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i am a loser in ways you can’t even wrap your head around
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03 09 24
i dont believe i make up new spaces. they exist already, outside of me. I merely excavate the doors to them. allowing you to peek inside. i am not a creator in this life. only a witness.
ive been thinking of duality lately. I see more accurately the maps that make us up, and they are written in code, and binary. Each of us a collection of spectrum scales of life, calculating the metrics of personality. they read of the actions you take before you take them. they are you, in the smallest sects. we are simple at our core, but convoluted by the chaos of exponents.
i am a thing of balance. but only because i contain both darkness and light. immense darkness, and immense light. a sadness which closes the doors to the future, and a happiness that makes all futures possible. my torment, is the attempt to consolidate this. to know myself. but as i get to know one side, i forget the other. i am not gray, but black and white. i am the container of duality. i am the container that holds the future, and the past. all of them.
my happiness leaves traces on the page. my sadness, on my body. either way i make marks to pass the time, dictate, or annotate. monsters, and angels. my problem might be that ive always liked the monsters more. because angels imply purity in constancy, but monsters hold both. not evil exclusively. the occasional aptitude for grace.
i would rather be loved purely by darkness, than loved infinitely by light.
a confession, i dont think ive ever made aloud.
a fact i hoped was untrue.
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march
I don't lie anymore, but I change. I am unreliable. I still can't consolidate my identity. I can’t just be one thing. I’ve grown, and become better, and yet i catch glimpses of myself in the rear view mirror, and miss it. The mess, the chaos, the gravity. And i like the peace I have built. I do. And it has to be better for me. But, it always feels slightly hollow. Like I'm pretending. that i'm naive. that it's all just another game, that wastes away the days. I don't really know, anymore.
Sometimes, I am just a child. Sometimes im a monster. Well, never in action, but sometimes in thought. Not recently though, not for awhile. But I can't say its not there. And I have been insane. Strangely, i find myself missing it more and more, lately. Because at least then, i seemed to be driven by a mission, or goal, despite its lack of grounding in reality.
I’ve been seeking out me in other things. Looking for the things that stop me in my tracks, and i can point to it and say, “look, do you see me?” I am not this body, or this face. I am the colors of the pictures i paint, and the songs that sing and vibrate through my body. I find myself in the insane. Sometimes, in the tragic. I find myself in the idea of love. But not love itself. or, maybe i do. I just cant feel it, right now.
I am the songs of the 60s. The songs that sound like sunshine and white walls bathed in blood. Changing times. Youth destroyed by false idols. worshiping those who give you love when you need it. I see myself in the yellow patterned wallpapers, and shabby carpets that smell of lives lived. I am free and all encompassing love, of no boundaries. Body and soul. But also the sinister darkness that emerges in the shadow of the lack of it. I am that starved child, who just wishes to be held. A child that sits in the solace of parents that don’t say what they really think. a child that grows up believing everyone is a puzzle. and puzzles always need to be cracked.
Sometimes you hear something for the first time, and wonder how it has existed along side you all this time, only now discovering it. I heard a song last night, mama, that made me turn, and twist my head. my memories are aloof, and don’t tend to stick around. They need to be inspired, or called forth, to be seen. Im looking out a window, from another time. I remember the parallels of my thoughts. I remember considering when future me would look back through my eyes, of these moments. Often, i remember the thoughts more clearly than the memories themselves. Everything painted in the color of emotion.
But all i have is who i am. Right? Isn't that how this works? We cant separate ourselves. Maybe we can. Maybe I will try to do that. To write of myself without myself. Maybe i can be the backdrop, or the stage on which stories play out.
Why can i only hear planes when the sun is out? Why do they sound like summer?
And sometimes i realize i don't really have anyone else to talk to. No one that i can really be honest with. I wonder how many others feel the same. But you can't just open up with anyone. you need certain people. i must just need to keep waiting. and working. i guess. because i can't do anything as casual as find what i need out in the wild. or maybe i can. but i don't want to play in the desperation of seeking. i don't want to waste my time trying to find someone to keep my bed warm, because it won't be enough. i don't think i can let anyone else in, except one person. and maybe the people that read what i write. But even then, i avoid writing about the ugly things. Because still, i do not want to burden you with the darkness from which i come. I won't tell you so you won't have to take it in, and ingest it, and face the truth. people are happier when they think you're happy. but when you aren't, they usually don't care enough anyway. it depends where you meet them, though. there are those solid, and made of love. they are just unfortunately, seemingly an endangered species.
i think we do everything for the exceptional moments. those things that only happen 1% of the time, or maybe even only once. Our lives tend to be shaped around these moments, defined by their before, and after. that's just what i've come to believe, because i've seen it. i think this world is tied down to numbers, statistics, and percentages. i think things fall into three categories, while simultaneously falling into all. it goes like this: 50/50, 80/20, 99/1. the first category, are the doers, and the do-not’ers. out of the ones that do, there will always be a top 20% of the highest achievers. and then, even deeper, we will find the one, who’s aptitude is only rivaled by all others, their capacity exponentially larger. But i don't intend this in a broad meaning. i think these talents are micro systems of ourselves. even a genius lacks in other areas - but perhaps that also means that there must be one person in the top 1% who is yet the top 1% of that group, and perhaps it is their knowledge that rivals that of the entire world. maybe simply, that one is god. maybe that is how our ultimate hierarchy is structured. and though i have come to believe in the numbers, i too believe that other realities must be categorically different. our system is a simple example of a fundamental truth of a subjective reality. it is my experienced truth, but other realities, by the nature of infinities, must be structured in a variety of ways (well, really an infinite amount of ways). perhaps even within this shared reality, others do not experience life in the same code that i do, the same number patterns. but then again, it can be parsed into the numbers, now only for personality traits, upbringing, and all the other factors which make us who we are. but maybe my gods are different than yours, to which i argue there must be reason in. statistically, we do not all agree in our beliefs. maybe my views are niche due to the mathematical statistical probability of it arising from a specific upbringing. perhaps there are other recipes which arrive at the same result. different fractions of ingredients to make us who we are. and you know what i mean, when you meet someone from another life who shares your same soul. but you might also not yet know, because maybe you are still in the before part of your life. maybe your match has not yet been made. you would know it if it has.
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