Blank pages are the bane of my existence...

This seems to have become a slogan for me. I quite often find myself waking up in the middle of the night to hastily grab one of my notebooks and a pen and scribble down some in-cohesive idea before I can resume my slumber. I always start a new page, and a blank one almost offends me. I feel like it's staring at me, mocking me with its whiteness. Bragging perhaps, like a perfectly groomed Persian seeking attention. As you reach down to pet it the cat darts away only to show up later and gloat with it's tail in the air. I have once told such a cat "I hope you roll in gum someday." I don't really mean it, I just feel it should have some form, shape, or color. All I see is white. I look down, and there the white is again. A blank page showing off it's virginity. A young girl with something lewd written on her shirt in glitter implying "I know you want to but you're not allowed." Alas, the pages in my notebook have become jail-bait.

*blink* ... *blink* ... *blink* ... *blink* ...... It's following me...

Do tell...

If you've read any of my writing thus far, you should well know by now I can be quite paranoid at times over the strangest things. I've become more aware that the cursor follows my every move with both indifference and this odd determination. It's stalking me. I looked around a bit for a different cursor to replace this nagging stick, but they all blink. I understand that blinking helps one find the cursor on a page, but I never need to find it. It's always in the last place I clicked. I click it again and it comes right to me. A stalker has to know where their victim is at all times after all. So even if I were to get a new cursor, it's like this one just put on a costume to fool me. It's giving itself away by blinking! I can have a blinking turtle, rainbow, dolphin, and even a penis. I don't care what it is if it still blinks at me, then it's no better than this stick!

All in all, I fear misplacing writing utensils in case the ceaseless efforts of the blank pages come to get me again. Also, it's still following me.

'Tis the Season

I've had trouble with the Xmas season in the past, and still do to a certain extent. This year, however, has been rather tame and lackluster. I'm at a loss. I don't know whether I feel this is a good change or not. I haven't put up a tree, lights, or any other sort of holiday decoration. Nor have I heard drama about something along the lines of whether Capital Building's tree should be called a "Christmas Tree" or a "Holiday Tree." Things like that tend to ruin the Xmas spirit I have managed to rustle up. In all reality, I'm being sarcastic. I've always loved this season and thought it was the most beautiful. Not for the gifts, the meaning, or the spirit. I love this season because as I am writing now, it is the beginning of winter. This is the season I love the most. I do believe I'll be celebrating it after the hustle and bustle of holiday shopping and travelling is over. Perhaps I'll even join in a midwinter Mummer's Dance.

Do tell...

For more information about the many celebrations that occur this time of year, please refer to the "Winter Solstice" page on Wikipedia.

Hesitation

I generally prefer to keep personal information and life stories out of my public writing. I prefer anonymity, but I've had a few question a certain aspect of myself that I'm a bit embarrassed I have. I've been this way since I was very young, but wasn't diagnosed until I was 22. I am schizophrenic. I've seen many TV shows that I regularly watch occasionally portray a schizophrenic, and each time I see it, everything seems standard. Yet, everyone around me says it's 'trippy'. I don't quite understand, but I digress.

Do tell...

For several years now, I have been jumping from one jagged little pill to another, seeking some magical chemical combination that will make me 'normal'. I fail to see how this is going to help. Tearing me out of my own world and thrusting me into the one I try to avoid is only going to make it worse. So I'm given more pills to calm me down, to quiet my mind, and to make me numb. This diagnosis automatically makes me a potential threat to myself or the people around me, but this is hardly true. I'm too preoccupied by the many facets of the world that I have little time to devote myself to 'reality'.

Perhaps when I'm not so tired, I can write a small Q&A about what I see, hear, and think. It's not that bad if you can handle the more frightening aspects of it. On the other hand, I've seen and heard things most people can't even imagine. I have currently lost the world again and my coherency is lacking, so I will attend to this at a later date, lest I start writing unintelligible gibberish.

Silly little string.

Silly little string. You float and waft in places no one can see.

Do tell...

Are you shy? You've wandered from the ribbon you've known your entire life.

Where are you now? You choose to don the lapel of a nice business suit on a man riding his way to the top of a skyscraper to view over his realm. This is dangerous, a woman comes in with a brush! Now you are refuse, once on top of the world now lowered to almost nothing.

Where are they taking you? You become jumbled in with your brethren of rubbish, watching the world you once knew pass you by as you venture to a world unknown. Birds of a feather flock together, but in this case forced together in large amounts.

How do you feel little string? You sit and wait, watch the sun and moon do their daily changing of the guard. More is piled on top of you, but struggling seems pointless. It's over, the world, the light, the fun. A rumbling can be heard, and suddenly you're on the move again.

Where are they taking you this time little one? It's dark and all sound is muffled by the horrendous weight being applied to you. You've come to a stop, the light is shining now, and men in masks are putting you on belts. You ride and people take some of your brethren and let the others continue along the path. You bid farewell shortly before you fall though a hole with many more like yourself.

Where are you little string? You've found more like you, only there are so many colors! Water is pouring in and a man is adding a bag of white powder.

What does this mean? You seek for answers in vein as you witness your brothers struggle for position. Some float to the top to see the light once more, others give in and sink to the bottom. You wait and ponder to see what happens next. Something turned on, and you slowly start to spin. You drift in and out of a daze. Each time you look around, there is less color in the world. Finally your awake, the world is no longer spinning, but everyone around you emits a radiating light. You're being packed up again. Spirits are low now that you and your brothers have the difficulty of telling each other apart.

Where are you going this time little white one? You've stopped moving yet again. You're not sure how much longer some of your brothers will make it. Some are tattered or torn, and all are tired. You must give them strength.

What's happening now little one of white? You're being dumped in a large tub with a hole at the bottom. The only thing you can think is "Not this again..." You see the machines ahead of you and become so terrified, you passed out.

Are you okay little one? Ah, you're up again, but you're no longer yourself. You still hold that same glinting white, but it's hard to tell where you begin and your brothers end.

Does this frighten you soft white one? Stacks of you are piled up and taken to a room with large vats. The stacks are separated and one by one are sunk into a new batch of fluids.

I see you sleep this one out of your mind, but is it so horrible? You've been hung up to drip the excess of that beautiful green color you now exude.

Is your strength waning so close to the end my soft, green friend? Being cut into lengths must be terrifying. Hang in there. You look up to see a gray-haired woman standing and smiling over you. She talks to you as if you were her own child. She asks what would you like to become.

Are you happy, or confused my little one? The drawing begins. Needles poke out of every orifice just so you can be held together long enough for more needles to go in and out of your body.

Does it hurt my misshapen little green one? Form starts to come out of nowhere. You're amazed by what you're turning into. Now to be wrapped up and ready for the final move.

Are you nervous my cute little one? The movement has ceased and the box you're in has finally made it inside. A man tears into the box and pulls everything out, including yourself, and puts it on a cart. A woman then walks up from behind and shoves something plastic into you. She lifts you by this thing and places you next to others that look exactly like you. The game of watching the light come and go continues.

Are you lonely my adorable little one? Every day, people come and touch you and your brothers on racks. Some are taken and never seen again. It sounds disturbing on so many levels.

Do you see her, little one? The girl with the brown curly hair. Now is the time to let yourself shine. Radiate your elegance with every fiber of your form.

Does she see you now my friend? She appears to be walking over and then you hear those words, "This is my favwit color! I want THIS one pwease daddy pwease!" You're taken off the hanger and set in a room with a mirror. Next thing you realize, you feel very warm pressed close against this tiny girl, and suddenly have a desire to protect her. No one really looked very closely at the left sleeve though. There was a loose string.

Silly little string, where do you think you're going? It appears all things have their own life cycle.

Are you happy? I guess that depends on where and how you choose to be. There will be another day, and another string.

»∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞«

Bilateral Perspectivism

Perspective is an interesting concept. Sometimes changing perspectives can hurt more than anything, and yet sometimes it's necessary. Being that man lives for his community, and the community cannot strive without the man, social structure floats upon the whims of the popular. The truly anti-social avoid all this by shunning a basic aspect of human nature. On the one hand, a man can protect himself from the lunacy of the so-called 'rat race'. On the other, he will have nothing to fall back on should the need arise. An anti-social nature is hard to change and potentially frightening , but altering it can lead to great things if one has the courage to see it though. Sometimes you can't tell where a puzzle piece fits until you turn it around.

Do tell...

A man not need ponder for too long on the who or why of his existence. For in wondering, he has proven his life and thereto his worth. There is still a problem with this idiosyncratic concept. Once he has satisfied himself with the knowledge of his own identity, his confidence may wane with the fear of society denying his conclusion. Those with confidence enough to sustain the morale of the populace at large are the ones to lead the collective 'us'. Maintaining that assuredness or belief in oneself is the key element that most fail to conquer.

"Believing means liberating the indestructible element in oneself, or, more accurately, being indestructible, or, more accurately, being." Franz Kafka - Diaries