something less.

Soulmates

Plato believed that humans were originally in pairs, joined to another by the backs, but were split by the Gods because we were too powerful.
Now we are doomed to wander the Earth
until we find
our other
half.

photo.

"condemning them to spend their lives searching for the other half to complete them"

According to Theosophy, God created androgynous souls, equally male and female. Later theories postulate that the souls split into separate genders, perhaps because they incurred karma while playing around on the Earth, or "separation from God". Over a number of reincarnations, each half seeks the other. When all karmic debt is purged, the two will fuse back together and return to the ultimate.

I really, REALLY like this idea.
I think I should have liked Plato.

Story.

photo.

 

Once, in a land far from here, in a time that may never come to pass, I escaped from Despair, a demon who was hunting me. I arrived in an unfamiliar land, where despair did not follow me. As I walked through fields of tranquility, I met a young girl with sweet melodies plaited through her hair and light in her heart. She spoke in colours. As we talked I told her of my world and the monster I was fleeing, confused, she questioned me, "What colour is despair?"
"Black, I suppose."
She thought about this. "But what kind of black? Black like a crow's feathers? Or nightfall? Or-"
"No," I cut her off, frustrated, "black like in your room, alone at night. Like the deepest part of the ocean where just looking at it you feel like you will lose yourself. Like nothingness, the unknown."
Confusion clouded her face and envy filled my depths. She lived in a world where that colour wasn't a feeling, where it didn't exist, her next words confirmed it.
"I don't think I've ever felt that colour."
"How I wish I could stay here," I whispered with a voice like glass.
"You can." She murmured, her face filled with warmth.
"I can't," I whispered, longing clouding my voice, "what about all those I love?"
She hesitated, "Love? What colour is that?"
My breath ran away, and in an instant my envy transformed into pity. After much thought, I spoke, "Well, I suppose, it's every colour."
The girl who spoke in colours searched my eyes for the hidden meaning that she couldn't reach, not here.
"Do you mean white?"
"No," I choked on the words, "not at all...I'm sorry, I- I don't think there is a colour."
And with that I leant down to kiss her on both cheeks before walking away. And as soon as she was out of sight I began to run. And as I ran I sobbed, my heart cracking open, emotions filling my lungs. I prayed I could find my way back home and no longer feared the monster that had chased me here.
Because feeling horrible beats feeling nothing.
Because I didn't want to close off.
Because that poor girl would never feel love because she lived in a world without hate.
Beacuse I'd rather be fucked up anyday.

photo. 

while the world was asleep
                          i wandered
         to darkened lands and lonely places
(that hovered at the creases of my mind).
as i walked,
          i pondered
the faces, they told me, i was best to leave behind.

Milkman.

photo.  

Carolina Drama
                 -The Raconteurs

I'm not sure if there's a point to this story
But I'm going to tell it again
So many other people try to tell the tale
Not one of them knows the end

It was a junk-house in South Carolina
Held a boy the age of ten
Along with his older brother Billy
And a mother and her boyfriend
Who was a triple loser with some blue tattoos
That were given to him when he was young
And a drunk temper that was easy to lose
And thank god he didn't own a gun

Well, Billy woke up in the back of his truck
Took a minute to open his eyes
He took a peep into the back of the house
And found himself a big surprise
He didn't see his brother but there was his mother
With her red-headed head in her hands
While the boyfriend had his gloves wrapped around an old priest
Trying to choke the man

Ah Ah Ahhh...

Billy looked up from the window to the truck
Threw up, and had to struggle to stand
He saw that red-necked bastard with a hammer
Turn the priest into a shell of a man
The priest was putting up the fight of his life
But he was old and he was bound to lose
The boyfriend hit as hard as he could
And knocked the priest right down to his shoes

Well, now Billy knew but never actually met
The preacher lying there in the room
He heard himself say, "That must be my daddy"
Then he knew what he was gonna do
Billy got up enough courage, took it up
And grabbed the first blunt thing he could find
It was a cold, glass bottle of milk
That got delivered every morning at nine

Ah Ah Ahhh...

Billy broke in and saw the blood on the floor, and
He turned around and put the lock on the door
He looked dead into the boyfriend's eye
His mother was a ghost, too upset to cry, then
He took a step toward the man on the ground
From his mouth trickled out a little audible sound
He heard the boyfriend shout, "Get out!"
And Billy said, "Not till I know what this is all about"
"Well, this preacher here was attacking your mama"
But Billy knew just who was starting the drama
So Billy took dead aim at his face
And smashed the bottle on the man who left his dad in disgrace, and
The white milk dripped down with the blood, and the
Boyfriend fell down dead for good
Right next to the preacher who was gasping for air
And Billy shouted, "Daddy, why'd you have to come back here?"
His mama reached behind the sugar and honey, and
Pulled out an envelope filled with money
"Your daddy gave us this," she collapsed in tears
"He's been paying all the bills for years"
"Mama, let's put this body underneath the trees
and put Daddy in the truck and head to Tennessee"
Just then, his little brother came in
Holding the milk man's hat and a bottle of gin singing,

La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la, la la la...
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la, la la la...
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah

Well now you heard another side to the story
But you wanna know how it ends?
If you must know, the truth about the tale
Go and ask the milkman


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqp12b61pFo

Envy the Ignorant.

Something about our friendship has been troubling me for a while, I think I've finally realised.

photo. 

Today on the train ride home I asked my best friend about the world, ideas and existence.
She brushed it off.
So I asked another question.
"Are you happy? Like, content, not being troubled by the world?"
"Yes."
I don't think we can be best friends anymore.
Because somebody who doesn't question life, who is able to prance through life, untroubled by the unanswerable questions -will hurt me.
Because these questions do trouble me, I can't find solace anymore because of them.
I don't think I can understand that, what it is to be like that.
If I could take back my ignorance I might.
But you can't unthink.

"in the modern world the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt."

-Bertrand Russell

how sad, she was nice.

No use crying

You don’t let people in. It’s hard for you and once you do you don’t want to let them go and when they fuck up you’re like "Why did you do that to me? I gave you my feelings. I did everything for you, and you screwed me over."



— Audrina Patridge

photo. 

Masks.

“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are.
You trade in your reality for a role.
You trade in your sense for an act.
You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can’t be any large-scale revolution until there’s a personal revolution, on an individual level.

It’s got to happen inside first.

You can take away a man’s political freedom and you won’t hurt him- unless you take away his freedom to feel. That can destroy him. That kind of freedom can’t be granted. Nobody can win it for you.”
— Jim Morrison

When we are very young, we are taught, by example, that the only way to survive is to put on a mask.

                                                                            photo.
So, we do
because we want to stay whole.



At first it it fun, and everybody knows that it is only make-believe.

photo.

But our faces get mixed up, and sometimes (only sometimes) we aren't sure which mask to choose, we can't remember which one

is the real mask

isn't a mask at all.

                                                                              photo.  


So we continue to grow and as highschool catches us in its web, we get confused- everyone does.

You look at masks for so long,
you forget what it is to look at a real face,
get to know a real person.

photo.

 

Pretty soon everybody has a mask and you begin to think without one you might be outcasted, thrown away.
So you keep it on, even if it starts to feel wrong.

photo.

You stop taking it off, 

instead wearing it obsessively.

Around your friends,

photo.

 

photo. 

Around those you care about,

  

photo.

Until, shock.

Horror.

 

photo.

You realise you've forgotten how to take it off.

Until the day comes when you look in the mirror, and don't recognise what you see,

photo.

don't know how to get back what you've lost.

But don't give up, everyone has been, is or will be where you are standing now.

  Don't give up,

because you'll find that those moments when the mask lifts,

even if only by accident,

photo.

are worth all the others combined. And eventually,

if you're lucky...

 you'll find someone who can see through the mask.

photo.   

“I keep expecting to come to my senses, but the pressure is lifting with each step I take. I’ve spent a lifetime keeping up my guard, watching my back, wearing my mask. Relief was never in sight until now.”

— Dexter - 2.11 - ‘Left Turn Ahead’

Two is the beginning of the end.

"All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, ‘Oh, why can’t you remain like this for ever!’ This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end."                                                             

— J.M. Barrie (Peter Pan)

                                                                              photo.

 "You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls."
— J.M. Barrie (Peter Pan)
 

Please get me out of here before it's too late.

Night Terrors.

.
.
.

Words
Pounding
In my head
on my skull

thump
thump
thump

Begging
to be let in out
probably out

Silence.
that's all i want
The dull reverberating neverending drone
of silence
do you understand?
these words are becoming too much
they crush my lungs
suffocating me
they cower in the pit of my being
like monsters
scrambling over one another
ferocious lonely crazed
they turn on one another
and attack
desperate hungry
for freedom for an escape.

when, suddenly-
there
a glimmer
a light of opening, a hope of shaft.

but they're over eager
instead of catapulting into the abyss
emerging
swift and meaningful
they trip
slip
slide
clumsily on my parted lips
they stumble and fall
proving there's no point

believe me
i have the words
i just can't express the meanings
so instead i battle
with the thump
thump
thumping of words
that cannot be expressed

photo.