Thoughts

The world and I are not getting along. I mean, we’re working things out but it’s taking a damn long time, or so it seems. Am I writing just to… oh, I don’t know — why am I writing? Thoughts never translate well to paper in my experience. However constructive they appear, as neurons fire, there’s a barrier present. I know what it is now, though. It’s expectation. That whatever I write has to be something special. But none of it is.

“No worthwhile thought shall pass through these hands!”

I’ve written this before. I repeat myself a lot. It might be because I’ve successfully gotten this shit out of my brain and onto a hard drive before. It’s something I know how to do. These new and exciting thoughts that make me a better person, a more focused person are entirely new to me. If I have trouble doing them, how am I supposed to be able to write about them?

New and exciting to me, entirely old and uninteresting to you. You’ve been doing it for a long time. I’m just getting started. Every little task is an Everest of thought.

Addition

The world outside my tiny apartment scares me. Venturing out in public is an ordeal I’d rather not have to deal with. Whenever I do I feel judged and surveilled. I feel like I’m trespassing. I tense up, look mean, stare straight ahead. I walk with a purpose — to do what I have to and get away as quickly as possible. All the while afraid someone will notice me. It’s an ever present feeling of dread; I’m expecting to be called out. Singled out. At any moment.

It’s been like that since I was a kid. My first memory of social anxiety goes back to 1990. At certain points in my life it’s been easier, at other points worse. It’s pretty bad now.

Thursday, 9. September, 2010 · , , , , &

Shimmering

There’s something shimmering down there beneath the surface. Its lustre draws my eyes closer. I feel there’s something to be unearthed there. Something to treasure, something to keep close to my heart. I can’t quantify it nor feel its mass. A beautiful concept is waking beneath the water. I desperately want it. I need it. I can feel it inside my head, crawling around, whispering to me.

Whatever aspirations come to you will never reach fruition. There’s no release, no sense of completion. Only fractured pieces evaporating before you are able to see them clearly. Your mind is blank, unable to think of anything. Your eyes slip out of focus and there are no thoughts other than the one fueling your fingers. There is no past, no future, only a desperate present looking for something to cling on to. If only a glimmer of a thought could sustain you, at least for today. A temporary fix to an eternal quandary that seems to never perish.

When you’re feeling up, you’re too preoccupied with realizing you’re doing alright to make anything of it. When you’re feeling down, there’s nothing at all. No thoughts, no dreams, no hope, only a seething need to distract yourself.

Monday, 23. February, 2009 · &

Death Knell

I’ve heard the clamor of Church bells
I’ve heard the jangle of Christmas cheer
And the voice of my Grandmother saying I’m a free man.

Wednesday, 2. January, 2008 · , &

You Are Tugging at My Heart Strings, Please Stop

I was a lonely one. Wrapped up in the hard-shelled follies of self-pity.

I cracked that coconut. I keep cracking it. And every time I do, it doesn’t take long for me to slip back into folly. It’s a goddamn roller-coaster I can’t seem to get off.

The story of my mind is that of two rampant tugboats trying to maneuver a 400,000 tonne oil tanker in a tiny harbour. They both have their own conflicting ideas of how the maneuvering should be done. Pulling in the same direction never crosses their minds.

There’s the logical, stoic tugboat calmly explaining: «Hey, this is the obvious route to go. It’s also safer.»

And then there’s the lovelorn, hopelessly romantic tugboat proclaiming: «But this is the scenic route! Never mind peril, look at that sunset!»

Well, fuck them both. They’re nothing but trouble. Yet I seem to be anchored to them for life.

Friday, 10. August, 2007 · , &

To be Thought a Fool

A while back I wrote about «that mysterious, wild-eyed, quiet stranger» and how I wished I was such a someone.

Today I realized it might be a good thing that I’m not. What hell it must be to always stay in the corner, alone — fearing that if you were ever to partake in sociable conduct your cover would be blown. As soon as your mouth opened, you’d be exposed as the socially awkward, shy man you really are. Or as a complete buffoon, void of any of the clandestine elegance formerly exuded.

‘Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt, as they say.

In many ways I am a mysterious, quiet stranger (not wild-eyed, I think). I never know if I should introduce myself when meeting friends of friends, and I always keep quiet and out of the way. The few times I do say something, it’s either commonplace or spoken so softly low that I might as well have kept it inside my head. It would probably have made more noise reverberating inside my skull anyway.

The usual reaction new people have when meeting me is «you’re so quiet» and/or «is something wrong?» Yes, I’m quiet. A lot of things are wrong, but I always look like this.

‘Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool, et cetera.

Then again, maybe it’s better to be a proven fool who, at the very least, tries, than the suspect of a wordless crime deferred.

Monday, 12. February, 2007 · , , , &