for that which is small and quite nothing

There is a portion of my mind that may forever be alone, that which is not pleasant but is necessary... Why is it necessary? I don't really know. Why do I deem it necessary? Sometimes, I question myself and realize I don't make any sense. It should be right, then, to discard of such stupid ideas, should it not? So I do and I correct myself.

There is a portion of my mind that is alone right now in its little corner that whispers evil things; it is not pleasant nor necessary but it persists like a parasite, unwilling to go away just because I tell it to, rather preferring to taunt me for being weak and small and meaningless and nothing. There is a struggle for me to grasp at this thing, for I understand that I feel that way, and I have an idea of why, but I can't really catch it. It is a thought, floating in my head, floating and fleeting, that everytime I try to catch it, it flows through my metaphorical fingers. The idea that one can be so small, that life can be so cheap, the idea that the cogs of this civilization run on no matter how utterly fucked up any single individual is, that the system itself permits this and churns out losers every single day... is baffling and beyond my comprehension. Is it really important at all? Maybe not; but when you imagine burning a fire in an enclosed room to which end seems quite self-important that you should be worth a ceremony that bears the last honor (or otherwise) that a person may or may not deservedly receive, you kinda have to think about why you shouldn't.

So, there is nothing to say that just because you tried that you will find the answer. I'm sure a million people before me have tried to figure out just what it is that makes any single life more or less valuable than the rest, finding answers that are not really answers, finding reasons that are not really reasons, finding truths that are not actually truths... And a million people will follow after me and, possibly, tens of billions more after me if this pathetic existence is able to sustain itself before blowing itself out like the metaphorical candle. So yes, I did not find the answer, and yes, I may be quite dense, and yes, I may have something wrong right up there in the brains; which begs the question: What now?

I don't know.

that which is not known

I look at your name and freeze; that you don't know it makes no difference, I freeze all the same. In this frame in my life where nothing moves and everything is a malleable but constant force, where I have control over anything and everything but don't quite need it, where in my own little way, I am the god; you would think that the inherent peace in this place would be more far-reaching than you. Apparently not, though, because that image of your name is burned deep into my mind as my fingers stop moving; knowing that you don't know makes it easier to manage, but not by much; or it really doesn't and I'm fooling myself, that perhaps it's not easier but harder, but for the lack of available data processing in my head, that cannot hit me in the way that it should. And perhaps it's the day where I should choose to tell you or let it go, but even that I cannot muster in myself, because every time I see your name, it elicits the same response, that I cannot do either.

What, then, is it about you that even your name gets to me, that which is awesome and scary at the same time, which makes me feel alive, but not in a good way, because to die, you must know that you once had life, for that which you do not have cannot be taken away, even if it is just thought because not every man knows that he is alive and not every man thereafter knows that he has died; and that to the extent of that, there exists a part of me that wants to say something but cannot because it makes no sense, and while everything has a positive intention, I cannot quite find that in the moment of telling you, so I don't, but really, why, then, do I keep thinking about it, finding the excuses that are not there, and ultimately just being a complete and utter fuckup?

Perhaps, today, I will make my choice and stick to it, because I can hold this moment for so much longer - the meaning of which takes precedence way more than it should, that this hurt should be my pleasure, that hope is there though ever in the slightest that I should hold onto it dearly - but it's really not worth it and I know that, because for as long as I am an idiot trapped in my own trap, stuck in my own warped mind that has failed to see that it has far passed its boundaries that it has no idea were ever there, that it will continue to rot away to a state that it can live within rather than simultaneously combusting to reveal a new thing not entirely familiar to me.

for that which has no rewind

I wish I knew how to make things work. It seems, instead, like everything I go into, I really have no control over. If I could let it go, I would, but right now, I'm just too far in it to forget it. So I'm thinking that if I just do one stupid thing... That's excusable, right? It'll only be the one... Who am I kidding? Of course it's not excusable... That's the only one stupid thing I need to do to crash and burn. So, really, what do I do instead? Mope around until this feeling goes away? God knows that won't take long. But is that really the point? Is it really the point that if it'll go away fast that it's OK to just... let it go? I rarely wonder if I'm making the right choice. It's usually that I just pick one and run right at it until the wall breaks. Well, rarely; I'm beginning to think that this may be one of those choices I might regret for a long long time. Especially if I don't say anything. If I do, at least I know. But then again, is that knowledge really worth breaking a good bond? I don't know, so either way, I may regret after all.

So what now? I've been told, "At the end of the day, whatever you do, it's gonna be stupid anyway." And sure, that's true, but that really doesn't help me. Between two stupid things to do; who do I want to hurt more? Us, me or her?

as to the big things that look little, because there was the titanic, and there were the lives on it

There is a heaviness which I cannot explain, an anchor in my face that drags me against the earth, that makes me feel pathetic and weak and stupid and slow, nothing that I enjoy but something I must endure, because if that's all I can take, then what of life and the years ahead?

There is a path somewhere, in fact, everywhere, paths in front of me, paths all around, they really lead to the same place, but the point is that they're different paths, with different experiences and different everythings. They make me think about the choices I make and the stupidity inherent, they make me wonder and ponder and deliberate and think, but really, what do those paths matter if not for the little things in life you hold dear? Because if everything is constant and nothing is assumed, there would be great balance in the world, but what of such a boring place would you like? So, to choose something that matters to you, is it important? Because, really,  what I want right now is to be able to enjoy the things that I think are important, because feeling alive isn't about exhiliration, it isn't about money and infinite time, it isn't about finding the meaning in life, it's about putting meaning into your meaningless life.

So why is it that I question? That right now is here makes the past so much less important, but the past is really what defines you so, after all, it's important, but not in a way that should bother you. And so what if you didn't know? To actually know, that's gold, but sometimes, it doesn't matter as much as you think it does and that, my friend, is really what you should place in your mind.

crossroads with a reset button = convenient

Just right then, I had an epiphany. All my human instincts told me to blow off some steam but really, that's not what I wanted at all. A friend, which I just recently thought of as close, told me, "It's OK to be alone," and I totally agree with that. Then again, how true is a fact that you have to keep reminding yourself? As Kelly Clarkson said, "Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone." Do I agree? Do i disagree? Let's just put it this way: A person has as much control over his emotions as he can hold constant in his mind. If you're alone and you tell yourself, "I'm not lonely," truely and surely, you will not feel alone. It's tried and tested, a personal experience and belief; although, I have to concur that not all minds work alike; so just think about it for a second, "Are you as lonely as you feel or as lonely as you allow your mind to think?" If you have to keep reminding yourself, consciously, that you are not lonely, are you really not lonely? It's thoughts like these that make me doubt myself, but stimulating my own mind has always been fun, especially when the stimulation is of a personal interest.

Perhaps... I don't mind thinking about it, but questions that don't really have an answer are scary. They are few and far between, surely, but they're always scary; and why shouldn't they be? A diver looks into chasms of water, so deep and dark that they cannot see anything but blackness beneath them, that some even go into panic. Do you blame them? The unknown is scary. Granted, you have to want to know the answer enough. You have to imagine the possibilities and play them out in your mind, conjure the rainbows and butterflies but also the blackholes and the infinite negative possibilities. Maybe it isn't scary for everyone, but they scare me so there.

So, really, what is the point I'm trying to make? On the one hand, I want to do something but on the other... I really don't. Is that the point? Kind of but not really. The point is, I am lonely, and it's OK. Shouldn't it be? If it should, why do I misdirect my emotions to feel better? Why do I tell myself I'm not lonely when I am instead of embracing it as just what I am? At this point, I'm just contradicting myself, saying things I only half mean. Crossroads; I'll go with one option and see how that goes.

that which is a lot but not enough

"I deserve a lot but she deserves more," that which runs through my mind and haunts me; because I am such a small person that I cannot get past the barrier of this inferiority complex. It plagues me. It really does. Why though? Will a girl who is more superior in intellect judge a man by his achievements? Huh... The logical sequence in my head implies otherwise. Either way, Hansern, you are a huge fuck. What are you doing?

hm...

The days that confine us, so long yet so short, we fool ourselves into thinking that they mark the days, but really, aren't the seconds that count? Because each of us have our lives, but every second, lives are lost; accidental, predicted, unpredicted, how do we know when it ends? So which seconds are the ones that count? Foolishness it is to try to decide, for where does it lie a second which does not? Every second, we are being formed, we are growing, we are becoming more than life, more than moving cells, because thoughts; thoughts are not alive but I'd be damned if they didn't mean at least as much as life.