There is little one can do when faced with the most obtuse of reasonings, no thanks to raw feelings. Faced with the options of leaving everything behind and leaving all that has yet to come, one often finds themselves tiptoeing on a balancing point, not wanting to fall onto one extreme or the other, with the mere wish of surviving on the unassuming bridge between the two. Preferably with a platinum card for maximum distraction under the sad excuse of being in the process of making a choice.

Choice; a decision that makes even the biggest optimist realize that they can’t always be the good guy all the time. Nobody can always play fair. Someone is bound to get hurt. Part and parcel of life.

Life here, at least.

But one can always choose to do the lesser evil. Prevention is better than cure. Better be safe than sorry. Sometimes, I suppose, to kill two birds with one stone is just plain cruel. Sometimes, I suppose, civilization and the media have bound us up and constricted our hearts to the confines of dictated morality. The jury has voted. The judge has spoken.

Selfishness becomes a crime. Guilt has never been more demanding.

And then, you have the same jury telling you to follow your heart. Look within your soul. Find your inner self. Make yourself whole. Mind over matters. Back to square one.

Choose again. Please.

What if, what you can find for what you want, seems so scattered, and so dauntingly non-exclusive, that it makes you wonder if you really knew what you want? How do you make a choice then?

What if, what you really want, can be your greatest, sweetest downfall?

..

On a side note, O.B. tampons are as smooth as cotton-wrapped crayon sticks that I doubt my labia’s cramping from its monthly drill. Advertising fuckers.

something once public no longer is private to the heart of no returns to the start of what was once fresh to frolick around the world with

ideas

words that are confined within the structure of the mind and the imagination of the heart that knows no boundaries as long as it can beat the crap out of everything

are

and nothing is more devastating than having to break the sordid news to someone undeserving of sorrows they did not want nor cause and effect what a bitch life is

crazy

another:
i hate how i still remember you and all that could have been.

and could be.

I confess: I am a fickle person; capricious, whimsical, or “messed up,” if you may. My interest lies in one and many. One day, I may make you feel like you’re the center of my world and then, the next day, you may realize that you’re but one of the many.

If you’re perceptive enough.

.

Today.

I like your

words;

sight;

touch;

sound;

not smell, because it usually is a given. If you smelled bad in any way, I wouldn’t be writing about you in the first place.

Your feel; your thoughts. They’re important to me.

Tomorrow.

It might be someone else. You are not “the only one” after all.

Though, you were, once upon a time.

Ironically, if you could bring those memories back and relive them for me, for good, I might come running back to you. You and only you. Together, we could recreate that surreal, magical escape from harsh reality, regardless of the label we employ for one another, for logic and reason would be for us to define. We could shut the world out, tell it to fuck itself, like that treasured moment, once upon a time.

It feels like a long time ago, doesn’t it? Or just yesterday once more, if only…

Well, you’d like it, don’t you? I know you secretly do. You see, the thing with me is that I remember. I make people remember. The worthy ones, that is. That’s what makes the difference.

Yet, I’m sorry. The attention span is short, shorter than usual. I was not like this before and you know it.

Because I have my heart to protect, now, more than ever. It has been scarred beyond recognition.

Remember this scar. You made it.

You, and the rest of your kind.

Your insecure, self-absorbed kind.

.

I remember. That’s what makes the difference.

.

.

Don’t worry: You’re not the only one I’m writing to.

Dual personality; as abstract as your imagination can go about it, it exists.

One of the most popular imageries of such extremism or paradox is that of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Good vs. evil. Life and death. Yang and yin.

Other milder variations may consist of popular personalities such as the classic superheroes and the likes of the on-screens and off-screens; on-stage and offstage. What you do to your family and how you act around your friends. Erving Goffman and his everyday presentation of the self. People who shudder (secretly or not) after they speak publicly.

Psychology may speak of bi-polar mania, multiple personality disorder, schizophrenia, and the likes.

The bigger abstract. In astrology, the Gemini and Cancer are the main culprits. Whether you like it or not, you’re dragged into a round of hide and seek with folks of these whimsical (Sun) signs, whether they plan to or not. Geminis can be many-in-one, spreading themselves thin. You can almost never predict the Cancerian mood.

Most of the time, there is no plan to begin with.

Dual personality; at times you wonder if these people chose it; if they enjoyed it.

=:~:=

This blog.

Most of the time, people can’t seem to associate the person they meet in real life with the author of this blog and vice versa. Apparently, the two subjects are as complementary as the current blog theme and the overall content of this blog.

Serious writing equates to a serious personality, most are inclined to think.

Most of the time, they’re right.

Most of the time.

And when inconsistencies occur, those who are used to a linear, orderly life are thrown, especially those who are used to thinking that life has a set rule; a set theme. What has made sense traditionally and conventionally for them in the past should do the same for their future.

That is what few would admit to be true about their worldview. Especially those who proclaim to be “open-minded.”

Nobody can be truly open-minded lest they are willing to live with that they are secretly narrow-minded about.

Only those who are less cocksure about everything that revolves around them would see that stability, or rather, balance, was never a fixed path right in the middle in the first place. More often than not, we’re inclined towards one extreme or the other. It’s all about a balancing act. That 5% of our minds will never expand so long as we want to avoid that 95% of possible craziness, as long as we avoid what we feel we do not understand; cannot understand, or empathize.

And those who are honest about what they feel, naturally, however (in)accurate they may be, are shunned by the majority.

Only to be recognized for their exact value when they are long gone; when they leave a void. That footprint.

So far, that’s what this society has always been like.

How dogma runs the world.

There’s only so little a non-conformist can tolerate with the conforming mold in a traditionalistic family without going insane against personal core values.

Don’t fucking expect me to blindly accept what sounds obtusely narrow-minded in perspective to me, in compliance, thank you.

That’s why I’m scared to talk to her. Always sound so threatening. Must question everything I say.

Oh, really now? Why are you so afraid? I’m merely giving you my relatively peaceful frank opinion on the subject, in a feeble attempt at keeping the discussion more objective than not, not about you per se, you self-absorbed twat.

Maybe I wouldn’t be this scary to you if you’d stop making so many unfounded assumptions and uneducated guesses.

I don’t think this many people should like you.

I’m sorry. You want me to rub some fancy Egyptian salt in? Somehow the majority vote about my amicability is not even influenced by self-promotion like your very effective direct-selling multi-level marketing “network marketing” (or whatever fanciful name like “sales distributor” [a.k.a. salesperson]) attempt. You know what? Feel free to try influencing my 782189243 acquaintances, 4482 friends, and 23 good/best friends about how much of a retarded, narrow-minded, cold bitch your sister is. I’m sure they’ll value the profound opinion of her younger brother.

Also, what happened to all of your “friends”? They became imaginary? And before they became visually transparent (pun. If you have the ability distinguish it at all, or even understand its meaning), how many of them have remembered you each time you return from some faraway land? How many of them even divulge any gossip-worthy secret to you over the entire course of your school life?

I guess, then, there is no need for me to wonder why your only best friend seem to be your manager. Of your new direct-selling job. Of two months.

I just want you to learn from what I’m trying to teach you.

Oh, and why the fuck do I need to learn from a 19-year-old school dropout and social reject who can’t live without his parents’ babying again? Pray tell me. I am oh-so-intrigue by your grand wisdom.

The word ‘compromise’ has never been more profound.