Self,

Lonely times, lonely times; even with the testimony of the purest, and sweetest feeling, solitude is my present companion. Most choose to keep it at bay; however, they do so because they don’t understand it. Solitude brings clarity; it is like a towel that wipes away the condensation from the bathroom mirror, thus allowing us to see ourselves, our blemishes, our acne, and our deformed noses clearly. Although the crooked noses can’t be fixed without great effort, the acne, and blemishes can be worked upon. I am working on that face of mine, because my beach towel is wiping my mirror clean.

1-2

Thank God for not logging out yesterday, for words I thought to have vanished, were alive and staring at me this morning. Although they were dancing in front of my eyes, the weight they carried not long ago seemed to have disappeared, for they weren’t meant to exist any longer. It’s like looking at the ghostly figure of a departed family member, the shape and sizes are still visible, but they are far from being tangible. The creator decided to call the words back, but by some accidental miracle they still remained.

Between the lost of sleep, the nightmares, the hot sweat, the wet sheets, my sense of detachment grew. Practicing telling the truth is a hard task, no wonder so many don’t do it. The outcome is not one you can control, not when you lay it out, and hope. I have to find out whether or not one entity can love two others that aren’t his/her offspring. Could it be that I am just focusing on moments that were the most favorable, the best memories, and making decisions based on that? I’ve already lost one, temporarily (maybe, I don’t know); it’s time to see what the other will do.

I finally grew the balls to endure the pain, whatever may come, can’t be much worst than last night.

I can't sleep

I can’t sleep. I am fucked up, and I can’t sleep. So much pain, so much pain I’ve caused, I can’t sleep because I am feeling like one of those war murderers. I am sorry; the numbers will be in the volt, all of them.

Intoxication

Intoxication, I don’t know what the formal definition is; let’s look it up!

1. To stupefy or excite by the action of a chemical substance such as alcohol.
2. To stimulate or excite: “a man whom life intoxicates, who has no need of wine” (Anaïs Nin).
3. To poison.
4. To cause stupefaction, stimulation, or excitement by or as if by use of a chemical
substance

So it’s absolutely ok to use the term when referring to how anything, or anyone make you feel. It seems that ‘lost of control’ is the most appropriate definition for it. It is true that chemical substances need to be present. It may not be contain in a glass, or in a pill, or in a syringe, but it is present. For example, the slight feeling of euphoria one feels when they come in contact with a love one, or attend a concert, or come in first place at the Tour de France, is caused by chemicals that your brain releases. In short, your love ones are your drug dealers; so for the next anniversary is ok to give your sweetheart a card with a picture of you shooting up with them standing over you, while steadily saying “good boy, good boy”.

Arm & Leg

It’s as if the break never existed, setting eyes on her was as normal and comfortable as it always had been. What am I to make of that? It’s another dimension that I can not allow myself to dive into because of this helping hand, leg. Let see how much I keep for myself when this is all said and done.

I’ve learned so much in such a short time. I need to write it down and pass it on to my sons & daughters, nieces and nephews, the generations to come. I will lay it out for them, and allow them to make their own decision. I will do the same with religion.

Isn’t it funny that your faith is pre-ordained by your geographical location? At least is used to be, not that it’s completely as true as it used to be, but still, it applies. Why do scholars, great minds of theology fail to mention that; or is it that they choose not to mention it?

Would you (I) be a Christian if the crusades never existed, I think not.

Maybe

I've always believe to have done all that was possible to keep the man’s hand away from my choices, but in my willingness to help, I succumbed to exactly that. The man came to control my movements. All I wanted was a ‘yes’, or a ‘no’, but in classic fashion, another box was created where the ‘maybe’ was marked. Just like that, death was design to come slowly, at the pace the man had chosen, not mine, but his.

Back at it

Been quiet for a bit now, but I have a feeling that’s about to change.