Yea… I’ve posted about mostly depressing topics til this point. Which should have a once a week limit, because ain’t nobody got time for that shit. But besides that, the only thing idea that I’m bringing about is concept, that knowing what something is, is the most important. That being able to see it for what it is, is the most important part of any endeavor, something you can set your sights on and just chug along toward. Its when we forget that, or can’t find what it is that we feel like doing, things like writing about fits of depression and new ideas come about because the attempt at ideation and not sticking to one thing come about. 

This is a form of procrastination, wherein I’m seeing things as more important because they are “root issues.” Or rather ideas that seem to the be at the fundamental core of where the ideas should come from. The dark places, the downfalls, the mind-numbing apathy, these are all places i think the ideas come from and live in, so why not start there?

Because I did, and It seems these are decent pointers towards seeing what shouldn’t be done. Taking the darkness and showing it to everyone in the dark, because that’s where it ends up coming from, at least from what i can understand (this shit ain’t easy). Meaning I’m trying to put out there what I already know and feel deeply, which I sought not to do with this. As such we need to take it all back, back to the beginning of nothing everything. Where nothing was as it wasn’t and it wasn’t confused with what it would be. 

We’re going back to the darkness, but the real darkness, the unknown, the maisma of reality and not the maelstrom of my mind, which, lets be honest, people would only want to know about once there are things that need to be related back to, like why a certain idea came about. But that’s already giving away too much.

So… Radical idea, more like refocus idea. Adjust lenses to appropriate focal length buy sheering down the glasses of perception. Here we go again. 

I have, for most of my Adult life, tried to find meaning in anything that I’ve been able to. Music, movies, stories, random occurrences in my everyday life. They weren’t really the glue that held me together but more the bolts that would hold me together as whatever glue that I thought was holding me together dried.

That glue, still isn’t dry, and the bolts, well, they aren’t really holding anymore. 

So what do you do when nothing makes sense and everything is trying to tear you apart? You die. 

You let it happen, you let the world consume every aspect of you but who you are because that is what you’re here to do, exist and be as the world would mold you into whatever it would have in mind. 

Sidenote: I use the phrase “world” to be as non-dogmatic as possible. I tend to keep religion to faith more than anything else. 

So why do i tell you all this, why to I write words of introspection without revealing a thing about myself, except my discomfort with unknown insecurities? Easy. This is legitimately all i know how to do anymore. I wasn’t built to build worlds, because i’d get too caught up by the sites and sounds of a single moment perpetually hanging. Knowing the difference between what I should do and want to do is a wider gap then the that of the rich and poor. Reality stops existing as its perceived by most, its no longer what we make of it, but rather what it makes of me. I lost the battle to life. It was long and bloody and full of beautiful music, and now nothing makes sense. 

I thought for a long time, that if i kept moving forward, if I didn’t have to feel what it wanted me to feel, i could just chug myself along like those dudes who row crew. Yes, they look like douchey tools, but they certainly know how the pistons of the engine work with their bodies to the sound of someone just telling them to keep going in a direction they could not see. To push ahead even though the world was blind to me, it was all the relative different side of the same coin and I’m not sure where i wanted it to land at any given point. But it was the same every time, life will hurt because its supposed to. 

So by that logic, my mind should be used to this pain because it is so accustomed to it. Things will go as they are supposed to and they will be for the best, but the anguish… this consistent despair that literally has not purpose for existing, it doesn’t want to go away. How do you deal with something, that won’t let you enjoy anything that happens in your life?

You let it numb you to the point where there’s no reason to enjoy it, but you find solace in the little things and that works for a while. People being kind to one another, children allowed to be children, the pleasantness of sunshine and the beauty of the natural world. But even those are hard to come by sometimes, so even subconsciously, there’s nothing left to make me feel like I am in any way alive. 

I’m constantly reminded of how real something like this is, how fucking insane its existence is. How big a fucking joke it seems to me sometimes when I try to get out of these episodes, where everything around me, will just want to make me want to die, painfully, just so i know what it feels like. When walking into a duane reade, and the first thought is, “they have syringes and things i could probably kill myself slowly with here” and immediately realize how ridiculous the thought is, is scary no matter the number of times you tell yourself, that you are okay, and there’s something wrong, but pay it enough attention, to its habits and its ways, and anything can be understood to the point of acceptance. 

Does that sound at all right to you? Does it sound like rational thinking on behalf of a human existing? 

Well, no… it shouldn’t, because its the opposite of rational. But if everything hurts, how can anything be rational? 

I spend a lot of time thinking about how things are always in flux and how they will probably never be as stable as they are at this very moment right now, as they have already let off enough quarks to form an alternate dimension of “me’s” that potentially wants to calculate the time it would take for these subatomic a particles to write what I am about to, in a manner that seems suitable enough for me to read back to myself and not hate with every fiber of my being. Yes, you read right, that was all one sentence.

That then brings me to another point, what happens when our written voice is unable to keep up with the idea we have about how it will be contextualized in the minds eye of the reader? Or rather, in a less idiotic sort of phrasing, Are our voices that we believe we project in writing the same words that the reader would interpret them as?

That’s not something I’m at all qualified to answer or ask as I have done no research on the matter nor did I give it more proper thought then the split second in which the idea went off in my head as i walked down Lexington avenue this morning, hoping my hands wouldn’t fall off from the particularly dry wind that helped magnify the effects of the cold on my epidermis. Silly again, I know, but that’s what I’m known for at this point, and I’m okay with that.

But beyond being silly, the thing that fascinates me so very much about that sentence is not the content, but rather the context for which it was written. To both ascertain the why, “I” write the way I do, and how, it is that, “that” is what I choose to translate from wave lengths in my head to the typed words upon this screen while I neglect to acknowledge that there are probably going to be mistakes. Lots of them, yet I won’t ever look for them, because lets be honest, I’ve got this self loathing things down pat.

Its’ taken me 3 days to write about the last 10 words in that sentence. I’m not sure what i was expecting to get out of this, more then an explanation to how I perceive the idea of my thoughts as words on pages, its an indictment of irrational thinking made to assume its rational. That a template for good will always stand true and help people form their own opinions, as that’s what everyone wants… the easy route that’s already paved.

Tune in next week for even more depravities.

Waking up in the morning, as many who struggle with the concept would agree, is a difficult task most mornings as the day previous never wants to die. However, this day, waking up on a cold subway car, head hunched over so much in fact chiropractor’s are universally disappointed within a 10 miles radius. So hunched over in fact awakening to the sight of the bosom of an older lady, dressed in her “vintage” work attire, but inches from my face, begs the question, “had she been there long?”

Beyond that, why hadn’t she just sat down on the empty seat available to her? One quickly realizes that asking such questions begs no better an answer than, it feels more comfortable to be a little uncomfortable sometimes, than to accept that comfort might actually be an “okay” phenomenon.

This is just a reminder of the means by which nothing changes, or rather changes so very slowly that time itself forgets that everything is always in flux.

This delayed E train, between Forest Hills and Roosevelt certainly does feel like the perfect place to foster growth to the idea that as much as vehicular accidents can cause coma’s, the act of finding a seat on one’s morning commute, is equally as a potent a remedy to being unconscious with no real qualms as to external existence.

However stops on this train still remain, and the questions of the universe haven’t yet been answered, why no ask them one by one? Where is everyone off to today?

There is vague idea of where my own personal destination is, this day at least. Yet, where my proverbial form embodiment is headed (because there seems to be that difference some days), is the same job that i am inexplicably decent at, but don’t care to move much about within, as I care to only do my best, yet the administrative slog is hard to reconcile with the idea of change as all things are in flux and code can always be improved and optimized. It still takes too long to make any real difference, but everything is given anyway.

Back on this train, it baffles one not to wonder, “who else must be thinking exactly the same?” That the status quo, of the quid pro quo mentality of the ruling office mentality is the only definition that would every be? How about maybe another way a way that could change the world and ignore what feels like is here to stay?

Maybe that dude trying really hard to look as “cool” and “stylistic” by straining for everything upon his mannequin of a body be displayed to the level only the finest store displays would have him look, is trying really hard to be the stylistic center of everything might achieve his goal much quicker if only be being there in that very moment. Instead he seems lost in his store window, worried so dearly that his cravat might not be straight enough for everyone to want to purchase the merchandise he would so dearly want people to know he’s selling.

So what happens when the self idea, imparted upon all, becomes something to be manipulated into anything else by externalities and idea’s we end up believing are truer then others? And what happens when we stop believing them?

What happens when the people’s idea’s of themselves die? Not physically painfully, but truly, in the bliss of existence burning up into whatever they truly are, through realization, potentially painful, or just acceptance.

Would they realize their existence was no different from anyone else’s? That the only difference is how they view the idea of them selves, and that its importance, was only important to the idea of themselves then to the actuality of their existence? Would they continue to quarrel over the meager idea, if no one could ever hope to fulfill themselves through covering up their true selves with the masks of what they want others to see them as?

The statement, “over thought” does  not begin to describe the concepts that come through these words while sitting here on this train, but with a few stops remaining, the thought of letting go and accepting that everything is, as it was always meant to be, that maybe no matter what dimension or alternate existence, everyday is exactly the same, does not seem real.

That’s it, just a fight to exist; to love; to find joy in the little things. To know that something as simple as trying so very hard to adjust a cravat to the perfect measurements, or adjusting how a bag is held in order to attract the attention of those around you, for the sake of attracting that attention. Maybe that’s all there is, and how it will always be, that the little things we chose to do choose to define how our happiness is distributed, and there’s nothing else to be done?

Well, 53rd and Lex. It’s here to fill my existence with this day, as i head to my desk and find nothing different. Except, that I’ve remembered that I exist, not outside of something, but inside something bigger then me. The subway car its, here but only to the degree that I remember that its there fundamentally fucking with my perception of reality.

So the question as been asked, and it has been found truly sufficient to answer itself. Subtly, the same thing it always was, a choice to reason, to ask itself if it makes sense, because that’s all the question really is, the pointer to make sense of something that doesn’t.

I’ve managed to point out the madness of myself and all that would indelibly deny it to me as well, because it might just be an idea that I’ve attached to a pointless question, that never needs to be answered. Yet, I won’t do anything to change it. As it’s the mirror that reflects back a facade that is unknown and always fluctuating. Let reason roam freely looking for its next logical conclusion. Until the next stop, until the next time I wake up.

Soundtrack to follow shortly…

Generally I am a proponent of getting weird with whatever it is one does, in order to appreciate what it truly means to them outside of the realm of social acceptability. So when say something like, “Lets get weird” on the title of posts it just to filter it out in my head that that this might actually be strange to people, particularly those attached to decent written articulation of language, cause lets be frank my own stabs at self deprecation to remind myself that my skills might be lacking and I should work to improve them. So yes, i know it there, and yes, I will work to improve it. So now that i’ve acknowledged its existence. I’m going to list three idea’s here and do something with each, this week. Let’s see if the format sticks. 

(Yes, that was all written to remind me of something people will hate already.)

1. Write a story about losing to time.

2. Sound track said story. 

3. Find the new sound. (Yes, I’m still looking for it)

That’s it, I’m afraid of self criticism because I literally hurt my own feelings, so I’ll do it to myself publicly where people can potentially see. 

Long ago, in my eyes at least, a normative was imparted upon the youth of what most today call: Generation Y or better known as the “Internet baby generation.” Now this normative, though simple in its execution, has had lasting effects on the way things are deduced and perceived by the general population of today. This norm, was the simple turn of the phrase, “You can be whoever you want to,” without any caveats of hard work, or sacrifice or persistence, what the hell were we supposed to do with that?

As it turns out, we were supposed to have figured out at some point, that the phrase did come attached with the virtues of, hard work, sacrifice and persistence, but in our primitive minds (at the very least mine), got distracted with with the enticing idea that we could will our (my) selves through any situation just by being there and being present for what it entailed and preparing for it would seem pointless as there was no way to prepare for the unknown. Again, these are the reasons we prepare, to know the unknown to accept and embrace the unknown as it fits into the pantheon of what we (I) fear the most.

So with all that goobly gook typed out above, I think the best place to start would be here, at the sheer cliff of my fear, the waters of the unknown below, under the shroud of uncertainty, and possibly with a miasma of doubt clouding my perception, just about ready to jump. Ceasing with the metaphors: Welcome to Arts and Crafting for Turtles, a place where I hope to expound viewers with something new and dumb (Also known as AMAZING) every day that I can.

I’ve said something along those lines in the past… kind of a lot, which makes me think it might just be a moniker I’ve adopted as a means to convince myself starting is the hardest part. No the hard part, and in reality its not that difficult, is the sticking with it. The act of coming back, and being persistent because getting distracted happens so very easily, and so the only person i can promise is myself. Because, lets be honest… Ain’t no one reading this but me and whoever I link this to eventually so it really is a phat promise to myself. A promise that I do something everyday, and never forget how lucky my existence is (brushes with death will do that to you), because being able to just sit there and do the little instagratification exercises that i tend to indulge in on a daily basis like carbs, wheatgrass, and the occasional wander into the bad parts of the internet, just isn’t that appetizing anymore. 

So in the words of the Joker (and I’m going to reference popular culture a lot): “Here, we … GO!” 

Lets try and make a normative make sense again.