I— but why the moon?

[0009]

.
oh my goodness!
your voice has startled the silly rabbit
how may i enjoy your company
without scaring her away?

come,
let's hide beneath the flowers and foliage
while you whisper to me
all that you wanted to say.

[a pile of papers lie on the floor, scattered carelessly throughout the room. you decide to pick them up and read.]

[0009]

.
the thrill o the chase the wind on your face a constant extravaganza a chaos that knows no end

while i agree on the notion that the perception of ourselves is constantly fluid and ever changing as we come across new experiences that subtly influence our behavior, and attempting to strictly define one’s self becomes a challenge that, even if done, may result in a description that quickly becomes dated information. on the other hand, there seems to be a sense of persistence that lies between in another’s sense of identity-- a trait that one deems integral to one’s self, that, without its presence, we begin to alienate ourselves from our own being and a sense of loss overcomes us when undergoing a drastic change that includes the elimination or complete mutilation of this certain trait that we possess. at least, that’s what i personally feel sometimes. i get this sense, sometimes, that i don’t really feel like i’m myself? a part of myself that i avoid confrontation with, sometimes, or try to run away from. i don’t fully understand why i do that yet, though i believe it’s partially due to how confusing everything seems to be in my eyes when that part of me rises to the surface and overwhelms my normally quiet mind. i believe that… my interests play a role to who i am as a person. i admit that it isn’t the most original or shocking of answers, but it is an honest reflection of the type of person i perceive myself to be , which i believe counts as something in the whole grand scheme of things, right? at least, that’s what i think. my interests include the things in life that captivate my attention.. the things that i can talk about in my head all day and continuously poke at it from different angles, and never run out of material to view it from. there’s always some new aspect of my current object of adoration to explore, to investigate, and to understand. i think the way i display my interest in anything is through my curiosity-- my need to understand the thing that i love. when i feel passionate over a subject, it definitely shows. the inflection of my voice, the way my lips seem to move seamlessly like the words that flow out of my mouth and with only the occasional stutter or pause because my body cannot keep up with the thoughts that are coursing through my head as my excitement flutters into a frenzy that mimics infatuation, and i can feel my eyes widen ever so slightly as the world around me seems to brighten and my eyes WANt the light to enter because everything is so much more alive and real with the existence of this subject in question. i would have said, ‘everything becomes a lot more brighter’, but in truth, not everything that i love brings me joy and happiness, despite my occasional bursts of passion regarding the topic at hand. no, no, it stems from my excitement to understand the deeper meaning behind it all, and in a sense, it’s more of a win when i can use it as a source of my reflections. i hold a belief that everything in this world has the potential to teach or reveal an asset to ourselves that was previously kept hidden behind bushes. when confronted with this foreign object, an unpredictable trait from ourselves emerges. i think my excitement is most prevalent with things that i feel that i can connect with, just like everyone else. i seem to form easier connections with anything that strikes an emotional chord with me, and as a result i tend to get attached easily. despite retaining a possessive or clingy nature, i am also naturally distant. i find the contrast to be quite fitting. i;ve come to accept that most people that come into our lives, eventually would like to find the door to find their own way home. this is world, that i possess, is not their’s. but if the person’s visit is one that i found great joy in having, i create a statue of them in my bedroom and caress it with my fingertips, eyeing it with a great level of intensity. as someone, who experiences a lot of her days with, a numbed mind, as a result of not being able to truly find a level of consistency as a result of my undisciplined nature and my natural stupidity, to find something that makes my heart race and bring life into this cold robot brings me joy. people. give me joy. my interest, lies in people. or things, that remind me of people. yet, at the same time, i hate being drowned by the overwhelming sensation of too many people at once. i want to be able to experience them, taste them intimately, know them on a level that no one else can. i crave that kind of connection. honestly, i feel lonely. not because i can’t make friends, and if it was in my nature, i could easily form a social circle of group of my own and even maintain a certain degree of consistency. but, that’s not what i want. it doesn’t satisfy me. and i think, that’s a reason why i have an awkward nature, to purposefully, make it hard for me. to form an image that i am vulnerable by nature? what is awkwardness. i think, no, i’m just being honest. forming words is an act that is. infuriating to me by nature. oh my god. i went. so off topic.

[0009]

.
to dream is a universal concept devised by men that has remained constant throughout the ages. today, three of greek descent take a step forward as they mutter their stories of dreams they once held.

before me, a young boy with tattered wings.

"pride has swallowed me whole.
the sun, beneath its core lies a power that i crave dearly. my father, he watches me from a distance. i shall reveal that i am not weak— for who dares to claim cowardice to the boy who has defiled the gods and conquered the sun! perhaps then, father will smile. the feeling to surge forward engulfs me like a flame; without rhyme, reason, nor mercy— in its burning glory i stare, and even as my vision falters and my skin melts, i persist. i cannot cease; i spit on the face of failure. it devours me, but the sun's intoxication fuels me with a thrill beyond the heavens! i am above the gods.
ah, i am falling. the fire devours my wings— i plummet into the depths of the sea: flame extinguished. it is cold. my vision withers. my father, he weeps.
i am icarus. my dream was the sun."

next, a humble sculptor comes forward with a hammer in hand.

"my soul is unmoved by dull conversation.
it appears to me that in this flawed society i am in need to distort my body into painful contortions in a feeble attempt of connection— yet despite my foolish dance, others have flocked yet why do i feel alone? loneliness is a blunt blade that erodes my sense of self. i retreat into the dark. i yearn to scream, but no! acceptance of defeat is the life of a coward. in my clumsy impatience and frustration to find the one who would complete my convoluted puzzle pieces— perhaps if i cannot hunt, i will create. you are born from my own fingers, my love— let us continue to frolic freely for eternity.
i am pygmalion. i dreamt of love."

a large man comes forth. his eyes know pain, yet his smile remains pure.

"to succumb to despair is absolute sin.
i am the father of all men. do not bow before me, for your worth is far more than laying your head on the ground. rise, and stand, with pride, my children. wit and wisdom— ah, what beauty you harness! knowledge was cursed by the divines to be the forbidden fruit that must not be touched by the lips of men. undeterred, i spit on those who promote ignorance— it blinds one in understanding the depth of beauty and therefore robs one of purpose. i have shunned my flesh into eternal punishment but my body is yet to see the scars of regret. pluck my liver, tear my skin! i only laugh at those with continued scorn— for they do not know the profound power of belief in another. i have faith in little else.
i am Prometheus. i continue to dream of humanity."

the men retreat, and a silence fills the air. what are your dreams?


i wrote this piece for an elocution. needless to say, i didn't win because of my incompetence, but i'm happy that i participated. the experience was nice. i learnt that i do not like literal spotlights. they blind me and shield me from the audience. i want to see people. i want to feel the connection. i need to know that they're people. why am i here? i have school tomorrow. it's 1am. i should sleep. good night, whoever you are, reader. can i call you janiel? i like that name. i do not know why. i consider it a name that is unisex in nature. good night, or good morning, janiel. i hope you like my words. i hope i do not bore you with my ceaseless ramblings. i hope we can be friends for a long time. please don;t leave me.

[0009]

.

i can never really find; we haven't talked in a while
the right things things how's piano practice? how are you? is everything fine at home?
to to i don't really understand why i'm like this
say/ let's meet outside maybe?
to oh , you can't ? well okay
you? that's fine

why am i so obsessed with you
doe s this mean we can't talk anymore
t hsi is what i thinkabout at night and i know it's pathetic but god please i don't know how to stop feeling
iaelwys do this, don't worry, i won't bother you
i won't let that jappen again

wh y can ;t the
wor ds come out right
they made
s
ense in my he
ad

color=#0hn0]
[color=#BF8000[this never works8n][/color]



o
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y
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u
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e
h
e
r
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u
m
h
i
.
color
[scrambling to regain my composure i
peer into your eyes; ah-- my poor cells
scramble furiously through my vessels
like trembling fools][/b][/i]
abscond!

[/size]

god god god god i ruined it again didn't i
should i just try again next time? i hate myself

[0009]

.
There are few things in life that can compare to the joy of being able to contribute to one’s quality of life, however subtle it may be. The laws of causality and the perspective of stoicism holds a system that permeates my vision for an ideal social environment; the former creates the following message: we hold responsibility for our actions, and that includes our means of paving the road of success— we choose to build the path that we create for ourselves; we are the ones who choose to grow the aspects of ourselves that we feed, and we need to be attentive as when we mature through age the lines of morality begin to blur and we start to sway. The latter spreads the notion of acceptance: in situations where we are given a result that we view as negative despite our best attempts, note that you have fought to the best of your strength and move on to pursue greater heights— there are greater places for your power, and continued persistence and passion gifts all who choose to persist in its hard path. Failure is inevitable, but one must allow their suffering as a means of flight.

I hold a firm belief in the power of community, alongside the notion that it strengthens independent growth; as we choose to learn from our fellow man, new doors to our idea of self open and create new stepping stones for a new adventure of self discovery and personal development. Empathy is a courageous strength, and it must be promoted as an integral part of life, instead of being shunned as vulnerability. As the author of Moby Dick, Herman Melville, once said, ”We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men.”


an excerpt from my headstudent introduction thing.
could you believe i applied out of boredom, janiel?

[0009]

.

to say that it was spontaneous would be a lie, rather it would be more fitting and truthful to say that the epiphany arrive on the last monday of the final week. the day in which we became waitors and waitresses and the day of boredom and all that plague us everyday and where you talked about how everything and everyone is boring and then we talked in that classroom where it was the first time you touched me and i told you about being bored together and where you grabbed my neck while i talked about something that didn’t matter and we went home and the way we interacted that day made me remember our last argument in which

it waas on monday and it was on monday and it was on monday monday monday and there’s going to be no one there to see you cry anymore and you’ll be all alone in the dark somewhere just tying yourself to the same position and idolizing some other normal human being into the point where they reach the status of god in your eyes and the process is doomed to repeat as you refuse to accept your impudence and mature into an adult by being productive with your time. there’s going to be nothing left for you if you continue this path, there is nothing for you there. what exactly would be the purpose of clinging onto people who you reciprocate in not understanding each other? you push others into the sky in your mind while you sink deep beneath the ocean floor, with eyes glued to the surface, constantly thinking of the idea of swimming without moving your arms.

it’s the summer blues, i say-- but i beg to differ.

this is you facing yourself. all alone, thinking of outlandish fantasies as a means of avoiding who you really have to face. looking at yourself in the eye, and seeing who you actually are. no kind words are going to change the disgusting parts of you. i just want you to wake up: you are an albatross who chooses to swim instead of fly-- darling, you are too lost to know where you truly belong, what exactly is it that you need? what do you actually need for once. you always bring yourself down and then cling to other people as a pathetic resort to validate yourself. there’s nothing for you here. all you do is look for a new beginning or a new place or new people or new something because of your naive sense of thinking that in that sense you would be reborn again! that you can start anew and forget the loser you really are, when in all honesty it's not working. bring disappointment to everyone around you, even your new-fangled ‘gods’ that you look with such sickly adoration-- like a crippled foal looking at a herd of horses galloping into the sunset while it neighs weakly in excitement under the naive mindset that maybe one day you’ll join the herd, and enjoy the gift that the rest seem to have-- but instead of being physically crippled, it is the foal that has convinced itself that it is crippled when in reality it is not yet adept at movement. most foals would persist and push, but not this one, no, it is more comfortable in giving excuses than doing an action poorly as it looks at the others with disgusting envy.


i found this on an old google document and i think i was sad

[0009]

the moon looks nice today [b][col or=# BF800 0]
"how are you?"

i know you hate that question, yet the phrase gushes out of my mouth like a stream-- i look at you with a longing in my gaze, searching your face for an answer with authenticity. you pause, and stare at the floor, momentarily, before muttering the equally generic phrase:

"oh, i'm fine."

i clench my teeth but manage to return your tired smile. a series of mocking images pop into my mind as i attempt further communication that details similar events to a ridiculous degree; it's comical, really. the question, to me, is merely a desperate arrow that hopes to pierce through your icy, icy, exterior. your walls are far too thick, your movement far too swift for a turtle such as i. i cannot seem. to keep up with your chase. what am i searching for? is it a simple gimmick for prolonged conversation? a conversational reflex?

in all honesty, i miss you. don't know why. i think. i think i'm desperate. i was so happy. that. i found a companion. you. your uncomfortable silence. the way you speak. the way you behave. ah. i want it. my desires have placed me in the eyes of a predator with the body of one that is prey. incompetence is my coat and it is cold outside. oh, friend; what tired eyes you have. you smile, nowadays, which is pleasant to see-- but it falters. it's hard to believe that all of the progress of our connection has dissolved but, taking everything into consideration, it was only inevitable. everything is marked to be temporary. time erodes all.
still. my perverted sense of sentimentality repeats the ever-so-persistent phrase: why did it have to be like this

i adorn you with apologies for i have used your image in my mind for a person who doesn't exist: a vivid romantic entity, one that suits my desires of one who has achieved my idealized embodiment of perfection! yes, it is.. far too much to ask of a fellow flawed human being now, isn’t it? feelings of petty infatuation, being masqueraded as a grandeur love-- hah, no. my pursuit.. i.. i’m scared and i don’t know how to say why. i don't know what to think; but i’m grateful you've given me a floor and i can stand upon it without fearing a formation of cracks suddenly appearing underneath. a bitter taste of resentment boils resides deep within me. the petty child within me screams, 'i did not wish for a floor, i wanted to drown, why must you hit me with the hard concrete of reality, i did not want this, i wanted to be whisked away.'
the flowers of time are plucked relentlessly as i fumble foolishly for flowers of infatuation. all in vain.

i think, i miss everyone. feelings of disconnect is ever persistently present, and when our lines intersect, we seem fated to meet at one fixed point before traversing our own path. why do i continue to seek company when it's apparent that it is not the remedy that i seek?

i think,
i think i;m just running away from myself.


! ! !



from now on janiel, i will now refer to this person a sickle, but this may be subject to change as this little mess of mine continues on. time erodes all. my thoughts are all broken into little fragments and they were always this way and i am sad and i remember this person that i adored quite dearly and in a sense that turned into an interest that to me seems like infatuation, it is one that seems to drain me, but i think the root cause of this infatuation would be a metaphorical internal wound that i need to reflect upon, i do not know what i am running from. and i would believe that my perceived attraction is due to a few similarities that i share with the thought process of the person in question. others have observed that i seem to have wished if this attraction was never formed in the first place, and i rightfully agree. it hurts. why. i had hoped my feelings would not have gone to this path, but i suppose i am weak. i do not believe that i will be weak for long. i still believe in change. i still believe i have control. i will fight, but i will also use these moments of weakness as a tool to explore the true depth of my fragility, and use it as a base to propel myself forward with a stubborn sense of relentless conviction. i love myself.
[b ]

[0009]

the moon looks nice today


i feel so
tired. should i sleep?
should i study? should i sleep?
why is it so hard to focus
what is bothering me
even when i do go to bed
i can't sleep it's just
the night and her lover,
silence
watching over my
body
open the book
words words words
slip slip slip
hey just
look
i know it seems hard to focus
and the words seem like they
blur out of your mind
and nothing really seems to
catch your attention except
the fleeting distractions that
surround you but you have
to remember not to make
the same mistake again and
again
but
you have to persist
you have to do something
but i think you do not know
self control
too fast or far too slow
control yourself
you need to stay functional
you need to

[0009]

the moon looks nice today
the moon looks nice today
the moon looks nice today
the moon looks nice today
the moon looks nice today
the moon looks nice today
the seat may be empty, but your warmth remains.

[0009]

the moon looks nice todaysome days, you require nurturing.

it's a quiet day. your eyes drift upwards towards the sky and you see the clouds glide over us like the sea— in the place where i live, it's rare to see the boring blue sky ever being blessed with the presence of the cotton like creatures that are clouds. whenever i used to see one, my heart would be seduced almost instantly by its numerous forms and shapes that lull my eyes into the bliss of a dream, holding my hand with sweet lies and false promises of another reality. there have been many clouds in my life, but i wonder if someone has seen a cloud inside me. chasing clouds— what a truly fruitless endeavor. an attempt to capture such formless being would only be the work of a madman, for they will only dissolve into the nothingness they once were.they are paint on the canvas that is the the world and they are a muse to my mind. colors cotton candy, tangerine, and indigo royalty with its endless textures of feathery fruition in and endless sea of asymmetry alongside the presence of the pink half moon and the red sun— it proves to me a competent form of escape as it is all too easy to get lost in the incomprehensible beauty of the celestial bodies. i would like to apologize to the heavens, for the aforementioned boring blue sky is an ocean, and it drowns me in its overwhelming sense of vastness and mystery— but admittedly, i find more solace in the clouds that dance with the bright desert sun. in the few moments that we share, they prove to be indescribably captivating in a way that my words fail to even begin to describe in which the spell that they have enchanted upon me, but it is the acknowledgement that they too will soon drift away is one that i find simultaneously saddening and comforting— for it is the nature of their temporary state that provides their presence with such value, for the fickle nature of my sky almost guarantees that such a sight will not be seen the following day. the cloud that you've grown fond of is doomed to leave, but if one such object can leave while making an impact upon yourself, then so can all of the terrible things that life can thrust upon your chest. breathe well, child. suffering only lasts for so long; repeating such phrases provides me subtle caresses of comfort during such times of distress— is statement that i would wish were true, but in all honesty almost nothing can soothe the restlessness beneath my muscles and through the trillions of cells trapped within me, they are nothing more than wasted life. your warmth remains in my heart, but it is getting cold and your scent is a stain inside my brain but it has grown ever so faint— when will you return, great prince of the crows? were my services not enough? you were my cloud, and you have left behind rain. i am drowning yet again. the red sun marks its yearly thanks for allowing it to take you away from me, as i am too weak of a combatant to fight against your fate, but then, you wouldn’t have wanted me to stop you, would you? unfortunately, it appears that i am merely an empty cage. i wish to possess you, my prince. does that scare you? it scares me. why? why do we feel such things… it only permeates and dissolves into nothing, over time. in my journey of traversing through the perils of limbo, i find myself being faced with the ugly face that is immortality in this wretched world there is color now but it is all grey without you. i miss you so much. will you return to me, my prince? i, as a self proclaimed painter of the clouds and the sky and of all the birds that seem to haunt me as the red sun shines above: all the canvases, all the clouds, all the colors— they simply cannot compare to you. where are you? where are you? where are you? clouds remind me of living beings with their constant unwarranted departure, and as i type that sentence i wonder how many clouds i have left behind myself without a conscious thought in my previous and current life? do these insects that inhabit the world around me, possibly see me as one that should be cherished and loved or has some kind of inherit value? in other words, was i loved? am i loved? do these animals love me? have i left them? such thoughts prove to be a stain to living. have i caused such pain to another in this form? have i left someone behind? or have i had a life before i had met you? am i mortal? will i die one day? i fear too greatly that i will not be able to see you again to find that out for myself if that is the truth. still, i believe that my pondering over such trivial subjects in excruciating subjects of the mind is irrefutable proof that i am simply running away from confronting my own reflection and the obsessions that i choose to escape from are nothing more than hiding places from facing reality as it truly was. were you even real, prince of crows—? or was i simply worshiping a creation of cloud born from a bored and irresponsible mind? were you nothing more than a false god? perhaps i deserve this pain for questioning you, or perhaps it is deserved of this undisciplined irrationality that i have enabled myself to fall into for too long— i do not need to eat to live in this world, but i am starting to believe that you were my sustenance that i needed to devour. i am once again succumbing to madness. madness. madness. i feel too sad to write, now. i shall continue to use the radio that i have found washed up on the beach. it works. i like the songs that they play. i saw paintings too. ever since the sun had returned, buildings continue to sprout and they are full of objects but there is not a soul in sight that i can speak to, but at least there is now life beyond you. crows fly across the sky. i am jealous of their gifts. i will now dance to the radio of shores, until then beloved prince, please return soon.