sky as if they are both everything and nothing. Time itself may keep its count has become meaningless against the amorphous quarantine period. Dates fly by but hours take forever to pass, I am never sure where I should be or how I should feel through it all, but all I know is that muddle mixture of emotions have meaning even if the world seems to be falling apart around us.

It, in a way, reminds me of how time passes used to pass in videogames when I was younger. Days and night seemed to blend, and events and happenings would change depending on the sun, but the protagonists never cared whether it was day or night just that they were moving forward.

It’s been hard, I’ve sorted through my own troubles in this time we are all stuck inside. Needing to work through those moments and memories that I’ve hadn’t had time for. Work keeps me busy and stressed, though, at times, my body and mind fail me at the altar of the screen.  I think the answers to most of my questions is I don’t know, and maybe eventually.

It’s given me time to reflect more on what I see for myself in the future. The ways I want to go forward and be treated. What I should expect from the world and how I should go about pursuing it. It’s a quiet existence until I fill with thoughts and music.

It doesn’t help that I am tired all the time, though the occasional sun does help. I sit waiting for the world to pass me by moving forward slowly and surely until I can get enough done so that I can say that I am proud of myself and go to sleep.

I do appreciate all those voices I hear over the phone. Those sounds keep me sane when stuck at home away from it all.

I am fighting back, fighting back against all that craziness. I fight against the formless days and nights. Those thoughts of letting myself drift away into the abyss, hoping to return once this is all said and done. We must fight together, holding each other accountable and giving support so that when things are finished,and we can return, we know we still have the foundation of ourselves and our network to rely on.

I will keep this brief, as the day has taken a lot out of me. It may not be over, and the darkness still lingers, but we together can make this work. It’s who we say we want to be in this time that matters. How do I want to look back at myself and remember this time, stuck at home? Will I be the one who lost to the amorphous days or one who made something out of them.

A Dreamless Sleep

 

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Isolations – Felicia Chiao

 

The past few weeks I haven’t been able to write, at least not for this blog. Work, homework, work, global pandemic, and more work have kept me from being able to sit down and put words on the page, to spread my thoughts across digital space in any meaningful way.

So what has happened in the course of several weeks deep into a quarantine?

Me sitting at my dining room table, on my computer, having to act as if the world wasn’t falling apart. Seeing fewer and fewer people as the streets become barren, all except those people delivering those much-needed packages to our mandatory hermits. The quiet returning to the city as the people stay situated in their homes. A silent panic that is not communicated in case it may carry the disease along with it. I’ve been watching the world pass by from that chair, day and night as I slowly lose sleep over all the work I’ve been saddled with. Spending my days in a with my eyes burning with no dreams to be found.

I can’t avoid the reality of my situation, but in the same way, I also can’t fully process it. The world is happening but it doesn’t totally fee,l like anything is really moving. Like a world in stasis, waiting for someone to call out surprise, just kidding, it was all just a ruse. But it’s not, none of it is, it’s not some illusion that will be ripped away with time. No, this is real, the damages are real, the people are real, the hurt is real.

I’ve been sitting here, staring at this screen, counting the pixels as the clock strikes 4 and 5am, knowing I should be sleeping but knowing I just can’t. It’s these dreamless nights that I’ve been experiencing because I have not time for dreaming. Life is going too fast and too slow all at once. Nothing is moving but I am still drowning in the work and the things going on. Coming up for air whenever I can but swallowing water just the same. People are scared and for good reason. Not just for themselves but for their family. It hurts, just for me but the people I know, not able to hug or to mend, not able to console or to grieve. It’s not just breaking apart society, it’s breaking apart community and thats the hardest part.

We fight hard against these waves that will keep us away from one another. Soon enough it will all be just a piece, of history we will tell our children. But here I am, at home, for another day, wishing for the world outside, knowing always it can kill me, just a little bit more efficiently this time around.