Travelogue #not sure

The worst part about travelling, staying on the road for too long, is not the fatigue, not the fear, not the solitude, but the eventual and the inevitable identity crisis, the chapter where the old you peels off and away, the natural mechanism built within us to cope and adapt.

Your residual self image changes, the way you think, the way you perceive things, it all start to shift and turn within you, like a monster awakening from decades of deep sleep, years and years of sleeping still as layers of scales and thick skin form atop of it, the mind, heart and soul which were programmed to deal with things in certain ways, the default ways is now in a state of shock, all the alarms go off and on the surface you’re just numb.

All your dreams, your past, every single thing which define who you are slowly begins to reroute itself to a new and unfamiliar set of circumstances.

As numb as I am, I just refuse that.

I was born to be childish and irrational, I know that the fact that I realize this means that I am not, but I don’t want to simply back out and raise a white flag, I’m not brave, I’m stubborn, stupid and I love my solitude, I’m angry, why the fuck aren’t I angry anymore? Why am I not scared? Why am I not planning for tomorrow? When did I lose this burning selfish passion and why? Why do I seem peaceful while there’s a fucking war between all the demons inside of me?

Why am I giving up gradually? Where did all the blood which used to rush into my head go? Is it this country? Is it the over excess of order and politeness? Is it that lately I’ve been living too ‘innocently’ a dull life with no texture? Is it because all tge taste of it was the garbage food at the end of the day?

I believe that might be just it, I’ve been in the same spot for too long, no change of scenery, no food for thought, no mind stimulants of any kind, just the work.

I’m sick, don’t need a doctor, I need to move.

Advertisements

Identity

I remember before I hit the reality wall in full speed I was more rebellious, I was fearless, I dared to always jump in head first and I never cared about my wounds and bruises, I remember that I was more of a mercenary, uncaring about financial security unless I find it while perusing my passion, I remember when life was less about paperwork and more about wild dreams and distant visions.

I remember that feeling when the gamble paid off and I remember loss.

All I am now is mush, dough, jelly, a being that has been hit hard by real life, poured into a dark distant corner, waiting for the big boys in expensive suits to decide my fate, as I whimper and pay my last dime, my last minute trying to prove that I’m worthy to stay a little more in their wonderland of sin, lies, deception and plastic smiles.

I sit and whimper as I get reprogrammed to abandon what I know and feel for what the world knows to be the norm.

Little by little I find myself losing all the true things worth fighting for, and I see that I was never brave, I was covered by a brave woman, my mother and a kind man, my father, as the cover starts to wether and decay I learn about who I really am, a scared, confused child of an adult, I find that I am forced into walking a path which I’ve always criticized, living on borrowed time, indulging in a love which I believe I’m not worthy of, fighting a battle which feels much bigger than I can handle at times.

Big boys in fancy suits are stealing my identity, and I am numb, angry, but numb.

And I don’t want to believe that this is the end of it, that this is who I will become permanently, I don’t want to be numb, I don’t want to feel weak and I don’t want to feel unworthy of the only woman I truly love, trust and respect.

I want to wake up from this nightmare, I do care how will it end but I care more about when will it end, I honestly don’t even care how long am I going to live as long as I don’t feel the way I’ve been feeling lately, even if it means I just have one more day to live.

I don’t want to end this on a low note, but I have nothing more to say.

Invictus, always…

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.

20’th of August, 2017

It had to happen the hard way, but I had my wake up call once I saw everything I thought I am torn apart in front of my eyes.

It all unravels once you realize that the world doesn’t owe you a thing, you owe the world to be our best self that you could be, we’re lucky to be alive, we’re lucky to have a chance everyday to make things better, we’re lucky to be surrounded by loving and supporting people, and even if we don’t have that we’re lucky to have the opportunity to go out there to find what we’re missing.

My ego was inflated for a long time, just one bump with real life and I’m back to square one, where I belong, where I thought I’m above all, I’m not and I’m sorry I even thought this way.

Time to stop saying I and me, this is not a post of self indulgence, at least I hope it’s not for my sight is too blurry to realize what’s true and what’s not, this is a reminder, no one owes us a thing, we owe each other everything.

Love and peace for all.

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
            Only this and nothing more.”
    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
            Nameless here for evermore.
    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
            This it is and nothing more.”
    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
            Darkness there and nothing more.
    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
            Merely this and nothing more.
    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
            With such name as “Nevermore.”
    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
            Shall be lifted—nevermore!
By Edgar Allan Poe

Poison… Always

You put everything you have in it, you throw it all for the alluring, hypnotic eyes of all the things you dream of and yearn for, embodied right in front of your eyes in one big bow tied gift wrap, you throw it all and you don’t just wish for the best, you keep grinding and digging every single day.
Until at some point you figure it out, it doesn’t matter what you want, or who you are or how hard you try there’s always a manipulative force throwing obstacles in your way as if you’re a lab rat thrown without much of a choice in a maze.

You fall, you stand again, you dust it off and you keep on trying and you drown in the love of it but then you get to the point where whatever is holding you back is this massive hand, you try to cut it off and move on, but it’s too strong and it’s so cruel and it just keeps on squishing you driving you either to the very edge of your sanity or at best to your demise, because you fucking refuse to do all that you were supposed to do and more and still it slips further and further and it tears you apart.

You refuse to give in but you’re numb and you discover how small and clueless you are in a big world that only understands paperwork and money, your words are irrelevant this is a place where we all should be talking in binary code.

This is a place of doubt and crushed dreams and absolutely no second chances.
I’m too numb to be angry and to ashamed to act, and I know that my beliefs should be beyond hindrances and self doubt, and I know that victories are never absolute I know a victory is mostly a shade of grey, I know that it doesn’t have to be exactly the way you imagined it and I know that there isn’t only one right answer, but for the moment I just can’t help but feel defeated.

I need to step back, I need to wake up and snap out of apathy, I need this fire in me once more and I need to find a different answer than the one I had my heart set on, and in case it doesn’t all actually come crumbling down on my head, I’ll just keep pushing for whether I make it or not I don’t want to regret wasting a single moment, I already have wasted enough time.