Confliction

Confliction, confusion.

The world made bright.

Fearful of the end,

Broken, yet simultaneously saved.

Mixture of feeling, confused.
Happy and also sad,
Missing something.
My ability to comprehend.

My ecstatic excitement filled,
While also fearful worry lingers,

My bipolar shifts from happiness, to worry, to sadness, to happiness.
All offering painful confusion.

Shaken to the core,
Worried yet also happy.

Sad to the confliction of my predicament.
Sad to my required bipolar world.

The place that confines me.

The feelings that control, use, abuse and break me.

Tearing my mind apart.

The confliction;
I am happy.
I am sad.
I am worried.
I am excited, enthusiastic, embarrassed and apprehensive.

A plethora of feeling
Opposites, simultanously felt.
My feelings wrapping themselves around me,
Holding me tightly,
Constricting,

Ripping me apart.

Leaving me confused.

Leaving me with conflict.

Emotions. A roller-coaster.
An ever-moving shift.
Hurtful, yet happy.
Sad, yet also happy.

The feelings I cannot explain,
The emotions I cannot control.

My life controlled without my understanding.

The confliction, my emotions, thoughts and feelings.

I am happy.
I am sad.
I am in conflict.
I am… Me.

Pleasant Surprise

Pleasant surprise,

Nice intervention,

A world from anew,

A place not seen before.

The crazy, excited, ecstatic feeling.

The kindness and intelligence.

A world shown.

Thrown from my own,

Complete surprise.

Through this contentment.

A crazy revelation,

Crazy existence.

My place.

The crazy feeling.

Ecstatic and total. Crazy and looms

Empty Loss

This empty loss,
Alien feeling.
Dissatisfied with comfort,
Confusing feelings.

A storm out of nowhere,
Consuming me from within.
Incomprehensible,
Left empty, empty loss, without feeling.

Death from nothing.
Mourning started before the total loss.

The dark shroud to come,
The empty abyss that comes from bliss,
Incomprehensible,
the loss, and the emptiness.

An alien infection,
Suddenly coming over me,
For no reason.

Feeling left my mind.
A loss to the world.
Frozen out of existence.

Fearful,
Of hurting my friends,
Those I hold dear.

Needing to drift off,
Away into darkness,
A figment, a distant memory.

The empty figure.
Unfeeling.
The empty loss.

Leaving out the door,
Without looking back.

Wondering, hoping.
Leaving,
With my empty loss,
The only friend I can’t hurt,
My only possession.

The dark figure,
Leaving,
An empty loss,
A scar on the world.

Drifting into the dark abyss,
Of emptiness,
Of loss.

The Problem of Being Logical.

There is a problem of being too logical, it’s like being able to see while everyone else is unable, it’s like knowing to a solution to a mathematical equation that you cannot speak  or share.

I find this in many areas, where I rationalise something from a startpoint and don’t stop until it comes to an inevitable conclusion (while also accounting for any and all gatherable information and other points of view to find the ‘best’).

The most enraging times are those when someone I know listen to my rationalisation, agree with it being the rationalisation, but still disagree due to some ‘inherent feeling’.

I would like to reiterate that I do not mean I come up with an opinion and hold onto it dearly disregarding all other views, this is not what I do. What I do is find out lots of information, let’s say about a situation, then I rationalise, let’s say, a solution or rationale. From a premise I construct a path, and keep testing each brick, each step against all other bricks and pick the one that stands up the strongest.

The worst times are when others see and agree with the construction of a rationale, using a process like I have already mentioned, however even despite total agreement. They do not accept the end argument, lacking any disputing evidence rationale or argument.

It’s also difficult when people look at what you say or write and look at you like you’re speaking a different language. You start wondering are you?

The end conclusion of this on a personal note, for most (definitely 99% at the least) interactions I speak like I have castrated my own mind for the duration of a social interaction. It is usually easier this way, there is no confusion, a conversation is held and passed. However, there is no stretch, no growth, challenge or stimulation.

The problem of being logical, of being, self-neutering to fit in with everyone else.

I also do not wish to sound pretentious or self-important. I do not value my own opinion above others, I welcome and prefer it when others prove me wrong, provide evidence or a better and more rational view, this excites me and represents growth. I love an intellectual debate, a smart conversation. Questioning reality, experience, perception, views and everything there is to know. I love teaching others or sharing my opinion and prefer greatly others to share theirs. The best thing about other people sharing their opinion (even if I reason that it’s not the best potential evidence in an argument) is that it is potential evidence, it’s another tool to be used. Knowledge providing more. Providing growth.

As always, the problem being too logical. I’m left in a world, either castrated or an outcast. Either way, disatisfied and bored.

The Meaning

The meaning,
The being, place and life.
All for something and all of me.

The place of meaning, life and living.
Placed in a world of being, of staying.

My meaning and place. My comfort and solace.

My place being and moment.

The place I feel at home.
The place to escape my torture.

My place, accepting, my being and place.

My world and my being,
To my shaping.
To my creation.

Shaped into comfort and satisfaction.

My meaning,
My world made whole,
My creation of the meaning,
Not there to begin with.

In The Face Of The Wasteland

In the face of the wasteland,
The uncertainty to come,

Left alone in emptiness,
This wasteland I find myself in.

Wasting away in the searing sun.
Pushing on.

Defying my Gods in the wasteland.
Clearing my past.

My memories return.
Painful reminders of my many mistakes…
They pierce my soul.

Remind me of the failures,
Reminds me of existence.
In the wasteland of being.

Barren, dry and dead.

Moving on and searching for the oasis ahead.

Making my path forward.

Trying to kill the memories.
All my memories.

To wipe my mind to a blank state.

To stand. Within my empty mind. To face a barren wasteland.
Rather than the piercing wind of memory.

The End Has Come. The World Goes On.

The end has come,

The finale, the finite experience.

The realisation.
A life I thought I had lost.
Now come to a close.

Given a glimpse.

The future.

To a change I didn’t want.
A change I have found.
Complete novelty.
Different.

The death of the old path I walked,
Kept alive, within my memories.
Fading fast.

A new path outstretched.
New, unfamiliar.

The world goes on.

The path behind me collapses.

A singular choice.
Now the end has come.
To step forth or fall.

The Inevitable End

The inevitable end,

The longing,

The waiting.

Mourning before the end,

Premature loss.

Unsettled feeling,

Worried about the end,
Living the present,
The world tinged with the loss to come.

The time to end,

The barren landscape to come,
Waiting for the oasis.

And on comes this inevitable end.

To have taken what I’ve waited for.

To push past until the next time.

The next wonderful time.
The next inevitable end.

Feeling

Feeling, fleeting and far,

Away and inaccessible,

Tangible yet also alien,

My unfamiliarity.

Alienated from feeling.

Cold and confused.

Doing without feeling,

Confused and wondering.

How this feeling.

Or lack of feeling.

Without knowing why.

Why, I walk through, why I’m slipping, like sand through my fingers.

Like water through the cracks.

The help, kindness and care from others, for others.

Yet the feeling. Or lack.

The emptiness, a holo pit within me.

I do not know why.

The feeling.

Continued moving.

Life goes on,

Through, within and with, this feeling.

Quiet

All quiet. Nobody in sight.

All is busy, yet away from me.

Sitting here. Trying to build reason.

To reassure that I’m not alone,
Not the only person in existence.

It is so quiet though.

Reaching out, wanting a human presence.

To show I’m not the only person in existence.

Looking out at the window.

Wanting a change, yet the past proves me otherwise.

Alone. All quiet.
Reality, existence, barely there.
Hard to know if existence is real.

If I am looking into the cold wind,
The dark horizon.
The quiet eternal storm.