Signifying Nothing

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage... and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." - Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)

[2014]

Frustrated, I slammed the vaporizer violently against the ground as I walked to my bus stop. The sound of the crack was excruciatingly refreshing, as paradoxical as it sounds. Tiny shreds of glass splashing on the road felt like scratching a intense itch, a mental itch, and I savored the end of the vaporizer as if it was a living annoyance meeting death.

I've spent, like, a week taking proper care of it, making sure it was giving off the right vapor and that the liquid was clean, but it kept giving me problems. Sometimes it wouldn't give off vapor, just liquid would swim from the top, and it was making weird noises. It was fucking annoying.

No excess time was spent maintaining it, but the concentration and consideration utilized irritated my brain each time it would malfunction later on in the day. All for nothing.

Drops of concentration and care dripping into the holder of investment just destroyed, blown away into oblivion and forgotten and abandoned moments in time.

Life, experience, whatever this thing that consciousness interacts with, is just waiting to die and be forgotten - swept away by the wave of time. At its core, all we have is experience and memories, anything outside of those two factors doesn't mean anything to the living organism. We can only experience and remember, that's what consciousness is. It's what makes us a "thing."

I'm destined to receive Alzheimer's, it's hereditary and will arrive to me when I'm older. Alzheimer's numbs your experience to the point in where you can't even recognize your surroundings, and it also erases your memories. It's death worse than physical death.

All these investments and labor are destined to be not just destroyed, but erased from the plane of existence and eternity. It's like a struggle and conflict to erect a sand castle, and as you build it, you know, eventually an ocean wave will arrive and not just destroy it, but eliminate any trace of it existing in the first place.

Things are getting better, but for the past few months I've been demoralized as fuck. Everything that I worked for, decisions and things that I planned out very carefully and protected were just destroyed by random chaos. I'm in a position to rebuild, reconstruct, but I can't help but think "what for?"

Construct beautiful music and master the guitar, just to receive a hand injury and lose all the investment and energy that I placed into the skill? Be the best boyfriend I can be, concentrate and work on every decision that I make and have all that concern be forgotten about when the relationship turns sour and my work and energy is ignored or never recognized?

I'm tired and disgruntled, weary,  and I'm lethargic in my ambitions. The track and sound of "Clint Eastwood" clothes my scent as I exhale marijuana smoke which comforts and closes my eyes in lazy and apathetic demoralization.

Fucking *yawn*.

Fuck it.

This is not weakness or lack of will. I'm fulfilling personal obligations and goals, but I compulsively announce, "what's the point?"

I note that there's no cameras to record the experience of the experiencer at all times, just myself, the experiencer, searching into the depths of my memories to present this as if it meant something...

 

 

[2019]

I'm in the future, and now I can tell that I was wrong. It meant something. Every kiss I gave, every honorable act I performed, every time I stood tall, every time I cursed a cigarette, and every time I called equality a lie - it meant something. Insecurity has always been my vice, but it's better than unsubstantiated ego worship (it's better earned).

In the end, only instinct matters. Will. If you need to break up with someone, do it. If you know that you're going to be lied to by an employer, trust yourself. If you know your cock size is huge, flaunt it. Journalistic projections is sometimes the only thing you have to send something eternal to be observed, but regardless, individual acts matter within a subjective world.

For too long I've let others say and jump and scream, while I stood back as a gentleman and absorbed. But now it's my turn to speak. This different. This is my LiveJournal.


As for the past,

It didn't signify nothing.

Bereavement

I woke up this morning and I still didn’t have a reply from her. For the past week or so, I’ve been dreaming of her nightly. In my dreams, we are together again and walking on some downtown street. She looks so happy, perfect even. Just when I reach over to kiss her, I remember that she’s married and that none of this is real and I wake up. And I don’t think I want to hear her voicemail again, so I just don’t call anymore. As I write this, I’m looking at a blank wall, and my oppressive imagination reminds me of her smile, the way her eyes would look deep into mine, and the precious laugh she would give.

Bereavement - each time she returns to my life, it’s just a shard of glass into my soul as I remember once again what I lost, or what I gave away. If I had decided to stay with her, if I had more trust and optimism, she would have been wearing my ring instead of his.

Now I walk outside my building and feel the Oregon wind. It tastes like desolation and rain, but it is oddly comforting. I whisper song lyrics as I attempt to forget about her. She laughs at our song now (or at least that’s what she told me). It probably doesn’t mean anything to her anymore.

But I’m here, years later, softly saying “I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.”

Loss.

I love her.


She’s my wonderwall.


Our song still means something to me.


Without shame or guilt, I’m moving on from her. It’s time for me to forget and abandon a moment in time that has long been forgotten. I wipe away these tears and not think much of it because I’m not ashamed to experience true love. This isn’t some casual infatuation, I fucking love her inside and out.

I’d forge a fabricated posture more suitable for the public, but being that this is an honest journal, I hold no abashment about expressing myself. I hate dreaming that I can still be the one to make her smile and wake up to the grim reality that she’s gone.

I love her more than he does, and there's no doubt I would have worked harder to make her happy.

Let Go

"How disgusting." I can't tell which character I am, but yes - you are.

It ended so simply. Since the end of high school I tried to sustain our friendship despite her self-destructive behavior, and it hurt trying to stop something from dying. But finally the flames of destruction became too much to breathe, and when you notice that the recipient you are attempting to help does nothing in assistance, and worse, hurts you, the spirit has no choice but to LET GO.

I vanished her from my life: a conclusion so simple, yet brutal. Immediately all the feelings of resentment and hurt vanished as well.

You were my sister.

There is no Us.

You are no longer in my life.

I fucking tried.

Fuck you.

I fucking tried.

At the Bottom of Everything

"So there was this woman, and she was on an airplane. And she was flying to meet her fiancé seaming high above the largest ocean on planet Earth! She was seated next to this man she had tried to start conversation with, but the only thing she really heard him say was to order "Bloody Mary"...

She was sitting there and she was reading this really arduous magazine article about a third world country that she couldn't pronounce the name of. And she was feeling very bored and despondent.

And then suddenly, there was this huge mechanical failure, and one of the engines gave out!

And they started just falling 3,000 feet!

And the pilot's on the microphone and he's saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, go my God... I'm sorry." And apologizing. And she looks at the man and says, "where are we going?" and he looks at her and he says....

"We're going to a party. It's a birthday party. It's your birthday party. Happy birthday, darling. We love you very, very, very much."

And he starts humming this little tune, it kind of goes like this: 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4..."

Letter To A Ghost, Pt. III

My desire has changed, I do not seek your friendship anymore. The fear of loved ones dying and not having a last chance of saying goodbye is akin to my problem of perfectionism due to my need to see structure and organization. Nothing is perfect, and I accept that.

As you went up to Saratoga (and your horse naturally won), with confidence I can see that it is beyond your ability to analyze yourself for faults or be strong enough to accept the phrase "let's just be friends." You're not a shovel, and I am not your dirt. You are not abused and I am not your abuser.

I would lay defeated on the floor, praying at your kneels to reconsider, to be critical, to consider an inconvenient truth, but without mercy you laughed in nervous self-preservation and tried to conceal your hurt with whatever you could stick inside to runaway from the current situation.

Disassociated, numb, and unwilling to accept reality - I watched you walk away, daftly running into things with your eyes closed, jumping into large city street puddles, covering your ears with whatever feminist-approved popular song would drug you into the comfort of passive-aggressive self-righteousness and bigotry.

And there I was, the fool, on my knees, hoping to see more behind the eyes of a fallen angel. Praying with every inch of my soul that "she will come around, she will be mature, she will rise."

I see you falling down into the ocean floor, and with every ounce of my strength I attempted to raise you with me, but you kicked and punched. If I continued to work with you, we would sink together, but my inner Will does not allow me to do anything other than what is right and truthful.

A whirl of black hair and the angelic innocent face of a sad little girl sunk into the oceanic dark abyss, and I look above me, and saw a watercolor painting of beauty, dream, and Heaven above the surface of the water.

And I am there.

No matter how far away, I will always love you. But I am very far away - a million miles away.

A Year Later

She couldn't think of anything other than keeping us together, a victim of her inner little girl urges to hold on to a protector. And it scraped, as if cold metal, every part of my heart to remember the importance of willpower and ability to make objective decisions despite deep emotional attachment.

"I'm not in love."

Suffocation by Crystal Castles, officially released February 21, 2012.

This is what I am listening to at the moment.

Goodbye San Francisco

The Pink Aroma

I'm waiting for the end and your perfume is the welcoming eyes at the edge of town. Waving a welcome as I spread my wings and depart...

...I will miss you.

3 Libras

I don't know why I'm drawn to the damaged and wounded. Perhaps I'm trying to amend things in other people's lives to prove to a girl I don't even speak to anymore than I'm good, and whatever happened years ago were honest mistakes that happen to all teenagers. But what hurts is that they end up disappointing me, mostly through their own self-destruction.

I threw you the obvious and you flew with it on your back,

a name in your recollection,

thrown down among a million same.

Difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed…

And passed over…

When I've looked right through to see you,

naked and oblivious.

And you don't... see... me.

But I threw you the obvious, 

just to see if there's more behind the eyes of a fallen angel.

The eyes of a tragedy.

Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded,

but I see through it all, and I see you.

So I threw you the obvious, to see what occurs behind the eyes of a fallen angel.

Eyes of a tragedy.

Oh, well. Apparently nothing.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever truly liked them as people, or if they were only emotional investments to prove how much of a "good friend" or "good boyfriend" I could be. Interims, you could say, or a test of how much I can push into the right direction. It's confusing and it makes me wish that feelings were much more clear instead of gray and blurry. One I miss tremendously, the other, well, the thought of her infuriates me.

I try to fix things and get frustrated with myself when they don't turn out in a good way. A man without any spirituality, I think that love is the closest thing you can get to divinity. Did I ever truly love them? If one wasn't a drug addict, and the other wasn't such a destructive mess, would I think about them any better? Or would the experiences that followed us forever alter my perception of them?

Is there more behind the eyes of fallen angels, or are some people just doomed to commit the mistakes that they have been trying to run away from?

A Day In Quotes

"I'll never stoop so low again, I guess I don't know my own strength."

"Fuck guilt. This cold wind makes me feel alive."

"Now you're special, you weren't so special when I was with you."

"A silver lining of clouds shines on people Jesus couldn't save."

"I love the way you lie."

"We fell back into the same patterns."

"Maybe I'm addicted to the pain, stress, & trauma."

"I'm just a soul who's intentions are good, please don't let me be misunderstood."

"As they took his soul, they stole his pride."

"The mystery of your rhythm is so feminine."

"A silver lining of clouds shines on people Jesus couldn't save."

"I wanted perfect, I got my perfect, now you're too perfect for someone like me."

"You grabbed your red lipstick and wrote on the mirror 'por siempre.' Now I'm 19 and you're 20 and it should have worn off by now."

"Sadism & masochism. Dominant & submissive. Masculine & feminine."

"Run out the room and I'll follow like a lost puppy."

"Our relationship was a beautiful little girl that was murdered and mutilated and dumped on the side of the road." ('07)

"I'm not answering the phone, let it ring. Lately I've been feeling like a falling bomb."

"You have good intentions, and you always get what you want, but you're always so damn aggressive about it."

"This song is dedicated to a friend of mine. One day we got into a huge fist fight and didn't speak again. A year later he was shot in the head, and killed. This song is about appreciating what you have in the now - it's called Steps Ascending."

"I tried so hard, and in the end, it doesn't even matter."

"Megalomanic, you're no Jesus, yeah, you're no fucking Elvis. Step down. STEP DOWN."

"This is your baptism, and you can't forgive them."

"You can only scream so loud until they forget your existence."