Me and your peers

Interpretation of an encounter turning into confrontation :

"What is being young, compared to you i'm old but compared to your mom i'm young, think farther if you can, all is relative, it's a perception and self description matter!! If being young is wearing flashy trendy overrated and over expensive clothes, talking futile subjects, gathering in entertainment places to lose yourself, let the master Money takes you to oblivion and pretending all that to be cool, then no, definitely i'm not young. Yet i have more imagination than you'll ever have and i'll never lose what is "youth" to me because i'm not a product, i don't hide behind a fake imagery to reassure myself about a boring future thoughout the common life. You'll lose your youth as you define it and you'll end up with only bitter souvenirs and your withered faded eyes to cry, it will come fast, poor you, and i won't help you work your mind to see beyond when you'll beg for a savior."


biblical comparisons :

-youth way of life is a road to perdition

-master Money is the "passeur", the skeleton ferryman taking you in his craft right to hell.

-the savior... will be your psy ah ah ah! you're doomed and will definitely roast in hellish pain.

(I couldn't resist to add this for the psy comparison ah ah ah! i'm creating my own fun here, with irony.)

Shy

It's the morning, in that space which looks to me like a classroom, same width, same height; I was playing basketball against nba professionals... then 8th grade pupils, amazingly the flat and low ceiling didn't bother our exploits, to shoot and dunk; Later in this very morning, i'm at a desk placed on the center of the same room, drawing lines with a black pen, on my right there's a long series of window panes, letting the light enter covering my entire right side, after a while i raise my head to breath out of my concentration and i see you in a sun ray... straight from my window, at a handful of meters, there is a similar house with the same tremendous panels of glass, you're deeply concentrated, sitting on a tiny desk by the window, writing on a paper, strangely facing my own window; I have a shock as i recognize you, briefly i see your mom brings you a glass of juice, like she was encouraging you to do some labor; Quick, walking on tiptoes i hide in the shadows of the next room, i recover my ideas then i peek by the door-frame, i diagonal through the two huge windows, litterally staring at you, at first i thought "did she watch me throughout my morning activities, i hope i wasn't too rough... wincing, spiting", i observe you, you wear a pullover made of big threads, three faded colors, a pink almost white, a yellow, and a rust colored, entangled, tight on the skin, i couldn't impede my mind to think this obnoxious, manly comment : "she looks sexy", as you regularly lift your chin to glance outside i notice you're hair are cut short again, an impulsive, beveled cut by your own hand and i have a dreadful feeling that you lived a terrible period recently; For a while i watch you, always grasping the woodframe of my door, stretching my neck to see closer without revealing my presence, which i feared was too obvious through the two walls of glass of the two houses, with all the ruckus i did in this spring morning; Suddenly a crispy ring gets me out of my dreamy state, a man is at my door, i let him in, he has wide shoulders, short matt copperly hair, translucent eyes, the nordic type, he seems tough and for a moment i wonder if it's not your bodyguard came here to break my jaw as he caught me mentally sneaking into your room.

what will i be next

A little story :

Let's imagine a couple, a bald man or with scarse hair and a woman, i believe that if we ask the woman, and despite the fact that i'm sure she probably loves him, "what would you change about your boyfriend physically if you could?", then i'm sure she'll say "i wish he'd have more hair!", so that means if the guy had more hair she'd love him more, and if she meets someone else with a little less personality but with a little more hair (aboundant hair), she could fall for him and leave the other guy; This is why i hate myself, i'm on the quest of absolute, but if i lose my hair (inevitable for guys, but the later the better) absolute becomes clearly, definitevely unconceivable anymore. My quest is vain.

between states

I sleep so much that i lose the sense of what's real

what is living

my head is dizzy, my ears burn

i open the window to ventilate myself

the moon is shy behind massive clouds

of a grey so dark i confound it with the night

the fresh wind on my cheeks takes away my fever

and the appealing lights urge me to travel

in straight line on agile feet

comes a disanchanted thought

reality is too much for myself alone

i will miss a warm place to welcome me

and a comprehensive guide along the way

...

an unspeakable flash of arms as a home

Learn yourself and get rid of the now useless habits

(this is kind of long and boring, instant thoughts written on paper at first, it's like the booklet of an electronic device, well i put it here anyway, i keep a trace, maybe this will allow some ideas to germinate)

Feel is an ability developped through childhood and even before that, it starts as soon as you're born, if for too long as a child you strongly feel (which will grow into beliefs) that your life, litteraly, and your sanity depends on one person protecting you then you'll end up believing that you are nothing without such a person, in your adult life you'll search reassurances in others, because you'll have built an extremely sharp ability to feel in order to read, to preserve your security (life and death matter in your mind) incarnated by one person, an object, a space. Unfortunately the majority of people didn't grow the same need as you, they usually learn to love themselves as individuals, so they won't give you the amount of respect and attention you seek (as high as a mother/child relationship, the person you depend on as a child is generally a parent). finally you'll perceive the behaviors around you as rejects and you'll feel hurt because your needs won't be satisfied and because you, in your functioning, your conditioning, will give your all to the others (you'll depend of the love given by the others, while those who will have learned to love themselves will have better balanced relations). To break this bad habit and wrong self perception, one must simply love oneself more, find a balance between the feelings, the love given, sort out the persons one can trust and think about oneself first; remember your body initiating the emotions only wants you good but one has to break the old and no longer right habits, everyone has this choice to live, a faillure, a reject, won't kill you (well in the majority of the cases), we are strong, nature is strong, give yourself the love you deserve, be yourself, and you'll receive in the most honest way the love every humans need from other humans, this is the most sincere way.

My story as example :

My mom was my shield (in my mind as a child) protecting me against my dreadful dad, i believed, in my childhood, that i needed her or my dad will hurt me, my body developped the feeling that without a person as security i would be dead, now i envision the worst in many situations, i can't stand any rejects, and my senses are so sharp i notice everything and everything bother me, every little doubt about me, i can detect it in someone, and then i dramatize my loss if someone rejects me, it became a life or death matter for me. For some built that way they believe that what they are is in people judgements.
I know the theory, i'm aware of how i want to behave, i know myself, my needs and the good use to do with it but my body keept the old habits and still provokes intense emotions, warning me of a danger no longer existing, i know with my reasoning that i'm perfectly safe, my body reaction probably helped me in the time i was really threatened in a harmful environment, but now this process is no longer valid, i know it but my body reacts on habits.

Ride the music

See what i am with that bass that tears down my arms, i'm not a virtuoso, i press timidly the fat strings, guessing the notes, the rythm like a tide reaches me, a staccato anchored and my curved body begins to swell, until my fingers hurt;
I'm not a musical scholar, i don't keep no technical words about instruments and electronic devices i use, i don't even know how to balance the sound of mine, i feel every tones and for me they are all worthy to be;
When i play i love my part gritty, catching the air around into a swirl of chaotic energy, i'm playing the cosmic egg, if only i could rebuild the world with one rock song;
I'm not a poser, i don't play to be watched, there's no attitudes i snatch to raise a pitiful ego through the eyes of a bystander, i'm reversed in myself, i play in my own mind, selfishly, the pleasure is for me only, i bestow not even one cell to act for someone else, i'm not anything because music is not a business for me, it's my passion, it instils me life when it catches me in the curls, here i nest and at one point my senses shut, i'm not a prisoner anymore, easily swaying, i'm sitting on a gust of wind, the music is in me, no one will ever steal me that breath, watch me and find for yourself the stream leading to the best of all pleasure, feel free;
I'm nothing more than this awkward boy when i play... but hell knows i love the music i hear, with a bass or a guitar tearing down my arms.

I invite you.

In this dance.


And i thank Satan for the inspiration. (ah ah running joke around here)

Chronic eeriness

What a strange day!, i think!, watching in the black of my coffee, it's 17h18, i'm eating jam and chocolate on slices of bread, with a second cup of coffee, for more than 5 years now i skipped the breakfast, and today i'm taking one... in the middle of the day; i'm anxious, today is a strange day, the threatening clouds are low, weighting on us, i feel the boil like if i am in a cauldron, i think i waste so much energy in my anxiety that i needed to snack so late, or i will faint in the bus i have to take a while later, tonight i'll be out socializing, but alone, i feel so helpless...

I have oportunities to live one of my dreams, but i'm stuck in my personality, i'm getting more and more antisocial, crossing the path of other human beings could soon become unbearable.

And now i feel gross...

"Amazingness"

The pages flip as i click randomly, fumbling on the net with no purpose, nowadays everyone has a personal space on line, people are dithyrambic about their interests, mainly about the celebrities they worship, saying things as lame as, "she (or he) is the greatest, the nicest, the cutest, The INCREDIBLest" well let me add "The DULLEST" and this kind of depictions are galore, all with the same shallowness, deprived of arguments, mess of over simplistic and meaningless words; at this point one can think i'm full of prejudice and harshly unfair, i could have this doubt too.. if i haven't checked another frame on their presentation page, and this one is blank each time, it says : "write a description of yourself"... i'm stunned... a recurring phrase i read is : "Wow, it's too complicated to write about oneself", it comes clear that a majority of people don't even know themselves. ok so i say it again for who has still a doubt, people's imagination and knowledge are as blank as their description frame! and yeah i don't care for them.

(the whole superlative part is a mockery, you would have guessed)

when i get low, i get high

If some cameras were displaying my life widely, like those shitty reality programs on Tv, people will think i'm a nutcase; there are times i watch in the blur and i hum inarticulate improvised melodies, repeating one or two phrases related to how i could feel on the moment, sometimes i use lyrics from a well known song of myself, usually i stay motionless, i guess my face is melting like if a big hand was trying to pull down a mask i could wear, out of fatigue, out of melancholy, i'm as entertaining as a tombstone; and there are times, i jump around the appartment, scurrying from one spot to another, doing what i thought about doing which is, during those extatic moments, almost everything at the same time, i flap my hands and do weird movements (ref : garden state ) while squealing like a creepy rodent, i feel my muscles want to be used, so i'm energetic, impredictable, erratic, i wriggle with swift gestures, i make faces always squealing, chanting and impersonating the most madman ever, out of too much energy, not knowing really how to dissipate it.

Those are parts of my roller coaster, maybe symptoms of loneliness, if i had a regular activity, a regular sharing with people will i be more regular myself, will i vent what i feel talking to someone i trust, instead of bursting in highs and lows, maybe i am simply this madman unable to control his emotions.

No Spare

Lately the filthy ground is so frozen that i couldn't stick my fingers in it; Though, i keep it in a square of molded ceramic; After this ruthless blow nothing will ever grow again in my formerly precious compost, one year it gave its best to pop out lovely marble-shaped tomatoes, as red as a heart, and as bright as a dry ruby, i gathered all this sheer offering in my palm, watching the frail plant stripped from its gems, appearing almost pitiful after i stole what was the ostensible tenderness from my vegetal friend, at that time i didn't realize it will be the last, i took the wonders born to my sight because i assessed it was kindly given up to me, i was greedy and careless, i devoured the magnificent creations like it was mine with no presents, no attention in return... not a word, i get strenght from it, proud and sure of my advantage, casting my shadow on a so openly generous creature; Now this is the end, the ground is as hard as steel and as cold as ice, and my desperate fingers keep wandering on the dents, stiff on that ceramic square, and no tears i shed would be enough to reanimate the love once given to me.

Dephased

My definition of what is cute, nice, emotional is not in the objects, for me it's focused on the atmosphere, an harmony of colors and shapes, thus generally what is considered dirty, or unsane, or unproper by people who follow the stereotypes can be seen as beautiful and touching by me. With this i'm also perfectly aware, i can point out all the details which build up one particular atmosphere i like.
When i hear a sound it's the same process, i don't see a band playing which is prosaic, the appearance, the simple shell, no, when i hear a sound my imagination build up an entire story in an entire new world; All that is based on the way i feel, i'm considering fitted ensembles, i can see the beauty in despair and trash, and miss it in what is obvious like fluffs, strass and twinkles... maybe it just proves that i'm scattered.

Please Stay

When the bell rings i'm in the back of the flat, taking refuge in my cozy corner which i can encompass in my two arms building a circle, i greet with a timid smile and a gaze already turned on the inside, i wait for the start, the perfect moment to speak about what moved me those past days, i know i have to endure all the plain civilities and i inquire like a good host about the last gossips. The time passes, i feel less tense, my passionate self places outbursts of reasonings and stories, parcels of what stayed in my mind in the flow of images and words i consume each day; the room is sober, no one feels really confortable under this economic light, smothered by oldfashioned insipid walls, the most courageous ones sit for a couple of hours, hardly revealing their worries and thoughts as i'm so focused to contain myself, never impose, i feel i'm doing an entertainer job in those situations, but my best is only a sad clown or worst, a lecturer. Arrives the time to let go, swiftly reassemble the belongings and like a butler i'm behind, without a word more than "bye", to close the door on the miserable guest.

Can't they guess in my eyes my begging call.

(It seems when people plan to see each others, they await to be entertain, maybe a program of the festivities, the fake costumes and the fake smiles, i'm not a fucking tv show, i only ask for honesty and simplicity; here's a good ironic quote : "come as you are... and i swear that i don't have a gun")