Thirteen
Member
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2009
- Messages
- 24
- Reaction score
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Like being in the desert…
Great crimson rocks on the horizon…
Dust sand and dirt mixed in the flood of sunshine…
That’s where I feel I am
That’s where I feel I belong
But where do I really belong?
Why can I see the road ahead of me so clearly, but can’t imagine myself walking it?
Why am I chained to go down that road?
And why do I keep walking it just because I am expected to do so?
Why can’t I lead the life I want to lead?
Do I even know that the life I want to lead is the right life?
And what really is the life I want to lead?
Why do I keep damaging myself just to protect my status in my social life? Why even though I have hundreds of so-called friends it feels like my social life is based on fake structures and how long can they last? Why am I simultaneously socially a beast and a hermit?
Why am I so afraid of bringing disappointment to people close to me?
Why can’t I appreciate or value anyone else than myself?
Do I even appreciate or value myself?
Why when I used to be good at everything I do I now can’t perform well at anything even if I wanted to?
Why do I have to break people’s hearts and trust constantly?
Why can’t I learn, think of or create things like I used to?
The door opens and she walks in. Again. Who is she? How is she like? I don’t know. She asks me if I really need her. Does she have to be there to concentrate everything on? Can I not manage myself if she doesn’t exist? Does she have to exist?
Why so many questions? Where are the periods and exclamation marks? She closes the door and sits down by the table. She looks me deep in my eyes, her eye brows high and a faint smile on her lips. Every moment I can see her better, even though I’m not blind. She asks me if she is something created from my memories. She sure is a creation of my own mind, but what determines what she is like? Is she the icon of my own ego and mind? Why does mind sometimes seem so foreign and alien to me? Do I exist in my heart or my brain? I can’t help but bury my face in my hands under her interrogation. I don’t have the answers. She asks me who then has. Is there even answers? Why does there seem to be such a complex equation without a formula to solve it? What the answer to this equation even is in its nature?
I must clean the house first before I can start. It’s been days since I last cleaned it. All this mess is blocking me from – what? Why must I first clean everything before I begin to do something? Am I incapable of handling the problems with chaos around me? Am I not a chaos myself, in my head, in my mind, how it radiates without being possible for me to interfere, can others smell it too? Or is it so obvious? All this insecurity, all the fake regulations and false assumptions, it just pours out of me like waterfalls in the deepest of Africa. A heart of darkness – why is it such an interesting book but why cannot I understand it? Why even though I’ve read the most appreciated of books and watched the most conversation-breeding movies I can’t interpret them myself, why do I interpret everything through other people’s opinions and views and am incapable of producing anything of my own? Where must I look for answers if I can’t even trust the depths of my own head? Or are they buried there waiting to be searched for with proper tools?
Is this a ray of light coming through the crack in the door that has been closed for so long?
~~~
I do not expect to find answers. Sometimes the question itself is more important than the answer. It's 6 am, I've been up a good 30 hours and have sort of a self sonar scan... I guess that's what watching The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Seven Pounds and Juno one after another makes, even to a boy like me. Hello everyone.
Great crimson rocks on the horizon…
Dust sand and dirt mixed in the flood of sunshine…
That’s where I feel I am
That’s where I feel I belong
But where do I really belong?
Why can I see the road ahead of me so clearly, but can’t imagine myself walking it?
Why am I chained to go down that road?
And why do I keep walking it just because I am expected to do so?
Why can’t I lead the life I want to lead?
Do I even know that the life I want to lead is the right life?
And what really is the life I want to lead?
Why do I keep damaging myself just to protect my status in my social life? Why even though I have hundreds of so-called friends it feels like my social life is based on fake structures and how long can they last? Why am I simultaneously socially a beast and a hermit?
Why am I so afraid of bringing disappointment to people close to me?
Why can’t I appreciate or value anyone else than myself?
Do I even appreciate or value myself?
Why when I used to be good at everything I do I now can’t perform well at anything even if I wanted to?
Why do I have to break people’s hearts and trust constantly?
Why can’t I learn, think of or create things like I used to?
The door opens and she walks in. Again. Who is she? How is she like? I don’t know. She asks me if I really need her. Does she have to be there to concentrate everything on? Can I not manage myself if she doesn’t exist? Does she have to exist?
Why so many questions? Where are the periods and exclamation marks? She closes the door and sits down by the table. She looks me deep in my eyes, her eye brows high and a faint smile on her lips. Every moment I can see her better, even though I’m not blind. She asks me if she is something created from my memories. She sure is a creation of my own mind, but what determines what she is like? Is she the icon of my own ego and mind? Why does mind sometimes seem so foreign and alien to me? Do I exist in my heart or my brain? I can’t help but bury my face in my hands under her interrogation. I don’t have the answers. She asks me who then has. Is there even answers? Why does there seem to be such a complex equation without a formula to solve it? What the answer to this equation even is in its nature?
I must clean the house first before I can start. It’s been days since I last cleaned it. All this mess is blocking me from – what? Why must I first clean everything before I begin to do something? Am I incapable of handling the problems with chaos around me? Am I not a chaos myself, in my head, in my mind, how it radiates without being possible for me to interfere, can others smell it too? Or is it so obvious? All this insecurity, all the fake regulations and false assumptions, it just pours out of me like waterfalls in the deepest of Africa. A heart of darkness – why is it such an interesting book but why cannot I understand it? Why even though I’ve read the most appreciated of books and watched the most conversation-breeding movies I can’t interpret them myself, why do I interpret everything through other people’s opinions and views and am incapable of producing anything of my own? Where must I look for answers if I can’t even trust the depths of my own head? Or are they buried there waiting to be searched for with proper tools?
Is this a ray of light coming through the crack in the door that has been closed for so long?
~~~
I do not expect to find answers. Sometimes the question itself is more important than the answer. It's 6 am, I've been up a good 30 hours and have sort of a self sonar scan... I guess that's what watching The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Seven Pounds and Juno one after another makes, even to a boy like me. Hello everyone.
