Carpe Diem.

I don’t need to constantly speak of my greatness. My essence whispers it loud and clear.

I don’t constantly need to huddle in large crowds. My presence is all I need.

I don't feel the need to make myself apparent. I'm a kaleidoscope of a being, all on my own.

I simply stand out.

And you don’t.

While that may kill you -

It makes me smile in return.

And when you see that smile.

A part of you dies.

But I’m still smiling.

Because you’re no one.

While, me: I’m my own light, my own darkness and everything in between.

Dearest Fortress,

It’s sad how no one approaches your solid walls - walls whose solid stand is proof of their long existence. No one ever dares to give you even the slightest gentle push. They see you from afar, and plot to shatter you. And when they smell the enigma you radiate, they hover and try to break you, to see what’s inside. Then, when all fails, they turn and look for something more feasible.

What happened to the thrill of being on unfamiliar ground?
Whatever happened to challenging that inner security shell, some work a lifetime to build?

All those people out there, yet I hear no footsteps.

I find it sadder that out of all those people, most of them are a waste of space. People have become so common that you can substitute one for the other.

Why?
What happened to that sense of individualism?
What happened to being your own self?
What happened to having your own walls?

People pale every hour, fortress: they become hollow blocks of solidity. They integrate themselves into the masses, removing all their walls, but forget that they are an individual unit within these masses.
But you fortress, stand alone, away from the crowd.

It leaves me engulfed in sadness - all these masses.
It leaves me craving something original.
It leaves me longing to savor something new and refreshing.
Something to take away this ever tedious aftertaste.

Yet again, I feel it’s just me that’s craving. The rest seem happy enough with the replicated commonness out there.
I understand it’s much easier to handle ‘normal’.
It’s much easier to understand ‘normal’.
Because ‘normal’ is ‘normal’, and will always be.
But ‘normal’ is predictably dull.
It’s seamlessly replaceable.
There is little to lose, and nothing to gain with ‘normal’.

But you’re not normal, fortress.

And I am forever your captive. For I built you, strong and standing still, and then locked myself deep within.
Sometimes I wonder if I was right to make you look so intimidating, that you drive everything away. But when despair hits, and you absorb it all, I know I need you just as you are
Sometimes I wonder if I was right to lock myself in, and not just wait by the door, for someone to knock. But when I see rocks flying at your windows, I know that I need to stay deep inside.
Sometimes I wonder what it would sound like if someone ever knocked on the door?
Or maybe climbed the windows, and crawled inside?

I hear no footsteps approaching, fortress.
None have approached in a long time.

And that leaves me sad.
Why does no one approach, fortress?
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If you think you can answer any of the questions above, please do!

A while I know. Swamped, I swear :(

For the muse in an onesie: Yes, inspiration did hit at that moment :P and,

Chubby cheeks <3:> Msn remains better!

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dearest self,

Here I am, again.

Just me.

The present you.

In this very defining moment.

I write to all of you self.

From this defining moment.

To that past ‘you’, to the present ‘you’, and to the enigmatic future ‘you’.

I write to you all.

United in this moment, yet set apart in the infinite wave of time.

To all of you I write this-

It is my most profound wish for me to meet you Self. Not this present ‘you’ that I know, but all of you. You self, are segmented across time, and never whole for me to see. Could you try Self, time set aside, to give me just a glimpse of your entirety: a complete converged image, with all details in the correct place?

Is it too much to ask, to see you all- past, present and future? It seems so.

And that leaves me here to contemplate and question the reality of things, and the outcomes such realities trigger.

It is at this point in my contemplations that I feel the need to apologize to you Self.

I’m sorry that at times you were shunned and overruled. Those were the times where I let superficial want take over, while your voice forever muted.

I’m sorry for all the unnecessary internal wounds, you now bear as scars.

I’m sorry for my disorientated states, where I left you an unfamiliar observer of my whirling.

I’m sorry, the list is so long, that I cannot seem to recall all the things I should be sorry for.

Sad, isn’t self, being reduced to this?

No? You don’t think so. Well, I do.

But I promise you, I have learned much from those failings.

I learned to love you more than all.

I learned that you are all.

And I’m just sorry it took me this long to come to realize such.

Self, there comes a point in time, where insanity borders, and with its doubts baffles the mind. And at those times, it’s rather easy to erase limits, drop any borders and let loose.

What’s the worst that could happen, Self?

My soul would suffocate and die?

No, it would eventually learn to feed off the chaos, and the world would continue spinning its same cycle.

And then there are points in time, where reality hits at full force, and all comes to a nerve-wracking halt. The facts are all spewed like the whips of a leather lash. And denial becomes an ever taunting sin.

It’s then that your importance grows self.

It’s then where you come to find me, and push me forward, out of the void and into the lucid clearing.

Thank you Self, for always being there.

Every time, anytime and all the time.

Because as I look around, I see no one here but you, Self.

The rest are all residents of discontinuous scenery.

All but you, Self.

You have my endless love and gratitude, Self.

I am forever yours.

For the first time, in a long time to come, the path in front of her came into focus.
The past became a vague blemish of gray.
And the air was forever tranquil.


She tried to dress in black, but found herself attracted to those brighter shades - to those yellows and reds.

A vibrant outside.


Her mind deduced she was better off.
Her eyes magnified indifference.
Her body felt forever light.
Her conscience numbed, retreating inwards.

Her inner self breathed its last words: “Rest in peace”, and then spoke no more.

A still inside.


They clashed - stillness and vibrancy.

She smiled and frowned throughout it all. It was all the same.



They clashed again – vibrancy and stillness.

She chuckled and wept throughout it all. It was all the same.


A small price to pay, she thought.

****

“What’s wrong?” a familiar voice asked.
“My heart died,” she replied.
“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” the voice said.
“I’m not. ‘tis not loss, but a great gain,” she claimed.
“I see. Might I inquire as to how it died?” the voice implored.
She shrugged, “the autopsy report declared its cause of death to be ‘over freezing’.”

****

Yes, her heart died.
And in its place lay a black veil in silence, recollecting memories of a colorful inside.

Yet, her outside is forever vibrant.
Her body forever light.
And the air forever tranquil.

A small price to pay indeed.

Why hello fellow earthlings that are way too cool to be on earth.

About time for that new planet to appear and whisk us all away with its magical forces, eh?


Anyway.


So I was sitting in my overrated, life-sucking, death-advancing, sanity-stripping, soul-deteriorating, time and space –consuming eleven o’clock class.

The walls are white, the tables are white. The ceiling is white. The tiles are white. The professor’s hair is white. Surprisingly though, the chairs are black. Talk about spur of the moment. Heh.


My location? Second row to the right.

Why?

'Cause I always sit in the middle row, 'cause I'm cool like that.

Nah. Its ‘cause in the third row, I wouldn’t think twice about falling asleep - to hell with decorum.

And first row. Well, first row is divided into two parts.

First row left is saved for that special class of people who nod when the professor is talking and smile when he cracks a joke that is lame’s long lost ancestor and think no one can see them. Little do they know.

First row right is saved for the imbeciles enough to show up very late.


Such detail, you say.
I like detail, so sue me. Hmph!


The row in front of me fills out to be an all testosterone infested row.

So I sit, well more like wiggle around in my chair, to try and find that comfort zone. It doesn’t work, and I end up squirming like I have to pee the whole way through class. It’s not my fault the chairs are so hard!

I think they should adopt beanie bags, and screw ass-flattening chairs!


The lecture starts, and I can hear bits and pieces….

Then fifteen minutes into it, my brain and ears just give way… and my eyes starts absorbing petty detail like how many lights there are in the classroom (12) and how many dots on each tile of the ceiling (45).


I then look in front of me, and I’m blinded by an entire row of boxers surfacing to inhale fresh air. All colors, and sizes. I'm assuming boxers have one standard look/shape. If not, well...I don’t know ;( . Anyway... so a whole row of boxers! Imagine that.

If I was any different, I’d blush and look away. Sadly, I’m not.

Instead, I realized that pubescent boys or ‘men’ (I believe that’s what they go by these days, correct me if I’m wrong), find, with great zeal, the concept of a shred of their boxers flowing out a very capital sex on stick idea.

Apparently their asses need to breathe? Meh.

And then, I get this idea, and it makes me all jumpy.

I’ll share I’ll share- I swear.

Here goes:

Imagine they have jokes (yes, little Timmy ones included), or little puzzles at the back of each pair of boxers?

I for one, would find myself forever entertained!

I mean, the boxer sticks out anyway...so it's just efficient use of material!

As a result, when you look at someone's boxers you are no longer disgusted, but want to fixate them till you can coherently read the puzzle/joke.

And if they’ve got the right goods, in the correct proportions, you can check out their ass sans getting caught in flagrante delicto, and maybe ask them for the answer?

And thus concludes the Boxer Effect :)