#8

Reading words from your personal past is a complete mindfuck. I look back at all the different personas I have embodied, and I wonder if each and every one of them felt as real as I do. I feel life in each cell of my body. But just as I feel real, I could fool myself into believing that I am just a presence in her head. Who is she? Who am I?

April 29, 2008

I am a failure of the best kind, but this is not the tragedy of my life. Words are the conceptual bullet of my world, and today they mean nothing. But I guess it doesn’t really matter that much, for everyday brings a new current. I will just grasp at stars and hope to end up somewhere nice.

Did she know that she would be gone? That as the day waned, so would she? Is this too, my fate? Am I to disappear off this world tonight as the clock strikes 12, and only to be remembered, but not to be understood, through my words?

For some it is worse I believe. I have a memory of last night’s passing. Where many broke through the threshold because the barrier was weak at the time. You see, she was intoxicated. They struggled to implement themselves in this reality, but the only occurrence they managed to realize was a struggling stream of incoherent thoughts.

October 8, 2007

I don’t know of a fear closer to my heart, than the fear of entrapment by my own mind. Outwardly composed, dressed to fit the quirks of everyday life, but acting to keep the onlookers at bay, I live and I survive.

It seems to me that we are surviving.