Archive for November, 2010

Quest and Resolution

Posted in Random Randomness by Randomique on November 27, 2010 by Randomique Jester

Misery: I’m like a broken record stuck in an eternal loop of past mistakes. I escaped Toronto only to reinvent myself in Montreal, as the old me. And like clockwork, the time has come for self-destruction. For every meticulously created plan there’s a counter plan and I just happen to be better at destruction than creation. I give myself a month every time to climb out of the rut, then I plan my own demise. It’s only fitting to fail, it’s the only way I know how to live.

Do I really want to let go? I’m stuck in the past, idolizing a faded image of myself and resorting to old destructive behaviours. I see no future and I hate the past. I want to escape somewhere and let my mind drift to the solitary scenery of imagines forests and farmlands.

Bliss: Reality never fairs well in comparison to my mind’s cartooned wonderland where music fills the air, where the colours are lurid and there’s love in every flower.

I don’t understand happiness in this bleak reality. I don’t believe in love, I believe in loveless love making. There’s lust and there’s friendship, there’s a parent’s obligation.
The only magic and ecstasy I have ever felt had nothing to do with people. Why would I find a need for them? Why would I feel an inclination to socialize? To love? To care? My world is better without humans. My friends are holograms and ideals. They would never exist in the real world. They would be ravaged by senseless evil and injustice, they would be sacrificed for the greater good. To survive they’ll have to (d)evolve, to become imperfect.

People, however, serve a purpose. People make sex, intelligent interaction, laughter, music possible. Their fingers are instruments. Their minds conjure innovation. They’re tools to satisfy the needs of a greater mechanism. (Maybe nature, in all its glory, enjoys music.) Their voices are vessels for the miracle that makes this grey rock worth-while. If only they could exist without the ugly shell that is the human psyche…  vanity, judgement, ignorance, rigidity makes humans the lowest and the most ungrateful of animals. And I don’t blame mother nature for her calculated revenge. Humans must die periodically, millions of them, for the sins of humanity through a random lottery.

Would I give into the sweet release of death?…

I am a fallen angel, unable to assimilate into the greyness that this world is… Broken, my memories cruelly taken from me and all I have are these visions of love, laughter and music… elsewhere. These things cannot be found on earth. Would death bring me to this beautiful world, the world of my dreams?

All of us are fated to die alone, misunderstood.

[Am I in heaven here or am I in hell? At the crossroad I stand.]

What is my purpose here and will I ever find it? Have I volunteered to lead this life or was I meant to overcome it? Is there such a thing as “living wrong”? I seem to miss things that I’ve never seen before. I feel like I don’t belong, so I drown myself in the only remnants of heaven I possess –angel voices and momentary ecstasy, imagining a world that only exists for me.

There’s a reason heaven reclaimed angelic voices, like that of Jeff Buckley. The earth only deserves a glimpse of what could be.

At least now I know why I have failed before. I try to achieve something dictated by a foreign, solemn force. What I lack is something I’ve had all along. It was buried deep inside me.

Life, an ordeal, is a journey through the atrocities that make the city of Oz. What you found at the end of it is the thing you had all along.

Would being thinner make you happier? Would you be worth more if you were prettier? Do you need money to live and be happy? Do you need to be recognized to have talent? Must you wear your personality on your sleeve? Do you need to reduce yourself to be understood? Do the opinions of others define who you are? Are you intelligent, but is it only in comparison?

The truth is you are born completely alone and you die completely alone. Everything you must face, you will always face alone. All your decisions are yours, your choices and mistakes are yours and the world is entirely in your hands. You choose who gets to live in it, and you choose when it ends. The brief appearances of secondary characters are dramatic interruptions are necessary and unpleasant. That’s why their importance is fleeting…

It’s the angel voices you get attached to, the imaginary characters that you fall in love with, the beauty that exceeds the ugly creation that is humanity. Any sunset exceeds the beauty of an imperfect shell, tailored to the wiles of society. The pained swish of the sea, the smell of rain, the eternity of sound have no comparison to the disposable nature of people.

My depression stems from this: I am bound to the laws of Suck City. I must play by the rules until I have the autonomy to create the perfect world or reunite with it in my death. My realization is this: I must pay my dues to the glorious mechanism which yielded me. For whatever ridiculous reason, it felt inclined to create me –I have significance, mysterious though it is to myself. Each day that I survived my significance was reinforced. I was reared and bred for twenty years, I was awarded consciousness and the skill to write, listen and understand. I must find my purpose and I must live it, until I’ve served it and I turn to the nothingness from which I came from.

Whatever created me wasn’t society. Whatever reared me wasn’t environment. Whatever guaranteed my safety wasn’t my family.

To reach a godlike quality –perfection, one must overcome the greatest flaw–humanity.

Your body is sanctuary. You were born perfect. Your needs are the only ones that deserve to be satisfied. Your world dies with you. Why should you fear? Why should you compromise your individuality? You are law. You come above all others. You are God.

Inhibition, fear and submissiveness are self-destructive and diminishing. The only humans we worship are those who are fearless, confident and selfish. And that is the only God that is fit to rule this world. Your world already has a God –it is you, therefore you do not need to search for perfection elsewhere.
Shhh…. sleep tonight with dreams as sweet as angel’s wings.And all your dreams will bring you sweeter things.Oh, sweet thing, don’t you wish?

Two Things.

Posted in Random Randomness by Randomique on November 10, 2010 by Randomique Jester

The sweet loss of control can only be experienced when you allow yourself to drown in a sea of imaginative possibilities that only art offers.
I find myself relinquishing any creative power and becoming inspired.
My hands have not rested since yesterday. I write intermittently. I eat. I calm myself down, numb myself with routine necessities but my hands itch for creative release.
Strangely, I find inspiration in unexpected places. The fear is paralysing and irrational, and I seem to be able to suppress it for a while. When it takes over, the source is clear: jealousy is shrouded with ugliness and relentlessness.
The root of insecurity stems from unnecessary comparison. This leads nowhere, the feeling of inferiority is self implied. Yet, I covet the talents of others, especially where I thought I excelled.
I feel robbed, with no admirable talents of my own; just bits and pieces of everything instead of an impressive, definitive and admirable craft I can take pride in.
Is it writing?
Is it music?
Is it art?
Is it the dramas?
Philosophy?
They all speak to me with lure.

My weakness is prevalent and spiteful.
I repeat old mistakes like a stuttering record. I only have myself to blame for willingly and lazily depreciating my own powers. I resort to the comfort of nothingness and anonymity. These are just thoughts few of many, and they will mean nothing weeks from now. These words will lose meaning and my lack of action will leave me barren.
I’m stuck in an ironic loop. I repeat the same rehearsed role, I don’t evolve and therefore I decay.
In shutting myself out I finally taste the bitterness of solitude.
I hide behind reality, but fiction has no secrets.
My deepest fears and desires are played out, in that ironic loop.
The loop. The loop. It repeats and overpowers.

This void that could only be filled by a perfect soul-mate is a distant dream. It’s conception by a realist is laughable… but the possibility exists, it hasn’t been disproved.

The music numbs the fears again. It whippers: the existence of a nirvana is only possible in a utopia, along with other discarded ideals. And to the land of broken dreams that live on, I’ll go.
I’ll curl up in the arms of a profound angel, shrouded with romantic mystery and poetic aestheticism.
My heaven will prosper in ruins.