Another Complaint

I'm not good at this people thing. The social thing.

Whereas the social animal breathes on its own by automation, I have to think about the breathing itself, and the expenditure of energy doubles, and it becomes a tiring game...a tiring game with great rewards yes, but tiring nevertheless.

The most I can hope for is keeping the fatigue internal, and concealing the difficulties so that there is as little collateral damage as possible.

You see, even the language I am using to explain this is completely unnecessary and over-calculated.

Just Another String Of Thoughts (Pertaining to Original Works)

There's certain instances when listening to music or watching a film or looking over a piece of art or reading a piece of literature or even playing a video game - usually when any of the mentioned items are accomplishing something new, or exercising some obscure concept - when a strange mixture of emotions comes over oneself, those emotions being awe and rapture and even a little bit of fear, and some may describe this feeling with the word "haunting" - though this feeling is not limited to the conventional use of the word - and the individual may realize he or she is experiencing something oddly familiar, yet new and strange, or alien altogether, and there comes the amazement at the capabilities of mankind to occasionally transcend itself with these feats of the novel and original, and though it is all built on past achievements, there is still a freshness in the rearrangement and utilization of the old.

Yes, it is these rare times when in the presence of the birth of something new (the beauty of which is already guaranteed) an individual can feel that ancient pulse of fear and excitement and wonder in the face of the unknown. The excitement and wonder guides us cautiously forward to experience the unknown, and the fear keeps us from tumbling right in. It is how we can push forward without toppling over the precipice. It is prudent progress. We project our future to ourselves in our art and music and we contemplate and this projection becomes a mirror.

It is how we extend ourselves.

Symmetry

When two intelligences meet and become more intimate it seems like they approach a state of synchronicity. Eventually they then separate and return to their self and when they part there are certain aspects from each that rub off on each other and color their separate experiences...perhaps for the rest of their lives, and maybe this is how we slowly forge into unique characters in the social sphere.

I don't yet have words to describe the past few days. Maybe it isn't really necessary. But let us say there was much synchronization and I already feel that shade of difference.

And it is good.

Drunk Again. Something Else To Say

The bass fades along with the dying brain cells, to keep them company with a mellow hum perhaps.

Why kill them, at night while talking to animated silhouettes?

Strange constellations of happy creatures, killing the cells to keep from experiencing the agony of existence. Maybe it should be so. It is so.

The swan song of the dying is more beautiful. Why?



Jotting these things down late at night. I don't know where they come from. I won't remember how. I think of all the groups of people laughing or swaying or slowing down or whatever it was they were doing, all black outlines with white glowing edges. But the most interesting person there was the solitary one grabbing his face in the dark.

What went on in his head that he had to grab it and pull it and push it away?




I answered a call on my cell phone from a number I did not recognize around 3:30 am. Supposedly a missed call from someone who was using my phone earlier in the night. We talked like old friends, both altered, both of our defenses down, friendly and trusting, warm; not like the awkward lapses that chop up conversation between people who have never met and who are in a state of normalcy.