Life Outside PLT1

I die a little.

November 20, 2005 on 11:16 pm | In Contemplation, News | | Sicopath

I’m running full throttle on nothing but guts and coffee. It’s a peculiar experience filling every morsel of flesh connected to me and makes me feel uncertain. I wish I could say that I feel powerful, but that would be lying.

It’s like swimming in a sea of my own experiences and the experiences that i’ve ignored, it beats tranquility into submission and sends all possible collectedness into a downward spiral towards a bitter, unfeeling demise. The simple act of ‘feeling’ is disruptive to me; if at all possible I would send my mind into the past and rewrite my own life, to erase all evidence of ever having felt. But the option is empty and my mind only sends forwards into an inevitable wreck.

It’s the simplest decision to make but not so simple at all. The notion of ‘finality’ is a retrospective blessing to contentment; the notion of finality is that of which dictates that the hardest things to say are the ones you can’t take back, the hardest things to do are the things you can’t undo and the hardest things to lose are the ones you can’t replace; unfortunately contentment is not a focus I can take comfort in. So what can people such as I do to contain such violent anguish? There is fighting. And I can only continue fighting for as long as I can fortell. Perhaps I will keep fighting for ever and ever and ever. Pray that I don’t live forever, for if that were the case; I wouldn’t plan on leaving a single person in existance unhurt.

Of course, the notion of eternity and the notion of finality are in opposition. If eternity were ever to bring itself to bear; then there are infinite beginnings. Whatever past transgressions may be let go as time heals all wounds and time would be in abundance, overwriting mental scars with a robust coating of deja vu. It’s the pleasure of experience which itself is the only thing that binds itself to you physically, the sense of touch is a reservoir of physical memories. What your thoughts and imagination let go of, touch can never fully erase; the body remembers. Just as well as the romanticized blade-wielding warriors of the past took to heart as a maxim; that the sword is an extension of themselves and that the sword remembers. Now, the matter as to what they meant by that; be it wear, metal fatigue, or the imaginary “memory” of elements that con-artists use to describe the potency of homeopathy; that is undecided.

But ambiguity is best left to the interpretation of it’s beholder.

I’m going to bed.