I can't sleep because I have far, far too many thoughts. Musings on the recent past, the present, and the uncertainties of the future are darting throughout my head at blazing speed

It is only a month gone, but I already feel myself overcome with nostalgia at Fall semester. I was always in such a state of flux - many chances taken, many new people met, many great/unique experiences. The lifestyle began to eat at me, however. The way of living with no end in sight clashed with my ever-present pulse inside me to have something real, to wake up each morning and have a pull towards a certain person. Classes/jobs/clubs are all great, but the trump to all of those is relating to people on personal/romantic levels. I need love, yet i'm not outside the boundaries of acting crazy. Last fall I felt alive, with each passing week a new uncertainty would meet me head on and I'd collide with it with a wide grin on my face. To paraphrase Weird Al, the world was my burrito.

Towards the end I had been worn down, and actually looked forward to a break. The break only sucked me into a life I no longer want a part of, for it has been stripped down to its skeletal remains. The house in which I have lived the longest in is going up for sale, due to its tenants being ripped apart. Those events have me feeling very pessimistic myself about my own hope for the future, if that kind of luck is genetic. The house is perfect, memories burned into each square inch of it. None of it was real. My parents put on the perfect lie for 20 years, or at least the past 10, when my dad "sold out."He sold out for us though, for the benefit of the family. I've never had much to complain about monetarily, even though I've worked minimum wage jobs constantly since 10th grade, so I suppose I have that to be thankful for. But then you have to re-evaluate the word "benefit." Did our family benefit by totally having love absent in our household? Did my sister benefit as a person by relying on my dad as an ATM to this day? Did my mom benefit by sacrificing the best years of her life to a man who can not see the loving, caring heart she has, or rather if he does see it, chooses to ignore it, just as he has all other human contact in his life? Did I benefit by being raised into this false reality by two parents who, though always clear on their support, are two entirely different people who probably never should have married?

This brings into thought the discussion of my own existence. If anything made any sense, I who I am now shouldn't exist. This is concerning because recently I have never felt more comfortable in my own skin, I feel older, I feel capable of complex thought, I wish to find my place. Now that everything I have grown up with is being fed to the furnaces, it seems that this is the true test of faith and the true test of character. With nothing, you can only grow. With nothing, you must self-analyze and discover the power within you to succeed.

I've always enjoyed being alone - it's a strange feeling, but I'm elated when it happens. Whenever i have the house to myself, whenever i'm in a building real late at night, whenever i'm driving a long distance by myself, whenever i'm walking around listening to my own thoughts. Perhaps this is part of the fear and anxiety I'm experiencing at the moment - when you've listened to yourself for so long, will anyone else want to listen to you? Will anything else make much of an impact?

I need to smoke something this weekend

Uncovering old bones

Earlier on the holiday break I was inspired by somebody to return to my creative writing blog, review the old material, edit it, and come up with some new stuff. That will come, but as a preliminary outline this page will consist of most things I enjoy - music I'm giving a lot of listens to, future songs/musical ideas, concert postings, and yes, a new wave of poetry and lyrics will be coming at some point.

The world has changed 180 degrees since I was writing in this blog last. I've gone from a high school senior with a heart in flux, battling with purpose/identity issues to a college sophomore that is finally slipping into his own skin. Those old poems came from a time when I forced myself into solitary confinement, tuned everything out, and belched out all of these. I'm very proud of the work I did here, yet looking back it does seem flawed and amateurish, something that I suppose musicians see a lot of if they've been around a while.

It is New Years Eve - the dawn of a brand new era of my life, and also the most important one yet. 08 was filled with the gamut of emotions and experiences - extreme love, extremely damaging loss, and of course many things falling in between. For the first time I've realized I truly can live on my own, I can make it. A good friend recently told me that it's a very valuable thing to be able to live on your own and not need anybody/anything, for this uncovers who you truly are and helps you pinpoint where you're going much easier. This is very true, but it shouldn't necessarily be a standard. Gaps of time to let your head decompress are good, but too much time will allow the colors inside to run. Once you have yourself, you need to have purpose, you need to find some way to express the confidence, possibility, and creativity you have within you to inspire someone or change the world in some way. That's how I feel at least

No resolutions for me. Never have had any, they're like setting trapdoors for yourself to forget about. If you make them, you typically will either let yourself down or base your life around the resolution so much you'll lose touch with what you're really feeling. I think they're a scam anyway

Lets see if I can't figure out how to post what I've been listening to:

Seeds

Photosynthesizes white and black landscape
Ambiguous and uprooted, tired mouth lies agape
and this is the end

Shots of fear, overdose of chilling pain
Hollow carapace, suffering among the slain
none shall transcend

Seeds stemming from an unseen storm
Graveborn ghosts growing and gasping
Fertile flower reveals its insidious secret
One by one petals rip apart
Two by two they march into infinity
Eternally, ethereal
cannot comprehend

Tiny bubble above the waves, floating
Little speck among the giants, wondering
where did it all go

Peering outside into the vast cold expanse
Tiptoeing on the blade of reality’s crimson lance
hope’s window shut long ago

Roots lay rotten, unremembered
Outcasted by oblivion’s ominous omen
Landscape littered by corpses of the cretins
Tick by tock the ashes drift away
Wave by wave mixes the future
Suture and heal
we reap what we sow

divide and grow

divide and grow, divide and grow
reject the outside and breathe in slow
snap it in half or hold it up high
punish it now for it does defy
press the buttons feel the sting
torture, laugh, revel
you are our one true king

repress your screams, repress your screams
don’t close your eyes they steal your dreams
hold it inside your tiny bottle
don’t snap don’t break don’t pull the throttle
the coils of control come undone
explode, consume, destroy
accelerate into obliteration

Future Perfect

Future Perfect

Glance into a foggy window in time full of darkness and corruption, where the deeply rooted human desire of greed and power has completely overtaken what used to be innocent. The smoke blocks out the sun, casting a cold shadow over the land. Foliage and vegetation has been sucked into Nature’s downward spiral, leaving only barren wastes devoid of existence. Machines walk the earth, constantly serving and slaving as far as their chips tell them to. A higher power is a number these beings cannot count to, the universe is all here and now in all its blighted glory. One of these beings is awakening for the first time. With a vociferous screeching of metal on flesh, its rusted eyes coil open.

Tip-tap, tip-tap spoke to him. With a jolt the cocoon opened, jettisoning the tiny flea into the blizzard outside. Something had changed. What happened to the fields? A sense of familiarity swept over him, yet instantly imploded upon itself. There used to be a field of daisies, instead only a metal carcass resembling an elephant remained. Look upwards. Raining chunks of flaming debris were headed straight for him from above, as though seeking revenge. The searing embers sought him out like a vulture hunts rotting meat. He didn’t care; he let the metal hit him. Something had changed. Morals, sense of self, everything had changed. He tried his hardest to smell skin and hair burning; his calculations did not allow it. There wasn’t any pain, only a tiny chink in his armor. Armor? As he looked down at himself, the gripping horror struck him.

Numbers falling across his eyes and formulas postulating all possible danger failed to produce any result. Blinking lights in the back of his head told him his temperature, height, weight, local forecast, horoscope, and sports scores. Illuminated white metal seamlessly caressed his body, from a distance looking like a sleeker Michelin Man. His temperature gauges read -30, yet he felt stable. Fading memories revealed to him his previous life at the packing plant, living one day at a time, paycheck to paycheck, without a care in the world. That hollow life seemed substantially more real than the unimaginable wasteland his current world had become.

Suddenly a foreign warmness shot through his circuits, directing him to the south. A quizzical instinct popped up on his display screen and he could not disobey. Something, some force greater than he could comprehend was calling his frozen joints towards an unknown destination. The frigid winds picked up, their chilling crystals of death swirling about in a whimsical fashion like otherworldly spirits escaping their earthly prison. Step by step he walked through the icy sands, leaving a trail of deep footprints utterly unsure of where his journey would end. Impulses awoke within him suddenly, like a grizzly bear awakening in the spring, hungry for life. His awakening jolted him, for he opened his eyes in a very different world as when he wired them shut. The ancient doorway to his cave had been pinned shut by a fallen stalactite, dripping with the essences of greed, corruption, and decadence. He existed; he could touch his hardened exoskeleton and his sensors indicated he was really here. Existing yet trapped. Uncertainty of course never occurred to him, just as his five senses lacked precision. He dreamt not of unicorns and princesses, but of the gripping torture of reality. He foresaw not a world of hope and progress, but one of eternal standstill. Another breeze of snow kicked up, revealing many hazy figures in the distance.

Rage and anger began to overflow inside him, shooting upward in a discharge of primal fury. As he rushed forward with the choking vapors in the air coursing through his iron lungs, the chips inside him began to go haywire. The arteries of his heart began to pump sweet adrenaline, igniting his antagonism with the spark only nature could create. Dust and bones were crushed beneath him, rubble and wreckage caved in like secrets exiting the lips, and the sky was doomed for it was next. Restraints busted while armor chipped and flew back into the forgotten distance, immediately lost to the hazy fog. With a whisk of his fingers he created dark clouds on the horizon, descending upon this wretch of a world to make anew. Grabbed by her pigtails, Mother Nature begged for mercy. He would not let go, for power was in his wicked grasp. Its dominating scent turned him inside out, unlocking his robotic prison and opening the rusted gates of possibility.

While the storms were gathering overhead, the reborn being cackled eerily. His shrill cries were loud and violent, finally setting free the hive of feelings hiding dormant for centuries. Buzzing around his head, these ideas and emotions pricked him with their venomous stingers, each dagger a vessel for the poison corrupting his shattered existence. One by one they stabbed his newly malleable flesh, creating a hole and filling it with emptiness. Escape was impossible, for the bar code along his abdomen not only was his model number but proof of his slavery- enslaved by reality, enslaved by memories, enslaved by the hollow yet impenetrable carapace his skin restricted him to. Sensors had busted, yet something clicked inside of him that told him this was the beginning of the end. He was preparing and gathering the strength and peace of mind necessary to ascend to where he was going next.

Dropping to his knees with muscles twitching and mangled teeth chattering, the freezing rain began to shower the man with its piercing blades of pain. Confusion had led to curiosity, which fell down a well into understanding, which manifested into rage, which had now evolved into 4 walls without a door. He was boxed in, cold, alone, and forgotten. Those walls were now narrowing and morphing into faces, each of them telling the story of the world. The faces were colorless and featureless other than an oval for the outline and a basic, indistinct mouth. Stories were positive and they were depressing, but all in all it seemed humanity persevered in the end. However, towards the end of the line, the diatribes began to tragically escalate into shouts and wails. Shouting and wailing gave way suddenly to white static, the lifeline on humanity suddenly falling flat. Outside the walls, waves crept up to his chin. The soft, inviting thought of numbness opened its wide, accommodating arms. Nature was bringing him back into her essence, to his one true home. The raindrops tip-tapping on his balmy forehead seemed like hammers pressing him further into oblivion. Tip-tap, tip-tap once again spoke to him, and this time, he knew the answer.

Wreckage

Sudden rush of power erupts within
Eliminates sanity and judgment
Reckless inner fire imprisoned by skin
Dreams slowly drowning in quick-dry cement

Tranquil fields abruptly ignite in flames
Toxic smoke muffles fleeting cries of life
Memories stacked like corpses without names
Every muscle poised to pierce heart with knife

Twin universes blurring my vision
Fear and love; pulsating with or with out
Venomous beauty starts her incision
Sweet kiss of a liar removes all doubt

Slipping under insanity’s dark waves
Screaming and marching like Fate’s beaten slaves

The Killer Instinct

Thrust to the curb, dampen eyes open wide
Scent of greed its insatiable addiction
Core of humanity, rotten inside

Shadowy phantom with minions at his side
The root of all evil, the cause of the infliction
Thrust to the curb, dampen eyes open wide

Cold and alone with nowhere to hide
Fear is an anaconda with tenacious constriction
Core of humanity, rotten inside

Shrieks of natural morality long denied
Existence swallowed by dereliction
Thrust to the curb, dampen eyes open wide

To cruelty’s Avatar it does confide
Two burning, maniacal gems aim the affliction
Core of humanity, rotten inside

Brutal scars of tyranny forever reside
Stern judge with a callous conviction
Thrust to the curb, dampen eyes open wide
Core of humanity, rotten inside