Friday, August 20, 2004

"Fluff Daddy seeks lovers of cotton candy, to explore alternative aerobics and sublime sweetness for the junior championships. Must not be spooked by genital deformities."

Perhaps it was a long time ago, never mind how long exactly, when it stopped throwing itself mercilessly upon me, and started falling gently with the surreal compassion of my mind. I don't always remember how it started, or where it went. When I was younger, I used to lay awake in my bed at night and listen to the sound of the rain on the shingled roof, and listen to the rhythmic drip, drip, drop, drip, drip, drop of the water falling through my ceiling into the steel spaghetti pot next to my bed. Perhaps it was then that my mindness serenity started slipping, slowly, and relentlessly into the abyss.

I've become consumed. We all have. By everything. By life. By death. By the absence of both, and the confrontation of all. To what point and purpose, I am unaware, but it haunts me, and consumes me nonetheless. It would be nice, to once in a while, reach tranquility. Last week, I did. Tranquility had graced my mind, beautifully, calmly, and whimsically as if to only for a brief minute falter, fail, and grasp the true meaning of it, of me. The journey along the path of this "hopeful enlightenment"--actually, it is a journey in search of serenity, and a consistant state of mind has so far been a lonely one. I feel the longer it takes me to finish my quest, the more consumed and lonesome I become.

I was asked once, a long time ago, how I feel about getting lost. Getting lost is a wonderful adventure. But to be truly lost, you have to be lost inside yourself. I like getting lost in people. People fascinate me. I adore them, People calm me, get me wound up into knots, confuse me, and explain the world to me, all at once. Everything makes sense. Serenity, peace, anger, sadness, depression....they are all the same. Factors.

If someone really wanted to, I would let them get lost in me. I would let their sense rise up, and pour their emotions out upon me, exploding the way an addict does when he doesn't get his blissful fix. I could be the fix. I could be the one that is talked to and explored. I want to be contentness manifested.

I don't believe in perfection. Perfection is an illusion, created by man to give ourselves something to aspire to, and to give a name to all those people we don't like because we feel they are better than us. I don't believe in morality. I never have, and I don't believe I ever shall. My morals are flexible. The main reason for that is because the definition of "morality" is:

The quality of being in accord with standards of right or good conduct.

With that in mind, one needs to take into account the fact that the standards of right and wrong are based upon societal norms. With the progression of time, societal norms change. Therefore, morality is relative. How one can base their life, decisions, ideas, goals, dreams, on morality, I will never understand. Perfection, and morality are some of these trivial life bullshit preoccupations that I long to live without. Escape. I hope and pray to the almighty whatever for some salvation, deliverance; for the chance to be myself regardless of the trivial, meaningless things that occupy our world.

You should learn to speak softly. We all should. For those who care will listen with their heads and their hearts. One in the crowd will stand out, and time will stand still as the tapestry is unwinding endlessly, and the world will wait, as the web unwoven will come to light displaying their fire, love, passion, desires. Sometimes I feel as though being passionate is a flaw, a problem, a hardship to encounter, deal with, and subject others to.

Current Mood: chipper
Current Music: Iggy Pop