For A Friend

Her eyes moved quickly, as they had to match the speed of her hands, racing across the plane of white absence, creating explosions of color from a spectrum of creativity. Her mind was the only object in control of her world, her body merely a tool to express thoughts. A machine who’s purpose was only to destroy the white, pollute it with a color so vivid it could inspire a life. The woman was unsure of what was to be the result of these violent artistic actions. She was unsure as to what actually inspired these movements. She was simply driven on a carnal emotion of instinctual artistic nature.

Lines darting across the canvas, marking the place they land as their home, their permanent state of residence. These lines are nothing. They are pawns of a dangerously precise game of chess. These lines are everything. They are the basis for all survival in this world of angelic hues and demonic tones. Without these frivolous lines there would be no order among the woman’s world of chaotic thought. It would all fall apart, crumble and erode, only to be found at the bottom of the abstract ocean, a relic that never could survive in a modernistic age of time.

As her hands felt the tingled sensation of pain, from prolonged use, a voice broke her out of the dreamlike world. The angelic words were softly spoken, “That’s a beautiful picture.”

The woman batted her eyelashes, now realizing the work which had caused her mind to succumb from a break of reality. Her voice matched the soft tone of the one who destroyed her creative flow, “Thank you, it’s my house.”

“It is wonderful”, responded the unknown voice.

The woman chuckled to herself, “I really enjoy finger painting.”

“I understand that, but it is recess time. Don’t you want to go outside and play with your friends?”

The woman took one last look at her masterpiece, an artwork that could never be matched by any other preschooler, no matter how hard they tried. The woman’s sanity regained its hold on her mind, “I can’t wait to show my mom. I think she will love it.”

The unknown figure smiled and stated, “I’ll be sure to show her. Come now, go play with your friends.”

Can We Ever Truly Understand?

One of the things that I have come to understand recently is that we never can truly understand another human being. We can never climb inside the mental processes of another person, walk around and view all of the facets that make up their internal makeup. There is always a layer that we simply cannot access, as if it was an impenetrable wall of mystery. Why is this? Why is it that humans feel the need to allow people into their life only to a certain degree? We are creatures of fear and mistrust, that much is obvious. We create lies and false truths, or half truths, to cover our weaknesses and faults. Why? We surround ourselves with people that only wish to care about us, it's only natural, and yet we cover ourselves with a blanket of security, not allowing anyone to see through it. It is mind boggling. The only logical reason that I can actually think of is that we, and by we I mean you yourself, cannot trust ourselves.

There are numerous points throughout my day that I am actually lying to myself, trying to trick my mind into thinking that it is happy and content. Why? Why is it that I cannot simply admit to myself that I do not enjoy this existence and simply wish for it to end? Now I do not wish to sound like a suicidal victim or anything, please do not take it as that. The only reason that I feel I need to lie to myself, and others for that matter, is that I do not truly understand happiness. It is an elusive concept that seems to always slip through my fingers. The more I try to grab for it and hold on the more it just fades through the cracks of my mind. Continuing on that logic, I simply create a pseudo happiness for myself to think and believe in, thus completing the constant quest for that fading idea of what it means to be happy.

I have recently been thinking more and more that relationships are a plague that has thoroughly infected our race. They cause us to break away from our simple and constant facade and actually attempt to reveal our actual self. Normally this would not be a problem but, humans are creatures of habit. What's our habit? Lying to ourselves. We must then reveal the truth to our own mind and then actually start to reveal ourselves to others. This messes with our usual routine to the point of utter confusion and the feeling of being stranded alone, or at least that is what I feel. Does this mean that I will stop being in a relationship? Certainly not, they are too enjoyable. I believe that is the eternal problem. Relationships are too healthy, and I'm not a healthy person.

Lost: The Blog Post

I recently have found myself feeling more and more detached from the reality that surrounds my life. It has been a growing problem for about a year now, believed to start when I first came to college. It started with little things at first. Wake up and feel no reason to actually do anything. Over analyze small decisions to the point where none of the conclusions actually felt "correct" or "worth pursuing". I would have to say that it actually was more of a feeling deeply rooted into my subconscious. It most likely started when I was a child but, I was always able to distract myself or simply ignore it through some other convention. These days though, I have no convention to distract myself. The feeling simply continued to grow and actually began to greatly cloud my mind. It got to the point where I even began to feel no urge to write, live, laugh, experience, or simply enjoy my being. The problem? This is not who I am. I am the person everyone went to if you wanted to experience life, laugh about a problem, discuss a socially awkward situation, or even to just hang out. My solution? Fix the god damn problem, of course.

Anyone who knows me also knows that I am a man who is often lost in his head. Lost about the drifting dreamy thoughts occupying my mind. Well, having this clouding sense of depression and unknown is something that would hinder my ability to actually enjoy the time spent lost in my own conscious. My own mind was no longer the heavenly sanctuary it once was, now merely a prison of unkempt concepts. I began to think that there was something wrong with me, as if I was errored in my ability to process existence. I would have discussions with various people on these topics hoping, or praying, that they would be able to actually shed some light on this dilemma. The outcome of these conversations was something that I had never seen coming and thoroughly surprised me. I determined that this is what it meant to find yourself and thus create a sense of what it means to be "yourself".

Everyday there are people out there who simply feel they have no purpose to live or exist. They are feeling the same sense of dread that I had been feeling for a while now. The unknown freedom that humans are given to do anything they wanted. It is that feeling humans receive when there are too many options to choose from and none of them seem correct. All of the outcomes just seem to have a hue of grey and not that pleasantly simple black or white, good or bad solution. It is that ultimate sense of being lost, as if out at sea with no land in sight. I suppose what I am trying to get at with this post is that, if you are feeling this anguish, you are not alone. Everyone goes through it. We are all simply drifting through this ocean of life and praying to see a piece of land to stabilize ourselves on. It has been a year and a half of this aimless drifting and I am just starting to envision that land, although it is doubtful that it will be seen anytime soon.

People often ask me what it means to be human. My response? Humans are suppose to be lost creatures. Lost and our life purpose is to find ourselves. Find our purpose. Find our personal being. Anyways, good luck sailing out on that tyrannical sea of experiences and I hope someday you find that land you so eagerly search for.

Puppies Don't Dance

Racing around a monopoly board, he finds himself out of control.
A man in his head, a conversationalist of sorts.
Pausing to rub his hazel eyes, the man adjusts his bleach blond hair.
Praise yourself like a red rose, he whispers,
Afraid of nothing but failure to the point of hindrance.
Newspapers, stale nuts, electric noise, various nudity.
Existence is simply a place in your mind.
A tall man, holding his chin up high.
Until you accept the shackles of blissful freedom you will be jailed from your subsistence.