Memories Embodied

You were a racist, bigoted, transphobic, spoiled girl
All your daddy's money couldn't get you to seek help for the mental disorders that tore everything up
You made fun of a lot of people, but I just thought you were funny

I didn't see any of that until now
Because you were gorgeous and made me smile
You loved animals and music
You inspired me to exercise
Your bed was so big and comfortable
We could feel everything in each others' eyes
And the there was a frustrating thrill in how hard we tried to keep it all a secret

I still don't understand what happened
It's all a fuzzy blur, a drunken night that lasted years
All I know is that you changed me
And that is something that will always be

I think of you on the daily
And when I manage not to, I'm reminded in my dreams
I think of you when I smoke a cigar or take a hit of weed
I think of how pissed you'd be
So I smile and keep going

When I fucked that girl in October
I was so proud
Because you weren't the only one anymore
You were better though
And I later realized that night was the date you took my virginity two years prior
And I just laughed

I know you're still alive
But you're not the same person
You just happen to share the same body as that girl that changed me
And in my eyes she's died
Which is for the best
So at least I can mourn and move on

I wonder if you still think of me
Though it really doesn't matter
Because it won't change the fact that I still think of you
Whether you loved me or not, whether you still do
Won't change that I'll never get over you
Won't change that I never want to see you again

Why Is Life So Tough?

Asking questions during Science Time
The teacher seems so impressed
At recess I talk to myself
As the other kids laugh, running and playing
Why is being a child so tough?

Driving home at night after a winter's day of work
My first semester of college slips by
The radio coaxes out my loneliness
And I sit in all my lacking
Love, money, and purpose
Why is being a young adult so tough?

I just turned thirty-two
I'm a doctor now, a real scientist
Who traded all for a university lab
Too busy thinking to think
Finding comfort in these drinks
And my bills are paid, but there's still a debt in my heart
Why is being a grown man so tough?

My feet never got better
And now I'm an old man with a cane
Small and balding, but he's so smart
That's what my young students say anyway
And my smile has never been more tired
Why is being an old man so tough?

This is it
Sitting at death's door
A warm cat sleeps on my bony body
He may as well be as old as I am
It's hard to breathe but I'm not done yet
The nurse notices a faint twinkle lingering in my eyes
And I tell her
You'd think
That after a life of struggle
This would be easy
So why is dying so tough?

Just Another Selfish Post

I'm so exhausted. I am so busy, but I do nothing. I feel I'm doing life, not living it. I walk through the motions, but they don't mean anything, really. Nothing seems genuine or significant anymore, except for petting Max. That's the one thing that is still real.

I'm worried, worried that I'm not cut out for this. For this life, for college. I don't know what to do except for drag on. I guess I'll either do it or I won't.

The only thing getting real is my mental unhealth. I feel the depression, stress, anxiety kicking in full gear. The associated derealization, lack of motivation, and fatigue are there too. Nothing is really interesting. Well, there's plenty that's interesting, just not the things I'm supposed to do.

Oh well. I guess I just keep going, or keep pretending to at least.

Derealization

I'm not sure what to make of life. I feel I'm not really connected to much but thoughts, ideas. I don't feel I have a physical, tangible identity. I am not my actions, my appearance.. I am just a collection of thoughts. I try to find stability, connection, in doing things, but nothing feels real. Nothing feels like it really grabs me and shakes me as something critical, important, or lasting. Nothing seems to matter. Why is this? Is it because nothing does matter? Is it because I've not lived the way I should, for things to matter? Do I make things matter by changing my reality? Is changing my thought process, my attitude, enough, or do I need to actually change the physical actions, the environment, the outside look of my life? 

I wish I didn't see as much as I see, or think as much as I think. I wish I was like the others around me, going on halfway happy, or at least content, with the state of their lives, their days.

I need something real. I need something spiritual. The more I try to find it within myself, the further away it flits, a fairy dancing in the grass which gets taller the closer I approach. So either I am thinking wrong, or I am becoming more aware of the unhappiness that is my outside life. What is it? What do I do? Where do I go? I no longer feel a strong path beneath my feet. It's at times literally nauseating to have this floating feeling, no anchors to any particular thing. Am I adjusting to spiritual freedom, or drifting away from sense? Where do I find purpose in this experience?

DiaryEntry8/10

Talking to probably a math major. He says how it's depressing you can't finish math, according to some theorem. I say "well of course you can't, why would you need to?" 
"It means there are some problems that can't ever be answered"
"Why would we need them then, if they can't be answered, or perhaps they aren't meant to be answered"
"well that turns into a big of a religious debate"
"hardly"
"then what do you mean by "not meant to be answered?""
"Well, if it can't be answered, it doesn't matter. It's not important if it can't be answered because there's no point."
"We can't figure out if it's pointless sometimes. We sometimes don't know if there's not an answer"
"It makes it more interesting :)"
"I think it's depressing"
"It's only depressing if someone devotes their entire life to a solution and die not knowing it can't be solved"
"That happens a lot"
"I don't know about a lot, but it does happen"
"Einstein spent the last 20 years of his life devoted to a problem that remains unsolved"
"But he did a lot of other things"
"yeah but 20 years is a long time"
"And of all the depressing ways to spend a life, I'd say it's pretty equal. some people get unlucky I guess you could say"
"actually I'm pretty sure a lot of people spent their whole lives trying to solve fermat's last theorem and failed. it went unsolved for 300 years, so"
"at least they were kept in a pursuit they were passionate about. they didn't lead depressing lives, but it may seem that way to the outsider."
And he said no more. I see the differences between us here. He is a strictly analytical, scientific mind. He sees something as being sad for the scientist. However, I think of this as not being sad for the human, so why should the scientist be sad about it? I look wider to the meaning outside of a mathematical scope. I go into the worldly philosophical view, in my pursuit of individuation, and letting go of the illusion of the self.  He may have more knowledge of math than I do..but who is wiser? I feel I'm asking questions that most people don't bother to think about, or perhaps they can't fathom them. I feel connected to my old philosophers.

I wonder how big of an impact songs that were listened to often in childhood have on a person. I realized, when listening to "Barbie Girl," I probably get a very very different experience than most people do, because I grew up with it and it's ingrained itself onto me.

Maybe some people think darkness and death are "sexy" because they are so emotional and intense topics.

If everything is filtered through a social and environmental context, then how are we to truly know our true selves? Is there such a thing as a true self? I don't think it can be discovered, in all honesty, because the world around us has become such an ingrained part of us.

I didn't choose my name

I've had people tell me, "Oh, I like the name Darren," or "I don't mean to offend you but I don't really like the name Darren." I find it odd, because they say it much more often now with my "new" name than they ever did before with the old. I didn't "choose" this name because it's my favorite name; it's really not. I chose it because it's always kind of been my name. It's always kind of been there, and I've used it to various extents throughout my life. I don't recall really ever choosing it. It's just my name... I'm just Darren.

Nature's Claim

I belong to no God or Devil. I am my own spirit, to which only nature may otherwise lay claim. I am dynamic; I move and I evolve and never stay too long in one place. I have control over my life. I am me, and only I may know that. I may falter, though I will never fall. I look lovingly upon the hair on my forearm; light though abundant. It is my hair, on my arm. It is a connection to the world around me, the world of other mammals, the world of furry beasts. I am a furry beast. I know myself, or strive to. I have company, but I am alone, my experience is mine alone, but I have the power to share it if I so choose. Max, my cat, is like me. He is a furry beast who belongs to no Devil or God. He is his own entity, and he is under his own as well as nature's dominion. There is only living for the furry beast; there is no such thing as being lost or misguided. This is simply an illusion caused by the ego of man, the ego which wishes to overcome nature. The self can overcome the ego, but the ego can never overcome nature, or ever truly overcome the self. The ego is that which pathologizes a natural life experience. There is only earth upon which we walk, hilly, steep, rocky, sometimes soft, but it is earth nonetheless, we are meant to walk it as we are meant to breathe, though at times it may not be easy. A gravelly beach is not Hades. It is a gravelly, rocky beach. We may wear shoes or not, but we must walk on either way.

For the Eternally Childless

I've known for a long time that I would not be having children.

You are not special for having a child. You accomplish nothing that anyone else couldn't do. You gave up your own potential and passed it to another, who is likely to pass it on again, just the same, until finally someone actually uses it along the line.

Isn't it funny that parents automatically (in most cases) get full rights over their children, just because they fucked and that was the result? Everything is regulated nowadays; you essentially need a license to breathe. However, have sex and you get complete authority over the human life that results. What the hell? Many times, you need to fill out extensive applications if you want to adopt an animal (or a child for that matter), but just have a night of fun and you're good to go, no strings attached. That new, unique individual is now under your dominion, and you need no qualifications to be its master.

I will never be someone's great grandfather that they tell stories about. I will never be "awesome" in a person's eyes simply because I'm his dad. I actually have to accomplish something if I want my name to live on.

When people have children, their world shrinks. Their kids become everything that's important. Perhaps once they had dreams and thought about the vastness of the world, but now they're concerned with soccer practice and flu shots. If they still have dreams, they become depressed because they are no longer feasible. Relationships are ruined, individual potential is lost. My mother, once valedictorian-then-medical-student, says having kids was the best thing to happen to her and she doesn't regret it at all. I don't know which reality would be worse: if that's the truth, or if it's not.

I don't have TIME to have kids, even if I were capable. There are far too many things that I need to do, that I know others can't or won't. It's up to me to do what others would've/should've been had they not devoted their lives to their spawn. Having children is a response to our inherent fear of death; well, my cells live on, so I live on. Sure, but at a great cost to your own potential of leaving behind something even greater and long-lasting.

People walk around with their toddlers and I wonder what complexes are forming in the young ones. I wonder how those parents are fucking up their kids, unintentionally for the most part. We don't have a choice to be born. To have kids is to have obligations you are unable to fulfill. If you make the decision to bring someone into existence, it's up to you to take care of them, to keep them safe, to keep them happy. That's not possible. Everyone who exists will suffer. Everyone will cry. Everyone will at times wish they were never born. Parents like to think that children are obligated because the parents brought them into life, but I think it's the other way around. We didn't have a choice. You did.

Another draft

Should I study the biology of humans, as I find a great pull to, it will not be because I love them. I will study them because I am fascinated by them. My findings will not be for the improvement of man's life; they will fulfill my own selfish human desire for knowledge. I don't want to help man. I just want to know him.

With my misanthropy, I sincerely hope my interests are drawn elsewhere. I wish that my passions lead me to the microscopies of the zoological world, that I can study the way a perfect creature functions. Humans are some blemish, borne of the strangest causes. Why are we here? How are we here? I don't follow those religious ideologies for the answers to such question; most people's spiritualities are only as corrupted as the minds they were spawned of. Religion is an escape from what we don't want to think about, what we don't want answered. What happens when life ceases? Well God has an answer for that and now you can sleep at night.

Should there be a God, he is closer yet farther than we think. He or she or it is the energy between atoms. It is the life force that makes a mammal breathe, a bird fly, a cell quiver with metabolism. It isn't some savior waiting up above. There is no salvation unless we make it so. By our nature we bring pain upon ourselves, and no one but ourselves, or perhaps death, will save us.

What makes the common man so holy that he ignores the flight of a robin or the wind between branches? Why are we above watching a cat sleep or sitting outdoors with the grass beneath us, only physically? This man that we have evolved into is a bad man. He is a sick mutation of something that may have meant well to the planet. We are not worthy of this home. We do not belong. To live only to desecrate and exploit is not a life of any value.

This rape, we strange creatures, we don't reserve it for the natural world around us. We use each other too. There is no kinship, no love between people. Wolves may feed on smaller animals, but they are loyal to one another. Humans feed on smaller animals and each other.

I'm not sure what I want from life, or what I expect. I will not however for one second pretend that I am ok with the state of the world, humanity, and society. I may be human, but I am not like the others.

How do you know?

Burning pages that you've never read
How do you know it'll be better when you're dead?

Lying in the dark overcome by dread
How do you know it'll be better when you're dead?

Quaking hands with the barrel to your head
How do you know it'll be better when you're dead?

Sitting there at a funeral for a friend
What do you think? Is it better now you're dead?

Without Mirrors

Without a mirror I can easily forget what others see. Without a mirror, I can see parts of myself, skewed by my mental expectations and desires. I'm not so short, not so curvy. My hands aren't so small and my face not so round and soft. My voice, standing alone, sounds to my liking.

But then I'm reminded, so easily. A glance downward, or in the reflective glass, that's all it takes. Even the best company brings out in me what I don't desire.

And who can I blame for these chromosomal failures? My parents? Not really. Perhaps it's my fault, for not being happy. "Only you can make yourself happy," they all say. And then they wonder why I find them so irritating.

I feel myself alone without mirrors, lifting weights, pushing against the ground then up again. I imagine myself surpassing my current capacities. I imagine definition in my arms, back, and torso. I imagine a strong face.

I imagine power, a subtle and unspoken dominance. I imagine being taken seriously, being seen not as soft and vulnerable, but as independent, flexible, and naturally commanding. No one will ever wonder why I don't wear dresses.

Why couldn't I have been born in a way congruent to my happiness? Or was I destined to be broken all along? What if I didn't have to wish for muscles and hair? Would I find this space of being any less repulsive?

I just want to be who I was supposed to be. I want to be wanted for myself. I want that self to be representative in and out.

Sigh.

Heavied I Write

I relish tonight with a heavy heart, filling with sorrow over things lost and never had. That spot of hope, a light in a darkness, makes the rest of the night look all that much blacker. A song can weigh on you, and the best option is to let it affect you. Listen, and cry. The release is unparalleled, except, perhaps, by genuine happiness. And when is happiness known as anything other than an afterthought?

To be acutely aware of one's position in space and the fragile fabric of emotionality is frightening. To say ignorance is bliss is more than just cliche. Where we truly are is often much less comfortable than we'd like to pretend. Unfortunately, ignoring one's feelings doesn't let one grow or experience all that it is to be human. That means pain, loneliness, depression, hopelessness, yearning, loss, and more. We'd be much better off addressing our emotions, and saying okay, this is where I am, so I will play a sad song, and I will cry through it, to feel better. I've held my head falsely high long enough. I am alone now. I can cry.

I will one day have a funeral, and hopefully before that, a wedding. There are two songs I request be played at these occasions: Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol, and Heartbeats by Jose Gonzalez.  I listen to them and just know that one day they'll be played at some time important. It's a sad hope that comes with being able to accept one's sadness. I'd like for them to be presented one day as a sort of victory ballad, for hardships overcome, for happiness, peace, rest attained.

I hate people

Why is the human race so different from the rest of the world that graciously hosts and nurtures us? We must be unnatural, because everything natural is perfect. There is no wrong in nature. Trees do not commit sin and birds do not act out of spite. Nothing in nature is purposefully harmful; even parasitic and amensalistic relationships serve purposes that maintain natural order. Anger does not exist in nature, simply fear and need. 

Humans are terrible. The human race has done nothing that benefits anyone other than themselves. One might argue, well what about animal rescues and eco-groups? Those would not be necessary if humans weren't around to have mucked things up in the first place. The world would be a much more balanced place without mankind. Nature has taken care of itself since the beginning of time, and would've been just fine without us.

Why is it we call the dark side of humanity "animalistic"? Lack of control and perverse behavior is not animalistic; it is human. Animals don't harm out of enjoyment. They harm when they need to eat or when they need to protect themselves (or perceive a need). In an animal's mind, everything is NECESSARY to survival or some semblance of comfort.

Perhaps animals can be seen as selfish since their own skins are their main concern. I would not call that selfishness, I would call it self-preservation. And they not only care about themselves, they care about their species, their pack. The difference between them and us is that we go way beyond what is necessary for our survival. We are not simply self-preserving, we are truly selfish and greedy. We want to have more than others even if it does not truly benefit us.

People are disgusting, self-destructive, and immoral by their own definition (there is no other). We are suicidal, homicidal, jealous, and hateful. All of the "great" things we've done are only "great" for people, by our own standards, which mean nothing in the natural world. A wolf does not give a damn about your building, your car, your painting, or your published articles. If anything these accomplishments only accomplish damage to his natural home and way of life.

In summary, I would like to say that I hate people. They are inherently abhorrent compared to anything else, alive or abiotic. I just hope that when I die, my atoms will be reborn into something much, much better.

Her Pursuer

The heavy spirit walks alone
With her pursuer close behind
A sense of indebtedness
A gasping curiosity
Who is that phantasm at her shoulder?

Alone in speech but not in touch
Her whiskered shadow keeps him away
Daily offerings this prowler brings
Feathered, furred
In order to appease the pursuer
To keep his heavy hand off of her
For now, until light turns to night

The shadow sees on other planes
Where it's master has no sway
It stares her pursuer
In the hollow eyes
And momentarily he is stunned
At this shadow's bold presence

She sits down for a rest
Tired from the weight of existence
Beside her curled up shadow
Which perks it's ears
And looks behind her
Her only guardian
From the relentless pursuer

Thoughts aloud for once

To be unhappy with the world is expected.

To be unhappy with oneself is tragic.

A quarter-life crisis, perhaps. Nearing two decades with eyes opened, eyes changed, an individual is meant to solidify. Not so idealistic, for you have seen failure brought on by good intentions. Not so hopeful, for you have been disappointed. Not so invincible, for you have experienced loss.

Friends are nearer and more vital, but fewer. Family no longer defines you. You're more alone than ever. You become independent, out of natural necessity as well as mistrust.

A cat is more than a fuzzy plaything. It is a constant, an embodiment of calm, of unconditional love, of forgiveness and stability. 

A feathered bird just hatched from an egg, shivering.