Alias Grace

Imagine, if you will, that you are a woman and your position in life is already compromised. Your body indicated for servitude both for vocation and male sexual desire. Your voice is silent before you speak. If you dare speak you are hysterical, or worse a whore not worth given credence. Your mind is easily susceptible to bad spirits and incomprehensible thoughts simply because you are born of a sex religiously deemed devious.

alias

That is Grace Marks, a woman determined so by natural devices, at the age of 15 or 16 years old. An Irish immigrant already expected poverty. Already, so early she is to be told by society what her body is good and useful for and that is servitude.

Every order given to her is expected of utmost obedience. Every action by her own is acted as innocence.

If she ever denies any order she is suddenly ‘filthy’, a ‘whore’, or ‘untrustworthy’.

What stood out to me in this miniseries is the ‘doctor of the mind’. A psychiatrist named Simon, given permission to have sessions with Grace in order to stir her memory of the events again. Then again, what memories are there to stir if the events of murder were never seen or properly recollected? Regardless he was curious, always on the edge, sleepless even to know more about Grace and her story. Simon had supposed that Grace was either somewhere along the lines of insanity or a woman who had found a means to break away from the suppression of her body.

She had become clever, he thought even. To express what one may think is rage against what was done to her and any other woman; or to express her anger of suppression. Suppression- that is to clean and to care at so young of an age. Suppression- that also means to give her body to any man’s will with a command for her consent. She had then created an audience with her hysterics. An audience composed of wealthy gossipers and then potential romantic partners, including Simon. He then supposed that that was her intention, even one that cost nearly her life.

It’s definitely a curious subject here. If you were a woman of that time period-and had to witness what that meant exactly, would you become a fiend to speak on it?

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Mud Bound

Movie story lines usually leave the story that I find more interesting. Here in MudBound (2017) the story about the woman leaves me interested for more.

The story begins with a woman describing the mud surrounding the home, really a shack-like place on a farm. The year is near the end of World War II. Men are being sent back home to where they no longer belong; one other sent to their grave. It’s another story about familiarity and the effects of a changing environment. You know where you have gone out to experience that there is more than the world you first knew at any age. So you’ll find any means to escape, or to find someone else to relate. In the end you may or may not find that place where you belong, but in this film the men will do.

The woman.

She is already nearing her middle ages and not yet married. A woman from a family middle class meets a man assumed to be similar in social status. By no means is she a farmer, nor does he mention his background to her. But as women are expected to be told at a later time, whenever it’ll suite him to reveal that there is a farm he wants to plow and a nice farmhouse he wants his family to reside in. ‘You’ll like, you’ll see’. She must hush her initial fuss about this news of moving on from what and where she is familiar.

Through some scheme and false transaction, the dream home for his family is just that-imagined. Instead he moves them to the shack, among the ‘blacks’ but we know in this time another word was stated. At this point, she looks about a house with a leaking roof, mud all around ruining one of her best dress heels. She can only tolerate so much, and so she tells him she can only tolerate so much up to this point.

mudbound

Outside of her element she did learn a few things. She knows her way around a shotgun. She’s not too squeamish about the initial acts of providing protein for her children. She even became accustomed to not bathing for most days of the week. However, once the children became sick her ability to care for both her children and home became too overwhelming. In fact, help turned into ‘I can’t do this (alone)’. In the slightest, the black tenant farmer on down the road somewhere must lend his wife for paid assistance.

At first the woman is strong, allowing her new environment to teach her a lesson about survival. However, in an instance does she give away her power ‘to know’ to someone who knows more by traditional upbringing.  I want to know more about her story, as it turns to love instead. I want to know how did she manage to cope once the black tenants packed and moved away.

How did she come to find where she belongs?

Well some people are fortunate to find where they belong, soon as the men do. However, not the woman. In any indication where her story ends her life is that of a farmer’s (sharecropper) wife, still outside of her element. Inside her home is a piano and books, fine China and whatever else the white tenants down the road somewhere are not familiar. In any other case she proves to be unfaithful, once again to marry the first man that saw her. But now no longer sheltered she knows her desires, still she assumes a voice whenever in objection to her husband. Where does she go or does she simply comply in slight misery til death?

In those times, back then I’ll assume she remains in slight misery.

‘Where Is Everybody?’

The first episode of the 1950’s series The Twilight Zone answered my own fears and anticipation about loneliness.

Human beings, as animals, are social creatures that thrive in a group and just as well as a pair. We see this fact played out in most films and television shows about the ‘last man standing’ or some devastation that left a few or two alone in the world. The common expectation of quarreling; selfish behavior and aggression matched to detain the selfish individual played out. The individual cannot undermine the whole and the group requires all like minded individuals to survive. It’s a survival instinct.

 

Last Man
No one else to escape with in talking about nothing in particular.

 

And as well, if he is found to be alone, his sanity is lost as he finds no purpose for his voice. With most films, if he is alone and now silent, he’ll find some way to seek civilization.

Isolation. A sudden removal from all others and all subjects familiar. This is what defines loneliness. At times I dream of my own experience of it.

A plane trip gone wrong but I’ve lost my memory of what had happened. A small boat slightly moved by the waters. It’s abandoned and I do not remember my trip to this muddy, wooded lake side. But I take it, push it along, to jump in and to forget where I last left my life. I play these two scenarios over again in my mind when I find myself wrecked by emotions so overwhelmed. I do not imagine the trip to where I find the definition of loneliness. I think in that instance it’ll become a fear of death that’ll force me to survive. A sudden sense of grief as I leave those that do care for me wondering, abandoned. Other than that I never play out what is to be expected.

Somewhere I land on a beach side. I’m too frightened still to venture into the woods behind me, so I have just landed or its been a few months. About the only thing I know how to do is to fish, but to build a fire proves to be more difficult than what it seems. I suppose this is why fire, greatest success our human ancestors made left them too tired to venture into other technical success. Seriously thousands of years past by before the next latest invention.

Of course I’m suffering through the will of nature, finding discomfort. I’m uncomfortable in my surroundings, though I convince myself I could build something in the future. I’m inspired as that is all it takes for me to feel motivated in conquering my surroundings. I must convince myself that I could do something. Somehow take pride in my accomplishments as I learn through several trial and error scenarios to simply build means of conveniences (shelter, tools,  warmth). Still I find my discomfort met with frustration.

At some point, a replay of this sense of longing and wanting remains with me. This is where I end my dream. I was longing for the memories of places built by people. I wanted to witness again people going about their daily life. The news, the disagreements, the bitterness of people unable to properly vent their frustrations accordingly-I day dreamed about it all. A certain smell from home town. It’s the smell of factory farming, so not at all pleasant but nostalgia will have you missing the worst part of something.

The quiet of country living, something I miss that is reality not a dream. As a child and then a teenager I thought that I was alone there. Trapped in four walls I sent myself off to bed as I laid down to provide my own source of entertainment-that being my imagination. I would dream of someone like myself going off on a day dream that I am dreaming of now. A young girl outcaste, so she runs away. Though she finds herself moving back home again for what is familiar, really to seek a familiar face. She learns that she wants someone, a companion. I would lay for hours dreaming of another person’s anxiety about their society. The story dreams would keep me with comfort, but still depressing as I thought this was worse. Trapped in my own mind in the quiet of the country.

What is worse then, to fear loneliness. To fear being apart from all others, or to live so far and remote that you have no one to even share this dream with. That is the worst fear of mine. Perhaps the worst fear of everyone else, as it seems.

I witness middle aged women filling a void in their life by living superficial. Women addicted to materialism all to fill in the gaps of being alone, really. People forming relationships so quickly out of habit and out of fear. Then with the age of the internet and social media we have trolls that turn out to be just as much as a loser as they are bullying while seemingly anonymous. There is a void, a lack of happiness, a sense of loneliness. We fill it the best way we can, as I had done with the story dreams while living quietly. However, still, the worst feeling is to have no one and no sense that others where here with us.

Your God Has Funny Ways

Reflect on stories of those people whose works-art, writing, composition, and the like-are now highly regarded. Some have lived to witness this appreciation and to benefit financially from the success of their popularity. And so many of them choose to give back as a favor; gracious of their followers, fans and admirers. Then we are reminded by short articles of their beginning, some of them being humble. Those are the stories I’m finding that I need to read carefully now.


As I’ve confessed somewhere deep within a long emotional vent about my depressed state over some woman. I’ve revealed my struggles as a recent college graduate vaguely in my ‘About Me’ section. Yes I’m one of those recent college graduates that performed well academically and had received honors, though she declined recognition for most of them. One of those first generation college students from a small rural town limited in opportunities and access to proper tool preparation for college. As well, one of those children whose parents never graduated high school, so up until a certain point in middle school I was on my own academically. And to top off my personality, at first young and shy turned to understanding what introversion and a-socialization means. This all means that after a year of my college graduation date I have not been successful in finding a career. I lack the privilege. I lack properly networking skills to ‘know someone rather than to use what I know’. To top off my socialization skills are poor. So I’ve confessed somewhere along the way that I want to become a writer.

But this is more so difficult as I do work and I work and work for a living to afford to live first. I am independent in my mind and mindset, so I’ve sought ever opportunity to make more money above minimum wage start-off as I could. I began as a cashier my junior year in college. As I struggled to explain why I had yet to find a job before I turned 21 years old. I’m from a small rural town where opportunities are presented to the teacher’s children then everyone else with friends or family connection. So imagine my depressed state as I tried to find my first job for 6 years before I was hired by mistake in identity actually. However, I proved myself and became manager in less than three months. I’ve learned to say ‘no’, so I moved jobs to be a manager with more pay in such a short time. I’ve collected more financially sensible bills so I needed more raises, more reasons to work and work. So I’ve found two jobs that paid what one professional job would pay me if they were reasonable to my lack of experience.

I’m washing dishes, dumping grease at my second job. My primary job I’m listening to customer complaints, from those people who are suffering somewhere in their personal life. This isn’t for me, this is temporary, this is not the career pathway for me. However, I need the restaurants; I need the money to care for my bills and now for a roof over my head. I need this experience. I need something else.

I need a roof over my head. I confess somewhere that I am homeless. I was homeless, just moved into a home yesterday with what restaurant work can afford. Before I moved in, three days exact, I lost my second job.

I was laid off without proper warning, but at least they gave some courtesy and a gift card worth $25.

In such disbelief I began applying madly to jobs still with restaurants. Hopefully to find one struggling so they’ll accept me quickly. I shot out 15 quick-apply applications in less than an hour as I worked my last hours of my second job. I went to my first job later that night to talk out my frustration with my work-place associates, since they know my situation. At some point, I managed a quiet crew as I cried my heart out throughout my shift. I mean I was working but I couldn’t stop choking tears, so I took over a crew position to block my face from customers.

My mom called me frequently to reassure me that ‘everything will be alright’. She told me, ‘God has a way of opening you up to something new, whether you believe in him or not.’ I’m respectful to her and her beliefs, I remain silent during the religious part. But in my mind I’m thinking, well your ‘God’ has a funny way of speaking. I’m forced out of a relationship and a home the beginning of this year. My car breaks down three days after that fact. I mean I managed to get a new car so I could travel to work and to find work. However, that meant I lost financial support from my father selfish and bitter. I have to pay my own bills. This meant homelessness at some point. I needed a new job or a job in addition to what I have so from February to July I applied to jobs shutting doors in my face due to lack of experience. Due to I just was hired at one job, so will she leave us so soon too? Then, your education is listed here, surely she doesn’t need us, she’ll leave soon. And so I told the one that finally hired me, to please disregard my education here. He asked why. I said no one will hire me, and I need this job. He hired me, in my excitement, but under false pretenses. I mean for this second job to tell me that they have not turned a profit since they opened in 2014, so they are closing this one and three others. When hired I was told that you were expanding.

You know it happens, but this is happening so frequently all taking place within a year. My true self is an opportunist so I will apply and talk like mad to get something, to get more money. My depressed self just nearing the edge of self-destructive thoughts. So I write instead to calm myself and to balance my thoughts. Writing is what I view myself doing some time in the future and so I write with this new free time to do.


I know I can become successful. I use the short burst of time I have to write all I’ve been thinking of since I was working those hours, so many stories and thoughts are left lingering on my mind.

Going back again I remember charts and slide shows of those now popular with humble beginnings. Some were homeless, restaurant workers, similar to myself. Some were depressed and nearing self destruction, similar to myself. I must think that I will be where I want to be, but life is as it is worded.

Creature Comfort 

Now and again I’ll have a song listening session where I play my favorites introduce to me through childhood. I’ll listen to the rhythm and blues as they suggest love but hint at something sexual. I didn’t know but still appreciated the flow and how the artist related best to the sense. Though I was too young to guess how and where exactly. 

Grow into teenagers I was left rejected, yet embraced by those outcasted. They were the skull crushing, black dyed hair with purple somewhere. Somewhere, but not as dramatic as their hair. Ripped sleeves covered their arms but I wasn’t like them. But I was intrigued one day by a grey CD player left on the lawn of our end of the year down time. I ask for to listen. She laughed a bit but said sure. And so I listened to something falling out and romance. I have to say that I was curious but I put it back to where I had seen it. 

Then one day I enter the dorms wanting to become lost again but I wasn’t feeling smooth talk like I used too. No, no I wasn’t feeling the rock I had asked to be introduced to anymore. No, no I had to open my mind to experiment more about myself. What do I want to listen to…

I plug into a song. At random I choose research over guessing. Here I have found the music that speaks to me-thoughts and emotions wrapped in one. The best way to describe the feelings I have-20 something year old angst wrapped and rhymes with drums and guitars electric to acoustic. I could say this one song is a rap verse but nothing at all like mainstream. This other sounds a bit country but more complexed with melancholy. And this one right here, I feel through my bones of this literal sense is right. I can dance. I can even cry to it. I can actually be lost on repeat. 

Creature Comfort 

And so what do they say? The girl hurts but so does he. Both are trapped in their own minds and want to be released. So they take to what is popular to express their needs-to be all like the rest crying for importance. Still, they hurt and can’t take it no more. Still, they hurt. 

I find myself wanting to dance to wails, screams, and cries for help. No matter how I’m feeling I’m craving raw emotion eloquently to uniquely expressed that kind of is…truth, actually. 

And so I play on repeat-sounds that resonate within me.

Quirk

Online dating has become a new way to stare at someone from across the bar, the room, the Mall, the way without actually speaking. We may appreciate the beauty but never to stop and say hello… You never know if the person staring back at you screams internally with all signals pointing ‘yes’. ‘Yes please speak to me, introduce yourself and be as awkward as you can be, so we may speak of this again when asked’. 

It’s become a pointless matter of ‘likes’. Perhaps on my end it’s a matter of ‘likes’ without a message. A kind indicator that they are intrigued, interested but never a message. A simple way to let you know that they are curious though not that interested, so I take it upon myself to message first. 

Thoughtful messages worded as questions to women that read but never reply. They are not interested for sure but as well hinting that I’m a terrible flirt. I’m too technical, too serious, too textbook and like a teacher asking you about something you’ve written but cannot explain. So I ask ‘why do you enjoy this subject, book or author?’ She most likely will not reply but if she does it’s along the lines of ‘oh I’ve mentioned something that I’ve forgotten’. Or sometimes ‘oh what are you talking about?’ And so the conversations end before they begin. 
Though there are few others that’ll happily message back until each one die off as if we had never seemed intrigued. I’m puzzled here. I had asked one person a question instead of guessing and assuming common disinterest. So I had asked her ‘Why do you seem less inclined to talk with me?’ 

Her answer summarized as: 

The way you asked the question. Why do you have to try so hard to ask or to say something. Like I can tell that you are intelligent but you don’t need to be that deep. And I come from a long day and the last thing I need to read is a message I have to break down to get what you want. When I do answer it’s not enough for you and sometimes I can’t respond really with what you’re giving me. So I thought to let the conservations die slowly. 

I’ll be honest to say my feelings were hurt. I took to deleting every word or link to who I am as a person. I left my profile blank with only a single picture and my gender and relationship preference listed. I became more sadden that once I had deleted everything about myself and what I wanted the ‘likes’ increased exponentially within 10 minutes. 

My feelings were hurt as this is a common criticism that has followed me from childhood. I’m speaking mere friendship seeking on the playground as I had no one but I couldn’t relate to the other children and they too couldn’t relate to me. As one girl came up to me and said ‘this is why no one likes you’ and throughout years ’til graduation day she never liked me. I’m confused; I didn’t understand what was the matter with me. And over time I realized by the questions I was asked from elementary school to high school that they assumed everything false. 

I’ve never thought highly of myself in terms of intelligence and manner of speaking. I speak and write a certain way but I didn’t know it was so different from the way others speak and write until I was told and asked. I understand you just fine regardless of your vernacular or broken English I understand you; therefore no need on my end to mock you.  I never actually thought anything more or less of you. How do I explain that when I meet a person my mind is free of judgement, entirely blank until you fill in my mind of who you are. I will speak to you as I speak to everyone-with clarity and without assumption. No I’m not trying hard to word my responses or questions as this manner of speaking is clear and concise to me. 

But all others read and hear are riddles. As my mom asked my brother and I ‘why do y’all talk in riddles?’ An air of quiet as I sat to think what did she mean… I lookto my brother to see if he was just as confused. A blank expression upon his face. I don’t know but what I say to you seems direct. What I ask seems like an indication that a conversation is wanted. The simple fact that I’m speaking to you, sharing my experience and the like is a way to produce a response for a conversation to flow naturally. However to you and most people this is an oddity. 

I’m a firm beleiver that I should be able to be myself as I relate to other people. But then I find that people like me best when I at least try to speak and behave as they do. A headache for sure as I have to actually think and try to be vague-in my mind over simplicity. To have short burst of phrases and one worded responses, or else to read a few sentences punctuated is equivalent to a boring chapter read in that one class yesterday.  Then I think it sad to read that a  few sentences is considered a chore by most people. 

Well then if how I express myself is not to your liking then most kindly I’m not for you. I’m coming to accept that I’m not for most people. 

As I go over previous relationships, as bitter memories as they are, they all told me the same. I deserve someone better or someone like myself. Someone more understanding and appreciative that this quirky woman would like to share the world and the night sky with her. So I am sadden, but I’ll wait.

I Wish I Had Not

Thought the world of you when my world was slowly becoming filled. Or to think that you would fulfill all that I have ever wanted, then needed, as a companion. 

I wish I had not pursued you in youthful anticipation of something everlasting. As you know-as you are a part of a question involving society, people, and the distrust of simply uttering the words ‘I love you too’. 

I wish that I could have canceled the meeting of our first date. You were smiling so brightly and intrigued. I for sure thought after all of our previous conversations that you knew something of me-wanted to hold me selfishly to yourself. On that day I thought of you curiously. On this page; these pages I’ve written in my journal actually, I think of how selfish I was to pursue a stranger simply infatuated, fascinated that someone like myself exist. And as I write I think how foolish I am to cry, and to cloud my mind with thoughts of you. As you go over the first date, now, with your girlfriend…with her not I. I sit to contemplate and rewind daily-not of your smiles and overly politiness that brought us together. Instead I think of bitter headeaches; eyes rolled so far back; eyes shifted in glance, away from my own eyes; sighs of frustrations of you telling me that who I am as a person is not what you wanted. And that the love you expressed to me is not what you meant, now. Here I think of the seconds measured in songs, mental raps and rants. I add an explanation to others inquiring about my heavy eyes and heart. I tell them it is you that I think of-and as I think to myself ‘I wish’. As she is a reminder to why my love is denied. So I write, and to think without end about how ‘I wish had not’ spent so much of my effort on you. 

To beg and to plead with you.

To stare into your face of apathy once you wanted no more. 

I see now that I’m triggered by every musical notes, melody to memories of you. 

As I wish I had not pursued you. 

About A Girl

Hair wavy and damp, brushed back away from her face. Her nose is running-decorated in glitter. Now her nose, finger and hair glimmers with colors of blue. “I’m fucked up” she says as her body waves and her thoughts come out aloud disconnected. She drops her phone for the second time beside her foot. She’s searching for something, perhaps a tissue, her lighter, no actually her phone. Again, for the third time she has forgotten something again. She looks down and around; raises her head. A smile lights up across her face-on to find something to drink, preferably water. In the kitchen now to stare at the stove then the fridge. Though she grabs a beer too-a decision to make of which to have first as she quenches both her habit and her thirst. 

Lisa looks into her in blank observation. For a moment she studies the girl before her in her body movements mocking the conflicting options going over in her mind. The move for the night was to make plans for a chill night, a smoke session. But now the dealer is too incompetent as the girl explains. She tells Lisa that he deserves his shitty job at Nachos and Bar. Lisa chuckles slightly to hear the girl’s frustration. In Lisa’s mind now going over what is actually unfortunate. 

An apology to Lisa is begged as the night extends to another hour without progress. “It’s alight, drink something.” Lisa beckons her to come closer. As she does, for a longing hug and a light kiss upon he lips. “It’s okay, do you need to sit?” Lisa pauses as she rubs the girl’s back. “You seem dizz.” 

“Oh no I’m fine, thank you.” The girl smiles again. 

Turning away from the embrace, the girl places her elbows onto the island countertop. Her head rest between her palms. “I’m sorry, just I took too many drugs and then I drank alcohol… and I don’t think that was a great idea now that I’m so fucked. I was looking for a good high and now I’m just.. I feel bad.” She raises her head from her palms to sniff, to wipe her nose again. “Do you mind?” Lisa tells her “no, you’re alright with me.” 

The girl lays her head on Lisa’s shoulder; brushing back her damp hair now. She kisses her on top her head. “You’re alright with me.”

“Thank you”, the girl whispers. She breaks away from the embrace to search her dazzled, glittered pocket purse. A pack of Marblos in hand now as she searches the living room for her lighter. “I need to smoke. Do you want to come outside?” 

“Sure.”

Lisa makes a motion with her feet. Bridget sniffs her shoes, paws at her shoelaces. Only startled for a moment, Lisa shakes her shoe -turns to make her way to the balcony. The girl ahead of her, and now the dog picks up into a pace to follow outdoors. 

The darkness is approaching midnight. 

What source of light allowed is the latter above their heads, a low tone of yellow. A wind chime matching the movement of a warm breeze. The two sit, offering one another a story about their day. As one tells the other, one may have a sense that both here are not altogether right mentally. Something in their respective past has affected them emotionally. And what they do to themselves physically expresses all that is wrong with someone else now a distant, painful memory.

Happy Anniversary 

A relief to find the love of your life in bliss. Shared memories saved as pictures on a popular website. From what one can tell she is polite and happy. A comment or two appears below-she will thank you for the kind thoughts and words. The compliment given was a witness to true love and happiness. From what one can see is a slight embrace from the side, though definitely close and clinging to the other. Each are smiling enjoying their time out doors. They seem to enjoy one another’s company. Perhaps a day out to explore a park or some venue. Then later to have lunch or dinner depending on the time of day. The two are definitely enjoying one another’s company and will  intend to do so again as they had done so before. A way to add to the collection of how blissfulness is suppose to appear. 

Her heart skips a bit as she studies over their faces. Not so much the other woman, but of her love she wishes she could be there to replace. She imagines over again now that this must be happiness. I’ve had it confirmed; she’s experiencing what love means to her. 

Eyes crossed over now as the dampening of her eyes overflows. Her neck tingles, what an odd sensation and a place to feel loneliness. Her mind in constant repetition of her love, and of her happiness. Her face becomes hot and heavy, heart again slows down to a beat easily numbered. Not so bad now, this feeling she has felt numerous times for what has been…for what has been a year almost. Her brow is wrinkled as she stresses in her mind of the head throb pounding away. She tells herself this is pain. Actually, what happens in this moment is that her head  throbs as her mind overreacts to the slightest assumptions most likely true. She sheds a tear to allow for breathing. She begins to twitch to stop the words going over again-that her love is happy.

In the news is a hurricane too close for comfort. Will she come back again for those she care more about? Going over in the mind to accidentally find oneself in a time and place matched according to her love’s day-to-day activity or rush. In the news was a mass shooting affecting the lives of hundreds. Their lives taken by surprise now missed and altered forever. She thinks to herself-if it were her love…

A natural thought not one forced. She reflects again why this one and only this one love has made such a lasting impression on her mind. A regrettable mistake her love was, yet she cannot help to wonder if her love thinks of her too. If so it is a thought of a regrettable mistake best avoided if she remains true to her newfound happiness. Most likely this assumption is truth in a way. As for certain her love is flawed in being honest about emotional giving. One can’t help to think that she is so important in this universe that her love would want her again. 

A single picture can tell others about the event that has taken place. We can assume happiness as we are always smiling, just as we may assume neglect and remorse to those old photos tan and faded. In your own pictures, of your love and yourself, you think of what appeared to be…happiness. And when asked and complimented your love confirmed it was happiness. 

To whatever that had transpired to question that confirmation is now irrelevant. A time to move forward she tells herself, but to whom in paticular? You’re definitely an attraction, something wanted and desired though not for a long time. You’ve remained at settlement, a compromise then as you long for human touch, though from others that simply want a good time. In the moment you think this is for now, as you pursue what is for the future and ever lasting. You open your mind for love as your love asked you to do instead. You’ll find another. She said, I already did, but you didn’t want me. 

Free Time

I’ve thought of a few short stories to write over the course of days. The subjects are varied, though all relating to some abstact thought. The summary of them all is that my mind is longing for an ever presence that will transcend time. At this moment I think of how to adequately express what I am writing first in my journal. What I am to present here for mild interest. What I wish to make known to the world in writing will not be justified here. Instead what I wish to relate requires hours of patience and understanding.  

Ditto on love said that we seek immortality. Meaning once we have come to understand that childhood last briefly, we see the time to do something last a short life. The world is full of wonder and inspiration yet so little time to experience it all. And so we find ways to matter to someone, to a whole of society. I think that is what I seek too… to make my presence known and to make an impact of some kind. 


As of now I’m looking over my left shoulder. A spontaneous decision some days ago for a tattoo. It’s a moon, closer to the reality we may view at night. Underneath are Greek letters saying “you’re missing without me”. What it means is something I wish to witness myself. Time to move forward, to change. As I-as a person without a physical sense-to witness something remarkable while timeless. I wish to witness the impossible with no one else to tell. Perhaps a summation of what I’m thinking, what all I wish to write is a sense of longing.