freefall

I went pretty deep down low yesterday. It felt like falling but not the gleeful freeing kind. It was an endless freefall. It was more along the lines of terror of a new state of being engulfed in the flames of indifference. I felt swallowed by a dark spot in the world that would only allow me the view of light through a pigeon hole.

I wanted to reach out and ask for help but my voice got drowned out by the echo of the dark walls that surrounded me. These walls played tricks on me. They would begin to move and turn around to reveal huge towering horrifying personified versions of my weaknesses, all hovering over me with all intent and purpose of consuming me upon command.

Where were you then? You were guarded by your own walls of self-indulgence. Add a window next time to so you can see me drowning.

It passed, but not without leaving marks.

sweat glands

I’m bound to my longing. It creeps in slowly; my heart starts to race a bit. The real awareness comes from my hands.

When activated, the sweat glands vibrate with an electric sting. As the fluids build up, collecting in the well of each pore, my hands shake without any discern from my will. Moisture, droplets alert me of my new state of mind.

I’m overtaken by panic from the illusion of any human physical contact. This in turn creates the anxiety that produces more sweat from my hands. Filled with an overwhelming amount of self awareness I attempt to casually dry my hands on my cloths. But it’s futile.

There is no real way to stop my body when it reaches this state. Carrying napkins won’t help. I just have to bare with it. Calm myself down long enough to release my mind from the death grip of awareness.

It always amuses me to find others plagued with this torture. I find they always deal with it better than I do. We do find a form of comradeship or a celebration of the awkward sensation in our hands. We can not control it, but now we can share in discomfort. Sometimes it’s said we can even find a pleasure in it.

p.s.

this is the first time since a long time I've been home alone...and it feels nice to be swallowed by the vibration of the pulse of my solitude.

hidden place

Sometimes when I want to show the world who I really am… the biggest, brightest, purest, softest, swirliest, warmest, shimmery, dink’a’ doo I love you part of myself, I just can’t. I become so self-aware, measured. I’m so overwhelmed with the desire to be as pure as possible I begin to question everything. Even now as I write this, the pressure from the awareness to project the superlative version of myself is so intense that it irreversibly begins to block my pure thought. As the awareness of the pressure reaches the conscious mind, I feebly hold onto the miserable dripplet of my primal self…of the glitter wand limited edition identity.

lies sweet sweet lies...

I've lied before and I'm sure it will happen again.
I've lied to the point that i don't remember the truth anymore.
As if this fictional account has transcended the boundaries of experiences and pronounced itself real.

but why wouldn't it be real? Once something occurs it's stored away in the outskirts of our memory which in turn become their own tainted and distorted residue of what was perceived previously. Our minds distorts occurrences, through an intricate process of selection we retain what we value of any given situation...so moments are in essence a violation of actualities the instant they cross over into existence to our perceived realities.

reality is a doubtful collection of instances that are a violation of the essential nature of things...so who cares if what i say is real or made up...it's as real as i desire it to be.