Jan. 1, 2021

Rambling

A crystal clear notion that temps lonely visitors with its ever-present warmth and life. It creates a yearning within these hapless fellows, manipulating them and using their weakness for someone, something to take them by the hand, to touch what has been starved and give them the love that they have been missing from their listless lives. Here a deal is composed between the object and that of which is affected, a deal that masks the object's true intentions of stealing away to life, the essence of that which believes that this emanating love is enough to fill the emptiness, the void present in their desperate hearts.

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Here a life stands still as a single projection of illumination halos above them, cutting through the thick darkness that covers the streets. The night is still, unending as they look out into the pitch-black that paints the land into a void with no direction. Where is it that they need to go? There they wait unable to move for no step will seemingly take them towards the destination they had set and yet forgotten as if it has been sucked out into the vast nothingness, intimidation of the unknown.

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What is it about the time in between that ravishes the body with uncertainty, clawing at the mind with what ifs? A simple question that arises answers that tend to strike fear within the hearts of those that dare to ask, that dare to think that they are ready to step out into the world and face the uncertainties waiting behind the door. What will come forth if they step forward and face the unknown? The worst may happen, failure may happen and paint them as the one that messed up, that took a stupid chance, continued on with something that they have no right in doing. This fear holds their heart with claws and squeezes, taking their breath away with each thought, bringing tears to their eyes from the possibilities of rejection, of humiliation. Gasps of air, heavy and shuddered break from their tightening throat as they curl into themselves with the hope that isolation will save them from the panic that hinders their body from moving forwards.

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Whatever does one mean by the light that never reaches the horizon it hovers above? Does this have to do with hesitation or maybe the true meaning is in procrastination? There the light quivers as it stays, assuming forever is its position above the threshold, above the line of seemingly no return. What lies beyond that line? Is the light afraid to find out? Is it intimidated by the implicates that come with crossing over the horizontal threshold or does it realize that a horizon only brings forth another horizon that begs to be reached and crossed, that this is a continuous cycle that only comes with frenzy and endless paths that come with only a meaningless promise of a destination?

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The swirling thoughts that constantly dance within the mind hardily ever permeate that of which it contains. Outside realities hold the thoughts of word, of visual backed with the use of disconnect between thoughts and action. Reality can be bent in order to allow the connection to cross, sparking these imaginative thoughts into fruition. However, being the spark that it is, the life that was breathed into it exhales, snuffing out inspiration. For a creative, the best way to move forward is to breath through the need for the free wires to touch, to instead take the initiative to follow the wire through the expansive dark and feel around for a possible thought to bring into the light without the guiding hand of illuminated inspiration. Though a difficult experience that staggers those who wish to bring life to their thoughts, it is a requirement that doesn’t have to be journeyed alone. The resources that can help one follow these unknown, darkened paths are available as long as the creative is willing to arm themselves with that which helps them navigate and discover.

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The virtue of patience is one that those that possess it revel in the idea that they can handle letting time pass by as they saunter through life in a calming, collective manner. However, patience is not a constant. It is a wave full of peaks and troughs where another can introduce themselves in between these times of which the virtue is thin, easily ripped through like a hidden cobweb that is unfortunately within your trajectory. What comes forth is a thick frustration that startles that of which never seen the anger and attitude that hisses out. A terror shutters down as well as a hurt misunderstanding of thought along with wrongdoings that affected the relation. If the one of patience understands their reasoning behind the guilty lashing, an apology will surface with the hopes that the other understands their plight and asks that they steer clear of interaction during obvious times. Although one that does not understand may stew in the lingerings of frustration with the confusion of why the other believes that they are being unreasonably harsh, intense and insensitive.

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Bubbles of uncomfortable warmth breathe within--a call for attention in the form of sustenance. A call that, if left unanswered, will sharpen its hot breath, emanating an unsatisfied growl. The beast grows impatient as it gnashes with needle-like teeth along the lining. After constant neglect, the desperation of the beast may make the sufferer find themselves willing to perform acts that they previously shuttered at. It is a plea for anything to stop the wails and cries from the writhing beast inside that only wishes for the feeling of being content.

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A constant lingering buzz, a static that never wavers in its presence, the sound of silence. Along with the thrum is the background of the world surrounding, the pealing and rubbing of movement bringing forth possible clicks and pops of joints. Indoor rivets from persistently cycling fans that drown out small waves. Outside melodies of rustling leaves and whirling winds compressed from aeroplanes passing high above or sliding winds that whistle as they weave. Muffled spoken word jingling and bouncing through passageways and filtering out through the air.

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Wishing for a helping hand that’ll take my life up into a wonder of impossibilities that never cease to add intrigue into a life that before seemed only meager and useless for each step forward never meant any progress towards the dream that only got pushed to the side for reality to impose itself in. Again and again, I wish for a way to change my life with the flick of my wrist, or rather with the ability to move into a portal that disrupts the flow of time of which I now control in the sense of individual timelines.

The world may not revolve around me, but the reality that I have left behind has paused because of the lack of my existence giving it the presence of a time to follow; I do not feel the movement of time, therefore it does not continue without my existence. In this void, this section of nothing but me and a book seemingly illuminated not by a light, but by presence alone, contains the contents of creating a new life, of starting over. Here I move forward buzzing with excitement but also trepidation of what lays in another world, what experiences will I undertake, be exposed to, have to endure. The book contains all, from fantasy I am knowledgeable and not to that of which is reality either to the timeline left behind or to one that split off into another existence. Laying innocently is a book of wonder that in no way indicates the sheer mass that is encompassed within its unassuming pages. Each flip of a page never seems to disturb the placement of the open book, a never-ending expanse full of curiosity and continuation.

If a new life is untaken, the old life stays awake in its perpetual pause until the soul lost is rejoined with. The soul is never taken in a different reality, but instead is brought back to the void as the existence split does not intertwine with the new reality, it is not a part of the world in which it was not created, the soul, the vibrations of life is not composed of the same wave formation. This difference of composition prevents full death, prevents the silence of a soul’s journey of expanding knowledge and experience. It allows one to redo life over various times. Life and death are just steps into the next bout of wonder and indulgence.

These feelings, the ordeal of different perceptions of sensation that permeates that mind, tainting and expanding the understanding of the stress pushing down on the mind, straining the progression towards a future that involves breaking free from the trauma that holds one back with a grip that claws at the heart creating a fear that locks one in a cage of paranoia. Though the damage of the mind is the greatest weakness of an everlasting soul, the thrill and perpetual seeking of knowledge encourage the damaged soul to move forward and find new beginnings with presumptuously inconsequential impairment to one’s mental capabilities. It is a sacrifice a curious and unsatisfied mind is willing to undertake, to endure until they are no longer able to live a life without the need to be cautious of a world filled with minds that are not one’s own.

Written by xandraxian

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