THuD

i long to hold on to once more to that sense of sensibility; to fully realize my own destiny and finally be able to internalize, and not just simply comprehend, the fact that my own destiny is what i make of it. i cannot dictate circumstances but i can work around it or with it. however, why am i still stuck with this mud around my ankles making each laboring step another step i have to regret? i realize that impressions i have about people and the way they tend to linger in my thoughts is a longing in my part, a kind of dull throbbing behind the ears: constant, nagging.. a longing about shortcomings that i have led myself to believe that i have simply and miserably failed in my own personified existence. such shortcoming, as i believe them to be, are what disqualifies my own narrow perspective while i look upon myself viewing the world from the corner of my room hungrily sucking in the air motes as they fly around me frantically dying to satiate my need to know while, inadvertently, peeking at the world with circumspect. a paradox of complexities yet when broken down into pieces evidently appear so simplistic in its essence that it's almost comical how many times i broke down trying to get from one emotion to another; a point wherein i can almost surmise an emotional detachment to a seemingly hostile environment. the type of hostility where i find myself candidly reacting to without preamble. the type of reaction that is all too consuming. my failings are my own and no other ought to shoulder the blame, yet blame requires redirection otherwise it will insist to bury itself deep in a non-stop, full-speed reverse. afterwhich it will be inescapable. internal hostilities are more harsh than any because it is the self battling with the self. finding myself in that position once again, again i could feel the tug and the counter-tug of each thought as they race to compete with each other in a marathon that neither will claim full ownership of. that upon ending the race the full responsibility still befalls upon the host. the watcher. the prisoner. there is a struggle for dominance within, and a weak host is a weak host. this analogy reminds me of an alien movie. funny, once again my thoughts have gone too literal.

Speak

There is a certain justification, somewhat, in having knowledge of things when under the pretense of nonchalance; that little glint of knowing that momentarily flashes right across the iris is too fleeting that it would have remained amiss had it not been anticipated. Is it so wrong to feign nonchalance when the objective is simply to avoid unwanted conversation, not for the lack of intellectual aptitude to grasp a topic or the emotional quotient factor that allows one to carry on such a conversation, but simply, one choses not to participate. Why all the objections over such a simple, yet definite, choice when it is more convenient to simply stay mum?