Set this world ablaze, let it all fall.
The disconnected pieces,
of a planet shattered, floating away.
The taint of your memory,
doesn't relent me safety,
but won't requite me a breath.
I just wrote for 45 minutes only to have a redirect banner pop-up and take all my words away. I'm going to proceed to begin again.
So I have this oppressive bad-taste in my mouth and feeling of disconnection right now. It's residual from a sudden remembrance that all of my intimate relationships have been wounding to me and highly unlikeable memories. I remembered all of them at once and was just left in awe at how I had discovered a new unpleasant feeling that I don't have a word for. There's no way I'll come to terms and accept the past as a lesson in this case. My intentions were not good in most of the situations. Not morally wrong mind you, dear reader, but slightly askew of my true feelings.
So another 13-hour shift on my feet again yesterday. They don't even phase me anymore for the most part. Once in awhile I have a nonstop, relentlessly endless day that goes by like fractions of a grain of sand thrown into a pool of water to count the seconds in a minute. On these days, time inimically conspires to rend my patience and calm from my grasp. A month ago when I started working 60-70 hours a week I consigned myself to my own patience. I told myself I'd not give in and show signs of weakness until my feet fell off. And that's ironic because the skin on the bottom of my feet is callous and peeling like it is sun-burnt. Good thing my boss let me have today off. And Friday morning off.
Think I'm going to listen to music all day and enjoy the woods outside my house. Maybe write some things down for myself to read later. Clear my head in general.
If anyone's familiar with some of the Tantric beliefs, there's the primary belief that life and death is a perfect balance and all things that happen to us in the life/death affect/effect in a perfect rhythym. I live by my use of judgement, and my common sense has faithfully kept me alive. It also tells me that whatever makes the most sense (not in the most simplistic way, mind you) is likely to be near enough the truth if not more precise than that. But don't over analyze. It's unhealthy. Did I mention I still have a sense of humor through all this?
Am the only one who is constantly subjected to people not listening to what you sa? I say something and get a complete wrong response to something that shouldn't have a wrong answer if given in the correct context of what the fuck I said.
I don't like being different.
I'm taking off my monochromatic glasses today. Going to exchange them for a pair of sunglasses.
The disconnected pieces,
of a planet shattered, floating away.
The taint of your memory,
doesn't relent me safety,
but won't requite me a breath.
I just wrote for 45 minutes only to have a redirect banner pop-up and take all my words away. I'm going to proceed to begin again.
So I have this oppressive bad-taste in my mouth and feeling of disconnection right now. It's residual from a sudden remembrance that all of my intimate relationships have been wounding to me and highly unlikeable memories. I remembered all of them at once and was just left in awe at how I had discovered a new unpleasant feeling that I don't have a word for. There's no way I'll come to terms and accept the past as a lesson in this case. My intentions were not good in most of the situations. Not morally wrong mind you, dear reader, but slightly askew of my true feelings.
So another 13-hour shift on my feet again yesterday. They don't even phase me anymore for the most part. Once in awhile I have a nonstop, relentlessly endless day that goes by like fractions of a grain of sand thrown into a pool of water to count the seconds in a minute. On these days, time inimically conspires to rend my patience and calm from my grasp. A month ago when I started working 60-70 hours a week I consigned myself to my own patience. I told myself I'd not give in and show signs of weakness until my feet fell off. And that's ironic because the skin on the bottom of my feet is callous and peeling like it is sun-burnt. Good thing my boss let me have today off. And Friday morning off.
Think I'm going to listen to music all day and enjoy the woods outside my house. Maybe write some things down for myself to read later. Clear my head in general.
If anyone's familiar with some of the Tantric beliefs, there's the primary belief that life and death is a perfect balance and all things that happen to us in the life/death affect/effect in a perfect rhythym. I live by my use of judgement, and my common sense has faithfully kept me alive. It also tells me that whatever makes the most sense (not in the most simplistic way, mind you) is likely to be near enough the truth if not more precise than that. But don't over analyze. It's unhealthy. Did I mention I still have a sense of humor through all this?
Am the only one who is constantly subjected to people not listening to what you sa? I say something and get a complete wrong response to something that shouldn't have a wrong answer if given in the correct context of what the fuck I said.
I don't like being different.
I'm taking off my monochromatic glasses today. Going to exchange them for a pair of sunglasses.
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