Posts Tagged 'philosophy'

A Step Inside

The new day brought fresh, foreign light to my tanned skin as I stepped outside for a moment, but however bright it may have been, it was tinted with envy seen solely through my future lover’s eyes, as mystic emotions silhouetted the relentless cityscape and skyscraping traffic, molesting the peace of the contented homeless.

I saw this new day’s light embracing the accomplished hopes and dreams of the unknowing poor everyman, never to feel enchanted on account of his eternal evasion of mystery and enlightenment, forever trapped under the pollution of his repetitive day that seems to shine in the same manner every so many hours, after every so many drinks and nights of wondering what will come at the age when he’ll be unable to accomplish what he once read about in fairy tales, imagining himself to sleep.

I saw this day’s light on my skin, felt the heat on my forehead, heard the roar of the steel river, smelled the city’s nature, tasted the tar growing on my tongue, and I endeavored to resist the urge to wipe away the first drop of sweat caused by this intense new, aberrant heat. As I sensed the dread building up in my stomach, I realized I was graced to realize what we read about by the greatest writers, drunks, philosophers, and political prisoners of our race’s time. The day suddenly darkened, and a twilight engulfed the skyline as the sun dissolved into snow falling along the horizon, and my whole life disappeared from under my feet as I found myself somewhere I’d never seen before.

Everything was dark, yet there were a few lights I could see at different depths of field that didn’t seem to exist to anything but what I was looking at. I didn’t walk towards these few lights, but I arrived. While I couldn’t make out what the lights were illuminating, I felt an overwhelming hurricane of happiness, a torrent of tenacity, a flood of love siege and penetrate my blood, and I immediately understood where I’d found myself: in myself. I was staring at my passion, my love, my idea, my moi. I arrived at another light, and this one was dimmer. I absorbed the emotional emissions and I knew I had work still to accomplish with this one.

I wandered for what could have been hours, if time truly exists inside yourself. I was but a sponge in the presence of such power, lost to rational emotion and romantic instinct, introducing myself to what I know one can’t help but hide for so long.

At some point I found myself back in the world, being touched by the light of the new day once again. I took a deep breath, and realized that while I preferred the lights inside my dark cave of the mystery of myself, this light was what I would have to live under as I found opportunities to illuminate my own.

So I took another deep breath, walked inside, and closed the blinds.


The Curse

Men are born into our society with something. Some men wear this something like chainmail, denying how heavy it truly is, displaying their pride in how well they carry it; never to actually think that it’s possible to take off and live somewhere where it’s not needed. They like to laugh at the other types of men who threw theirs away long ago, to claim they were going to live where they wouldn’t need it. They have no idea why anyone would want to live without it.

But these exposed men, free of the weight they believe to be dead, laugh back at those still burdening themselves, having seen what it’s like to be free of such personal constriction in a world that will walk all over you like a forgotten cigarette given the chance. They relax in the forest beyond the river, in a land where there is no possibility of battle.

Then there are even others that are simply conflicted, and don’t know what to do with this something. They’ve already taken it off, but due to an external circumstance or two that strikes deep, they cannot get rid of it… So they carry it on their shoulders. They’ll still expose themselves, but they just can’t find the heart to throw it away; a battle could be just around the corner and they made need the protection.

Something feels that it would be wrong, that they’ll have failed if they simply throw away what the rest of the world believes to be smart; yet they won’t feel smart by holding onto it their whole lives, since it holds them back from seeing how fast they can truly run… So they keep it up there on their shoulders, walking to the riverbank whenever possible to gaze into the horizon: waiting, wondering, questioning, doubting.

The great part for this conflicted group is that they can see eye to eye with both other types of men, those who have kept it on and those who have thrown it away. The men’s men will see that they still carry this something, even though other factors may affect our methods of appreciating it like they do; they may judge, but they will not disrespect. They know that the conflicted will all be alongside for the battle should it arrive.

The exposed men will see that those conflicted would like to get rid of it, but can’t cross the river just yet… Not until something’s out of the way, or something makes them run to hide in its flowing tides… The exposed may not have stumbled along the same path, yet they still arrived at the river and were able to cross it without anything weighing them down. And they have no problem returning to see what life is like in the land of the chainmail: they learn from it, being different and sometimes even mocked.

Thus the exposed and the conflicted know a similar journey, seeing things differently than the others, who have never caught more than a glimpse of the path leading to the river, seeing how their lives had never brought up this opportunity. The exposed and the conflicted share some awkward bond, that cannot be expressed in anything more than a look in the eyes when a conflicted crosses paths with an exposed while walking through town one day. The conflicted looks with a dreamy envy into the exposed eyes, and they both smile, sharing a thousand stories in an instant.

Maybe call this something masculinity… maybe pride… maybe values… I’ll still call it a curse.

Welcome to my new blog…

It’s hard for me to spit out words in an effort to create thought for myself to read later. Sometimes these thoughts are so hard to rationalize that I often wonder if they’re anything but the dreams that I could never put into words anyway, the minute I woke up with my heart pounding, believing I was still holding her hand.. Sometimes I realize that other people can read what I write too, and from there I begin to fear the unbridled power of an approved array of vocabulary, or the potential of the asymmetrical deity confined within a commensurate society that loathes everything it’s come to misunderstand.

Then I realize that complex theatrics don’t work too well as a concept perfectionist, and words are but words in a world constrained to nine numerals that may or may not approach the ultimate blank space to which we stare when we want to wander, getting lost among the stars that make us wide eyed and tongue twisted when we realize that there is no response that can successfully refute our lives’ biggest woes and questions, such as the loved one who doesn’t know, or the failed exam, or the disrespect from another person as undeniably as insignificant as us..

I like to define a lot of my writing as the use my native language to count the syllables of the words that are so vague in definition to us that they create emotion and sense through the simple use of sonorous connotation… That doesn’t have to make any sense, but I still think you get it.

This blog is my attempt at changing the world, by copying the stuff I write when I find myself in that hungover glaze before I’ve had the first cup of coffee… Call it philosophical, call it fiction– fuck, call it literature. Does that exist anymore? Comment and critique, please. Enjoy.

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Another twenty some odd young adult who believes he sees things from a unique perspective. Here be my poetry & prose, short stories, favored school papers, rantings, and "blogs." Comment, critique, and profit.