Entity

It's 5:35am. I am drunk, and I am listening to Korean ballads. It got me thinking, why I do things, and why I am like how I am. It is purely me. I am being the real me, when I write it is as if I am finally saying the things in my brain that I want to say. Every single word purely handcrafted from my brain, from the entity inside my head. You know the one, that whispers everyday about something new, something evil. The whispers that linger on every minute of every second of everyday. I think that this entity, is the real me, the one who hopes, and dreams the one who harbors such feelings and emotions. I think I am the shell, that it hides behind, the shell that one day will break, and maybe as the shell I will finally be free of the incessant screaming of the entity that I hold back. I one day will break, and when I do the entity will finally express himself, for who he really is. A thing who cares not for others, who is selfish in his endeavors, and cold distance will envelop his entire being. It's not something that others will like, and I am afraid of him. I fear who he will become and I fear that once I am gone I will never be able to stop him. Sleep well entity, and wake nevermore.

Maybe

It's 4:48am. Maybe. Maybe, for the time being, I am one thing. Maybe tomorrow I will emerge a new person, who can create who can dream. Maybe tomorrow I will have the courage, the courage, to feel. Maybe tomorrow I will finally sense the taste of sweetness. Maybe tomorrow I will break through the flesh and bone of my being and emerge a titan among humans. Maybe on a single day I will shed myself from the mound of flesh and become divine. Maybe I will yell from the rooftops that I am and I be. Maybe just maybe one day I will see into the eyes of another person and I will feel a connection. Maybe just maybe I will finally feel things as others do. Maybe just maybe.

Soul

It's 4:28am. There's a disconnect. Let me rephrase. I am disconnected from others. This misinterpretation seems to permeate throughout my entire life. Existence is difficult, the misinterpretation is strange, because it makes me not feel human. It's as if my human side is dying, or maybe I'm coming to the realization that it never even existed. Each day, I see these mounds of flesh communicate, and they feel joy with others. It's as if I am watching through a window, to the outside world. Culture, the ideal home, the togetherness. I am immune. I am immune to the disease of love, and intimacy. It is disheartening to feel the weight be lifted from my soul. The limitless experience of elation that one feels when then are in love, to me is very limiting. So, the horde will say "you will find that special someone some day, and you will feel amazing." I reject such a notion that one should limit themselves with love. Love will fade, and discomfort will set in, I need something else, something more than a simple emotion can give. It's as if I am not complete without this other thing, not love, not the emotions, but something that I cannot describe, something so infinite that our bones will hollow and shiver from the sheer mention. That our veins begin to feel cold with our blood. That our minds almost break from the realization of the completeness. Spirituality? Nay, something bound by logic is not infinite, but something that we humans cannot fathom, like looking at the spectrum of color, the grey that we cannot see. It is the grey that I seek, the unknown the light of such unimaginable power. Love is but a simplistic emotion, compared to the grey's infinite power. The grey, it's what should power my life, so why should I cling to battered torn emotions? I am conflicted.

Stage

It's 5:25am. I like to listen to conversations with people, eavesdrop on what they say. A lot of the time they things that show their mask, that they've so carefully carved. Sometimes though, when the mask begins to crack, and the finely tuned paint begins to wear off, I can see them for who they are. Feeble, and fragile, as if made of glass. I constantly search for these things, but  at the same time when I see them they are like turtles, constantly going back to the mask. It's strange, because for me I like to use the mask fully, only at times when I find convenient I show who I am. I fear that if I show the real me, they will not like it. It is not an issue of likableness, but an issue of the fear that I will have towards these mounds of flesh. Like I cannot actually root myself in the forest of trees. I am but a robot in a world of bark. A truly steam made machine, imbued with oil and the hand of man, in a world of green vibrancy, that froths at the mouth with moss and ticks. Kicking around the battered horse, I know I am different, but not in a way that is acceptable, like the serial killer or the rapist. It is quite discomforting, but I must adjust, for one does not fight the genetics in our blood. I have been trying to see the world from a glass window, but it is crooked. A pane that is colored in ruby red, while I take a look around and see others looking at it from a shade of ocean blue. If I do not see what they do, do the things that I see truly matter? Are the things in my brain, the things in my hands, really there? If they are not, then they do not matter, and the reality of realness is under another sheet of glass. True, should I look for this pane, steal it from a person next to me, or accept my own pane? A pane that I have looked through for years, and that has gotten more deformed and complex throughout the years? I do not know, and feel as if I will never know. The knowledge though, is what is more important, because I get to know about the other glass windows, instead of simply seeing it through mine. Seeking, curiosity the fear, the life. It is what we must always acknowledge, and I am thankful for that. Until we meet again, in the next window...

Raw

It's 5:05am. My fingers feel stiff, and hurt. I have been thinking about words, carnal and cannibal. Those two words speak to me, in a way that no other words do. They are words that hold more emotion, more feeling than any other word I have seen. It's raw, it's emotionally big, and almost too much to stomach. Maybe, one day, I will be normal. I keep having thoughts run through my mind, and the voice is just so loud, it's hard to listen to other people. It's like a booming stereo in my head that does not stop. What I would give to suppress the unceasing torment. I like to think that's how everyone feels, as if their minds cannot hold in this voice, so they use other people's ears, as objects to feed. Every idea, every mutter, every belief. In a way, we are all mad, in a way those things we hold in our heads, every traumatic moment that we try and hold in, comes out. It's bloody and violent echo always shattering through our thin glass. The glass that we hold up to our society, as a frame that they can see us through. So that their eyes may glance upon a person that is appropriate, unaware that the glass is frail, and could break with a slight breeze. And as the glass would shatter, the pieces would fall onto the ground, and pouring out would be the ooze of our true selves, our demons, our flesh. Today, I really saw the horde, the people. They would laugh and look at each other with such love, and joy. As I turned around, I saw the emptiness of reality, the void if you will of nothingness, and I felt comfort. Comfort not in the people around me, not in the horde, but in full enthrallment of the emptiness that encompassed my life. Every moment that I had all to myself, it was as if I had seen beauty for the very first time, and in seeing so I find purpose.