. // THE INSOMNIAC'S CALENDAR. )

[sinensys]

how easily the mind slips
into a state of exhaustion ---
idle,
constantly churning some unseen
task or thought into nothingness.
how i would have liked
it to have been more
idyllic,
constantly content with the seen.

instead i am left
with the hollow understanding of
what should be done, yet
instead i am bereft
of any drive
to fill in and cross
off that once-benevolent usurper
from the daily list of tasks.

[sinensys]

do the utterances we iterate
repetitively truly hold, at all, any weight?
--- or are they just that:
soft words spoken to self-soothe
and restore the illusion of control,
exhalations exalted into exaction?

if they do, then! --- must the prayer
be pre-existing, or is the act of
preparation enough to cast a mould
of worth upon the preparer?
--- and can, with the right sentiment,
the spoken word fold itself to
repress regression, lest that relapse
repress progression once more?
or is the verbalization helpless in
enforcing regression's repression?
above all, can this blinding repetition
repel against future regrets?

(how many iterations is enough?
and of which variants?)

[sinensys]

some day all of this will have been for nothing, i am reminded. this knowledge comes from within --- some unseen recess of my cluttered skull coughs out dust, this statement, and nothing more. it offers no skulking when things are done without any promise of reward, long or short term. it doesn't sigh in exasperation at my insistent fixations, hand pulled by a horde of excited children, bubbles in a boiling pot. no judgement emanates when i cast my head and plans out, realizing that the endeavor holds no weight and is merely a promise of possibility --- i collect things, and those tools ultimately gather dust as i neglect them and find reasons to put off interacting with them. this i know well.

but when, then, will find the things that will not have been for nothing? many things, yes, surely will have simply been a way to temporarily waste time and fixation --- from worry to skills i will not use again --- but not all things carry this weighted attribute.

ah, the beloved torture device, the thought: where lies the inherent worth, and how can one compare it among the ceaseless torrent of skills, ideas, and behaviors? how does one quantify that which morphs itself with time, energy, and other environment conditions?

i fear not even the most restless of machines can compute that.

(i have tried and failed, but the reevaluation program persists. maybe someday i will be able to do more that list the things i would like to learn and to be.)

[sinensys]

i used to think that i, perhaps, was too good at letting go --- people, objects, and the external world were rarely truly connected to me, and so i let them go. often i had dubbed it "the drift" and simply accepted this as natural. in fact, it was this that i blamed for my general detachment.

i, however, had not accounted for this possibility: my external detachment was merely due to my focus already being filled by the internal world, ideas, and that impossible to glimpse future i would conjure in iterations. i craved skill, but was often so caught up in the image of having fully acquired it and then, before i could get far in progressing that skill, lay eyes on another and repeat ad nauseam. from this unyielding yet pleasantly distracting cycle was borne my current predicament: vast surface knowledge of that which some may never have encountered, but little to do with this. and so, the meager skills i did manage to acquire to some degree have been hoarded, dust layer and all. in some sense, i clung to the image of myself with that skill and a glossy hardcover.

i see now the dust that has clogged the vents of every machine i own --- it is a miracle they have not rusted or truly atrophied with disuse. i understand my past infatuations and that i had, despite my objections, refused to simply let go. not everything i have brings me joy or aid in any way, and so they are free to remain dust-covered. there is no shame in reprioritizing. instead, it will serve as a reminder that i do not have to cling to it, as i may revisit it should i find myself in need of it. things i had planned to learn but not use will also stay on hold until i find where in my time i will use it. in this sense i will clear out the queue and allow myself to, critically, readjust the order of significance on future plans. perhaps it, in turn, will service plans that remain in queue.

[sinensys]

that social beast craves symbolism
and oh how it effortlessly finds it
in the twitches and flinches of others.

to cry, to scream, to destroy ---
how easily it comes to others
in their dire needs, their darkest hours;
how foreign it feels to me
in the quiet dark of my own sedation.

hollow, and sad, and unfulfilled, i accused.
the opponent flinches in this game,
where little is gained
but integrity is lost.

i read well into the twitch
and am rewarded with the realization
that my seemingly expertly-crafted verbal
manipulations do little to change.

he needs to talk to someone,
i tell her, the nod grassy and thyme-like.
i am only convinced to this solution by the
process of elimination ---
none other has worked thus far.

hazily, i see that this
is not the path forward.
part of me worries that
the other possibilities are lost
because i stare downwards, lazily.

to cry, to scream, to destroy ---
these vices do little to serve me.
tears are temporary and chemical,
screams are absurd and draining.
destruction brings me no peace since
the damage done is the demon hounding me.

ah, divine daemon, ceaseless beast!
if you truly are out there,
perhaps my advice to you is to
disrupt this shameful pattern
we find ourselves in.

[sinensys]

and so i dreamt
the divine usurper vanquished
--- in its stead was left
but a flickering image:
a shaking hand steadied by blade,
resolve following suit.
(there is more to be done,
and it i will do as well.)

[sinensys]

to hold and to be held ---
in the long dark of night
now i think this may be
the way to avoid losing
myself to the ceaseless
entropy of the world and,
by proxy, my consciousness.

to hold and to be held ---
such is the way to prevent
my present and futures selves
from dissipating
into the long naught.

it would be easier
to attain had i been more
amenable to spending energy
on the endless and uncertain
social games played.

it would be easier
to attain had i been less
amenable to saving energy
from the exhaustion of the
social games played.

[sinensys]

it is entirely possible
that the lines i have
drawn, erased, and redrawn
are entirely in vain ---
in my attempt to right lines
i feel were drawn wrongly,
i have smudged the space
between identities.

now in my boolean ways
i attempt to neatly redefine
these spaces and
ignore
the fluidity between them.

it seems so easy to be both,
--- or rather, all three,
i find now.
it seems so easy to explain both,
--- or rather, all three,
i lie now.

(in truth it is not.)

[sinensys]

my problem isn't that i feel too much and thus seek a way out --- it's that i don't think i feel enough, and i think that scares me sometimes.

"the warmest machine you will ever meet" --- i would accuse this of being prescribed and thereby enforced, but how can it be if i was like this before? how much of what i feel is truly felt and not just a built response i've learned in my years of studying the art of little human motions? how much is what i am and how much is what i conditioned myself to be to maximize agreeableness and minimize conflict? and that doesn't even touch on the growth i had hoped to gain and continue to seek.

"one day, all of this will have been for nothing" --- a once soothing promise becomes a threat im the long dark of the longnaught. how can i seek companionship if i cannot even describe myself? how can i expect of others to endure my constant computation of the internal and external worlds?

question, adjust, temporarily accept --- such is the way i have understood my algorithm to behave. how long until i am able to finally, finally, adjust it?

[sinensys]

unruly thoughts
i have yet to coax
into a vanquished state;
how the nerves resist
my pleas and fester
without my permission.

what, precisely, wakes me
has yet to be isolated
and dissected in order
to better understand
what it is that bothers me.
somehow, this knowledge
is beyond my jurisdiction.

strange that i did not,
however, have words
to expell for it ---
no, this that i write
is a fabrication of
what i had hoped
would ease the
intrusive thoughts.
it was only sound that
looped in my skull and
tried to drown out the
unruly sensations imagined.