My crooked bed

We were having dinner at a very nice restaurant yesterday evening. I was there with my mom and Nat, who had not seen each other for like, 5 years.
I had had a terribly shitty day. The kind of days that make you wanna quit without sleeping on it.
And as mom scrolled down and swiped left and right on her phone to find some picture - and it felt kind of like she was actually trying to find her way in a giant matricial maze to little success - she happened to come across a picture of me and her.
It did not take her long, as she seemed to instantly realize the pecadillo, to change course accordingly - and yet it awakened the dormant sadness melanoma in my guts. Its roots expanded to my brain and to my heart and I felt sick to my stomach for a moment. I calmed myself down eventually, after a few never-ending seconds of hard work.
The remainder of the evening went fine.
I was exhausted upon coming home, and on the way back I really, truly thought a singular thought,
God I miss you.
And what I missed at that moment was not just the affection, the false sense of love or the shallow desire for physical mingling. It was you I missed, with all your faults, your ugliness and everything in between.
I felt terrible when I finally laid down in my bed. Trapped, in a game of monopoly in which I can seldom afford anything without it being taken away, and unable to drop out. Going in squares.
Because going in circles certainly is counterproductive, but at the very least, the angles are pretty smooth and the trajectory straight-forward, or at least so to speak.
With the square, you do feel like you're doing fine: you just have to go ahead, period. Even easier this way, right? The problem is, at some point, you run into a corner. Literally run into it.
It kind of mars the whole my-life-is-going-okay vibe you took time to build along the straight line.

The both of us, we were a crucial mistake, a heavy misunderstanding. But we weren't heavy per se.
I mean, 250 pounds together, that sounds about right.
Yet my bed is a piece of junk, just like most stuff in my place, and a couple days ago it broke for no good reason. Now I have to sleep in a crooked bed because of you, even though you are nonexistant in my present.
This sucks.

It's not the only consequence of my putting too much hope in a story that was dead on arrival- I all but hate my study material, and it's almost succeeding at disgusting me of one of the things I hold dearest to heart altogether. The only buddy I could rely on to get me through the day is not here half of the time - and while I am in class cursing myself, he is shagging my ex.
I write, even though I don't enjoy writing; I even took up drawing again, all to take my mind off the fact that this has probably been, all things considered,
The worst year of my life so far.



2017, dude, I'm so looking forward to meeting you.

Webcomic

I miss looking at the stars from my window. From here, the sky is just black.
I truly miss the stars.
Just like I miss the snow.
Will I even be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of white snow slowly falling to the ground?
It would surely help.
I need it.

My heart has exploded. My brain is numb from the meds, the alcohol and whatnot, everything that keeps it from sabotaging me more than it already is. My guts? They're about to give.
There is not much beyond praying for time to show up, but it looks like it can never happen soon enough when you need it. Yet it's always here to snatch the good moments away from you when you stumble upon one.
Time is the worst son of a bitch of them all.

I still long for tomorrow. I mean, you've got to, otherwise what's all this been for?
I'm dysfunctional. My head was not wired for this world. My heart was born prematurely, it misses the layers that are supposed to give it a handful of extra lives. As a result? Scarcity.

Yet I'd like to believe that out there, somewhere, at that exact moment, there is someone who's given up as well. That she is here on her bed thinking that she will never complete the puzzle.
I'd like to think I hold the missing piece.
But if there is one important thing I've finally understood, it's that
I'd also really, really, really like to think she holds mine.

I'm tired of this zero-sum game. I'm dying to give, but in the end maybe there is someone who can give in return? Somewhere, out there?
I might never come across her. But dreaming is free.
And it is basically the only thing stopping me from overdosing on despair, sadness and benzos.

I've always been a dreamer, have I not? And it's always come back to bite me in the ass so far.
But if there is a small chance for me to find someone for whom it's not a deal-breaker

Well maybe it's worth going forward,
And hoping for snowflakes to fall come Christmas.

***

"Ne pas aller vers l’autre, ne pas le rencontrer à mi-chemin et ne pas s’attarder, c’est prendre le risque de vivre dans sa propre ombre, de perdre l’opportunité d’être surpris, de découvrir et de se découvrir.
Aller vers l’autre, c’est prendre tous les autres risques."
-monboubou

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MneRtx7x2vs&index=2&list=LLuDOPgKOCIHjDvocYlryqkA

Thanks giving

It seems pointless to attempt to understand where or why it went wrong. I have a few pointers at my disposal that lead me to a handful of worthy candidates., yet what would be the point to point at the exact point everything got awry?

Repetition, just like the impulses my brain seems amenable, if not adamant to inflict on my chest. Every single last detail of what allegedly happened taking life in the back of my eyes, and I am powerless to stop this phenomenon. I've been doing a better job distancing my ribcage from the immediate damage on impact. The sharp pain remains identical, yet I've managed to shelter the relevant parts so as to only subject them to the kickback.
So it hurts still, but at least there's some sort of numbing sensation that helps coping.

I still don't really know what now. I had pretty much planned everything around you, around us. And you did not exist in the end. So that means that us has always been me, and just me. Which is contradictory though, because if I had been by myself all along, I would have made a great many different decisions along the way. So now what? I guess it opens up my options. I am free-er, in a sense- which is the perk of being empty, because there is not much you could do to lose something that you don't have. Regular case of the loser's trophy.
But I don't really know, because I still miss you - or whatever I lived with for 8 months to the day - like hell.
It's not hard looking at the bigger picture. As a matter of fact, I've been doing that for months now, because I am not an utter imbecile. I did not fathom the killing blow however.
So I'm still looking at the same thing, except sans perceived lifeline anymore.
I'm still young, or so I've heard, and yet I'm at the crossroads between adolescence and adulthood. I really don't feel like making a choice. I am comfortably numb and rejoice at the idea that time is taking over my duty and I can rest for a while. I guess it's being overly optimistic.
How unlike me.

But some rest might be well-deserved still.

_______________________________________________________________________________

When you are drowning, or being drowned, there is very little you can do. Struggling will only accelerate your demise. Staying still will be the easiest path, but you won't be given a chance to pick the outcome in this scenario. Swimming sounds clever, but that equates to wasting much energy. and the air is rarefied.
The meds are useful to ease the anxiety, but ultimately, they're mere illusions draining the life away from you.
It's unlikely that a lifeguard will be here, let alone on time, when you're at large. No miracles in real life.
But there is a way.
Through the little things.

Mike who takes me to the Lucky Moose for too much poutine.
Auré who pours me a coffee.
MST who finally comes to see me despite her being sick.
Trying calligraphy in Chinese class.
Finding solace in the fact that the new season of Rick and Morty might be there by year's end.
Enjoying replaying a game.

Laughs.
A lot of them.
An awful lot of them.

There is no remedy. You don't heal, you adapt, you accept. I've lost, I have to acknowledge it. There is no way around it. You can't get out of the water unscathed. There is no cure for a wound this large. It changes you, for good, for better, for worse. Whatever.
This is life's natural course.

But the little things are what compels you to still get up in the morning, what gradually gets you to believe that the sun does still show up . What makes you smile, for lack of laughing.
Because the little things, they are genuine. They are not fake. And they do help a little, even if you don't always see it.

Because if they can't help keep you afloat,
They at least keep you breathing.

Because if they do no save you,

They keep you alive.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wipdWDZpZTY&list=LLuDOPgKOCIHjDvocYlryqkA&index=22

30

I'm not actually functioning.
I don't get out of bed unless it's absolutely necessary. Even when I need to, it can hardly be described as a success.
I mean, come on, an hour ago I found it in me to go out grab some food; I did not even have the courage to get dressed properly.
I just put some clothes on top of my pj, for fuck's sake.

Now I have to live with the never-ceasing images and sounds of what you did, or at least what I imagine you did. I won't describe it as pleasant. Not for me, at least. It comes back, whenever I feel like I might enjoy a moment of respite, like a long needle. But not one that stings swiftly. No, the kind of needle that a bad nurse sticks in your arm, and that keeps on moving around, butchering flesh along its circular wreckage, until there is just dead meat left there to rot away. The pain is, indeed, a pain to withstand.
But if it were just for that, I might be able to cope.
The hardest part is my inability to understand. How you could fake all these times. I do fathom it was just a game for you, yet I struggle, for these moments were real for me.
I never felt more alive than during some of the times I had with you. The little box you gave me, the avalanche of texts laying out all the plans you'd made for our place, how excited you were. The day you smiled while unveiling your mug for the appartment. The time you told me that we needed to buy some grown-up sheets. The time you insisted we come and took some measurements. The time we came back home after this terrible 24 hours of non-stop fighting. All these times you put your head on my chest and told me that you couldn't live without my smell. When you told me with this frail voice of yours that you'd die if I were to ever disappear from your life. All these times you swore you'd never, ever cheat on me, without my asking.

So much for that last one, I guess.

Because yeah, the toughest part of it is not to live with your betrayal and all the lies, or even the fact that you did everything to make me miserable.
It is torturing me to look back on all these moments that made me believe, despite all you had put me through, that us was worth fighting for.

Why didn't you give me the chance to fight for us? Because you were not who you had me believe.

I will not lie. I am miserable. Nothing takes my mind off of you. The all too rare glimpses of hope and relief are balanced by the oft ill-advised instants of self-delusion during which I enjoy believing that you are still here by my side and all of this is a bad dream. How many times today did I have to fight against my urge to text you and tell you how much I love you? How many times have I resisted the impulse to call you and ask you to start over? How many times have I hoped that you would knock on my door and tell me it was all just a big misunderstanding?

I still check my mailbox everyday to see if there isn't some letter you left there when you dropped the key and that I would have missed. I know you didn't, and I know you can't, or more accurate yet won't, leave anything there anymore.

Leaving me at once was enough I guess.
Your last text told me how hurt you felt that I gave you the box back. But how am I to believe any of the notes stored in it now? They were written by someone I don't know, imitating someone I made up.

I'm conflicted, because these moments were real to me while you've never been true to us. I can't be like you and already be out there all smiles and banging around, telling the next man how he's the one, because I, for one, no matter how dysfunctional we were together, no matter the hardships,
I did believe in us
And was willing to fight for it
Why would you not let me?

So now I'm here and I've been through hope, anger, despair, delusion, and all the stages of grief way too quickly. I have not had time to take them in, and I don't feel lighter.
Because you had never been the burden to begin with,
The burden was our broken relationship

And now it will never truly disappear, because the only way there was to make it right was not to put an end to this
But to make it right.

Now there is no way back. I willingly locked myself into the aftermath when you screwed up, because I knew back then that I only had so much time of objectivity, I only had that precious window,
To thrust me out of something that would have destroyed me to the point of no return.

So sure, I can be grateful for that. Because right now I'm dying to rekindle. But you either don't give a fuck, or are waiting for just that to toy around with me a little more.


I knew what I was getting myself into with you. I don't regret it. If I were to do it again, I don't think I would pass on the opportunity. But at some point I started to believe we could turn this mess into something good.
And at that exact moment,
You got bored of your new toy and started pursuing the next one.

I will remain a number in the long list of your victims. I am not any different, you won't remember me more fondly than the last, you will certainly tell people how I was the one who was terrible in the relationship. That's who you are, and that's fair enough.

For me you will remain a little more than that.
And even if hindsight is indeed 20/20 as they say, I really, really believe that we are, and will forever remain,
Unfinished business.

There was more to us than you gave yourself the chance to see and than you gave me the chance to show you
There is more to us to write in life
But now we'll never know

And while you are gone, I'm still here.
And the appartment feels almost too empty to bear.
Because your stuff is not the only thing you dragged through the door and won't ever bring back.



You're lucky you were never born Noah. But that does not mean I won't miss you buddy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9tGoNcd4CY

Rapeture

J'ai passé 8 mois, jour pour jour, à vivre aux côtés d'un fantôme.
Maintenant que tu es partie et qu'on m'a fait ouvert les yeux, je vois. Et je n'arrive pas à comprendre ce que je vois. Tout le long, je pensais que tu avais injecté des couleurs dans ma vie. Mais tout est rouge.

Je pensais être avec quelqu'un qui m'aimait, malgré tout ses défauts, malgré toutes ses différences,
malgré tout.
Mais aujourd'hui je compris que je n'étais qu'un jouet, une poupée. Tu as testé tes limites, tu t'es amusée, et quand tu en as eu marre, tu m'as jeté, et tu as trouvé un autre jouet. C'était comme ça avant moi. Ce sera comme ça après.
C'est ce que j'aime appeler le complexe du héros: tu ne mens pas au début. En réalité, tu préviens même de ce que tu as fait, de ce que tu vas faire de qui tu as été, et tu montres un côté fragile qui pousse à se dire qu'on peut être celui qui changera les choses.
J'y ai cru, même quand c'était fini. J'ai voulu croire qu'avec moi tu pourrais guérir, changer. Pas tout de suite, j'ai été méfiant au début, mais petit à petit, j'ai commencé à envisager que c'était possible. Que ça pouvait fonctionner. Et à partir de là c'était terminé. Tu as pris le contrôle et tu as fait ce que tu voulais.
Pourtant tu me l'avais dit au téléphone ce soir là. Tu m'avais dit ce truc bizarre. Que tu allais me faire du mal, quoi qu'il arrive, et que tu étais désolée. J'étais prévenu. J'ai foncé dedans quand même.

Ce n'est pas la réaction de colère typique, pas la déculpabilisation que tu maîtrises si bien par la théorie comme quoi l'autre n'était pas assez bien. Parce que tu étais largement assez bien pour moi.
Dans ma tête.
L'image que tu as crée, que tu as renvoyée, elle était idéale, façonnée sur mesure pour mes besoins. Tu as le don de creuser jusqu'à découvrir ce qui manque chez quelqu'un, puis de créer une personne qui arrive à remplir parfaitement ces vides.
C'est comme ça que tu peux faire tout et n'importe quoi sans qu'on parte.

Et ça explique l'inexplicable. Ca explique qu'après chaque humiliation publique, chaque fois où tu m'as traîné dans la boue pour me montrer à quel point j'étais un déchet; qu'après les deux fois où tu m'as frappé, où tu m'as insulté et assimilé à ton violeur; même après que tu m'aies trompé plusieurs fois, avec plusieurs personnes, en quelques heures, j'étais encore là, à te pardonner. Parce que tu avais implanté dans mon cerveau l'idée que quel que soit le mal que tu pouvais me faire, je ne pouvais pas me permettre de perdre ce que tu m'apportais.
Peu importait que tu remplisses les vides avec du vomi,
moi la seule chose qui me faisait peur c'était qu'ils redeviennent vides une fois de plus.

Et c'est ça le plus grand danger, pas qu'on arrive pas à réaliser. Parce que mes amis ont tout fait pour que je sorte, pendant des mois, eux qui me connaissent mieux que moi-même - parce que ce qu'ils me disaient, je le savais aussi. Et je choisissais consciemment d'aller contre, en sachant très bien que j'allais droit au mur.
J'étais heureux de m'auto-détruire.

Quelque part, c'est fantastique que tu arrives à jouer un rôle avec le monde entier sans interruption. Ça demande une volonté et une intelligence phénoménale de placer ses pions et de les voir toujours bouger comme anticipé. J'avais la fausse impression de contrôle que tu donnes à tout le monde.
Et s'il était pas venu mercredi soir m'ouvrir les yeux, ce serait certainement toujours le cas.

Parce que lorsqu'on est pris dans tes filets, c'est tellement plus facile de souffrir pour toi et par toi que d'être heureux loin de toi.
Ta voix ce soir là, quand tu as compris que tu avais fait une petite erreur de calcul, cette froideur, ce mépris dans le timbre, l'absence totale de remords ou de regrets, et surtout, surtout, l'explosion de toutes les promesses et principes que tu avais établis, c'est là que j'ai compris, c'est là que je suis sorti.

Tu es toxique et tu es malade. Tu as souffert et tu fais souffrir les autres, voilà ta catharsis, et ça fonctionne, parce que tu sais ce que tu fais et avec qui tu le fais. Ça s'arrête pas avec moi. Et j'aurai pas la satisfaction de me dire que j'aurai enrayé l'embrayage. La seule chose que j'ai, c'est que je suis sorti.

Et ça fait mal de sortir, parce qu'il n'y a plus ce petit espoir du "et si", parce que tu ne reviendras pas demain en t'excusant et en disant que tu m'aimes, que tu es désolée, ou je ne sais quel mensonge. Pour mieux me refaire du mal le lendemain. C'est terminé maintenant.
Tu me laisses là avec des images dans la tête, des images de toi avec d'autres, des images plus claires dans mon esprit que psychologiquement supportables. J'ai les personnages, j'ai le scénario, j'ai le décor; et mes journées sont un combat permanent contre le film de ce que tu as fait.

Bien sûr que j'ai de la haine. Contre eux et contre toi. Tous les trois, vous avez décidé de me briser en toute connaissance de cause. Pour votre plaisir personnel, pour l'adrénaline que ça vous procure de mettre quelqu'un à terre.
Et vous avez réussi, je ne peux même pas me défendre. Je vis dans un cauchemar duquel je n'arrive pas à sortir depuis une semaine, et j'échoue totalement à contenir toute cette haine, ce dégoût, cette frustration.

Mais vous finirez par payer. J'en ai la certitude. Un jour vous paierez. Et si vous arrivez à vous en sortir encore et à passer à travers les mailles du filet, alors quand je me serai relevé, quand j'aurai repris assez de force,
c'est moi qui vous ferais payer,
Mais je ne suis pas inquiet, parce que la vie sait ce qu'elle fait, et un jour ou l'autre, tôt ou tard,
Vous allez tous payer.

Maintenant je dois vivre avec l'idée que j'avais prévu de faire ma vie avec quelqu'un qui n'a jamais existé, une projection de mon cerveau. Et je dois aussi comprendre comment j'en suis arrivé là. Comment j'ai pu rester à travers la violence sous toutes ses formes. A quel moment est-ce que j'ai perdu assez de respect pour moi-même au point d'accepter consciemment tout ce que tu m'as fait subir et d'en être heureux.
Comment j'ai pu croire avoir un semblant de pouvoir quand tu me tirais par des ficelles sans arrêt.

Il faut que je trouve assez d'amour-propre pour ne jamais plus accepter ça. Il faut que je brise cette boucle. Parce que si tu recommenceras à ruiner d'autres personnes pareil,
Je ne peux pas recommencer à me faire briser comme ça par quelqu'un.

Je vivrai avec tes erreurs, mais je crois au plus profond de moi que ça n'a jamais été moi le problème. Ma gentillesse, ma protection et mon amour n'ont pas à changer. Tu es juste incapable de recevoir ce genre de choses. Tu es une sociopathe gravement malade, aux sentiments inhibés et à l'admiration morbide pour ses cicatrices. Mais moi je t'ai jamais fait de mal. Et je commencerai pas maintenant.
Parce que je suis certain qu'il y a quelqu'un quelque part qui a besoin de ce que je peux lui apporter, qu'il existe une fille qui saura recevoir ce que j'ai à donner et m'offrir ce dont j'ai besoin, qui saura remplir les vides;
Et pas avec du vomi.

J'ai jamais été le problème,
Mais toi tu as un problème,
Et si toi et tes petits jouets vous avez réussi à me mettre à terre et que j'ai les dents éclatées sur le sol, je finirai par me relever, et je recommencerai à courir vers les étoiles. Et je finirai par être heureux.

Et c'est ce bonheur auquel j'ai droit,
Que tu ne connaîtras certainement jamais.

Parce que si tu crois obtenir des victoires en anéantissant les gens qui t'aiment, c'est pour fermer les yeux sur la vérité que tu as peur d'affronter, qui te rend folle à lier;
Toi tu passeras ta vie à être malheureuse.


Je suis tombé amoureux d'un monstre.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5h4yJ-BpL4

Harry Potter

So here it is.
We are finally through.

After weeks, months, of your watching me drown, in an attempt to rescue us from an all too certain extinction, you cheated  and called it quits.
You could have done it differently. With respect. With pride. With compassion. Like a human being.
I deserved that much.

Words don't come easily now. I don't know what to take away from us. Is there anything good left to salvage? The ship's sunk already. I don't seem to find much amidst the debris.

Your verbal violence, your physical abuse, your cheating. You hurt so much you felt the need to reciprocate how life had fucked you up on me. I've always been there, I've always been understanding, loving, forgiving.
I feel like I lost.
It feels like a huge waste.
I feel like a huge waste.

All those years spent waiting for someone to trust, someone who could show me the way. You did not have to ruin me. Not that way.
And though I am used to being over-dramatic,
It does not bode well  when chairs are flying around.

Through thick and thin, and let's be honest for a second, mostly super thin, I've been here. Sure I've made mistakes. I've had mishaps.
But I never tortured you.

Now I'm left here, and I don't know what to make of it. Stokholm syndrome and hyper-dependance, as well as a bad case of hero complex thrust me into this mess. I'm all tangled up.
How am I to trust again?
Eventually I guess. But never entirely.

Ultimately, you crashed us on the ground and I did everything I could to prevent that. But it was not enough. It was never enough for you to be loved.
You are haunted, you are troubled, and I've only been a recipient of your anger and the darkest corners of your soul.
Utter selfishness, morbid lust, manipulation. I knew all that. All the way.
And yet I still thought I could change you.

It has been the reason of my demise.

It's been raining non-stop for a week.
Donald Trump is President of the United States.
The woman I love and gave everything for came for another man.

What a shitty week it's been.

And now what?
I have a flawless support system in place. I have been through a broken heart before, I know how hard it's gonna be, but I know I'll eventually learn to make do without it.
I am the victim, for real this time. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm pretty sure I'm going there without you now.

The love of one person is not enough to mend two broken souls.
And once again I'm biting the dust.

But I guess it'll be okay one day.
One day.

It will be okay.

Bye Manon.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eMrTIW2LQk

Broken elevator

Just how come there is such a double standard?
How come you can screw up so badly, to a point where I feel like my life is threatened, and get away with it so easy?
And when it's my turn to screw up, for once, just getting upset about some misunderstanding, you don't believe in us anymore? I mean, I know I overreacted badly, taking my key and my shirt back and all, and I know I did not help my case by panicking afterwards and by blaming you when you needed comforting. I do know I fucked up, and I've been actively trying to make amends for days now. But it is one hell of an uphill climb.
The elevator of our relationship seems to be as functional as the one at my place. And I don't mind, I can walk up the stairs, as steep as they are. I don't care if I gotta do it thrice a day and end up exhausted at the end if that's all it takes.
My legs bulk up.
My character sharpens.
I don't even ask of you to meet me halfway, like you used to. I'm willing to go all the way.
But what's the point?
You don't believe much in us anymore.

You are a piece of work. You get worked up easily, like to hurt on purpose, think you deserve the best while reminding me I'm a piece of shit. You don't mind humiliating me when you see fit, in front of friends if need be. You altogether refuse to acknowledge that it takes two to tango, especially when the tango goes awry. Well actually if the tango is great you think that's thanks to you as well. Granted I can't dance, but I do my part in us. For real.
You are candid, and that's a quality. But it's not great for self-esteem to hear from the mouth of the girl you love that you are just"big scum" and she would be far better off without you.
I'm not asking you to conceal things, to hide the truth for me. I would just like you to understand that we both need to put a little effort into making the other feel valued, and not like a dog on a leash sometimes.

You are not perfect. But who cares? I never have. I love you the way you are.
And the one thing that made it work was that even despite all the low points
You genuinely loved me.

You used to say you wanted us to get married, you wanted us to have kids, you wanted to go abroad but only if I came with you. I was the man you wanted to spend your life with.

Now you don't want to marry me anymore. Let alone have kids. You're avoiding the going abroad question, putting it off, arguing it's too far off to know just yet. Hell, weren't the kids in that case?
And yesterday when I told you that you were my soulmate, you just laughed it off. In my face.
I didn't even ask you to respond, I didn't even demand a thank you.
I just thought it warranted an ounce of respect.

I've been pouring my heart out, and you have just been laughing or shrugging it off.

You used to tell me that you couldn't stop saying I love you and wouldn't, because it felt so good.
Now I need to fish for them. And it looks like my bait is a pretty lousy one.

But I don't mind. I don't mind my life being hell for a couple of weeks if it means we can mend fences. I don't care about falling down six flights of stairs and going back up if the door is to open atop. I love you, and I'm willing to self-destruct if that's what it takes.

But at some point, there'll be nothing left. Because as of now, I'm just a replacement. Standing here at your arm to fetch you stuff and look good in public, until the next one comes along and you can ditch me carelessly.
I won't be thrown away like that again. I am sorry sweetheart, it's not your fault, you have nothing to do with it, but I had a life before you too. I have real scars as well, as much as you like poking fun at them. I won't let you do away with me like that.

I'm far from perfect, but god knows I am 120% involved in the relationship when I'm in love. You are my princess and I'd bust my ass off to turn your life into a fairy tale.
But you know what, I am not a piece of shit.
I deserve happiness too.

And I want it with you, but if you refuse to forgive me the way I've forgiven you,
Then I don't want to stand still waiting for my demise.
I love you, and I deserve to be loved in return.
You used to do that so well. If you cannot anymore I have a right to know.

So we can both move on to better things.

Off the fence

There's something wrong.

Something is wrong because I am pretty damn sure it's not supposed to feel that way, right? Unless happiness is a big hot stew of sadness, weakness, worries and faltering.

It is not for lack of trying. I am in love. I guess. At least I think that's how it feels like, what it means, right?
Right?
But we're pieces of work. And it's hard to deal with my shit when I have to deal with yours simultaneously. I know I love seeing my life as a giant roller-coaster, figuratively. I did not expect it to be so heavy on goosebumps.
I'm about to throw up this relationship.

True, I am very demanding. It sure takes a toll, on both of us. But how about the why, eh? Why did it have to be this way?
You dragged me through the dirt for everyone to see, you gave me the cold shoulder one too many times when I tried to get back on my feet. You never squandered an opportunity to show me how less of a man I was than the others.
And if it were just that, but let's be honest for a second
My feelings are not the only things you're hurting.

Yet I love you. Because you are flawed, and I seem to be inexplicably attracted to your flaws. Degausser, anyone? Birds of a feather, or so I've heard.
But if I've been good enough to play pretend and make believe for you, I for one can see how big a farce it is. We're going nowhere fast honey. And with no support I don't really know how I'm going to turn the tables. Especially if you're turning a blind eye on me.

I don't feel too good. I am not as happy as I want you to believe I am. It may just be that I need more time, but I've been thinking that for months now and I'm starting to lose hope.
The most difficult may be that in your eyes, we work fine. We're living on different planes, and truth be told, I am jealous of yours.

I would love to love you without all the loathing. I am well aware I am a handful. And I think I believe you when you say you love me.
I think so.
That does not sound right. I should know that, it should be a commandment forged into my soul. Yet it's just an elusive butterfly, unwilling to dwell on my heart for too long.

I'm tired. In a matter of days I've gone from certain I wanted us to work to definitive about splitting up at least a dozen times. It's not that I don't know what I want.
I just don't understand us.

Your love at times feels so real, and then comes the moment you crush everything, regardless of anything. And I'm left here bleeding.
But you don't care much.

I'm supposed to come back in two days. I should be home in 48 hours, almost to the minute. Yet I cannot even feel sure you're gonna be there. I cannot talk myself into believing you won't have called it quits by then, or slept in anyone else's bed. It is not even that I don't trust you.
I just don't trust that we are on the same page.

You caught me in your web. I wanted us to see where things'd go. But you started giving me hope, glimpses of a future, of a together. Of a life.
Now you're not giving shit and I don't know on which leg to stand. It's getting out of hand on my side, while things look still on yours.
How come we are not going through the same story?

Maybe in two days this will be a distant memory. For a week. Because it starts again.
I'm going in circles.

I don't feel too good. And I withstand it out of real love. Or at least what I think is real love.
I'm not even sure I know what I am talking about.

I ventured into the unknown, and unbeknownst to me I was not to wander alone. But I knew before even going over the fence that it would not end well. You as well, since the first thing you told me was that you were sorry about how much you were gonna hurt me.
And that's fine, I expected to hurt in the end anyways.
Not so much so before.

I would like to hide behind rational nonsense, that we are not a fit, that you are no right for me. Who is right for anyone anyway? Human beings, we're screwups; we won't ever fit. Square pegs in round holes.
We just try as hard as we can.
I try to try,

I've been outside my comfort zone for a little too long, my feelings tank is almost empty. There's no way out. If I don't find a way to replenish them, what will become of me? A stray astronaut, floating around in outer space without a way to come down home. You're the last one. I've had enough, I won't have enough courage and determination for one more try. I'm out of coins. Now it's up to you to see how many continues there are in store.

For all I know we might already be done for. For like, an hour and half. For all I know, tomorrow it may just be a bad dream and we'll still be going strong.
For all I know, I don't know shit.

I know that I think I love you. I know that I love you in fact, I just think I know what love means.
But I do love you, and it's hard when you don't even know if it's too early or too late for that.



There has been but one staple however. Whenever I feel like I'm digging our grave, you pull me back up with some awesome text, or a lovely call.

Anytime now.
Anytime.
Just a few more seconds...

...

Oh well.

Erutuf

I am looping.

I am displaying the same old little quirks. Jealousy, extra sensitivity and aggressiveness. They do not blend all that well. And you're the one suffering from my tantrums.

History is repeating itself before my very eyes, and I am clueless as to how to change its course. I have not learned shit, have I? I do not know the way to right the ship and change. My emotions get the best of me.

Every once in a while, I manage to put things into perspective, take some distance, from you, from an us I don't seem to be acquainted to yet. Is it normal by the way? Is it just me screwing up, or is it a natural process?
Anyways any time I can get a grasp of objectivity, you come at me feelings first and I fall back in. It is the grotesque oxymoron that defines our relationship on my side: the more you love me, the more likely I am to mess it all up.

But now for the first time you are disappointed. I unveiled that I am no different than anybody else. You realized that I am, in fact, nothing special. I guess it puts a pin in our plans now eh? If not a nail in their coffin.

I wanna try. I really do. But I need a magic formula to shake off three years of living inside my head;
And three other years I wish I had.
I am damaged good relationship-wise; and your perfection does not match my faults. We cannot go on like that, regardless of what you keep saying. Because I'm gonna burn myself up slowly, and burn you down in the process. There is going to be nothing but pain and regrets if I can't figure out how to overcome my fears.

I have always known, since the very beginning, that we had a clock and that it was ticking. For quite some tie I thought it was the clock of us, and I was fine-ish with that; but what if it is not? What if it is my clock? What if, by any chance, it is a countdown to you not being able to stand my bullshit anymore?

The last one held on for a decent amount of time before she called it quits. I don't really want to take chances with you.

But once again, I screw up, think it's too late to fix things, come back - and repeat. So how do I break the cycle?
I have gone a little bit too far this time - once again.

I'm tired of being me, because me does not fit in this two-people environment.

I am afraid we'll run our course way before the future we designed materializes. And that's gonna be on me. I am sick of spending a couple of days a week snuggling my blanket and staying in bed all day long because I suck.



Please someone give me a map of how to be a good boyfriend.
And then teach me how to read a map

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHCob76kigA

Wok

I always thought I was flawed. But I've come to realize it's not entirely accurate. I am raw.

I have lived a lot more than I should have in my head, but I have little to no understanding of the world. I've always painted an ominous mental picture to my head to compel myself not to step outside. I've shaped a safe bubble in which everyone lives peacefully and the only real problems are whether I have enough money to eat one more kebab this week.

But I made a deal that would see me go outside if it meant I could love and be loved in return. Just one more time. Both parties have held up their part of the bargain. But as for me, it has not been as easy a ride as I had envisioned.

I need to learn ways to think, to behave, that I never before had to know. I am supposed to put things into perspective much faster than I was used to. I have to compromise when my life had been a straight road of unyielding decisions and principles.

I was not made for two. At least not by myself. I am just now being taught how things work around here in the open. I am not fast enough, not careful enough, not smart enough to take it all in and make the most of it.

So my mistakes stack up, and at the end of the day, they're just a big, fat pile of crap I regret even bringing up in the first place.

It won't happen in a day, because if there is one thing I know it is that this is a process. It won't happen tomorrow, it won't happen next week; but eventually, when I've fucked up one too many times and the point of no return is reached, I'll hate myself  for losing you like that. And rightfully so.

That being said, I am exposing myself here. I have become an obvious target. Mere flesh is covering my body now that I've taken off my heavy armor, and you can stab me at will - I won't even wince.

But if deep down I come in peace, I am not going to stand still while I feel like I am being trampled on. That much will not fly.

And at some point, when there's not much straw left on the camel's back,

We will have a problem.

A real one this time.

________________________________________________________________________________

I hold up a peace sign, but I carry a gun.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tTpmJFqs3aE

Strike 2

That's insane. It is totally insane.
It's like I had forgotten about the exhausting, excruciating waiting. Minutes feel like hours. Seconds feel like days. I'm powerless, I'm unable to do anything productive. I'm unable to eat.
I'm just waiting here for my name to be called and the death sentence to be dropped upon me.
I'm about to get dumped, right?
It's too bad, I really caught feelings this time. I know man, I know you warned me, but I could not help it. It seemed so great, it felt so natural, it was so amazing. But I had it coming, and as I cleverly pointed out a few weeks ago myself
The higher you reach, the faster and more painful the fall. And boy, is it fast.
And fucking painful.
In a matter of 48 hours, everything went from blissful to completely wrong. I'm disappointing.

I was mistaken. It's not going to hurt less because it was just a stint. It certainly won't hurt as long, but it's not any easier. I thought that I would have learned by now, that the strength to stand strong would be carved in my being. What a fool I've been. It is destroying me, it is ripping my insides apart.
And it's too little too late now.

I am here waiting, a couple more hours, until the giant boulder comes crushing down on me. But my hands and feet are tied, so all I can do is either close my eyes and fancy everything is going to be okay, or look up and anticipate my demise. Neither is appealing. Neither works.

I don't wanna lose her.
At first I thought I did not want to lose it. But I don't want to lose her. I really don't want to.
Damn,

Damn.

I'm clueless. There's supposed to be a way. I can't find it. I am waiting for a miracle when I know they don't exist. I am hoping for a sudden change of heart when you've made up your mind.

I am sad and disgusted in myself. My brain, heart and guts all want to throw up at once, like a dirty symphony of doom.

Shit, I really am in love.
And I really fucked it up.




There won't be a strike three.
I am all but done now.
I am done.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eMrTIW2LQk

Boy seeking Girl

I am sitting here on my bed as the clock runs wild, devouring some precious and essential time I'm numbly watching vanish before my eyes. I have a serious hangover.
I am puzzled.
I mean it, I am puzzled. The picture is complete, the billion piece puzzle has been completed, and yet something seems off.
Life has been going against its usual current, and I'm bewildered to see it self-destruct. It is making a meal out of itself and the more it feeds the hungrier it grows - or shrinks.

I don't get it. I don't know how to deal with that kind of things anymore. I'm a mess, I've lost all control. Mutiny. I've lost my grip willingly, true, but I don't know how to reestablish myself as the ruler here, how to restore the order.
I had forgotten how messy it was out there in the wilderness. Was I really able to navigate this life before? How the hell could I pull it off all these years? How do I not make the same mistakes over and over again when I feel exactly the same way.
It's a cold stew of my biggest failures all aggregated together into one big bowl of mayhem. I don't recall winning any of these battles. How am I to win against a Megazord of them?
It makes no sense whatsoever. I'm trying to figure out a way, I'm attempting to find the weak spot.
Life is folding and I'm left alone to try and fix it.
It was so much easier when it was playing against me. At least I did not have to take care of that shit, to keep it in check.
It was its job.
Time does not fly by me anymore. It thunders by. I am no Superman, I could not possibly halt its course. I need time to think, time that is thunderstorming away from me.
At least I won't be struck by lightning.
At least I was not subject to the coup de foudre.

I'm not like Josh, I'm not getting better at this.
But I'll try, I'll put in the hours, I'll figure out a way.
After all, she might be worth it, for she took my hand like in my wildest dreams
And has yet to let got of it.

If I throw caution to the wind, is it gonna get smashed to pieces by the storm?
Because I'd like to make sure I'm not fighting for nothing
Make sure I'm not squandering my time to no avail
Make sure I have a shot at this thing

So that I can try to catch up with happiness.

_____________________________________________________

I was way drunker than I wish I had been when first saying I love you.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNO-_xIX1AU

Squirrelzilla

"For real, your heart's just made out of paper dude"

It is funny how language works - or rather does not. 

I decided to shave tonight, on a whim, declaring to myself it would be a nice stepping stone from which to jump to the other side of the day. 

So I scrapped the fire off my face and it stopped to burn. I bled - albeit littler than usual - but it's the way things go. And as the blades were methodically and relentlessly butchering my face, as they were tearing through this fury foxy coat, I started to feel naked; almost as if forced to undress before a crowd of feelings. 

And the flames kept burning out, and I kept the claws scratching. Take it away, take it all away. 

So that no one else will.

I felt good afterwards, a sight, a sigh of relief, satisfaction of coming to terms with my own decisions. 

I'm going to relapse, because my face is an arsonist, and I cannot put it away for eternity.

Yet, what I don't know is the language that would better describe the proverbial struggle that comes with every forest fire that goes. 

In English, I'm gonna grow a beard again. That means I am willing to actively infant, nurture, raise anew the source of the flames and let it ravage everything knowingly, by choice, hoping for something I haven't quite figured out yet - before putting and end to its misery when I think it's past its heyday.

In French, the beard is gonna grow on me. Literally. Without my consent, it will inscreasingly occupy more and more space on my face, grow thicker and more intense; and I don't really have a say in this - my only alternative being to murder it before it takes over and starts to, well, grow on me. Proverbially.

This is where the idea cannot fully translate. This is the space between the frontiers, the purgatory where the farthest ideas roam aimlessly, seeking a place to eventually land, unable to make up their minds.

My beard is gone. And with it I got rid of you.

Indeed, I AM completely insane. I gave far too big a meaning to you. In the end, it was nice to get to touch your life a little, but you were no big deal. If you look at the bigger picture, two weeks, they're not going to change much.

But what people seem to be blind to, what they could not get their eyes to see, is not the way I touched your life. But the way you touched mine.

You were the one with the only key to enable my release. You allowed me to leave my cell behind.

And of course it hurts, it hurts to think that I am just another toy in your little box. Of course it hurts to be bound by promises restraining me yet again. Of course I would have loved to have a shot at carving my way into your heart. Of course I would have loved a shot at loving you. Of course I would have loved you.

But I play by the rules, and the rules never allow that. Fine. 

I cope.

Still, I hurt, even so slightly. It's not a pleasant mind pattern, I don't enjoy the pain per se. But I am hurting. And what a breakthrough.

You are, unbeknownst to you, the best escape artist in there. Nobody will ever be able to do what you did, and nobody will hold the place you will forever be assigned to in my heart. That's how things are. In retrospect I will want to take it back. But retrospect does not mean shit when it comes to feelings. Because the very fact that we feel means it's volatile. You catch the flight and hang on as long as you can, and when it's gone, the memories are just pictures devoid of colors.

The world had been lacking those colors. I was seeing the same shapes, understanding the beauty similarly, but I lacked the explosion in my pupils. Now I see.

You did not take the decision to leave, because you were never really here. And I know we could go on like that, I could cling to hopeless illusions and start building a new cell in which I could rest, comfortably numb. But not this time. You took me by the hand and made me feel what it's like out there. 

And truth be told, I am secretly longing I could never let go of your hand. But I can't force you. I can't help you if you don't need help. I won't hang onto you if my chances don't get above the minuses. So I let go.

I will never have the courage to repel your hand if ever it appears next to mine, even if for a mere few seconds, for temporary bliss. I will never be fool enough to refuse a kiss. But I won't be too stupid again. 

You were wrong when you said that you were not the fantastic little thing in my life.

You were right to say I was not the fantastic little thing in yours.

So I'm going cold turkey this time. And I am aware that I will relapse. But for now it seems to me that it's the best course of action available for the taking.

For the first time I am taking my leave, and I don't know if ever I will return. 

With my hedaphones on, listening to Japanese music, nursing a dirty glass of Japanese whiskey, turning my back on the starless sky, pouting, I pour my lines out. 

Because of course my heart is made of paper. It is brand new. So I need to take extra care of it.

I have your smile in my eyes, your laugh in my ears, your body tattooed on my brain. The look in my eyes when I look into yours will be the first ever memory I will shelter in the little box.

You are the most beautiful girl I've ever met. You are the special treatment I needed to successfully suck off the venom. 

I will be grateful for life. And for starters, I will leave, as a parting gift.

Because we've both started to worry about the same thing.

Me with you is starting to scare you. You have begun to admit that I was dangerous, for if you are the best escape artist, as a break-in specialist

I'm in a league of my own.

I won't have you go through the trouble of me. You deserve what you think is best. And you don't think it's me.

So let me dismiss myself gracefully

Before I'm too far gone.

So I am hurting, and that hurts. But if I can hurt today, and as painful as it may be, maybe it means that I can feel again, maybe it opened the crack to the other side as well.

Maybe, and just maybe

If I am hurting today

I might be happy the day after tomorrow.

Maybe I can.

____________________________________________________________

No, I can't help it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYhHY77j9L8

Inside of this machine

So curtain call already, uh?
It did not take long in the end. I carefully tried to weave my way through the mud, but I stumbled upon a crack. It was easier than I expected. I still thought I was gonna be given a few more shots at this thing.
Anyways.
I fell early, so it is unlikely the wound is that severe. There certainly won't be any scar this time. Yet it was an interesting test bed. My mind collapsed, but the rest seems fine.
It is a pity, because now that I've crossed to the other side, I have to keep going. I don't have the luxury of a choice anymore. There is no turning back.
My eyes can't seem to figure out any direction.
There's mist everywhere. A huge , thick blanket of grey surrounding all. I'm right in the eye of the cyclone and can't even see my feet. But if I don't move, I won't ever move again.
Which way then? I have my pick of choices.
But none looks good to me. None looks promising.
I'm doing a really good job sheltering the little box. Our brains were designed to learn from experience. It's what I've always called intuition.
It's not some godsent ability. You remember the shapes, the environment, the parameters. They're always different, but somehow, the patterns remain similar. The only thing that needs some adapting to is the opponent. But in a given situation, when you've made more than enough blunders, you will know before even knowing.
That things are bad.
And my built-up experience is right.
So I had a nanosecond to jump on it and wrap myself around the little thing. I took the blow. I'm suffering.
But it does not have to be broken yet.
Let it see from the inside. Let it learn fear, anguish, disappointment, mild despair.
Let it see defeat. But let's not lose it this time.

There are two main parts of me. The first is just the little life-awkward kid who grew up and got beat, over and over and over again until he broke. The second is the persona that was shaped to replace the first, to act as a surrogate for as long as the first needed to get fixed. He took way too long to fix. He took too many years to find the fitting piece. So the second developed by itself, became a self-sustaining entity, and took over.
The first part came back. And they cohabit together, if they're not thriving. It's a mess, but an organized mess.
The second is a little insane. The neural network used to create it was damaged at the time, and it breathed bugs, loopholes, flaws into it. It snaps every now and then.
It has been going rogue for hours now. The sight of blood.
The second was designed to be, in every respect, a better version of the first. Stronger, calmer, colder, smarter, better. An upgrade from the raw and rough draft. A clean version birthed after trials and tribulations - but with all the red ink removed. And I realized today.
This was THE crucial mistake. The thing I had been chasing, hunting down forever, at the core of the looping pain. The writing was on the wall.
It has not experienced anything at all. It has memorized, not felt. He knows what is theoretically good, but can't ever quite make sense of it. It's a well-crafted imitation of a being.

It cannot deal with red ink because it's never seen it flow on the ground, crying from its veins. It's never tasted the bitterness of its own blood.
And now it's gotta take it all in at once.

I am my brain, and if I don't understand much of what I am and how I work, I know one thing: it won't be able to see it through. I did not put him here for that purpose. A powerful scarecrow that, against all odds, began moving by itself. That's all it was. But now it's right here in my head, and it's hurting. Spouting nonsense, crawling on the floor, damning a world that does not even exist.

It's time for the first to come back. It's time for him to take the second on his shoulders and go wherever.
As long as they go.
He might be inferior, less talented, and weaker at life; but for all intents and purposes, he has the one thing that will let them get out of this mess. The experience acquired from countless iterations of internal disasters. He knows how to deal with leaving a trail of blood behind. And he knows it's important.
Because someday, someone inside my head might get back there- and it'll have a path to follow.

Intuition. That's my only weapon now. That's my only hope that the first will get the second to a safe place while the second tries to protect the little box.

At the moment I really don't know if they'll succeed. Ominous is the task, but I have a hunch that some way, somehow- the first might find a way through the mess.
Or die for good trying, this time.


Tonight another important chapter is coming to a close. Actually it already has, but this once I have a chance to look the chapter in the eye before getting myself out there on my suicide mission.
I don't know if it will do me any good or what.
It was short, microscopically so maybe- but it sure did have a permanent effect on my whole being.
And so tonight I say my farewell to that line in my book.

One that made me bleed more ink than ever before for a single line.

Goodbye.


Oh Jesus Christ I'm alone again,
So what did you do those three days you were dead?
Because this problem is gonna last
More than the weekend

Comfort Zone

I've been riding life's rollercoaster for a week now. It has been a fairly interesting time span, during which I've had the chance to experience the thrill of oxygen flowing right into my lungs without slapping me on the face. A big ball of brand new fresh air recoloring my entrails - a nice changeof pace from the stale, dry and smothering substance I had to take in for years. However the wagon has not yet started to fall.
It's not the first ticket I've bought, I remember the ups and downs; I have some recollection of the dizzying and numbing feeling of getting closer to the sun and the fear of falling nowhere fast.
I have never been one for adrenaline. But I've been enjoying it so far nonetheless.

I know. I know. We all know.
I need to calm down. I need to gain some much needed perspective out of all this. I've always complained about being on the outside looking in. It would not be a bad thing for me to step out for a second and reflect.
I am getting ahead of myself and I'm becoming delusional, borderline insane. My world is trying to swallow the bitter universe, but this illusion of grandeur will bring doomsday about if I don't do anything to hit the brakes- for there is no way my world's stomach could take everything in.
I don't want my existence to belch again for some time before eventually vomiting the surplus of happiness. I don't want to be empty, to lose that consistency of my being once more.

This ride is already among my three most memorable ones. It has to be. Because it is the first one I chose not to step away from. I had a choice for once, and I still took the chance. So that one's gonna be on me, whatever the outcome.
Most importantly, because in the grand scheme of things, it's had a significant impact in a ludicrously minuscule time frame. I am changing right before my eyes. More than in a long time. I am regaining things I did not even remember existed in the first place.
Maybe that's inaccurate.
Maybe I'm just getting new things that were never there before.
And for all that I am thankful.

And I know, I know the fall is gonna have an Icarus feeling to it. But I don't want to prepare for it. It was my mistake last time - it does not hurt less anyway. I'll cope.
I am willing to.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Of course I know I am not in love. I have learned my lesson and haven't forgotten it. I know I am not Hugh Grant.

But who can blame me for being disoriented? After all these years, how could anyone blame me for being a kid on a trampoline? I think I deserve a little bit of that, I've earned it. 

I've earned the right to be genuinely happy, if just for a couple hours a week, even if it ends tomorrow. Even if it ended yesterday.

I have a fundamental right to taste the thrill and bathe in it. 

I finally possess the ability to try and be ecstatic for a little while. 

Please don't take that away from me. 

Not yet.

Not yet.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I was beyond repair, without caveat.

And she is not going to repair me, because she does not want to, and she would not know how to do it.

But she's been showing me something essential; something that no one else could have discovered;

She's been proving that I can be fixed.

Thank her for the quantum leap.

*Hey listen, I think it's started playing some feelings on its own?*

Fries have never been French

Mais quel monde de merde.

Baby steps

Is it the last frontier? Is it the end of the starting line, where the linear and narrow lane disappears and makes room for wild nature?
I don't have the blueprint for what's reflected in my eyes. I've got to make up my mind about crossing that barrier or just finding a way around the upcoming mess.

How long has it been since I last soiled my hands? When was it again, last time I tumbled and got knee deep into the dirt?
It looks pretty steep. I don't have the vigor of my young days anymore. It's gonna be tough fighting an uphill battle.
And what about all these holes on the ground, the fallen branches; memories of the someones who walked that path before me and did not fare so well? And are we gonna talk about the bruises and scars on my own body? The ones I suffered walking though up to this point? It has not been an easy ride man. Not at all. I mean, you guys know all about my collapsing - more times than I would care to admit. My legs are a mess. My clothes are drenched. The scene reminds me of a weird flashback. Kaneki before facing Arima. Or something similar. I've made it here, somehow, god knows how.

I thought I had given up?

I mean, it was pretty obvious to me I was just looking for a way to get out. What happened? Do I really have to climb this mountain? I cannot even see the tip, for fuck's sake. There's mist surrounding it, and it seems to be draped in weird and creepy noises. I'm back on my feet now, so it's the perfect opportunity for me to just turn around and run towards the exit.
Then I can rest. Let's rest a bit, right?

If I jump over this sign, I know what's gonna happen. I'll get hurt, again, big time. It might open the cicatrized skin. I will pour blood like always before. I will have to grovel, I will have to run. I will not have time to breathe.
Don't I deserve some breathing space?
If I go, I will suffer. And it's not a pessimistic account of what is to happen. It's reality. It is what will happen to me.

But, I sustained these wounds, and I'm still standing, aren't I? So who is to say I can't take a couple more, now that I'm replenished?
I'm gonna fuck up. It's gonna end in a bad way. The kind of bad I remember without making fun of.

Hell yeah I'm gonna give it a try.
My eyes are red because I still have too much blood to clear out. My mind needs to cleanse. My soul needs to purge. It has been drunk for years now, it's time to bring it back.
I am not afraid to get hit, I have the strength to get back up. And I know this haphazard piece of environment won't lead me anywhere. It's not the point. Because it's either get through or lower your head and turn back.
I am one to see the brick wall and still punch it until all my knuckles are wrecked.

The scenery looks nice from here, and I know it won't be quite that beautiful once I get entangled with this level of reality. But the grass always looks greener on the other side, that's common knowledge.
I don't need the grass to be green anyway. It will soon be sweating of blood drips, so I don't think its extent of greenness will matter too much anyways.

I've won once, I can win again. It was not to happen in game 1, or 2, or even 3. It did not happen again by game 5.
But I will have many more chances.
And I know I can convert one of them, at some point. Life has been exposed, so I know. I know there will be a solution.
I can pull it off again.
So look out stars, I'm back. And I'm coming for you.


So here I go, but let's not make the mistakes that doomed our knees in the first place this time.
One step at a time, alright?
One step at a time

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEOGuR5CD3Q

Move 78 - The tree with the red leaves and the little box

I have so many songs in my head that I can't hear the thoughts in my ears shut up. I was not programed to deal with that stuff. It's outdated data, the kind I am not equipped to analyze anymore. I am at a loss for whatever.
It's already been three years I threw all this over the bridge and decided to go forward. Not backward. Yet I've been walking ahead with head turned around all this time, haven't I? Out of fear, because the task of starting over is daunting and the memories are haunting. Yet I had worked out a system, I had managed to shape myself into a normalized engine that processed things like an extremely well human being. Made of flesh, blood, but without a feelings box to hinder the whole.
Well fast forward to the future present of my past, and I'm in the middle of a predicament, aren't I now? For something is showing where the hole was left pillaged. And a grave digger may have found a seed. Or may not, for all I know.
But the landscape has changed.

I don't like to make a big deal out of my birthday. But I like it.
It has not always been the case.
When I was younger, I did not care much for it.
When the filling of my heart was ripped away from me, I altogether refused to celebrate it.
Ever since, it has been an occasion to look to the sky and in the eyes so as to show him that this particular today, I win. And that I will keep on winning.
This birthday was not supposed to be different.
This birthday you were not supposed to be here.
But well, things happen, am I right?
Life is possibly the worst opponent one can face. Because just like a machine it does not get tired, frustrated, anxious. But you can. And however good your reading skills can be, it will always find a way to refute your brilliant moves. But it makes mistakes sometimes, because it's not perfect; it opens up opportunities for you to take, as if it were probing you to gauge your strength.
So while you might get flummoxed, taste despair or grow seethed, at some point there will be an open crack.
Up to you to dig further.
Usually, I don't. I just don't, because something tells me not to. So I find excuses, I back off, I throw in the towel delusionally talking myself into thinking it's best. And who is to say otherwise? What did not happen can't be proven to have been better. Albeit not a great way, it is a path I've walked down one too many times because something was not right. My gut feeling was saying no.
This time it was shouting yes all over the place.

I did not have the kind of exhilarating intuition I once got with Marion. It was not the ominous one that tried to warn me about Emma - to no avail. There was nothing at all, actually. She was there, she had arrived, and while my brain was computing and my heart was AWOL, my guts did not seem to care. Yet there is no doubt that opened the crack.
And as the night went by, as the shenanigans started to pile on, as I was starting to become more human in a way - and not a good one - my guts began acknowledging the mistake that life had just made, one it had never made before.

It had just given me a shot at something I would be willing to fight for.

And so it became. My guts took over and switched my brain off after all these years. In case of an emergency, it had always been a secret ability that was to never be used. For it to be applied, both heart and guts had to agree. Heart was nowhere to be found.
And that is how the engine was forcefully put to rest.
I was left here, with what is arguably the strongest weapon I've ever had, without any hindrance sealing its power away. It made things easy. And there is a reason for that.
It had played against life so many times that even if it could not read everything out, it knew.
It knew life could not counter that one.
I was not shaking, nor was I anguishing. I was deprived from my thinking functionnality.
And I just played it all out like I was supposed to.

And it changed my world, even if just a little bit.

It opened the eyes of my soul, and I came to the realization that all this time, I was not the strong character who had built a castle of glass in which to stay sheltered and imprisoned. I've been a fragile piece of a human being who had managed to erect too sturdy a monument. In those three long years, I had never once allowed anything to break in through to me. I was never forbidden from tasting the outside, but I would not get myself hurt.
I refused to get hurt.
I refused to be human.

The realm has fallen. The crown is broken. All hail the world.

It did not take much. It was never going to take much of anything, really. I just needed the right thing. And all had always built up to this, to this moment I would know would break my self-induced pain.
It was just what I needed, a moment suspended in time, hanging on by invisible threads forming a safe bubble in which I could blow the seal away.

I felt alive, for the first time in forever. Maybe not forever. But in at least forever.
And I needed not any more. Because unlike the previous turns in my life, this one did not come with the leech element attached to it. It's not something I have to cling to in order not to fall. It is something that gets tattooed on my soul and will not vanish. A triumphant scar picturing a victory over life.

All this time I just wanted to feel alive.

Now as to how, this is quite simple: my Cinderella requirement was met. That is, she took me by the hand to show me the open world. Not the other way around. If this is not what triggered the mistake in the first place, it was the move that decisively gave me the upper hand and the confidence that I would not let this one get out of hand.

Now it might be nothing more. And I would have been glad with just that. I did not expect a door to be open for a sequel, happy with a lacklustre happily ever for now. It took me by surprise, and I don't quite know what to do with it. But my brain's been turned back on, and it has been trying to process too much for the past couple of days.
That's normal, and I don't know when guts will finally tell it,
But it's broken, and it won't be fixed.

This device does not work well enough for what I need. It is too biased towards calculations and not enough towards what I can't see. I need to use what I can't see to see what is right before my eyes.

Yet it has been exhausting. For the scars of my past remain, and while they have been covered up, possibly only temporarily, and don't hurt for now; the memories that are the wounds underneath them have etched my soul with unfogrettable holes. And I don't want to reproduce those mistakes.
So I keep my head just below the clouds.
I would love to let go and dive in them, for they are euphoria imfeelingated. They are a safe bubble in which you are immune to hazard. They fill you with the warmth of the stars without overwhelming you with the heat of the sun. They show you a clear sky above the foggy reality. But beware, because euphoria is a powerful drug. It feeds on your contents to grow, and when nothing is left, it leaves you behind and empty. So when the cloud is ripe, it will pour you down.
And I am not sure I could weather that if I kept my guard down.

So I consciously hamper myself and stand just below, in order to have a split second to dodge if furious hail starts swarming my world. But it's sapping. It gradually crumbles my armor and rusts my sword.

I know that part of myself more than I should. That's the only part I know of actually, because it's the one that has made most mistakes in the past. And I've learnt from them. It's the part of me that has been exposed, tampered with, the one that toppled in the past too many times for me to recollect. And I know of its gullible nature. It will fall for anything. It will bet everything on a whim. Make no mistake, that part is at the core of my being. It is the very essence of who I am, the thing that shows when you scratch off the multiple layers of wallpapers. It is me, so to speak. But me is dangerous to myself. Because me has been stuck in Groundhog Day. While I learn from its mistakes, it repeats the same process over and over again, foolishly thinking what's wrong is not the approach, but the issue parameters. Using it always leads to a similar result. But on the other hand, this might be the most human part of my being; the very recipient of the real world, what bounds my existence to the materiality of it all. It's what is behind my greatest mistakes and my most surprising victories.
It is what was dug out a few hours ago.

Now I am not gonna set it free so easily. Neither will I make the mistake of leashing it. But I don't know the in-between solution.

Today I would like to find something in between.
Because I am not ready to bleed again, but I am far beyond acting so as not to.

I don't want to think about tomorrow, but tomorrow, I will have to think about the today. And while I will be different, the same real world dilemma will just turn into a cancer and grow to disproportionate size.

To oversimplify, I don't know if I am ready for something that does not exist; if I am not ready for something that is mine for the taking, if I am backing down from an illusion, or if I am willing to go for what is mine to lose.
I don't know jack shit.

I've been given a new feelings box, and I seem to know its mechanism. It's pretty similar to the previous one, except maybe cleaner since it has never been thrown away yet.
Now the real question is, do I try to use it.

I've been trying to stay neutral in all endeavors of late, which is like spitting on my very existence. I am not here to stay still. The unease and sentiment of doom only disappear when I put everything in the balance.

They disappeared the other night, the other morning, and it wiped the slate clean. Whatever comes next, I'll face it with newfound resolve. If I decide to bleed, I will bleed a new blood. If I fall, I will face the sky. If I want to turn back, I won't let it change my course.

I am going to take care of this feelings box, I am going to nurture it right this time. The second coming will be nothing like the first. Or maybe it will. But no matter what, it will be different.

The only question is whether I choose to baptize it now, and take the chance of drowning it; as my hopes suffocate and my dreams sink away.

And the real problem is that there is a major discrepancy between my universe and the real world. And the link is pristine, it has never been tested, hence its inability to act accordingly.

And because both worlds have a set of rules that often doesn't apply to the other, I am clueless.
And as my skin burns with the scars of a new beginning, as my brain let itself reach too close to euphoria, as my heart has come back to long for utopia and as my lungs breathe a brand new air of feeling; my guts have taken over at long last and lead the way to something.

I don't know what that something is, but there is something beyond the crossroads.
Now I just need to pick my poison and let my veins run with it.




But whatever happens next, I won't forget that with you in my arms, and like never before and certainly never again,
I felt alive.

And life will never be able to take that away from me. Ever.

So if just for this once,
I won.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MfAkM1sSx44

Sang words

It's like world ablaze while completely fireproof.

I do my best, I try to conceal that there is a war being waged inside. My brain has lost its mind. It's gone nuts, and my sanity has all but squirreled its way out of here. I've long been unstable, that is no breaking news, but there was some sort of balance in place, something helped keep me straight on the dangling tightrope. But something might have been building up, and the bad seems to have taken over. I've had bad night terrors, and I don't mean the ones you come across when you're sleeping. It's like the devil and god are raging inside, except we're just talking about a fallen angel and a sneaky imp. I feel trapped, because I miss things I was not used to be lacking. Goals, someone to look up to, something to look for, someone to look after; but look, these are just empty boxes right now. I know why I've kept chasing girls since I started feeling alive: to distract me from the fact that I was not. I have exceeded the point where it can be beneficial to use self-deprecation. It's become a motto, it's engraved in me. I'm never good enough, I am bloodthirsty for strength, progress, power; many abstract notions that do not even make sense to me. Yet I long for them, hoping that they will carry me to the stars. They're just so far away, and the closer I seem to get, the more the path seems to close. So I just put on a smile and get by, I do my best to transform into a puddle of myself in society, or what I think is a puddle of me, since I don't really know what either me or myself refers to - a set of feelings, emotions, behaviors, endeavors? I hold the belief that I am a reflection of the people surrounding me. I don't think I've ever been someone so to speak. I wasn't born bland, I was born flawed, but with nothing to cover the wrong. I never took away, but I took after who I deemed fit, friends, family, one-time acquaintances even to scratch away the paltry wallpaper and smother the flaws with thick layers of betterness. But the bitterness stuck, and I still don't know why, still don't know what is wrong with me. But I seemed to deal just fine. I still think I do, the episodes just are more common these days. Maybe it's what they call growing up. And while I certainly feel like I am still growing, I am growing still. And as a reflection of the people I've loved, I try all the combinations, but often come short. Something is not here, something is missing, something that would allow me to bust out of this prison of mine and take on the darkness. Because I can keep on keeping it on a tight leash for as long as I want, it's not gonna get rid of it. There has to be something here that would up the ante and still let me reach for it without pushing the sky farther away. And now that my brain has committed suicide and my heart has worked itself to death, it seems that only my guts are left.

And I'm not sure they're gonna have the guts to do that on their own.


Every time I try to write sang words, it feels wrong.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x4uyXUB4PHo

Pent-up

When exactly did I lower my head, leave the little thing on the ground, and resume walking?
Well, somewhere around last summer, maybe? I don't really have any recollection of that event.
But I mean, I had to right? Poor thing was not working anyway. I tried to fix it, for like, ever; it just would not mend. It kept failing and I kept idling part of my life away. Ok that might be a bit of an overstatement, but still. I could not get it to function, and it's not like those things are commonplace in the open. I'm not a surgeon. I tried to act like I was, but I clearly don't have the skillset. So yeah, well I figured, I just need the part that pumps blood to go on with my days so might as well not bother with the rest. Once again, it was to never work again, so... My brain actually can pull a hell of a copycat. It looks pretty darn similar, but it does not nearly feel so.
Well at least now I don't really have to worry anymore about all that shit.

Doesn't it feel a bit like giving up though?

Oh yeah no I remember now, it was not last summer. Yeah no, my bad.

You came back and well, oh boy, was it unexpected.
Let me clarify this: Along the way of all these peculiar and often unfruitful tales, I've always attempted to capture a few tidbits. To put it in a fun way, it's like when you go to the Safari Zone. You've been allowed some time in it, but when you know time is running out and you failed at capturing this super rad Pokémon yet once more, well you still don't want to go out empty-handed, so you try to catch a smaller fish. In my case, that would be my Magikarp collection.
When you look at it more closely and rationally however, you might just be able to see an old, dusty trophy cabinet with an excess of consolation prizes. But until a few weeks back there was still a pair of items that kind of stood out: a huge cup, right in the middle that obviously had been tampered with -it was kept perfectly clean in some places, but was terribly damaged in others. The contrast was, well, flustering. The other item was, in its own way, even more subject to catching the eye. It was smaller, yet arguably kept on ice and preserved for many more years to an amazing degree of perfection. It also had a couple other unique characteristics to it.

Well, not anymore.

Seeing Emma was, indeed, beneficial. But not right away.
Then you came back to me, and I realized, well, too litle too late, I don't love you anymore, and I don't love Emma anymore either. The two girls that were to remains the loves of my life had just become, in fact, heart memories. It was not vivid anymore, it was not beating for them.
What a waste.
At this point, well, yeah, I decided to get rid of my old dysfunctional - my apologies, not-the-least-functional-in-the-world feeling box.

That's crazy. If I could go back to the kid I was and I were to tell him that I would, at that point, refuse something I would have most definitely been willing to die for - multiple times if necessary -, I think it would not compute. "No way, I couldn't ever do that, whatever, wherever, whenever". Well, you would not be entirely wrong buddy. I mean, you could never have done that. I did.
I swore I'd never chang, and I lied - sort of. I've said it before, I HAD to adapt. I'm not immune to survival of the fittest. And now, well, I'm not that same person anymore.
And I am pretty much sure that I am the one who couldn't care less about it.

You are not beyond salvation though. At the end of the day, anger, hatred, anguish, despair, all that does not deprive you from hope. Fatigue does. You don't self-destruct from those negative feelings. In fact, they are not contradictory to any positive thought. They might even be a good way to channel enough energy into them, if you are good enough of a chemist. You don't even really lose hope at all if you manage to stay alive - because that's the thing, if you had lost hope, you'd not be here anymore anyways. But if you're unlucky enough, at some point, you just realize that you're doing ok without it, and what it brings you is just a conniving chatty sidekick who's way too loud. Navi, anyone?
So you dispose of it. And when you see the light and get out of the well, well, you think you're doing well by yourself. And I was. I am. Ok, if not well then at least as good as before. But that's beyond the point.
But you can't go retrieve it. And then you come to your senses and realize that, snap, that was it. THAT was the little thing that kept the feeling box going.
Too bad now though, because it's nowhere to be found. You have to make do.

So no, you, most people, they are not beyond salvation.There is no such thing as beyond salvation, everybody alive just has a fundamental right to run towards love. That's just, my map's buried in the trash.
And truth be told, I could still easily enter the crowd and follow in the same direction, but I really don't feel like it.
I'm good with my own lonely way, even if I hate this sensation of resignation. But eh, I'll just shrug my love life away. It seems appropriate.



I am not that stupid, I have met many girls, I know some who would be willing to love me if I let them, I know many who would be willing to love me if they let themselves.
They're not my answer.

Nobody is anymore.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHhkd2B87Q8