In a brief moment of despair at not being in love for far too long, I summoned up my favorite lover from my memory. After dancing the softness of his skin and reliving the sparkling spot in my soul where his memorizing eyes met mine, I finally remembered what it felt like to be in love again. For a brief second the portal between us opened again, long enough for me to whisper “but i love you…” Swooning once again in a state of ecstasy, he awoke from my spell, “Mareks…Mareks, darling are you still there?” said a sweet voice over the phone. “Hm, hmm, yes yes, uh blue, blue is a great color for the guest bedroom, look I’ve got to go, I’ll call you back when I’m on my way home” he replied….”Love you too….cheers….bye”. He nervously stood up and looked out the window over Sydney Harbour. He remembered too.
I knowingly bought a ticket to the known world. The place where all the pieces are planned and mapped out. Where life doesn’t just happen to you. Where most attempts to find vibrant life end with a mediocre thought of “at least I tried”. But I bought the ticket anyway because it is a place where I knew I could sit back, feel normal, and make sense of what I’d been through. Now that I’ve recuperated internally I’m looking out and I can’t help but struggle with my decision. I look back and wonder what could have been done differently in all the wildness. I guess the unrealized sense of a piece of life being over has now become fully realized. In efforts to create a new plan it makes sense to look back and list out all the dislikes in order to make better decisions for the next round. This time around, part of me didn’t realize it was over. Part of me is ready to go, part of me wants to stay, and most of me can’t afford to leave. All in all, it is good that I stepped on the train, because the known world is good for people who don’t know what to do next yet.
This world is highly evolved, I’m still amazed by the existence of the clock. I think it is funny that one day someone looked up and realized that time exists and we can track it. I think it is even more funny that people write about different worlds because seriously this place exists and has a history (proof of which is given in the existence of a clock) so other places must exist too, right? What I don’t understand is why this idea of other worlds became embedded into everyday life; here is my guess for how it got started:
I think that once everyone realized the odd existence of this world and postulated other worlds, the idea sparked the dawn of a new industry. Everywhere people started preaching of what they thought other worlds would look like. Since technology didn’t exist back then, there was no way to answer the question of “But how do we get to these other worlds?” So the smartest preachers said “You get to them when you die!” “When we die?” shrieked everyone in the crowds.
The farmer preacher said “yes! but only if you plough my field really well for your whole life, will you be able to get there.”
And the Doctor preacher said, “Only if you maintain your health and the health of your family will you get to see the best of the other worlds.”
And the evil preacher said, “only if you give into temptation, will I let you have power in the other worlds.”
And the scientist preacher said, “If we can build a space ship together, we can fly past the stars and take a super nova wormhole to travel to other worlds.”
By this point the idea of other worlds had become so prevalent in the society of humans on earth that no one dared question it. Over time certain preachers gained larger followings than others and we able to wield power over larger and larger groups of people.
It just makes sense to me to stay living for the real world… the one we know exists, then figure out the other worlds when we get there. But maybe that’s just how I travel.
I get depressed at the impossibility of many of my old dreams. Not so much because those dreams are not actually attainable in this world, but more so because I’m at a point in life when many life markers are now past and so, being no longer imprisoned by childhood life, I no longer dream like I used to no matter how hard I try. With all my great fantasies, logic rudely interrupts and haughtily states, “Don’t bother, the world doesn’t work that way.” I back down to this so called logic when in reality I don’t know why logic is sticking its weasel of a nose in my dream business anyway. So what if I want to build dream worlds where all my needs are met at the exact times I need them to be and where people say what I need them to say and shut up when I’m not in the mood. So what if I manifest what it would be like if someone I shouldn’t-have-a-crush-on-but-do actually wants to hang out with me and even brings me a flower in exchange for my company. Logic comes in again and says, “you can’t spend all your time in perfect worlds, if you do, you’ll never know what it is really like to be surprised.” Well logic has a point, however he forgets to notice how many times he incorrectly uses the word ‘surprise’ in replacement of ‘disappointment’.
In my latest lull, I flashed through my book of stars at light speed, taking note of how neatly organized the constellations finally looked as I blew by. Along the way, I danced a few steps along the edges of the brightest shapes and I couldn’t help but to try in vain, just once more, to grasp the bulbs that have been burning bright for perhaps too long. All that I loved but sadly lost and hated but was forced to find still radiate despite my efforts to smolder them with crushing fingers over my palms. Panic is my only savior. With panic at my side I am at once reminded not to linger too long in memory’s gaze, not to soak up all that I can neither touch again nor fix. With Panic I become bold and brave enough to turn away from Passion’s siren call. But Panic is fleeting, he is only there to pull me away, back into the safety of the orderly world. And there I always end up, stranded in the emptiness of his departure, half happy to have gotten out with my emotions intact, half tempted to go back and somehow recreate all those moments of the past where I really felt alive.
There are so many things that I won’t do again because I’ve learned that they aren’t for me or that specific types of situations really aren’t going to get me the results I would want. But the beautiful part about it all is that I can just live it in my imagination, where, if I don’t like the outcome, I can ponder up an alternative or two or three all while sitting at my desk at work, taking in even more fuel for my dream world.
I woke up two months ago and it was all brand new, the light shook my hand with a smile, changing everything so that nothing before felt as if it actually happened. Then freedom set itself in through my calmer routine. Once the stresses of busy times subsided and I could sit back and reflect on the things that used to bother me, I found that not only did they not bother me anymore, but I also couldn’t quite remember why I was bothered by them in the first place. This joyful forgetting has happened before.
Liberated, I’m ready to go explore again. I just can’t yet, but I can taste it in my imagination. This tinge in my mind sets in only when I am not engaged in conversation or distracted by some other task. It is torturous, the constant salivating over something that you know you can obtain, the hungry knowing that so much time must pass before the harvest, and the painful tingling of possibilities of what will happen in the mean time…
I sit and go about my everyday life, routine after routine, carrying the thoughts of what has been and what could be both floating simultaneously with every movement and every word. Dreams have turned into strategic scheming and gathering of data of how of how to get where I want to be.
I must admit there is still one thing bothering me. But i think it is normal to be bothered by being told to go away before you have been given a proper chance. I don’t know how long it will take until my psyche stops tossing that thought into my completely unrelated existence.
Every once in a while I come across people with certain characteristics that I want to experience more of. Often times it is because their manner of exchanging communicative signals and social games is similar to mine, so the conversation keeps going even if nothing of useful substance is actually being said. And key, we both enjoy it, or seem to, because we keep doing it.
Infatuation evolves out of wanting to interact but not being able to get enough of the interaction. So the mind essentially improvises, to my dismay. Now the person ceases to exist to me in their real form. I unknowingly create an extra-added layer of perception, which I end up rationalizing as real because my mind is great at making up perfect scenarios to fulfill the excess emotion that isn’t properly stimulated by the external world. It creates confusion between whom I’m actually thinking of and whom I’m actually in the presence of. This makes me nervous, because I start having difficulty acting normal since I don’t actually know the person well enough to know if how I perceive them is actually how they are. Thus how I want to behave is held back in fear that I perceive the situation incorrectly. The remedy: to actually hang out with the person as much as possible until I find that one thing about the person that I absolutely cannot put up with. This dulls the emotional need to incorporate the person into my thoughts. Once they are out of my thoughts, I’m free of the person I was hoping they would be.
This is long over due, to the point where this should have been my first note. But I had the urge to pull Proust from my book shelf and read his opening paragragh/sentence to “Days of Reading” and I still so full heartily agree. I cannot say it better. There is just some nostalgic essence in remembering the many books I kept my nose in. I understand why they want children to read, more so than ever, because I can draw on experiences that I never actually experienced to aid my waking life.
I feel a sadness for it actually. I cannot get back to that place in my mind, I cannot revisit those stories as I first experienced them because I am no longer at that stage. I no longer escape life into fantasy because I’ve managed to merge my fantasy with real life and I am content. Therefore I seek no solace, no need to reach into another world of make-believe. Now I am merely interested in cool concepts and stories that guide me into deeper understanding and meaning into my actual daily existence. I am at one side excited about all I learn about in the real world beyond my home town, but at the same time depressed over my inability to connect with characters and events of stories long past. An entire world of existance taken away from me by time and experience. I’m forced to grasp to what I can, desperately for some peace of mind to avoid becoming like those jaded folks who tell me that fantasy world never existed in the first place. Oh believe me, it is real, I have my personality to prove it.
I just had a crazy dream that I was being held hostage. Like literally i just woke up and typed this… i’ll edit it later, maybe…. I just wasn’t allowed to leave. I remember the date was june 11th because the guy asked me if I we were doing something today and I asked, “why because it is june 11th or because we just need to go out. “what is june 11th? they guy asked. I just shrugged because I really didn’t know, but but i felt like he should, he said “June 11th is your day” or something like that. The guy kept coming and going and in the beginning we were in some sort of hotel and he kept going in and out of the hotel and there was someguy who was trying to catch himdoing something but was furustrated and showed me the data out of his machine and he still couldn’t catchhim doing anything . That guy eventually left. I think in the beginning theabusive guy was talking with my parents and they liked him. But slowly, by the june 11th point I was isolated. He bought other girls to stay too, and they thought they were better than me until I asked the other girls if the abusive guy had ever beatenthem and one girl described her situation just as I was remembering mine. He was hitting me with things. From there I was determined to leave and started gather all the keys to various houses. Then my sister brought my dog over and I had to try and figure out how I was going to get the dog out with me. I had already gathered my most prized possessions in a specific place and was hurrying try to collect more plastic keys that needed assembly so he couldn’t get into the place I was going. Then I look downstairs over the balcony and Hannah had just driven up she said “Woman!, just get in the car right now, let just go, lets just go.” I grabbed a pile of papers and money which were my most prized possession as well as what ever else I could fit in my arms, the other girls were in hannah’s car and we had to hurry because he was coming home. I couldn’t get in the car properly because she kept moving forward. I finally got in and the other girls in the back seat screamed he’s coming, he’s coming, just then he noticed that we were escaping and pulled out a gun and started shooting at us. At that point it turned into a comic book with just colorful scenes of us getting shot at in the car with bullets bending all around us, while we were being shot at in the car, the scene was being mixed with a past scene of when he had done something similar of killing a bunch of people before in some large mansion where the peole were running down the main foyer with seas of bullets passing them. Then my alarm clock went of even though it is a holiday and I can sleep in, all because I forgot to set the alrms to off last night.