Dragon Writings
It's the first new one in a long, long time.
I don’t know why everything is changing again. I used to find my discontent so stable, and now it fluctuates so often I often can’t tell what I feel. I’ve lost my sense of self, I guess, because now I don’t really know anything about myself like I used to. I know some of my emotions, that’s easy and obvious to everyone who knows well enough to look for it, but the rest of it is so much fog in my head and heart...
...And things are changing. What am I becoming? Why am I losing this false sense of self-control? What have I done to myself? What worries me even more is the chance that I may have done things to other people, changed them as well, taken their balanced if not dysfunctional lives and changed them into terrors they never thought they‘d see, but they do because they‘re living those terrors and now that they are reality, they are not so terrible as that made by our minds. I may have taken these minds and lives and moved them into castles upon the sand.
And the trouble! I mean, it used to be easy to stay out, and I know that time heals wounds and passes things on and such, but time moves so slowly for me. I guess that is something of a constant, time never speeds up here: it is always in its state of slow moving fury, methodologically taking the things I have and warping them, coloring them, tainting them, turning them and myself until all that is left in its wake is a twisted and jumbled mass of useless meaning. What’s worse and much more horrifying than the trail it leaves behind are the things that it carries with it as it travels on to do more damage. The things that remain in closest memory and are ready to be called forth when the mind finds itself under a new attack. When things are being torn apart by the tornado of time, it can see remnants, close and steady friends, of itself lost amid the whirling ebbs of movement, and it fears for its very soul, and then the whirlwind passes on, and leaves that past form of mind right where it is, in the past, in the path, and there it remains to be glad that nothing is gone. Only changed. The present state of mind is not so lucky, for it is the present that is suffering under the ruthless torrent.
I’m slipping deeper into it, too. Nothing could compare with yesterday, not really. I should be ecstatic. And then again, I know that I shouldn’t. I don’t know why I wrote that. Ecstatic? Never. Not for something like this. Is it that I see the kind of things people might want to read and put them here? Have I become but a puppet of others, and neither of us, the puppet nor the master, realize it? Are the people I write “to”/“for” influencing what I write more than just giving me subject and substance?
I digress.
I don’t just think I’m going deeper into the same hole as all along. I think that, in my times of greatness, I would leave that hole, and stand above it, looking to the sky and the world I had come to join, and feel a victory over its steeply slanting walls. I would not look back at my prison, my tormentor, my closest and dearest friend, and so I would not realize that the ground was slowly sinking, and every time I jumped back into my hole to guard myself, or every time I fell back in, or every time I was pushed, I packed the dirt more solid, so that instead of slowly dropping, when I stood from the hard packed soil beneath me, the pressure would be lifted, and it would rise, seemingly bubble and boil, then settle down again denser than before. It is in this fashion I dug my hole deeper, never seeming to notice that the sunlight I could sometimes find streaming onto my face now seemed more stale, or that the air I would get near the bottom was that much more dank.
Well, since I have added my over-sized subprofile, and had about 5 people tops read it, I have been addressed with a few questions (can anyone tell I'm in better spirits right now then with most of the other stuff I've written? Might be a good ride). A few have been rather generic, pertaining to why I feel the way I do. It's kind of a personal thing, really, and I make a challenge just as I write. Winner gets $20
I DARE ANYONE TO FIND ANOTHER PERSON EXACTLY LIKE ME, SHARING MY OUTLOOK ON LIFE, MY SENSE OF HUMOR, AND TASTE.
So, I suppose, they don't have to be EXACTLY like me, but a close proximity thereof, but I digress. Back to questions. Others have been not so much as to why, but what. What makes me happy, what do I enjoy, and so on. Well, I enjoy peace. A contradiction to my previous writings, I suppose, but I do enjoy a time when the vicious minions of my emotions do not pursue me. I like symmetry, as I suppose that is the more practical side of me. On other occasions, I prefer to have something pleasantly surprising (but I hate being startled). Slightly more on myself, I was born into a family with hardly any money, and I have a firm understanding of frugality. Not to say we're poor, but we ain't rich either. I have a rather unique taste in things, but I like ancient Asian art, and greatly enjoy Origami (one interesting point of this is that, though I can fold many models, I am yet to understand the mathematical equations and patterns that go into them. Not saying little of me, as they were described by a math major). I am yet to find myself happy with a girlfriend, but this is mostly to the fact that I am yet to have a chance. I actually have, or so I've been told, some rather romantic ideas, but as I have said, no chance to carry them out. Oh well, it's not as if I'd be able to carry them out successfully (It's just my luck, as it is everyone elses, I suppose). This is a part of my Chinese zodiac, and I think to some extent, it describes me.
EARTH DRAGON(1988): The Earth Dragon is a quieter, more reflective Dragon. He will be appreciative of other's opinions even if he fails to agree with them. He is reasonable in his approach to problems and his leadership is less dictatorial. He is not given to outbursts of temper, but at the same time demands respect. He knows the value of cooperation and is more diplomatic than the other Dragons. He is ambitious, but his initiatives are less hurried and more carefully thought out.
I am also The Flint in the Aztec zodiac (says I'm hard, steely, and do not tolerate lying or deceit. Yep), and I am Isis in the Egyptian zodiac (says I'm a nurturer, and I like to help and heal those deserving. Again, I do not tolerate deceit). I act the way I do in school, like a moron to clarify, because I feel that some people would not notice me if I did not make them. I'm also kind of born for the stage, so I act constantly. :)
I KID MYSELF MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE I KNOW
Why do I continue to hold out on the subject of companionship? I have a few friends. A few great friends. Can count 'em all on one hand. Then there are a few people I know. Good people. Wouldn't want to spend all day with them, but good people. Then I have a few acquaintances with people I would rather see only a few times a week, and further on I would rather not see them in prison, because prison is depressing but I know they'll be there anyway. The question I have to ask myself is why I try to pursue people, if only for their companionship? I don't have any problem with some (some of those "On One Hand" people), but they obviously have a problem with me. And I have to say it, no matter how embarrassing it is, AND BY GUM IT IS!!!!, but I want female companionship, too. I want an object of affection (Not to portray I see them as objects, but it's a figure of speech that pertains to the situation), because, frankly, part of it is for the gratification, of knowing someone cares like that, and if I had the choice, it would also be for the companionship, personality, sense of humor, etc. Alas, my pit-bull face and overbearing, loud, annoying personality holds me from happiness. Oh well. I have friends, some are flesh and blood, others are paper and words, mere illusions only fit for the truly imaginative, to live in such a world for so long......
IN MY OWN WORDS
I decided, after reading a few stories, and in some peoples opinions, way too many quotes, that I should stop using other peoples words and use some of my own. I feel as if the very life I have stopped living(or so I hope I have, at least for the moment) is changing, as I suppose it is. But why does it seem to change all of the things we want to remain the same? I have been happy in school before. I had people I knew, and I considered my friends, but as time went on, those people all seemed to have better uses of their time than to waste it on me. I play around with people about that, like Hilda and Gill, but the truth is, sometimes I mean it. I really do want the gratification, and I am really hoping that after this is written and read by more than one person, that there is not a never-ending stream of un-needed, false sympathy. Actually, in retrospect, I think that people will think that’s what I’m after, and then wonder why I have the audacity to go hunting for it. Those people don’t know me very well. In fact, I think that there are a rare few who know me as I like to think I do. That I have never really been good at being the odd one out. I don’t like speaking in front of people, I would rather have just a few good friends, ones that are like a different or better part of yourself, than all the acquaintances in the world. I want someone who can understand my grief, or loneliness, or why I just want to give up. And the truth is, it seems so much easier. To stop, and drift. To float away on a current, and just watch as others around you feign caring. Of course, there I could be wrong. It could be sincere. But I’m not often wrong. Although it is more often than most people think. I am yet to find out why it is people find it so amusing to laugh at me when I am wrong. Is it really that funny, to see me a fool? Is that what everyone wants, is a fool for which to laugh and be glad that they do not have his problems? Perhaps that is why I am the fool, I play the wierd-o, the geek, the dork, and all of my other names. And, I caution myself even as I write to avoid misjudgement, does anyone notice how, when I play these roles, that I hardly seem to falter? I play the roles as a great actor would, with the motions and the timing and the look in the eyes. And then I can come home, and for the first time, remove my mask and costume, and become all that I have grown to dislike. I would say myself, but then again, as I have been the actor, the fool, for so long, I could very well be playing myself. Or it could be me without my costume and dialogue, But I’m not sure.
I have a question for all of you, the select few, who have cared enough to read all of this amazingly long, boring “Emotions of the Away”, why is it that laughter, to me, sounds only of the infinite resonance of the emptiness in ones soul? I have heard laughter many, many times, both aimed for and given to me, and I have the heard the echoes, but they have had no meaning until now. Perhaps in a moment of sorrow, one can see their true self and the others they know as glowing items in the dark. Thus ends my monologue, and I hope that someone actually reads my words here, at the bottom, so that what I think will be an outpouring of my soul to the people I know won’t turn out to an outpouring of my soul to absolutely nothing but empty cyberspace. Alas, we can do nothing to know. Oh, wait, you can. Sign the guest book and let me know. You don’t have to give a feedback, as you probably don’t want to, but a simple “I read it” will do. And if there is someone out there who has read this, and wanted to find out about me, (I feel like a brochure for something)then ask for my number, after all, I have only told the people I talk to anyway at school about my profile.
IN RESPONSE TO MY OWN WORDS
After a rather short conversation with a friend of mine, I decided to come back and read my "In My Own Words" section. I saw a few things I still agree with, and I saw a few that don't, as I suppose would happen to anyone. I still think I play my "characters" rather well, but now that I look back at when I wrote it(it was less than a month!), I see some of the errors of my words. I find myself unable to identify the person I become at home, because it is often so different from any other. No two people are ever the same, I suppose. But it's not me without my mask and costume, for me without a mask is still me. I have found that every person I play is still a "remnant" of who I have been before. I was, believe it or not, totally whole at one point. I was happy, and was at peace with myself. Probably because I never truly saw myself as myself(it made sense in my head). But with every attitude I have, every emotion, it is still a part of the puzzle, as small and even insignificant as it can be.
THROUGH THE SHATTERED LOOKING GLASS
I’ve been talked at today. And it’s not so hard to listen when the people who are talking are saying something, but when it is just mindless, idle, pity-chatter, it is useless and hurtful to me. I hate it. It wastes time, feigns interest. It’s like a dream. It takes all your time, all your life, and IF you achieve it, then it’s sometimes not much of a dream. But more than just idle speaking, which I face every day at school and at home from the people who want everything in their lives to be ok, the loneliness of my existence bit even harder. I spend all of my time, or that is the time that is not pre-occupied with school and acting for others peace of mind, is put into a space where the words I say are absorbed by silence, like shadow in a flame. They get written, and then ignored. So I suppose I can say just about anything here that I want to, because it’s not as if it makes much of a difference. But, then again, if ones thoughts are ignored, and disregarded, even by ones self, then for what reason do they exist? It is surely not for amusement, for the only ones who are amused, as I’ve found out, are a few who don’t care and laugh, even less who do care and yet do almost nothing, and one english teacher. No offense to anyone, but is this how my life is going to be? Spending endless nights sitting in front a screen and waiting for someone to care? For truly, we cannot force another to care. They have to come to this realization themselves, that it is better to care and feel for one’s own than to use them, laugh at them, let them destroy themselves. Am I going to live my life alone, like an old man for all of my years? Already the only company I have is over a phone line, a connection, if the only one I have to the outside world I so long to be a part of. But, as the song goes, is that all there is? For the love of God, don’t let it be so...
YET ANOTHER PAGE OF RAMBLINGS
I've had an interesting mix of emotions today. I'm at peace, but as always there is the underlying feeling of something left undone, or wrong(This sort of fills in with the set of depression and wonderment at the worlds cruelty, but let's be in good spirits today, shall we?). As I said, it's always there, but still after many years I am yet to find out, or maybe even so far as to decide what it is that is so unfulfilled within myself. It could possibly be a left-over from keeping to myself, as far as personal thoughts on people(I usually do no speak of this, to prevent hurt feelings), but I'm not sure. I imagine this is something similar to the way the stereotypical, movie made starlet who finds no fulfillment in material possessions feels. It's hard to tell, especially in ones self. I think that it's easier to distinguish what is wrong in someone else, especially if you know them, because then it's sort of like reading a book. In yourself, however, there is so much more in the way. Other emotions, the way you wish you felt, if you really want to admit to yourself that this is really what you think or feel. It's like a Rubiks Cube. You want to know the solution, but there are so many possibilities, that the correct path is hard to find. Maybe I need a map.......
Today has probably been one of the loneliest. After I was home this evening, I walked to my room, slowly, savoring everything in my home, as if I looking upon it all for the last time. I finally made it to my fortress of solitude, and just stood, in the center, and just wanted to collapse, and sit in the floor, without any reason or previous thought. Perhaps what stopped me is the brace, which keeps me from bending my leg and sitting on the floor. I'm sure that if I had just fallen over, it wouldn't have mattered much. I just am so lonely. I want the people I know, and trust, and love to stay with me, to help me. But, then again, I tell myself that I don't always need company, I can't demand ALL of these peoples time, I SHOULD BE STRONGER THAN THIS!! And yet, I am not. I want, more than anything else, a best friend. I want someone I trust so much, that I can REALLY talk to them. Sadly to say, the things I want in said person are totally out of reach. This type of person does not exist. Not with what I want. And this is not to say that the people I consider my extended family, i.e, probably the only people reading this, are nothing to me. I'm just saying that....well, I'm not sure anymore. I know what I want, and I know what I have. It's hard to word things right for me. I have to spend so long on just one thought, it's terrible. I end up losing all I have backed up in my mind, and then it's gone forever. But, as to what I was saying, I want the perfect person, best friend, and they don't exist. So I am left with the INCREDIBLE people I talk to. And this isn't left with a little, I'll tell ya that. These, here and now, are the best people I have known. Period. So, maybe my message this whole time is not that I want company, but that I thank my lucky stars for the company I do have. Thank you. Everyone.
I have been left to my own devices for much too long, and once again I take the artificial pen to the artificial paper. It’s an odd feeling, being artificial. I know I am though, if I were actually real then there wouldn’t be so much of me left to be desired within myself. I wouldn’t hate myself so for being inappreciative of what I have. There’d be more emotion to reveal to people (course that which I reveal is small enough anyway). Now I digress because I have exhausted that topic.
There’s a certain amount of confusion to existing when you don’t want to. Knowing that whatever choices you make don’t matter in the end, and then again knowing that the immediate consequences for the bad choices I inevitably make will cause even more suffering in the long run. Is it worth it to wake up in the morning and have my uselessness reassured, even furthered, in my mind? Is it worth it to fall asleep at night with nothing but my own horrifying lies in my head, knowing all too well it is the one thing that keeps me alive? Lying to myself about whom I can trust, or whom I do trust. About how I’m afraid to bite the bullet. It’s a lie to myself. Course, if I tell myself I am afraid (to keep me from doing it), could it be possible that I really am afraid, and only think I am lying to myself so that I may make it seem like I am even more useless and idiotic than I already know I am? Then to what end is my subconscious mind driving me? Oblivion, it would seem, for there is the only place that I may find the security and warmth of knowing that I have failed as a human and have been duly punished for it. I do apologize, to those who do not agree with my, shall we say, self-apocalyptic views. But I do understand those that greet my words with anger. My theories of my own existence can be, at times, hard to swallow, or even comprehend, but know for certain that they are my own truths. The truths which exist in the persons mind and are nothing but the soft and insubstantial examples of the world around them. The cruelty of the world. The harshness and the cold of everything that exists. Of course that it is not all there is, there is occasionally in the view of the pessimist the things that make life worthwhile. Wait, things that make life worthwhile don’t exist. Hmmm. How to say that. There are things that make living more tolerable until the day in which we can finally lose the game we’ve been playing since birth. There are those that try to change this view of mine, and it’s not to say that their efforts are not admirable or noble, because I believe that they are the utmost good, at least good that humans are capable of. As I was saying, they are incredibly appreciated, for sometimes within these words of hope and oftentimes unseen wisdom, I find the reason to reveal myself, to quit hiding from the people who forced me into the shelter of my overgrown psyche. It does to a certain extent show me that on occasion someone will wander into me and think they can help me. I’m sorry, but I doubt that. I do not wish to come across as calloused, or cruel, or unappreciative, please believe me when I say that I love you all for your efforts, but I am too far gone. But please don’t stop trying, sometimes within my darkness you are the only lights with which I can see my ugliness, and sometimes it makes me want to change that which cannot be changed, sometimes it makes me want to accept the hideousness of myself, and sometimes it makes me want to die. Course, the latter is always true. But the first reason is why I need you, and if you were to leave me I doubt very seriously I could survive alone. Even as I die, over and over within myself, I cling to people to keep me from going insane, as I know I would. Even as I read that which I wrote earlier on in this monologue, this rambling, I know I would. It kind of scares me about that which I wrote, at least what I can see at the top of the page. Man this is long. And stupid in places. Oh well. I always am.
Email: riddlemage07@hotmail.com
