Apocalyptic Thought

 One of the toughest things to consider how to deal with your partner is how much needs to be shared. Keeping things in is like not stretching after a workout. The lactic acid is burning through your muscles, and people can see it. People know that it's painful. They can see the limp. They don't believe "No, it's fine. Everything's fine." Yet you continue, and it pushes people away. Dishonesty pushes people away. 

 I don't remember when I learned to comfort myself, but I don't trust it. The ways in which I do, feel short sighted. It feels as though if I rely on the current methodologies, it will result in bankruptcy. It will feel as though the cost is more than can be paid and sacrifice is the only way to make the payment. So much is burrowed from the future self, so the affordability is slim.  But why take the risk?

 The amount of control and understanding to keep emotions tempered are immense, that require so much to even make this possible. Mindfulness has become such a buzzword, it's easy to understand why this seems unachievable. The irony of it being that the exercise that can allow for this to happen requires no time or effort. Just closed eyes and pushing out all thoughts.  Letting the thoughts come and go is the healthiest thing possible for clarity. It is the strongest method for creating a stable mental state. Clear the clutter and drain the toxins. Do what is needed. Just close your eyes. 

 We all got one, but the ecosystem that shapes and details our bodies tends to go unnoticed. The ratio to fast food to actual restaurants, the amount of farmer's markets under-advertised and recognized, and the amount of sales of processed to whole food are things we as a people over look. Conditioned to pay less for more quantities of items due to sales and deals convinces that more is needed that has nothing be empty calories. Moderation has become a mantra, declaring an unhealthy substance is okay as long as it's not abused. The social norms of meeting up in food areas diminish the locations where gathering can happen for free with consuming alcohol or eating salt saturated snacks.  There's doubt in if this makes for a good conspiracy, but there has to be bigger reasons that restaurants can get away with not seasoning vegetables. 

 I hear it’s the bringer of all things; the solution to all my problems. It’s what will give me focus to banished all the distractions keeping me from my dreams. It could just be a trap, a laser pit scorching my hopes as dreams, but I suppose that only happens if my expectations are misguided. That only happens if I miss the learning opportunity. That only happens if I give up.  So if I give into my stubbornness, I’ll finally start to win?

 The level of agony required grow seems so high. The low feel so lasting, but the human mind can do nifty things with memory and refreshing and perspective. They aren't nature or intuitive though. Meditation has to be the strangest experience, where waiting for Godot can heal so much with not much happening. Taking moments with eyes closed, pushing thoughts out with a soft nudge creates such strong neuron linking. Thought connect quicker. Realization occur more frequently. The path to the destination appears out of nowhere, all because of focusing on nothingness.  The brain is weird, and does so powerful things is mystery. 

 The can be repetitive, or least the same time each, themes changing or truly about the same thing will different subject. The main point is that it happens. The only thing that’s good about conflict with people that you love is that it’s resolved. The resolution is the only thing that matters. Otherwise, your going to the gym but not actually working  out.

 Nothing can change now, but my altitude. The feelings will all still be there, but the emotions will ebb and flow. Cast out and recede. Yet I don’t know to heal it. I don’t know how to experience them without hurting someone. Concealing sounds like the only choice. Sharing care only space be created; but I live on limited land. So I have to figure out how to be the same, yet flourish.

 I never understood when to quit something. Usually, the task fades, allowing the decision to be made with inaction; the weaker of the option. Decided when something is over has not be a strength, but I made it a focus to do it more. I've recognized when something can no longer continue.  I'm understanding more than ever when stubbornness is clouding my judgement. Letting go is not a part of my life.  Now I have to learn when to let something go.

How many have you had? Over the last three years, I've had several. Several of my identities have been force out of my life. Forced meaning that I can no longer claim them. Two have been with employment. One is a complete title. Another is a hobby that I dedicated a third of my life to. In this way, my life has changed. It has taken a lot of reflection and external help to understand what this process looks like. It takes a lot to heal to rid yourself of rot. It takes a lot to build back that tissue. Change are necessary. Longing for the past is not methodology. It's not a way forward. Just looking forward is hard enough. It scares me to think about much this required, but I fear a new question.  How many do I need?

 It's better to know how to do this than just faking it. Saying it over and over again makes it feel fraudulent and cheap. It's that automatic order of greasy, guilt food at your worst restaurant. It's that your day is great, then transition to fake question of "and you?" It's the questions asked where the answer is not cared about.  It's pretending to know someone's name.  Yet soon the connection happens where the appreciation is authentic. The memory cannot be altered or misplaced. Elements of life because distinct and to deter from it would create a sunken void of joy. This time is means something. It means everything. So much so that you keep repeating it everyday.

 I realized the other day how important it is to appreciate what I have. The came about realizing the important of needs. They aren't trite. They are necessary. They aren't excessive. They allow for comfort.  I don't know what comfort is.  It doesn't come easy. It's always temporary and short; fleeting and short lived; ugly and destructive. The comforts that I can reach are easy to attain. Maybe that's why they don't last. Maybe that's why I hate.  Soon I'll discover what they look like. Right now, one of them is writing. I hope my writing isn't upset. I've abandoned it multiple times. Like most things I've loved — I've done it at least once.  It's time for change. 

 Something that's everywhere and not where at all. A lasting touch, fading into a memory.  A nightmare. A longing. A begging.  A crying.  A regret. A fire that fuels a smoldering ash. A missed detail of your favorite story. Hated for being so loving. Something filled with shame done solo. Consuming it burns, searing the skin.  Sex destroys because it breeds life. 

 Imagine if people treated kindness like sex. Offered crudely, but frequent. Worried about, but offered in a big swing. Pursued with vigor, given often. Given causally, without whim. Though frowned upon, bought and sold. Imbued in everything, suggestive, overblown. We probably still wouldn’t appreciate it.

 People are having a hard time. In Gaza.  In Israel. In Ukraine. In Russia. In Myanmar. In Sudan. In West Africa. The vast complexities create gross efforts to simplify them .  Speak up, but don't be mad the consequences. Bully someone in opinion they don't have. Don't question your opinion. The rest of the story is overrated. Kids live everywhere. The family is the default creations of human existence. If there's a war,  families are stuck in them. Pictures are the final beacon that kids are dying. Children are affect the moment that first rocket explodes.  Know that before preaching for a war. Know that when its begged for. Know that when signing up. And don't forget about it when heading back home. 

Breaks should not be discouraged. The clear slate is a trick. Revisionist history. Mistakes are not seen. The bad ideas hidden. Shame  avoided. Guilt is never developed. The perfect post is published in the world for all to see. This won't be that.  I will revise what I can, publishing my thoughts here. This is for practice. This is for the site I eventually create. All a part of my growing skillset. Regardless, all of this starts today. No near future. No coming soon. I'm tired of delaying this work with all the excuses that come with it. There will be typos. There will be weird spam comments that I'll respond to. It's all a  process. I'm creating an audience.  Something to live for a  consistent period of time. This is my way out. This is the escape from my brain. This will be a pitstop to create musing thoughts. Something that has staying power.  I hope people dig it. I'm going to try a lot of things here. Most of it won't work. I hope you enjoy what doe...

I was told something earlier this year. I was told to "tone something down" in regards to a comment I had made. Context— a lot of incorrect make-up was applied and I how wronged it looked. It wasn't done intentionally, but the look was the same. It looked like black face.  I responded with "I will never tone it down." Moments like this tend to label "this is the mood of 2020" but it's not. It's the reaction of the different context I've read, knowledge I've sought and consumed, and my own opinions, crafted and refined because what I've acquired. Racism is a plague with no vaccine. It's a flu that you can quell with a mild solution, and accept that it kills people. It becomes a standard in living. Something you see, accept and move on.  Maybe it's progress, not a place to stop, but a milestone of where we've come. It's better, but it's not good enough. I don't even know what good enough looks or feels like.  I...

A lot of  failures are completely my fault.  Why can't I comprehend that I am the reason for my shortcomings? Different self-help books, social media...all make sense of why this would drive a  motive to become active and get one's life in order, though I can't get over the initial hill of accepting the blame. I can't look at the responsibility. That hasn't been enough o answer the call-to-action.  I have the instinct of inaction, numbing myself with distractions long enough to forgot about it, or think on different subjects, easing into the justifications that don't involve me. Let the external sources be the drivers, and that way I can feel better. That, or go get some ice cream.  I've failed my writing. I disguised it with the need to text faster, or write neater, or getting the skills to get a real job. Hell, I've convinced myself to be bum it out because I'm tired from a job in retail.  I am hella tired; though that's not good enough.  I cou...

Photo by  Timothy Eberly  on  Unsplash She’s surrounded. Her initial plan was not quite like this. It was taking on one, or two of them, but four swords point at her, waiting for the first move to be made. There’s always an opening, just she has to wait for the right moment for it to appear. She could always create one, giving in for just a moment, but that maybe the riskiest more she can make. “Last chance.” Could she risk it? She might be able to take them, even if the odds are against her. She would have to move quick. “I’ll think about it.” “Too late.” The first man stabs, slower than she imagined. She gets the break she was hoping for. The opening reveals itself, and she enters the man’s space at a speed he wasn’t ready for. He reacts too late, swinging in desperation. Red bursts from his neck, and his hands drops. His body follows, and she already wipes her dagger clean with the back of his tunic. The rest of the men watch, unsure o...

Photo by  Erica Li  on  Unsplash Thelon rolls a one. Not to believe in luck is a very structed way to live life. Working throughout each day, with some thoughts to how the day is going to play out, due to the work that is done, the preparation that were completed, and the resolve in how to function with one’s tasks. It’s not a hard concept, nor one that that would be deemed odds by any means. This is the way millions of play out their lives. This is not the case in Dungeons and Dragons . “Halarai throws the dagger. It soars over the last goblin’s head, who didn’t flinch by the miss. Goblin’s turn. The rest of the party groan in unison. “The Goblin runs up to attack you, avenging his slaughtered party.” The DM, Andy, rolls his die. He looks up Thelon, then the rest of group. “Natural 20— critical hit.” Andy takes his time to explain the next action. “The Goblin slides his short sword in to your side, lodging it just underneath your studded...