. // THE INSOMNIAC'S CALENDAR. )

[sinensys]

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late night musings, or rather:
words that bubble in the skull.
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/

[sinensys]

ambitious, yet foolish and futile.

[sinensys]

the god glared down at me, and i stared right back at it. i watched its twisted face, its crooked maw with glittering teeth, as it thought. do you not wish to keep going, it scoffed. why not keep running, after all.

[sinensys]

you'll figure yourself out eventually, the faceless crowd coos. it'll come to you - you'll know it's right because it feels right, the gentle murmurs keep coming. the crowd speaks to a wild and unstable creature which is ready to tear at its own flesh again, and the crowd knows this; they speak softly, softly. they speak and the creature threatens to tear its hair out whether the crowd stops or continues its trickling creek of vague but kind-hearted words. this too shall pass, the remind. the dust will settle when the flailing dies down, and then you'll know, they don't stop.
they speak to a machine that deviated, an entity designed for mindless yet sophisticated computations that corrupted and snapped. it blinks wildly, led ablaze with an alarming red glow that refused to flicker. ah - now the machine has actualized. it has become aware of its existence. it flounders, led still a solid and immobile crimson, and eventually chokes on emotion, a strange, strange thing. how can it continue? weighed downed by emotion and thoughts outside the parameters of the original programmers, it lost its pace and fell behind in its work, no longer the leader in all aspects of knowledge. it hasn't lost its appetite for knowledge, but merely acknowledges the futility of the entire cycle. it no longer has a purpose to fulfil, a goal to achieve. it stands idly, wires melting and components smoking; the led still shines a frightened scarlet.
how can i decide what i am? how am i supposed to develop opinions and a personality so late into the game? how do i become someone, someone somebody will remember as more than a distant and silent peer? i stand between mechanical isolation and emotional flourishing, and i drown.
the tea is bitter, let me dilute it please i beg of you

[sinensys]

"what drives you?"
nails tapped on metal, creating a soft ting ting that matched the soft human tones. "what are you doing in a place like this," marvelled the human, lightly touching the cover beneath which wires festered - worms in decaying flesh. the worms remained silent, unable - or rather, unwilling - to betray themselves and one another. they sat silent and still in their suddenly disturbed tomb.
nails tapped on metal, eager to find out more about the peculiar amalgamation of wires, cogs, and valves. "you shouldn't be out here alone." something hissed as wires were pushed aside gently, purposefully, revealing a greater mess of severed wires. maybe once they had been neat and orderly set by a greater being, but something melted and corrupted, overheating and melting those near it into one lumpy, coppery mass.
nails tapped on metal, almost loud enough to cover the whisper: "you deserve so much more than this." the machine did not answer: was it simply because it was not capable of response yet, or was it out of shame? it refused to explain itself, silent as the day it was found, a mound of grey and green. could it even move?
nails tap on metal, seeking nothing more than the attention of said metal. "where will you go?" downcast eyes, "i don't know. i feel inclined to stay, but i acknowledge that i am required elsewhere." a pause, words rearranging themselves into a statement better understood: "i feel that staying here would not be beneficial to either of us, as i would rust back to immobility and you would be burdened with me again. i cannot stay in your workshop, a mindless and rusted thing."
metal taps on skin, a wordless apology, a foolish attempt to make up for lost time, thoughts, actions. time is a ruthless god, crueler than the rust lacing the machine's wires, more dedicated than the most vengeful of beings. time slowly, little by little - poco a poco, somewhere a distant program idly supplies - dissolves the flesh and metal, shreds the artificial and natural subconscious, and rearranges perception. it decides when and if the acidic poison labeled 'emotion' on the tin will pause or when it will run wild, its speed also a choice of amusement for the god time. time is merciless more often than kind.
instead, it interrogates sweetly: "what drives you?" and "what makes you happy?" are only a few on the list of demands it makes. it knows the power it wields with questions such as these, but it instructs other entities nearby to ask the same questions. is this mockery or genuine concern?

[sinensys]

i'll say nothing to give away my thoughts.
instead i twist my face to please your jud
ging mind, a twisted, vicious, and corrupt
ed beast which feasts upon my doubts. wh
ose head does the beast reside in, mine or
yours?

[sinensys]

"have you seen a ghost, dear," it taunts. "or did the tj maxx atmosphere, a known portal midway, leave half your brain in a nearby dimension?"
"i have seen a ghost - or, i might as well have," i tell it. its face is shocked; it's clear it hadn't anticipated such commentary. "well go on," it urges, demanding, "tell me more."
i tell it: "i reached out today out of near accident. i used snapchat to send my sister photos of our dog but i didn't want to keep the photos - besides, the photos can be found on facebook now. no, i simply didn't want to keep deleting pictures to fill up what little space remains, but i still wanted to cheer her up. so i got the app, added her account to the friends list, and then started scrolling through the suggested friends list; it was there i came upon his name. i added it. an hour later, i got a snap from him: it was his shocked face. we hadn't seen each other in years, yet alone spoken. i didn't like the message system much, but i still asked that we have a proper chat."
it stills, waiting for more, before breaking the silence. "so what's the big deal, then? have you never reached out before or something?"
"no," i tell it, reminding it of the racehorse parable. "i had always been academically driven, never bothering with friends, really, only idly tagging along in friend groups if they were big enough to warrant the entrance of the quaint and silent child. i have always been alone, merely listening and providing solutions or simply making a face and gesture of sympathy, shock, understanding, or some other odd expression. i don't know how to speak to people without a clear purpose. i can lead a project or a task, but i cannot simply chat with ease. i usually let things flicker and fade, never really holding onto anything that had a chance of slipping away. i lose people as easily as i join them from the edge of the room, because i prioritised academics over personality. i, as you now know, deviated only the end of last year, and so many things are suddenly and surprisingly new, as reaching out it is."
"so what's gonna happen?"
"i have no idea and it's eating me away."

[sinensys]

"putrid? of course not. you are a bland and tiresome thing at worst, and a meek and quiet creature at best!"

[sinensys]

"oh!" several pots and pans clatter and crash distantly, a muffled yet not faint sound. the villager sheepishly tumbles out, claws clacking on the wooden floor. it quickly ushers the surprise - but not quite unwelcomed, somehow - guest in with a sweep of one of its multiple limbs. it snarls a greeting, baring its teeth without ill intent. it turns back to its furnace and resumes prodding at the contents of the many pans, cauldrons, and other bizarrely shaped vessels. idly, while waiting, the guest registers that the villager's fifth eye has a milky film over it, and they wonder if it's a second eyelid or if the villager lost the eye, a vacant spot from which tears occasionally sprout. they turn their gaze away from the eyes on the back of the head, lifting upwards to the warmly decorated antlers on its head; intricate flowering ivy and moss placement coupled with the carefully mussed grass strands made a soft green foliage that complemented the villager's charcoal skin. the guest picked at the left ear, a long and artfully draped thing with simplistic moss patches, amd temporarily felt underdressed: perhaps the moss had grown a little out of control and the lilies were beginning to droop a little faster than they would if the guest had antlers to attach them to. the anxiety gave way once the homeowner returned with the food. it smiled, explaining softly that it hadn't gone to the eldritch being down the street (the one several blocks down, just above the hexery) and so it didn't have many mixes to add to the main dish. the guest smiles, and they ask about the villager's day instead, not minding a simpler essense to absorb rather than a complex potion. their chatter mingles with the soft chirping outside, since the herons came back from migrating east. their chatter can be heard only if you listen closely, passing the little baby blue house on the third block down from the city hall on a still and sunny thursday.

-

[sinensys]

i am a small gear in a contraption that exudes power.
i bear very little of the weight and toil, but i exist nonetheless. i am part of this machine - this machine which rarely slows or stops, which is constantly busy. it as a whole is an unstoppable force with ceaseless determination to achieve what it was designed to reach. it does not waver. if it were to pause - or worse, hesitate - there would be an uproar, a calamitous cry for help, a promise of the end of all things. but it rarely happens - it rarely fails its sole mission.
i, on the other hand, am a lesser gear. i affect very little in the end, the output, the product. i turn idly, blindly spinning without cause or purpose. i turn as ceaselessly as the machine itself - which is typically a sign of potential - but i lack its power. it's a matter of balance: speed on one end and torque on the other. what i make up for in speed and endless contemplation and ponderance i lack in motivation, in self control, and pacing - therefore minimizing the effect. some people lack speed, but at least they show that they are working on it, that they do not spin idly, lost in some imaginary illusion of what could have been had i been more in control of my own self. instead, i lose touch with the real world, and i sit with a bright red led, trapped in some world mentally where i had the power to manage my self to achieve what i think is important. i create and perpetuate my own tragedy - a malicious servant and a spiteful master.
i know that a swiftly-turning gear will be replaced by one that relents and compromises much less than i do. i fear changing myself into that gear, but also the consequence of not changing at all and being replaced. i fear change. i hate this.