the-fickle-thought

[the-fickle-thought]

Journaling

I've had a very strong urge the past several...months -- Perhaps years -- to journal. I started to actually keep a diary in January of 2020 and I was starting to finally get into the rhythm of updating my life in my diary by early March 2020; need I say more?

Life went still; the pages frozen. Dated, and waiting for the absorbant kiss of rich black ink, seeping into its carefully measured depth; only a dream unfulfilled.

In the time since my last written post, about 6 years ago, several things have happened in my life -- which I will itemize below, in no particular order:

> attended and graduated from College with a BFA;

> lived in a city;

> maintained and held a healthy romantic relationship;

> accumulated debt;

> gotten a cat;

> survived a traumatic, personal event;

> discovered amazing musical artists;

> passing of a large patriarchal family figure;

> declined in # of books read for leisure;

> understood the isolation of low-/middle-class, metro-area living; POC, upbringing;

> had several shroom trips;

> tripped really hard on shrooms once;

> made and lost many friends;

> climbed the business ladder;

> had new sexual experiences;

> been diagnosed with a mental illness;

> taken anti-depressants;

> become a subject to the capitalist machine;

> gone outside more;

> traveled beyond the state lines;

> reached a very low emotional state;

> relapsed;

> eaten fish again;

> taken a 180-degree take on minimalism;

> begun writing and considering a last will & testament;

> developed a bird fascination and obsession;

> distrust engrained systems and government;

> gotten a tattoo;

> entrusted with the keys and function of a business;

> wanted sweet escape from the chains of capitalism;

> given podcasts a chance;

> believed in the importance of a childhood;

> mental regression

that's it. that's the entry.

[the-fickle-thought]

Emotional State

I do not feel well. I do not feel well at all. There is little I can do to get past the cloud of emotions that I awoke with this morning. I am emotionally drained and motivation is scarce. My eyes feel heavy, my chest dense, and my sighs deep yet unsatisfactory. My voice feels dry and weak, my awareness tunneled, and my mouth slim and purse. It requires so much non-existent energy to deviate to any other faux emotion or mindset. I do not feel like me but they feel familiar.

Why has this state returned? Is it the weight of internalized emotions? Is it the return of a seasonal disorder? Or the conclusion of an external outpour of actual thought? These questions with no definitive answer and with no urge to response. I sit here with a hunched back, hollow mind, and aching soul. There is a call into a void with no walls to echo back. And I sit, unsure of a cluttered or empty mind that has overtaken my head.

I am afraid. That is the phrase that has repeated in my head since you’ve left. I am afraid. I do not know what is going to happen. I am uncertain of the immediate and distant future, the state of my mental health, feeling a euphoria or sense of comfort as I did when I was around you. I do not understand but maybe it is the realization that things will return to “normal” and life will continue moving and I will return to the busyness of life. I don’t think I want that. I don’t want it. I want slumber and a rest of activities until I deem ready. I am so exhausted. Please. Help me. I am afraid. I am afraid.

[the-fickle-thought]

Awkward Living

I am currently in a weird limbo between everyone I know and people I am connected with. I’m consistently busy and I don’t know about myself as much as I did - well more so that I don’t have much time to self-discovery cause of roles taken on. I don’t feel particularly connected with anyone and I’m in a state of mental health that I’m not sure where I am. I’ve begun seeing the campus counselor bi-weekly and we’re only getting into the basics but I don’t feel happy, and I don’t think I have in a while. I’ve had moments of happiness but overall, I’m in too deep of moments of preoccupation or concentration or existentialism/sadness. I have been consistently been told “I know relying on others is hard for you, but if it’s what you need to do, you should do it. It doesn't need to be me - just someone.”  I don’t have that sense of trust with others to talk to them.

I have thought about resigning from positions, but I’m too heavily involved to even do that. I don’t want to give them up because it feels like I need them for development - but they’re sort of the groups that are harming me with my lack of connection. Everyone seems so heavily intertwined within the groups I’m involved with that I feel like an outsider. I’m trying to think what I should do in the Spring but those activities are spring-long. I really can’t wait for next year for detachment in lesser groups but I don’t want to lose time. I have felt a sense of autopilot because of the schedule basing. I miss having free time and I’ve tried to incorporate it in my schedule but I just lose sense of it and I get the feeling that I’m wasting my time. I want to say that I am running away from something but I’m not sure what. Maybe thinking about the future? That’s what I’ve been mainly thinking about on a weekly basis. Maybe my own personal feelings about people? or even the observation of a lack of development so perhaps I looked another way? I don’t know. I want to sleep forever and every time I wake up, I don’t feel refreshed. I want to sleep forever. I don’t want to get out of bed. But knowing I have obligations, I do anyway. This just feels awkward. I’ve realized that I give automatic responses that indicate the level of stress and tiredness - but I refuse to give more information. I don’t know. I don’t know.

[the-fickle-thought]

Artistic Dream

Approximately two or three weeks ago, I had a dream about partaking an art show exhibiting some of my artwork.

I was standing in a solid, dimmed white-walled room, with my artwork on the walls and the adjustable incandescent lights from the ceiling pointed at the art pieces, giving a warm vibrance from the wall to your face. In perhaps a black suit, I am anxiously in my quadrant of the room; the memory fades.

In this exhibition, there were other artists showing their works and members of the public walking around viewing these pieces of art. It felt very surreal. There was a wooden floor and various hallways and walls, with an artist at virtually every corner. The temperature was neither cold or hot in that setting - one simply did not notice.

I was observing and noting these things all in the while waiting for people to pass by my section. Waiting. and waiting. and waiting.

I then began to give up and walk around to see where everyone was. I walked in what seemed like a longer corner than I remembered; a longer walk to the next artist than before. I arrived and saw plentiful people walking and pausing to see all the various mediums of art presented that day. It seemed like a populated public museum with this number of people. Comment after compliment after rating after comment, overhearing the praises to the artists I had not heard of. I resign and join the traffic where the comments were directed.

Piece after piece. Form after form. Artists and walls after walls. It was unfathomable the creativity and passion directed by these artists. They were all beautiful pieces; pieces one by one critiqued by what seemed like professionals who knew what they were seeing; Impression as the greatest key and what they saw were meeting their standards and beating the game. I was not against them. I agreed and followed the crowd until I go back to my original spot. They were all beautiful pieces. They were all beautiful pieces. All...except mine.

I return to my deserted frame and stand. And continue standing as if I had expected someone to come up to me to ask about my inspiration for a particular piece or how long I have been in the game or what I aspire to be. I stood tall but disheartened. I stood with a disguised smile and played the part of a viewer. I look at my artwork and try excruciatingly hard to avoid comparing it to the other art pieces but the end of the line was that they incomparable. I am so far behind all the rest and I stand there. Waiting for a single person to come and give my pieces a chance. Just a singular glance would be enough to quench my thirst for approval and I would exhale in relief that my artwork is of some sort of value. But nothing. And I stood there. Tall but disheartened. And the room was cold.

[the-fickle-thought]

Fear

I am falling falling a careless drop worry grows as gravity pulls down darker and darker blacker than the eyesight of a dead man staring at the eternal sun Anxiety infests the body feasting on the happiness and glory of this budding--

falling falling falling no faster than the remembrance of one’s name to thy tongue falling You come closer and I draw back I refuse to fall but the ground is only but arriving at a--

[the-fickle-thought]

Cenizas

It lingers above

A pain strikes my aching heart

Only a mem’ry

[the-fickle-thought]

Harbor

The water flows; The wind refuses to break; and the rocks decided to stay for the sanity of Nature’s security. The branches reach for the sky that will not stay any one concrete color. They will continue to reach-- growing ‘till Nature decides its fate. It will never reach.

The water continues to flow.

[the-fickle-thought]

Face

the heavens dimmed sunlight floating where the eyes of man cannot reach the spherical tear of gods fall into the feeble lands the outpour of negligence darkening the soil eyeful for the change of sight contoured lines convexes to the infinity of the failed eye yet it sees novelty shifting the countenance that was once that of i to that of the surface of birth yet

beyond the veil the black of night is seen where radiance shines knowing all the points of where the fissure of mine faults belong yet it continues to fall on the natural surface

[the-fickle-thought]

Any time is normally a good time

If I were to wake into the serenity of Life and explore the depths of its mystified oceans  and the vastness of the land, Would there be any care of the ticks that had gone by?

If the call of arms were to call forth the calling of a coming, the call in its simplest amplification, only giving thunder to the small men that rule the land below it, would the arms of man  man into the arms for the preparation?

Given the pulpit and the gavel to speak in rebellion of the aristocracy, falling into the flame of Nature, give it any meaning to the rights of man?

No person under the natural waters would succeed in purpose giving the meaning of the passing seasons. Proposed is the presentation of lucid possibilities  had the route of man been directed as so.

But it is not.

[the-fickle-thought]

Disappointment

What have I brought upon myself? This is definitely an external...impact so it's definitely out of my hands. It's the only easily accessible place that will provide comfort because of its distance. How could I be so stupid! Absolutely unacceptable. How fucking dare I. One fucking place out of fucking nine I fucking chose are nearby and how fucking disappointing is that? How fucking thought-less. I don't want to be so far away but I do. Fuck me and my thought process.

Can I so easily blame myself? Of course. Perhaps I just wasn't good enough. Maybe I didn't meet their criteria. Perhaps I didn't explain myself well enough. Maybe I'm just too normal for them. No. That wouldn't be it. But could it be because of me? Of course it's because of me! That's all there ways to evaluate.

Can it be because I'm a fuck up? No, they wouldn't know that.

Why am I so disappointed? I know it's nearby and I know I want to leave my home and "become independent." But subconsciously, I want to be close to home. I want to see my family. Obviously not as frequently as I am seeing them right now. Subconsciously I wanted to be there. 

But guess what? Life fucking moves on. And this fucking sucks. I'm sorry, but this does. How dare I. How fucking dare I. Maybe I subliminally thought I would get in. But that part of me was completely wrong. So stupid. Stupid stupid stupid!

I'm not angry. I'm just really, really, really...sad.

[the-fickle-thought]

Disorganized

And so I return to the the wonderful writing blog that I had abandoned in the beginning of the year. At the moment, I feel very, oh very, disorganized that I can't seem to grasp the basic tranquility of adolescent life. But one person in particular would say that "you're more of an adult than you are a teen." Yes, of course. But the stresses of a teen persists.

Currently:

As counterintuitive as it seems, my break does not feel like a break at all. I am just as much stress, if not, as when school is in session. I have a "term" paper to write and have yet to start. I have about ~65 pages worth of Psychology content to read and study (including study guides and vocab [which is luckily half complete]). This is my last week of break and I have to complete all of that by Monday of next year.

College fucking applications. It seems that a couple of college are missing a few items and I have no fucking clue on how to complete them since they deal with financial aid for international students or things with international students in general. Considering I've been in this fucking country for practically all of my life, it seems ridiculous that I have to go through all this bullshit just so I can go into debt for an extra four (plus two) years of education for a job that I'm not even sure that I will like. I have all these transcripts I have to still send but been putting off because of time and stamps and mailboxes and--it's just frustrating. So i'm only awaiting a few email from the colleges I am concerned with. I still have an application left to do!

I am concerned with my loneliness. I have been getting increasingly, worryingly lonely and it has been creating a bit of ambivalence in me. It's been occurring for the past few months. I tried reconciling with a girl I was talking to (mentioned in earlier posts) and that was a great, great failure. She despises me practically and requests no further communication. I helped her a month prior to that for her fucking application to a college. But if that's what she wants, then so be it. I can't change her and I will not make any further attempt to. In continuation, I have been talking again to someone else and he is very friendly and taking me quite well. We are meeting up soon and I hope I can re-establish something that I lost a while back. But that is my current issue: am I desperate or am I realizing something? Should I take a chance? I'm quite fickle in this topic and so that makes me afraid to continue in such motivations. He's wonderful and he rebounds so gracefully. I'm making approaches but is it worth it? Shall I take risk? Oh dearest me. What blunder have I gotten myself into?

My workplace has become increasingly disorganized. One of my Shift Supervisor co-workers is in a current conduct tangle and may require action against him. My other co-worker may be requesting leave soon and that is not a good sign since we are short on supervisors as it is. My AUM is not too fond of the ideas and requesting not to take the RGM position at 1141. I, on the other hand, have been appealing to Maryland Concessions and offered a job. However, details are yet to come on what it may entail. I am unsure of my fate between 1141 and this new offer.

My family is tolerable. One is only aware of my 2/9 acceptance and plan to move out of the house into a college. My parents are completely unaware and unappealed of the idea of college. My father has attempted to discourage me and so hereby not paid a single fee for my Senior year or even asked about how its going or any assistance. All the financial burden has been placed upon me. My mother, uninterested as usual. I will go into one. I have no idea on how they'll take it or how I'll pay for it. But I'm gonna go.

I have taken two shots of rum that we have in the house and got "smacked" on so much weed on Thursday that I do not remember that night. I'm texting this boy still. and I have to wake early to begin work.

Oh time. Oh time. How we wish to speed you up and have enough of you to go around.

--

UPDATE: I forgot alcohol is a depressant. It's in the chapters I'm reading currently.

[the-fickle-thought]

Autumn

Oh dearest me, how the Time has passed and pass it has done done and continue doing

Oh dearest tick oh dearest me Oh dearest me, who has done the thises and thats of Life

Oh and how foolish, how oblivious, occupied with the happenings and the goings that the crunches and cackles of nature's season are as faint as the silent tone of silence

Oh the sadness, the perplextion, of the peculiar colors to the volatile times, that the observation became remorse, regret, of having not, forgetting to, should have, would have, done what Tranquility offered and persisted

Oh Oh me "Oh" it is that aha  down toned for the sad ahas that are without the point of exclamation and point has been reached that the Time of now has passed and passed again

That the futures of yesterday were the nows, and now, in the seams of the past, sewed into incarceration with the thread that is boundless and destructive put onto the circles, squares, numbers, of what is now and what was later

What difference Life has taken when it is being lived and when it is living in the hell-bound souls of the unfortunate and the fortuned There it falls falls one a few many onto the dying grounds, providing frigid warmth for the fallen until it is seamed, compounded, into what was once thought to be endless.

[the-fickle-thought]

Nightmares

Allow me to start off by stating that I never had a nightmare until recently. I would dream, or at least remember the dream, quite rarely and it became a celestial event that I would always try to remember, to only fatefully become forgotten in given time. I liked dreaming for the fact that it was never a nightmare. It varied from sexual encounters to a simplistic and realistic class session. My yearning from dreams perhaps rooted from a childhood never fraught-fully lived, filled with bed-ridden time with limited books and persistent education--and then sleep. Not the "it's been a long day and I need to rest" sleep, but the "now what?" sleep; the sleep that has no expected effect from nothing of creativity to causate a projected film or short story. I can honestly state that I perhaps had a memorable dream once every couple months. Whenever someone would ask about the last thing I dreamt, I hadn't a clue! "What's wrong with you? I dream like every night," "boring!" they would exclaim. Considering my unstable, but mature state of mind, I would not have a clue as to why my creative juices would not flow into unconsciousness. I would always ask someone to see if I were a unconscious freak: "how often do you have dreams? Or even nightmares?" "Every night and every other night," most would reply; "About once a week," would the rest reply. I theorized that it does not seem that everyone, at least that I know of, dream so often because that are not worth or too risky to discuss with others. I rarely discuss dreams as it is. With my humility, I would almost never share.

Now this, this...this is a dream I would have preferred to never occur.

Now consider this: you had about two cups of thick, low-quality black coffee at around 10/11PM, and it was time to sleep on a school night at around 0000. It just does not add up. And so I stayed up and watched and took notes and did as much homework as possible to have a "free" day the next. It was 2AM. No luck and hands are just as jittery. So I clean up: I organize my folders and assure that everything is organized in the wardrobe and ready for school the next day since it is a guaranteed tiring day. 3AM. The coffee is just now starting to wear off so I have a guaranteed 30 minutes 'till bedtime. I get comfortable in bed and try to sleep. My eyes are closed and mind is blank. However, what I have recently noticed was that my body has lost sensitivity--meaning that I was not sensitive to the slightest of movement or the smoothest of strokes; I couldn't feel an itch on my chest or the slightest tickle on my leg. I had changed sleep positions at least 10 times without realizing, pillow position at least 5. Check the clock: 3:15. Mind still blank and body still in bed. I quickly check my iPod for any video updates or any interesting videos and none of interest arise. Check the clock: 3:30. I resign from all things and just lay still in bed. If I had so wished, I could have gone into sleep paralysis. But somehow, my body exponentially shut down and I was dream borne.

In retrospect, I don't remember the overall synopsis of the dream. Only the final events that occurred that categorized this as a nightmare. I was in hiding, at night, with my little brother, who was still as little and tiny as he is in conscious life, only he was not my brother in the dream, and some other unknown character. I had control of a pistol, a powerful one I am assuming. Was I protecting my little brother from someone or something? Not sure, but could be a possibility. Somehow, in this hiding, opposing views lead to a fight between me and the other character. A silent fight that would serve as a catalyst to darkness. It was an issue on who would obtain possession of the hand gun. In this, we centered the pistol in the middle. The primary focus to Dream Me was to keep the gun and it seemed as if only that character and I existed. The fight was not going well and I had the most awkward, but advantaged control of the gun. Somehow, in spite of losing control, the character pushed a burst of energy and caused me the pull back. A shot rang. A deafening shot that would permanently scar Dream Me and Conscious Me. We, the character and I, assured that we were still secluded and safe. I turn, and there is blood. Oh, blood of a person I would never have wanted blood to be seen from. Oh. Oh. Oh. We searched for an exit wound, and it was located on his upper right shoulder, but the bullet would not have entered from the front. No. But from such an angle that it would penetrated his entire right side by some possibility. We put him on the table, and it seemed to have gotten worse and worse. Blood gushing onto the antique table, indistinguishable from color, belonging to darkness. It seemed that that table would become the little one's death bed. I touched and caressed his body, applying pressure to a wound that should not on the body of such a youngling. Oh, such disgrace and such dishonor; such panic and such...shock. Oh he was losing consciousness. Oh no. Oh no... His eyes were closing and heartbeat was slowing. I failed. I failed. I failed. I tried calling him back from consciousness but that never works. I shake and shook and tumbled into a trench that seem to never have a bottom, watching the light die out while another became engulfed in it.

I awake. I can't breathe. I am hyperventilating. Panicking over a fictional event but scarred so severely. I shake. I'm not crying. Crying does no use. But breathing is essential. I stumble to almost-regular breathing and 4:00. Eyes wide open. Brain filled with shock and distress. This is not a time for sleep, but an observation of values and search for an explanation that will never be found. Why? Why? Why. 4:30, darkness, and I awake to 6:30, past my alarm time.

After school I await the arrival of my innocent brother. To assure he exists, I ask "we do have a little brother right?" and my sister responded, curiously with a prolonged "yeah."

3:40PM and the door opens. Relief, but shame. I casually walk to him and grasp him and just crandle him in the position he was in. Stroking a living body and an important mind and existence. Perhaps a minute passes and I stop. I walk away, brushing it off as an implied welcome. He only replies with, "what happened?" 

Nothing, my dearest brother. Nothing happened.

[the-fickle-thought]

Curious by Choice

I am quite uncertain of the current choices I am making and this upcoming decision is coming to quite a shock and realization.

The past couple of weeks have been intriguing in the sense that I have been able to discover the intimate side of myself, with no strings attached. I have participated in unspeakable actions while taking an exponentially increasing interest in a particular person. I do not have current regrets in participating in these action, but rather concern of that if I continue, would I eventually encounter a consequence? Or would I, rather, become more or less in touch with my intimate side? These are questions that I am afraid of hearing the answers to, but will discover along the way of this rapid paced environment.

It has been a while since I have been given quite the opportunity to take action to a prospective romance, surprisingly more independent than the last ones. But the fact that this is of budding relations did not come to my true attention until it was reluctantly realized, pointed out by my boss who seems to "have a plan for everyone and everything since day one." I guess that trip to Denny's was part of his plan as well.

It seemed that she had no interest in me, but I had some interest of her since I have seen her. But recent sources inform me that she was very reluctant since the beginning, brushing off such a proposal or matter of such. It also seemed that her mother had been of approval before I had even meet the girl, coincidental that she worked there before her. Not that it really matters to me (or does it?, I ask myself).

But not, in recent weeks, we have been having conversations and moments of intimacy that I would not have with other people; moments of silence and watchful understanding without having to say any words. She was opened herself to me and I have only allowed my door to creak open. I will admit, she is older than me in mental and physical state. However, emotionally, as quoted by my manager, "she still has the heart of a sixteen year old." She is prepared but amateur in the illusion of Love. But so am I. What am I, a fickle minded man, to do in the event that someone takes of romantic interest in me (confirmed by a primary source)? I am amateur myself. I am emotionally detached for many reason but empathetic in all forms.

Now, my boss is insisting that I finally take the move that he's been "planning all along" simply starting a conversation with me when I walk in that morning with "so, when are you going to ask her out?" He insisted, with his philosophy, that I do not miss this opportunity. He will not let this pass from both sides. She will not, by his choice of words, meet another person like me due to her heavy past and my resilience and understanding. 

I will try. I will try. But I am scared of hurting a hurt person. She's wonderful. She's beautiful. She's Beauty and Joy. But...uncertainty deems me unprepared. I will try and take this move for the first time in Romance.

[the-fickle-thought]

Writing Prompt (Retrospect)

Write about that 'saucy afternoon' with W from your perspective 5 years from now. How will you recall it?

-

As I look back into the years of my late adolescence, I have committed mistakes that have never been revealed or events that could have been easily prevented by equivalent willingness of reluctance. Now, 22-years-old, somewhat successful, it seems that these lustful and immature actions have begun to retribute.

It is not a fault of mine that I have not been able to maintain or retain a romantic relationship of sorts, considering that I haven't had one in years, quite literally about three. It seems that my feeble thoughts have affected my romantic interest or even loyalty and dedication to a single partner and therefore leading to failures of, if I count correctly, six potentially budding romances.

In retrospect, I can say that it began with W. It's quite funny because I have never really been in search of a romantic relationship until recently, where it seems that loneliness and independence have begun to lose balance. Having now graduated college and obtained a job that is of mutual relation to my major, there isn't much of a focus on independence as it used to be. I guess it would be about time to share my experience with someone with whom I will never lose interest in, if they exist at all. But if this is a search in a desert, looking for fresh water, with a blindfold on, I may as well bury my vessel so no one stumbles upon it once they are in view of their fresh water.

Seeing that was a misred expectation of a romance, it seemed forced but enjoyable by both parties. She enjoyed it and so did I. That was not a lie. However, as it increased in seriousness and the framework started building for this sort of relation, I stepped off and so did she. It may have been more so that I stepped off as soon as that afternoon was over, realizing it was the last and first of intimacy between the two. Is this a regret? Perhaps not. No one got hurt to my knowledge. No one got taken advantage of since it was mutual understanding. No one was interested in the other in such a budding.

Perhaps, it is not the event that has affected my relationships. But rather my fate, if there is such a thing. This destiny was not meant for her and the others, as willing as I ended up with previously failed relationships. I will simply let life flow and I will only bystand this process of Love once it comes around.

[the-fickle-thought]

Writing Prompt (W Perspective)

Write about today (the whole day, a single moment, your choice) from her perspective.

-

It was interesting. It was awkward, of course - when do I not make it awkward? But it was a nice reconciliation.

Although since the last time, he claims that he "fucked up" our last kiss, and our recent discussion on how it'll take practice to recoil from that "terrible" experience, this was a well-executed resilient move.

It was a bit scandalous being in his room again but he insisted that we be in there for privacy reasons and for isolation purposes. It was satisfactory being around someone who isn't family, especially during the summer vacation. I eventually got comfortable and laid on his bed and layed back. He always begins, since it is his home. I only decide to follow along.

We fooled around: he hid his face, and I pulled the obscurity away; he took pictures of me and I attempted to get some back, only to get it taken away by himself; we jammed and tuned out to some tunes. 

Either way, I eventually took the initiative and got on top of him somehow, waiting for the reconciliation to take place: the joining of two lips to form a blossoming bond between to polarized minds.

We laughed it off. Just blatantly saying how awkward of a moment this is and how I don't remember, because honestly: I can't kiss. I don't remember.

He seemed...confident and began what seemed to be a full-fledged make-out session. I surprisingly enjoyed it, especially with my new handicap that I have yet to become comfortable with. It was...romanticizing; expressive; and relieving. What began as a peck, became a full lip-lock, activated, and dusted off by passion and hormones, to be brought into a situation like so. What I thought I had forgot to do, was only a skill I had that was failed to put into continuous practice.

He had attributes and skills that was exhilarating and adrenalizing that I never thought that I liked or intimate moments that I had never been in. In all honesty, I do not know if it was him or I, but it just didn't stop. It kept going. Dominance beginning with I, but transferring to Him for a majority of the moment. It never got beyond that, though, we had our limit, but hysterical how it was comedic and romantic it was. 

Kissing, when mutual, is very intimate in pathological, psychological senses.

[the-fickle-thought]

Failed Poetry

Untitled

-

I am roaming through these halls --

on my way to a class that has

the leader and the listeners,

Jesus and his Followers --

Followers assigned by what they remember from

the previous year, the previous month, the

previous day, only to write them down on a sheet of

paper that determines

tomorrow's destiny, tomorrow's results

of what they failed to pay

attention to while they were

busy trying to remember what they 

learned the day before, the day of,

the day that will determine their

fate -- the fate that will be

neither created nor destroyed, only

modified by what they chose

to forget, what they chose to ignore

from the sun of the mind of the

Common Core that was not chosen

by Jesus himself, but his God who

thinks it is for the best of all;

the center of this bad apple is

perceived by our assigned leaders

as a "bad idea"; selfish and close-minded for the Board behind

that boarded door, their thoughts

only a stain, only a spec of dust

of the door that never opens; the ideas

never changing the way we learn unless

they want to change the one, the

you, the me of the ever-growing,

never-ending revolutionaries, never the many.