Past lifetimes of thought.

Today i remembered something that i thought was lost to me forever. I had rejoiced previously in being able to get past it only to realize that it was a big part of me and had been for years. Even in its complete and utter exclusion from my life and my thoughts, i had often dreamt disturbing dreams of what i had it seemed so easily left behind. Is it possible to love something you neither had nor lost, how about something you had never known? Without a trace of  tragedy i can't hope to understand it. What is this i wonder, having existed in it in the past for indefinite periods of time i would imagine i have all the answers but i don't. But i am not lost you see. I'm just a silent observer of a mind that works on its own and which i have no hope of manipulating. I was right about myself, i don't have a heart...not really. At the moment i find myself incapable of explaining why exactly,but someday i will. Someday i'll have all the answers. 

Ramblings of an inwardly old fool.

I've been thinking about so many things nowadays. In a certain way i'm regressing, think about it as walking through a never ending line of doors and rooms in unutterable darkness with the haunting whispers of things awakened from the dead that are always terribly familiar. All of this in the hope that somewhere along it all i will find out how to fix what is wrong with me. For some reason i have been thinking about my literature teacher a great deal lately and i don't know why. She did like my work somewhat at some time but she said that i was 'lost in translation' , running the race with both my hands and feet tied, that i was 'holding back', that she didn't know how to help me. I would just look at her blankly, how could i explain that my interpretation of poetry or my analysis of a character had nothing to do with my literary skills at all. How could i tell her that every ion in me was so damaged that my so-called writing suffering was perhaps the most insignificant after-effect. For a while i thought her transient beliefs regarding Bakhtawar Azam could save me. But as it turned out, we were both incapable of it.

I've wanted to write a book since i was 6, had all these ideas that it would be a bestseller, that the whole world would see that i'm good, so good at what i've been taught to believe i can do. My head is spinning. And it hurts all over and recently even eating has become a chore. I feel so done and whatever ambitions i had i've put them on some shaky footing hoping the future will magically take care of them all, completely without my involvement. Save your censure, for i'm embarrassed and disappointed and most of all so goddamn angry i want to run my head through a solid wall... and in the end the only person i can point my finger at is that sad little girl in the mirror who is wondering why she hasn't gotten struck by lightning yet. I realize that i'm in the race regardless and for the long haul and i can run it being afraid, threatened, vulnerable, and haunted or i can run it facing my fears with my head high and failing in some poetic way in the end. The second sounds better, this is precisely it, i always know what the right thing to do is, i do and i do that thing 95% of the time but what if i can't this time around? I don't like myself talking like this but for years all i've done is pace back and forth, yap to myself, write down on little pieces of paper what the solution is...what the process is, build little walls around myself - that is not entirely metaphorical by the way. I'm what is known as a rational, rationals you see according to some tests are the rarest normal personality type on the planet. Maybe i'm waiting for some happily ever after that will never happen, i thought i was brave, i thought i was a lot of things but i've got some of the concepts wrong. 

The time capsule.

It was a very early morning and it had rained the night before. The sky was a dull gray, in fact everything was a confusing dullness that I've only seen a few times in my life. Sometimes i think i'm dead, because death comes in so many forms and yet people still think it's when you depart the world in some ridiculous fashion often leaving behind weeping humans. I realize my views are often offensive, maybe hurtful but does it really matter when you're dead? At that moment i felt almost surreal like i wasn't here at all and then i looked back at my life and realized i hadn't been here, not really...as if i was some kind of forgotten dream whose existence is speculative. Truthfully, i feel like i'm stumbling around in the dark which has no end and where i really have no place to go and most of all i'm heartbroken with a very real pain in my chest that i feel even as i am writing this. As i stared at the little frogs yuppiting about in the garden outside i realized how it was all blank to me. I had these dreams when i was little, these ambitions of being a great writer but how could i have nurtured those lies for so long? Because right now there is nothing and i'm suffocating in it and yet I've lost all courage to leave. I've always had these great expectations from myself, these great ideas about what i am, where did i leave them. Now i look at people, ordinary people, and think about how magnificent their lives must be,while in any realistic universe they should have sold their souls to be me. 

A bowl of rat poison for the soul.

I'll be honest with you folks. I've hated my life as long as i have lived it. Even when it was something like good, the presence of a big, black hole had eclipsed the temporary fits of happiness. For that is all they have ever been...fits. Let me enlighten you as to the primary trait that my upbringing has tried to give me. Fear. Always be afraid. Afraid of people, what they can do to you, the vast world filled with these same beings, all of which operate at some advantage that i will never have. Be afraid of not being enough, for you will never be. Be afraid of places, typically large open ones. Fear the supernatural if you really can't find anything. Also i must let this fear inhibit and crush whatever talent there is in me just so i never have to see myself lose it. All defense mechanisms for something that should never have harmed me. But then again i am not what is in my nature, am i? I sure hope not.