. // THE INSOMNIAC'S CALENDAR. )

[sinensys]

on crooked men we lean, and on slanted blades we fall, hilted teeth gleaned from the skulls of our victims and our own, at times. we reach for old ways in times of need, running barefoot on the familiarly-trodden path beneath is rather than through barbed thickets left behind by farmers and soldiers for the beasts they hunted; we would rather fall back to what we know than seek that which is unknown. and, in our dire moments of need, slanted merchants sell to us a packaged cure -- an elixir, a totem, a charm. this we graciously accept and watch eagerly, awaiting a bolder, brighter, clearer future. we hold these objects in our hands and we expect the day to improve. with this determined energy cast into some primordial chasm, our futures mould to what we imagine -- we sleep better at night, or we notice the littler things, or we find the energy to truly begin living. we see change, and we trace it to the purchased good, granting ordinary men the power of the divine.

and so on crooked men we lean, and to crooked men we fall, our legs weakened by the great and vexing mechanism that crooked men feed with coin.

perhaps we have forgotten that the hands we use to craft our gods are the hands we will use to kill them. the same can be said for the unyielding machine we live in.

[sinensys]

a slanted tongue cants the jaw -- an offset to the meager truth which that muscle can grapple with. the lower mandible pulls with it the edge of the lip, and a smirk is formed. the smirk will call upon the rest of the face with it, both out of comfort and out of need to see the italics spoken by other beasts we shake hands with on the daily. most of us do not live in this lense, but if need be, we can purposefully look through that keyhole and glimpse the otherwise obscured truths, even if with just one eye. the brow angles up, the lip pulls left, and the head cants itself to the right -- all systems nominal and attuned to each other without our knowledge.

the skull angles slightly to the left or right, and the spine follows suit. the lenses we wear to see the subtleties through the numbly recited niceties are lenses which, if worn too long, twist the skeleton and render it helpless without a victim to manipulate.

how my back aches.

[sinensys]

i think about you. a lot.

or rather, i think about who you are not -- namely those you could have been. i think of those i had spoken to, but never let in as i silently suppressed the notion of inviting others into my skull. instead i watched others and imitated the social rules i had perceived to be desirable, clumsily yet cautiously, and i filled in spaces when you had no friends free to. i do not blame you for doing this: in all my analyses of others and their ways, it had never occurred to me that it would do me some good in analysing myself and developing my own personality instead of wearing a mottled and patchworked cloak to quietly accompany the people who kindly let me tag along. you gave me this kindness, and while i had never dared to step closer in any meaningful way, i appreciate even that nearby distance. as i think of you now, i realise that you will never have been those people. i have never truly set my anchor, and as an irresponsible or reclusive fool, i face this fact as consequence: you will never have been the people in my past, whether they be a loosely-termed friend or simply peer.

so instead, i will think of you as those who could be, as those unmet. who will you be? perhaps happenstance will seat us in the same class and we will find an excuse to talk about. or maybe we meet through a common interest, whether it be languages, the guitar, or seemingly unpredictable wikipedia strings and subjects. or, alternatively, do we seek out help with personal projects and goals, whether it be game creation or bandmate? do you meet me as a programmer or as another tired engineering student? do you meet me as an aspiring musician? do you become a content creator of some form, and, with luck, we cross paths? there's no way to be sure but to wait and see, but i can't help myself but think of you and your unseen form. you, who i have yet to meet but already miss.

how have i managed to mourn the loss of someone i've never known?

"intj's are the coldest humans, but intp's are the warmest machines."
i must truly be that friction-fed mechanism then, capable of analysing every person but myself -- a sprinting cog that burns out often and often without reason. i look forward to meeting you but i already fear for our relationship, whatever it may become when we meet. if we meet.

[sinensys]

алая челюсть, которая когда-то белой была, выискивает мои следы -- я ее шаги слышу иногда. у нее движение ритмично по пятам со мною следует, но тем не менее у нее шаг не ровный. ритмичное у нее и всхлипывание, которое следует ее шипение и рык злобный, больной.

но я ее не виню -- нам, то, трудно идти с лапой прижатой в зубчатой ловушки. однако, мы помним что каждому найдется хищник с зубами по-острее.

[sinensys]

i do not understand this compulsion,
nonplussed and fettered by this need to
eject

the lyrical contents of my skull

all the while leaving notes to myself
asking myself to try out the
described art style hastily scrawled on the page

these are unbridled in direction and vision
weak in magnitude

again i find the image has
ejected

to take on a lyrical form

how i have grown to tire of my own nonsense

[sinensys]

in search of some malicious god,
i, the benign usurper,
have found nothing but my own
reflection.

how does one strike a
mirror
when any imperfection only
duplicates the original entity?
how does one kill a
tired ghost's lone kingdom
when nothing affects the
king or its empty
throne room?

[sinensys]

perhaps i have grown lonely, though it isn't something i can admit to those i live beside. it feels childish to claim that they don't understand me, and yet i still find myself holding my tongue when it comes to personal matters. i cant my speech to align myself with what they want to hear, but i know if i were to express the things which slosh in my skull, they might not find it amusing or concerning, and instead they might be inclined to nonchalance and a vague practical suggestion. my mother speaks in the near future and in practicality, and my father will only scheme if it benefits his goals -- neither would be caught dead daydreaming or analysing for the sake of analysing, or for fun. not like have -- or rather, am. my sister speaks in moral standards, and rarely is fascinated with the things i think of and uselessly compute. i am no longer a creature of software, but it is difficult to remove the wires i connect to and their imprints on my skin.

it is difficult to progress as a human being when i try to install a deeper understanding of my own emotions, morals, and unreasonable standards.

and so now, while i am content with the labels i have assigned to myself -- rather, i have grown fond of being above labels -- i am disconcerted by the numbness which has set in, ivy on oak.

perhaps i have, in my fear of intruding on others, shut myself in a little locket. now i scour the bottom of the pool's deep end in search of this stupidly tiny silver thing, and how the chlorinated pressure beats on my skull and ears while i blindly caress that rough floor.

[sinensys]

how long i have prided myself on
ripping
through exams and doing well,
and how i now
taste
the bitterness of those i
couldn't fathom myself among.

(it howls for an ear willing
to lend itself,
yet snarls at the thought of
truly sharing my
complaints
and the uselessness of such
vocalized vexations.)

[sinensys]

i am enamoured by my own thralldom, it seems.

pitiful creature, ambling onwards through the days and dreaming in the future while presently asleep.

[sinensys]

i eat from every table, slowly meandering through the banquet hall. in this way, my field of vision is expansive, eyes cast to some unseen horizon, and i relish the new experiences i taste. when others ask me of this, i tell them about what i know -- this comes off as impressive, as they stay seated at their tables. but when they ask me for deeper knowledge of that which only i have shallowly tasted, i am at a loss for words: i could not know to look for these specifics, and now i am foolish.

i taste from every table, a vagrant recluse, but i cannot seat myself in any seat. i wander alone, and alone i continue to explore.