Breathe.

I wish my breathing wasn't so restricting. I wish I could be somebody else. People are always looking for greener grass on the other side, always looking for something "more."

I remember when I was "happy," when I went out to clubs every other weekend, when I didn't prohibit myself from the excesses of myself. Drunk and "happy." I don't have the strength for that anymore. I don't have strength for anything anymore.

I'm trying to figure out who I am: I don't know anymore. I used to be somebody else.

I used to be a fun loving, free, jolly, and adorable...

Now, I'm a monster: Insecure, irrational, preoccupied with bullshit, judgmental...

I disgust myself. I hate myself. I hate what I've done. I hate what I've been. I hate where I think I'm going. I hate. I hate hate.

Nothing matters. I don't matter. My opinions of myself don't matter. Others' opinions of me don't matter. Life goes on.

The only important question right now is: what do I do about this? How do I go about loving myself again? How do I change?

Well what was different? Why was I happy before? I was carefree, worry free... I was free, in the truest sense. Now, the tides have waned, the tables have turned. What the hell do I do? In the back of my mind the solution is elucidated: change your perspective. Just "think" differently, and it will all be different. I don't know why that doesn't seem to work. I think I'm expecting something else, something like God to come out of his imaginary home in my cerebral cortex and free me. I don't know why, I have this feeling it should be done for me, that I shouldn't have to work for it. Why the hell not?

I think... I've grown too dependent. Instead of thinking and following through with my thoughts or explanations of things, I'm expecting somebody else to free me because I place them higher on the superiority ladder than myself. I've always thought my opinions are stupid, so I go with the flow, I just play along in my stupidity... I say stupid things a lot more often than I used to. In a sense, I've come to expect somebody to correct me, I've convinced myself, "I'm always wrong." Often, I am wrong, however, there's this aura I feel... an insecurity in my self. Why bother making opinions? I could have somebody better tell me what to do.

I'm in love... and it's been knocking me sideways. I've changed, and I don't know why or how -- I just have. It's changed me from a freedom loving and jolly person to one that's possessive and judgmental -- something I'm not accustomed to, but I've been growing into. I've been getting ahead of myself. I've come to believe that I deserve nothing less than the best. I don't deserve shit, however, that attitude, I think, has been integral in that change. That selfishness has been molding my opinions, and shaping my personality for a while now.

I've been so "happy," although I haven't been looking at the "big picture." I've turned mistakes into conflicts. I've blown events out of proportion, all in order to soothe my greedy, selfish, desires. I wanted revenge, I wanted people to feel the "burn." The better part of me, for whatever reason, never stood up to deny these thoughts from being realized, from being acted upon. The better part of me has been in hiding, it's been beaten up and told to sit down. These feelings, they get the best of people... people as seemingly invulnerable as Harvey Dent. Hate and revenge are such natural feelings, they bottle themselves up and poison idle minds... they poison curious, racing, insecure, minds...

What do I do? The best thing to do, I suppose, is to acknowledge the fact that I've been bested, that although I've been so positive for so long, I've fallen. Acknowledgment is the first step, similar to the four steps of mourning. I've fallen. I'm only human. The only option I see now is to pick myself up and change. It's beneficial to change course, to change directions, when you're driving the wrong way. This is where I'm at now. I'm taking a U-turn, and coming back, to follow the right road, the correct path, to go where I want to go. I know where I am, and where I'm going. So, go.

In between.

Love isn't for me, you see. 

The birds, fly free; 

The deer, roam free; 

Human adults, are free; 

But, see, love isn't for me.

Is this because of me? 

What did I do wrong? You never make any sense!

Sometimes "sense" needs to be felt to be understood.

Falsehoods are justified by a self-appointed priesthood.

Alcohol and leather cooperate better than words would. 

My love is reclusive, imprisoned, unfree,

My feelings are pensive, yet spread like the breadth of a tree.

Love isn't for me, don't you see?

One hundred fifty.

My 150th post. yey!

I'll start with love yet again, although the premise of this thought has interesting implications. I've been thinking about the mechanics of relationships and the interesting properties humans seem to attribute with them. This idea that came to me might be able to explain problems associated with relationships however, "self-actualized" people would probably benefit the most from the insights.

"Love" between two people, assuming it's "real" and not developed through any hostile or cruel intentions, is an experience of wondrous proportions. The feeling of highs and lows associated with life are much more sensitive and are sources of great joy or sorrow. What is it about love that may change one's sensitivity to such things? My idea, my answer, is that it might have to do with the connection between two people. It might have an explanation in the idea of possession, to be specific. 

Walking through convenience stores you'll probably come across the gift card section filled with cute looking images, vibrant colors, and witty sayings. "You're mine." is a perfect example, or even the counter, "I'm yours." They express a deep attachment, a mutual understanding; it's as if they're agreeing, "I'm your property and you're mine." Well, what significance does this have? 

Property is an abstract idea. It's the foundation of Western philosophy and law. When applied to love, as it does in life with tangible things, problems arise when "love" isn't mutually agreed upon by all parties including third parties. When "claims of ownership" are challenged conflicts arise. In these cases feelings of sorrow are common, and painful. Who's going to solve the problem? 

In my case my possessiveness kept me from thinking positively. Although I understood there was a mutual agreement, I couldn't accept it out of selfishness. Instead of giving praise I gave mean looks. Back then I felt like it was an insult, a conspiracy or a game, to "mess around with my love." Looking back I see it had nothing to do with me, it was a natural expression of love, and I should have been more understanding. I learned a lot. I had put a value on sex, as some sort of transcendent, holy, thing, as opposed to what it really is. That was my biggest mistake, and I can only blame my virginity and wasted youth on that. 

I don't know how I should value virginity, to some it's a curse and to others it's a blessing. I guess it all comes down to what you believe metaphysically. The way I see the world now, I wish it wasn't so hard. The idea of saving yourself for someone you love is cute, but many people don't care for that. Who's right? I guess they're just preferences. 

Free love is something I've gained a lot of respect for because of that, it only makes sense especially under the anarchic principles I subscribe to. Love is something that should reign as freely and fully as it wants to. After all, there are more than six billion people on earth; the idea of "the one" is silly. If your soulmate happened to live in the most remote part of the planet and you don't find him/her, have you failed as a human being? No. There is no  predetermined "one," there are only people. Some people you may like more than others because of their personality or whatever else. If there's something that might be similar to the "one," that I think is actually better, it would be the person you're most comfortable with.

The peak experience of rock bottom.

Sometimes I wonder about things, a lot of things. I still struggle with my appearance, my somewhat reticent personality. Sometimes I wish I could be different, that I didn't look this way, that perhaps I could be normal; and not an eccentric.

Some people say being normal is bland, I'd agree, I suppose. I love what I am inside, but to most people that's of little significance. All that matters are the "did u meet n e cute boyz?" or the adage, "yo pussy is pussy man." I guess that's all that really does matter, in the context of... the universe. Really. Why should I hold back, why should I be reticent, why should I be me? We're all going to die, and not only that, our kids are all going to die too, and furthermore, our species will likely be added to the ever growing list of the extinct. Even if we do venture into space, how far can we get? What does it matter to me? Shouldn't I be concerned with the well being of future generations? It sounds nice, but does it really matter? Life is misery, and nature is a merciless son of a bitch.

Why am I even writing? Who gives a shit? I'd like to tell myself somebody's going to discover this and maybe something great will come out of it, but deep down I know it won't. These thoughts, this stream of consciousness, of what use is it? This nihilism oozes, and like my writing, it stinks. Teachers always pretend, "you've got some great ideas but you need to work on your execution!" All I have are ideas; for all I know they're shitty too. I can't express myself, I can't do shit.

I wish it wasn't like this. I remember telling my brother, "you are everything you hate," in response to something stupid he said. I can't help but wonder, am I everything I hate? Low self-esteem, unattractive, all that good stuff. I feel like I'm losing my connection with reality. I should, it helps. It keeps me down to earth because when I end up floating away, I look around. I look up. I see myself in the stars, I see you, I see it all. What does it matter what I look like? We're all coming back home, to nothing, sooner or later. The organic molecules the earthworms might take from my body will be recycled, to be used in the development of even more marvelous life.

I can't change what I am. This connectedness I feel from my different experiences brings me peace. I need to open up, to experience life more fully, before time runs out. I feel love resonate inside, it's best to set it free, to let it fly freely. I know why my caged bird sings. A peak experience if I've ever had one.

Just Be.

It's about time.

There's something great between lovers,
Something with which I can't compare.
The way you interact, the way emotions flare,
Sometimes the only thing I can do is stare.

I'm not out to make the rhythm smooth,
Or the bumpy road soothe.

Perhaps this isn't mutual, I would then understand.
As in life, and with love, the supply is less than the demand.

I'm not special, and I'm haunted.
I can see why I'm never wanted.

Being special isn't all it's made out to be.

My best guess: it's my personality,
My lack of irresistibility.
I don't exactly carry an aura of likability.

I battle with the yes/no questions... every single day. That committee meeting in my head thinks of putting in as much effort as you did. It kills me, but I try to explain to myself it shouldn't... I don't know how to respond to my feelings. It's a battle that never ends.

I still battle the animal, the primal instinct. He's a fucking douche-bag. But what if it isn't the animal? What if that's all an extension of my self? Oh, how depressing and cynical this all sounds... God I feel like shit. I'm sick of writing like this, sick of myself, sick of what I am, what I'm not, what I could or couldn't be.

The only thing I've been telling myself lately is that nothing matters. That's how I justify things. And you know what? It works. It keeps me sane. We could, actually we will, all end up like the dinosaurs one day, so you know what? Do whatever the fuck feels right, whatever makes you happy. Do anything and everything. And you know what? These ideas make me happier, they keep me going.

It's about holding on; it's about letting go. I feel like I can't let go. It's not like me to give up. I can take a beating until I'm on the ground and made to beg for submission. That's the way I am. I figure I almost always find a way around most problems I've ever had. And now, the only solution that comes up is to let go of this dependency, because it's not working out. I'm not dependent on alcohol or anything else to keep my moods up(or down) and I can't be dependent on you, it hurts. It really comes down to what I can rationalize to keep me moving. I try to love my self because I guess in the end, "you are all you ever really have." Now, mind you, there's a massive difference between letting go and being dependent. I could be independent and decide to 'let go or hold on', but I can't be dependent and 'let go'.

What does it all come down to? Time, I suppose. Everything seems to come down to that. Time to pass until school starts, time to pass until the semester is over, time to pass until school is 'finally over!1!', and full circle. If there's one thing I've come to realize, something that makes the most sense, but is the most difficult for me to adopt; it would be to enjoy every moment as life passes you by. Make the most with what you have, a sort of universal optimist outlook. Get over yourself, Irfan. That's what keeps me moving. A teacher in high school used to work on Wall Street, and the theme of his class was: "Life isn't fair. Get used to it." That's what I've been trying to accept, and I suppose I will.

I'm free. I love saying that.

The Ruiner

I am pure, unadulterated evil. I did not know this until recently.
I am selfish, crude, and irrational; with no sense of decency.

I am an odious tormentor; all I deserve is destitution.
For I am the Ruiner; and all I ask for is retribution.

If I need to hate someone, I know to look no further.
Words cut like guillotines, and I'm the executioner.

These new feelings; I cannot explain.
Insights are revealing; it'll never be the same.

I don't deserve you, nor do I deserve a second, or first, chance.
I am the issue. Eureka! this is fortuitous happenstance.

What's left of my heart understands,
These secret fibers, these vindictive strands,
Will never allow me to appreciate holding your hands.

I can't accept forgiveness; I know I don't deserve it.
Take my apologies for what they're worth; I know I'm not worth it.

Curious

Bees buzzing, hiving my head.
Hold onto something, don't look dead.
Kasno nam je,
Daleko nam je.

Songs are blazing,
Over the horizon,
Humans impulsively razing,
Accompanied by brazen,
Horns and Drums,
Dutifully Praising.

Planet Earth turns,
O, look at how it spins,
O, imagine how all the bright lights twirl,
From an ocean of marbles: life unfurls,
O, I can't keep up...

My soul,
Held hostage,
To salvage,
What's left?

Am I free?
Broken,
Condemned,
Unable to,
Transcend.
Perception,
I wish to rend.
Everything,
Is determined.
I hide to mend,
Having been,
To my chagrin,
Strewn and Torn,
Wayworn from scorn,
Awaiting Gabriel's horn.

Stranded on rocks in space,
Is there a point to this place?
Mighty sunbeams kiss my face:
Effulgence of Agape Embrace;
Smiling, Enamored by its Grace.

We head back...
Back from whence we came,
Look at how they shine!
Look at you!

Jer ja nisam sistem.

“Ако неко мисли да ће зауставити спровођење закона тиме што ће мене уклонити онда се грдно вара, јер ја нисам систем. Систем ће функционисати и даље и нико неће добити амнестију за злочине тако што ће уклонити једног или два функционера државе.”
-Zoran Dindic

Dreams impassion my mind. Justice brews in my heart. It feels like destiny has chosen me to represent the trodden and oppressed, but it doesn't work that way. Destiny is a false human abstraction much like mythology. In defiance of primitive modern consensus, religion is no more than tomorrow's mythologies -- today.

Why do I bother? What does it matter? It does matter. I've come to realize that it doesn't. But it does: for me. This feels right, this is my calling. Folks tend to lean on crutches like faith and other irrelevancies to sustain their lifestyle and mood, regardless of the fatal logic that exists between "man" and the Book. Masters will always remain masters no matter how sweet or magnificent they portray themselves to be. There is no justice, liberty, or even love under any such regime be it physical or metaphysical. The gimmick is losing its ground.

I am not the system. I am the catalyst.

Here ends my pseudoriginal exercise.