Restless.

Hello, stranger.
I'm not sure how you wound up here--wait, I'm not sure how I did... That's beside the point.
Welcome, there's coffee in the back, maybe. I might have downed it all by now. Apologies.

I'm here because some times I can't cope in the real world. More often than not, I'm hanging by a thin string of sanity and it looks frail and close to snapping. What am I supposed to do? I have my self healing sessions; my distractions; my healthy activities, but that ominous insanity lingers just above my head with a sinister grin, not unlike the Cheshire Cat. Fuck you, cat. Go haunt someone else's life you grinning piece of shit.

Whoa, that felt good. Maybe that's what I need... A secret, underground club where passive aggressive fucks can let out their aggression in a healthy way, besides resorting to internet trolling and the destruction of many of virtual personae worldwide. *shrug* Just a thought.

Chasing the wind

Oh. What a breath of fresh air. My lungs are damp and moldy from breathing water, and my muscles have withered during their weightless slumber. It is time, this time around.

You can find me at the Eolian.
If you do not know what/where that is then I suggest you make haste and find out.
You'll thank me later with a mug of cider.

"I think we're like fire and water."

.

The tips of my fingers tap melodies upon my plastic keyboard. My limbs yearn for an artistic outlet, again. I say 'again' because I have let that fire fade from my breast. A soft, flickering flame is what it has become. I'm going forth to fetch some firewood...

.

There's a hunger roiling deep inside of me. It shifts to my lips and my fingertips, deftly wandering around on foreign skin, and tasting passion where passion gives. Rejoicing in one's embrace; sweet and stimulating, fleeting as it may, it burns stoutly all the while.

winter of our discontent

I've spent numerous days counting out the many grievances of the world upon achy fingertips:
1. Overpopulation -- a gentle flick of the thumb.
2. Dissociation -- the index gets a pinch.
3. Quality/Quantity -- the middle bends back under pressure..
(just to name a few)

But, wait. Let's turn this around and take a different approach, maybe towards enlightenment rather than burdensome.

I lay my palms up so my skin can feel the open air with its full attention. The sensation simultaneously makes my head swim with pleasure, my eyes close as if to draw focus towards feeling every molecule floating in the air. This, and much more. I am most enraptured with my ability to surround myself with life and the things that I love: growing knowledge, a healthy body, kind souls,  creative minds; an insatiable yearning, mountainous books for me to befriend, and John Steinbeck.

I'm trying.

animosity, my friend.

I've got issues. I mean, who doesn't? We live, we deal, we escape, we cope; whatever works for you.
My problem is that I am a good person. I have a kind soul and I aim to please, even though it means putting my needs into a deep, dark hole that no one --not even me-- will ever find. Well, my needs have grown putrid, oozing foul pestilence from their pores, seeping into the walls that house them. They rise on full moons to scrape and crawl their way to me; haunting me like my own little zombie army. Slowly, this pestilence makes its way into my veins, and to my soul, where it feeds on the best and brightest of my qualities.

I can't get myself to type the words. I still shrink away, pusillanimously.
My mother is killing me.
There. I said it.

Emotionally, she is dwindling my will to live; a black hole that feeds on guilt, obligation, and piousness.

I've got to stick with it for six more months... I can leave her, and my mind can, again, parry these violent thoughts that plague me.