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.