7:27

Tell me it's a lie. Tell me that when I'm on the road and the skies are still in their orange darkness hour, as I listen to a song about home, that it's all a lie.

Tell me that when I'm thinking of it and the tears slip before I can realize it, that it's just the effect of years and years of make-believe. Tell me I belong here. Tell me nothing of what I think is waiting, is. Tell me to get out the stack of get-out thoughts out of the car next time I get in. Tell the car to stop making this much sense to me. Tell me to hold on without it necessarily being for one meticulously crafted result. Tell me to sit down, and cry. And then keep telling me not to stop, until the flood washes away everything that stands in my view. Because the view at 7:27 does not look bad, at all.

Words are irrelevant, as of this full-stop.

Except for maybe these:
"Hey, good luck exploring the infinite abyss."

And Say This On Repeat.

On second thought, I should consider practicing my fuck-everything smile more often. Life should not move disproportionally against one's tolerance level.

Currently listening to: Nothing, actually. This is not a music-induced post, for a change.

Yesterday.

Here goes the time of the year where you just know autumn is bound to be around the corner, and that summer can't last as long as it already has.

As great as this piece of fact on its own is to an autumn/winter person, that's not entirely why the first day in every month, as of September each year, have started to wash over me with unreasonable excitement. That reminds me of something, though. Not that long ago, I used to get what's called "weather blues" at times of seasons-changing. So I can safely say my weather-sensitive biological reactions know of only extremes.

But at that, I know I can now induce the other extreme much better. And that is good to know. That is really, really good to know.

On a random note, I believe in birthdays. I always say it's one day the universe owes you. People should take their birthdays seriously. They should let it show them who they've become. They should listen to what that new number is trying to say. It always has useful things to say, regardless of whether it comes in as as a pat on the shoulder or a kick in the stomach.

On a not so random note, however; the skill of not giving a shit when it comes to what shouldn't be given a shit about anymore, is a worthy investment of time and effort, if you ask me.

It's the time of times, again.

There..

Is that the point where you find yourself , somehow, realizing you're becoming everyone you never wanted to become? Is that the point where a line of thought appears sensible out of certain sequences of events, leading you to start, more than ever, considering that your dreams were never really yours?

You used to be someone you know by now you were not. And now that you're at it, you're all-(most of)-the things you didn't see coming your way, or you going theirs, so to speak.

Who the hell are you, then? Were you ever, to begin with? The benefit of the doubt is the only instrument that keeps you sane.

"If you keep going over the past, you're going to end up with a thousand pasts and no future." - The secret in their eyes

I Might Have Been.

Right now. Right at this moment in time, I have absolutely no idea who I am, what I am, where I am, or how I am. None. Whatsoever. No exaggeration. Too many mixed signals to be able to conclude anything sensible.

But I'm free.

I'm strong and I'm free. I'm confused but I'm free. I'm self indulgent and incredibly lazy but I'm free. And I'm scared, I'm terrified down my own skin, but I'm free. I don't feel, but I'm free, I never sleep well but I'm free. I go through daily roller coaster mood rides that, unlike roller coasters, never really end, but I'm free. I curse more than I ever used to, but I'm free. And I don't believe enough, but I'm free.

Make no mistake, I don't know why I'm free either, but that doesn't make me any less free.

Mentioning roller coasters, I once heard that the best way to enjoy those was to close your eyes during the ride. I tried that, it felt like being asleep on a bus. I never really got how that could be the best way to feel the thrill. So, well, don't close your eyes in roller coasters, or you might as well walk right past them and fetch the nearest bus.

One day, I will write a story about this song. It's just not today.

I need to speak to a wall.

AND I'M FREE. FREEFALLIN',

Fallin'..

That's Why We Have Blogs, Isn't It?

- Our minds really do have an overwhelming ability to make whatever we think look real. This ability, though, is very seldom exercised where it really should be . And that's my idea of be careful what you wish for.

- Somewhere between the process of growth and the point of maturity with regards to a certain portion of one's life, occurs an anomalous leap along the pattern. At this point, the perfect amounts of knowledge and confidence will collide, generating what I choose to call, the awaited awesomeness. You could either welcome it with cries of excitement, or just an assured smile. That would only depend on whether or not you've continued to see it coming, no matter how many times it might have seemed like it won't be.

- When your best friend has been unconscious for over 5 months, the fact that you don't feel like shit all the time does not mean you have moved on. Nonetheless, the thought that you might have moved on, even in the tiniest bit, will manage to make you feel like shit again.

- Doubting your feelings can be the healthiest thing you can do with them. The tricky part is in learning how to still see, and allow yourself to enjoy the beauty of uncertainty while it is tucked in its hideous, smelly compartment.

- The words "young woman in her twenties" still freak the crap out of me, even though I have accepted and gladly welcomed the happening of adulthood to my life.

- I have my gratitude list written down and I am not afraid to use it anymore. And well, when it comes to certain items on the list, at least I try now.

- Loving someone the way they are, for who they are, will end up changing the way you are, for what you are. Pun is intended and stressed upon.

Damien Rice - Dogs
Bob Dylan - Blowing in the wind
Paolo Nutini - White Lies

"Like endless rain into a paper cup." *

More often than not, much to my wondering disappointment, I just find myself winding up around the old yet nonetheless unwavering tracks.

In my proud defense, I'm changed, but in their humbling one, they're not.

*Across The Universe.

Fear.

I would rather admire you with the color-blind eye. This is how I could still get things done.

Speaking Of Coffee, Balloons, And Good Hair Days.

Currently, I'm in the process of fishing out things to be grateful for, and it's actually just for the heck of it.

Dear Space.

I've been staring for quite some time, haven't I? But you are where I'd rather be, and that's the only way I can be part of you. So when I dance in the air, keep looking away from the ground. And When I jump into the ditches, keep looking away from the surface.

Just lock your eyes on mine, not where I choose to lay each time. Just keep staring back. Just keep making me..not feel.

I can't afford to feel, just yet.

In Repetition There Lies A Marvel.

At one point, you will find yourself, somehow, able to tame each and every desire of crashing into useless dead-ends with a force of emotions that should not anymore have limbs. This will be the point where a certainty of knowing better will keep you out.

And when it's all over one more time, as you breathe out and it all comes back to you and you remember what you had just saved, as you also see where you used to be from where you are, don't forget to congratulate yourself.


Bless the voice.

The First Page Is The Last.

I know you're here. I know you're here and won't seem to leave on your own.

Who, what, you are is what I don't, though. I'm afraid I've run out of possibilities, and/or might have adopted denial for so long I can no longer tell which was what.

But for whatever it is, you're in the way, and I have to find you, and gracefully rip you to pieces.

The Diary Of Jane - Breaking Benjamin

Spin

I close my eyes slowly as I begin to lose myself within the rhythm you created. I shield them with my arm to ensure I see nothing on the outside…to ensure I see nothing but you. My head is used to the gradual tingling. My feet need no direction now. I can only hear the collective calling of your name. I can feel the verve in the voices, pulsing along my own heart's, exchanging waves of a harmony that has been desired for a lifetime. And I cannot but let my senses crawl under the newly born halo of surrender. Without my command, the tears fall down my welcoming face as they assert my questioning of the Truth.

The flute weeps into my ears…and the echoes bring up the sound of a familiar cry…the cry of Recognition.

My Conscious is mad for oblivion. Something has been aching in me. It has driven me away to the confusing shores of the Unlimited. It has pushed me down the paths of probable Nowheres. I have exhausted my system in trials, and yet it still could sting. I have not known what I wanted, I just knew I had to stop the stinging. I have been drained of all strength, for I knew the key to my existence was behind this pain. I have been spinning around every possibility, in all irony. And I have found no effect. I could not even tell if I were strayed, for I never knew where I came from. I knew nothing, I saw nothing, I felt nothing but that sting. I tasted no pleasure, I did not even feel any other kind of pain. All I knew was that I had to know.

The drum strikes stab my resident pensiveness in recurrence…into Nonexistence.

I am in the middle of revolving White. I carry so much color on me. The thought of every color leads to you. The thought of everything is starting to lead to you. I am silent in the middle of revolving cries. I am constant in the middle of changing strikes. Every rhythm in each strike leads to you. The sting gets louder as the edge of my abyss erodes. I have come to you with such weight of incomplete triggers. I have scattered all my passion into useless fragments that I cannot even detect any longer. I am calling your name inside in utmost beseeching. But I cannot tell where that voice is coming from. The echoes run deeper.

And to the overflowing sound of your name I fall. Higher.

Would you take me? I am tapping upon the essence of my existence. I am everything. You are everything. Only now does it ring true. Would you call on my serenity? I have been defeated and left disheveled by the part of world you made mine. I am spinning on my feet but I am yet running. I have been running from you in my world, and did I know it was to reach a glimpse of yours. Do you see where I am captured? Would you take me away from where I linger? Would you show me your colors before I spin myself further into my own folly? Would you bless my quest?

I am pleading as you take me.

The air in my breath seems to have abandoned me, and I am only breathing your name through my ears. I can taste it merging with my heartbeats. I can hear my heels delighting to the new sound. I can hear you.




He danced and a maze of strings in the air began to listen. One of them was mine.

Yet Another Superman Tragedy.

Sometimes, it's not that hard to believe we're superhuman. It's those times we realize we can't lay on the ground screaming we can't do or take it anymore. It's the times where the predicament is strictly attached to something, or someone, we know that by any means, we cannot give up on. And in some of those times, we include ourselves too on that list, if we managed to still find a way to care.

Yes, our very own kryptonite stones.
It's an irony, but who cares anyway.

No one said that anything, let alone that big, could possibly come free, or cheap. The fear of falling is always around the corner. Restlessness is born with the logical thought that one day we might just wake up, look over our shoulders and the cape will be gone, no matter how tightly we get ourselves to wrap it around our skin so we'd be able to sleep. There's always an unbearable anticipation that if one more thing happens we'd just fall apart beyond repair, and the pressure will be released at once, the inevitable price we had to pay while trying to float.

But in desperation, costs are always of no issue. That is, if we were even able to see them ahead.

So we're up. Hell, maybe even running. We're in one piece, doing one thing, the one thing we risked it all for. We get up and we get through with the day, and on some occasions maybe think of that one day we get to breath like those ordinary humans in the picture on our wall, the ones we've long denied ourselves from. Just to inhale and exhale with nothing wrestling on end across the chest.

The day we let the cape carry us home, and we exchange goodbyes.

It's a tragedy, but who cares anyway?

In A For-What-It's-Worth Nutshell.

And what you don't know, is that you want my silence.

Of Time, And Those Annoying Little Shades of Yellow.

I've seen streets overcrowded with Blankness.

I've seen where I ended, and floated somewhere beyond. Still floating. Explains the blankness part.

I've seen every way I managed not to go down into, and I've seen some of the milestones pass by uncelebrated. At least not the way they could have been.

I've seen Time stop, but I followed it anyway. Aware of the stakes, I did. I've also seen it trying to escape me, and sometimes I let it, before it gives itself too much credit for thinking it's holding me down, not the other way around. I've seen Time from side-way and upside down views. I've gone through the clocks and the calendars back and forth, in a distorted pendulum-like movement. I've skidded blindly across the days with invisible roller blades. It wasn't the least fun. I've jumped, staggered, twitched, and hummed it away.

I've felt Time in every way it would have thought of being felt, including the none-at-all one. I know of Time.

And If it weren't for you, I would be shouting at every yellow object I come across. I look up in the morning and see the tone of your skin, and then the night would come and I would look up again, and sing your song. This is what keeps me from shouting.

But oh, Do I want to shout! I want to shout everything back to its place. I want to leave you the longest echoes to follow.

And when Time looks prettiest in my eyes, I look on and pick the tags of celebration, and leave a note on one of them, to smile at when Time would feel, at last, right. And behind every star you made yours, are other notes of the kind, explaining how exactly each shines for you.

Note to the world: I hereby declare that I am not broken. I further clarify that I am yet incomplete.

Here's A Shade.

I am somewhere between Green and Blue. I'm waving at Teal from a distance, but it can't get a hold of me. I'm staggering through the shades. Purple doesn't look that far off, and Red could pretty much be on its way. For all I know, thought, I'm waving at Gray from the mid-point of some line.

I have invented a color. And it doesn't look out of place if I am unable to describe it. It certainly isn't strange that I won't find it anywhere in physical reality as well. But I know I have created a whole new shade out of this crazy, crazy spectrum that is loosely zigzagging its way across the Status Quo.

Sometimes it fades into the hazy dimensions of certain facts, such as Time for instance. But then it jumps right out of wherever it's been hiding within it, the minute I remember again that however Time passes, it eventually does, and this is what should only count. Even if that still doesn't make it any easier to survive on that parallel galaxy of longing.

Other times, because, you know, it's still new to the world and just loves to play around, it wanders off for as long as a whole day. But again, it finds its way to my bed every night and slips in through my skin, back to the inch of my spine I have reserved for it. My shade can never leave for too long. Just as I don't make sense without it, it could never make sense without me either, because no one ever came any close to seeing it the way I do.

I have found more meaning within the rays of that shade than what I thought I did in any other.

See, world? I'm being a good student.

I'm going to start singing again. I'm going to show my vocal chords how exactly far they could go. I found the shade hiding there today.

Note to self: Write a Thank You letter to Lifehouse when Julie wakes up from her coma.

Current playlist:
What I'm looking for - Brendan Benson
Walk The Line - Johnny Cash
Revelry - Kings Of Leon
Daffodil Lament - The Cranberries
Don't Think Twice, It's Alright - Bob Dylan

Current Obsession:
Closer - Kings Of Leon

The Hallway.

It is with plastic loosely tying each of my feet and a fiber pad keeping my breath from reaching out to your gracious skin, between the words that momentarily escape the land that is my head as I lean over by your bed, between hugging your sister for you and inwardly screaming at the slightest mishaps of every day, between the smiles I identify as genuine at finding them emerge from unthinkable roots, and the tears I seem to stop and plead to fall, both at the same time, between the parallel sounds of the music and the laughter and that one new whimsical smile I have only just came to know. between the opening of the ICU door and the closing of the one to your room...

That I am one step closer, to getting to the bottom of it all. It was far beyond my reckoning, but I would not have found a stronger reason to want to step any further, no matter how much I brood over how I have wanted to.

And it's all for you, Baby Blue, and the smell of roses on your forehead.

That I finally give enough of a damn to believe.

This is what I'm singing you on my next visit, I hope it brings you closer to Home.




Wake up, I want you to see what you have made out of me.

A Stop At The First Star

I started another "no more late nights for me" attempt that I've been tightly sticking to for a while, but an anomalous night falls down from my line every so often. And its not too bad, in fact it might be just enough for me to give my recently caged night owl self a nice little break. Yet again, that would be another reminder that any shade or interval of freedom certainly is not for free.

I finally made time, or overslept enough to stay awake for some extra time the following night, to watch the movie Up in the air. My week was kind of chaotic. I ended up adding a third name to my list of favorite movie directors, after finding out that Jason Reitman was also the one behind Juno.

As the credits went down, playing a few scarily relatable soundtracks, I had already landed in the exact place I knew this kind of movie will throw me into...


"Tonight, most people will be welcomed home by jumping dogs and squealing kids. Their spouses will ask about their day, and tonight they'll sleep. The stars will wheel forth from their daytime hiding places, crowning their neighborhood with lights. And one of those lights, slightly brighter than the rest, will be my wingtip, passing over, blessing them."

I can't tell which direction out of the two I am seeing is the one I should worry about more; the fact that the idea hit home, or the fact that I did not mind the hit? I don't know if I really am scared, like most people are at the end of the day, of being and staying up in the air, away from everyone back on the ground. Do I really not mind carrying an empty backpack of ,basically people, for the course of a lifetime? and if I ever decided to come down, would it really crush me if I found out it was too late? Or will I gracefully retreat right upwards where a randomly chosen world picked out of an airport's destination board, is hardly at all even waiting for me?

It is not fearing an empty backpack at any point do I fear, for currently I am working my way up to some level, on a pretty much involuntary basis that I have recently noticed but can't and/or (hence the whole post) do not mind. At least for now.

In The Wake of A Pulse II

Palm trees and warm voices. Cithars bleeding into a stream lost on its own into a crippling dimension of nonexistence.

Where was I?
Swam the bloody rivers at the end of which the fall awaited. In slow motion it shattered me, one cell at a time. Screamed, or so I thought at the shake in my chords…

Cold waters and always, always, adverse winds… but still, at the much yearned dead of night I can still recognize how I never saw a similar shade like the sight above my right, of blue in a halo encompassing even the darker crumb of an almost there full moon. Then only do I remember.

All yours that would be. All yours.

Where was I?
I missed the falling leaves this time. I missed the shivering at the crisp voices of the joyful crushing into the most colorful form of death. Yet, I know the red leaves will never be forgotten long as I am breathing. I know the red leaves will never die with the sound. I know the red leaves better.

Light.
light and fear. Empty staring at blinding melodies of a shallow wave of serenity. I fell so strongly, even the stranger was crying. I caught Death in a breakdown by the invisible bank as I was falling. And into countless little silver blessings that plagued their way, in the most healing of natures, I bloomed into the face of the new low.

And it was already that time for the arch of incompleteness to break out of its pitch. There I was again, up in a circle with a halo of that lone shade, down in endless shreds of striking stars, spilt over the realm of fearsome Red.

Where was I?

In a different extension of Time and Space, I watched from the top of the tree. Its roots have known their ways through every inch of nonexistence. Its leaves and branches have always been right behind the moon, every time. I watched the tree as it wept and deafened me with the pleadings of every branch, where the halo and its master, the enchantingly gleaming rock, never turned at the sound. Some days I cried for the tree. Some days I cursed at the moon. Some days I stretched my arms out, held each in one hand, and slept with my feet in the air.

As It Unwinds..

There is nothing up my sleeve for the just-starting year. This is a first in a good while.

Neither hope, nor despair
Neither determination, nor de-motivation
Neither defined resolutions nor abstract desires.

I will not interfere with its story with me.

I will have completed 2 decades of age. I have no reaction to that yet. But again, it's not about to matter.

I have my fears, but I am not afraid of them now. The story is bound to include some running-into, and much less running-from. Because that too has lost the damn.

And, I can't really start a year without stating it, so for what it's worth, thanks for the music.

At that, I would give Paolo Nutini's Sunny Side Up an Album of the year. It's far from a pick I would predictably make, but that had some skill, at the amazing rate of being only his second release.


"You know, I'm tired of following my dreams. I'm just gonna ask them where they're headed, and meet up with them later!" - Mitch Hedberg.

However they turn out to be..
I let that part loose as of now.

Here's to anything and everything. Because I'm not afraid.