alixias Aeonity Blog

cheesestick on a bread

Mon, 01 Sep 2008 12:06:53 -0500

I'm caught in my own words. All this while I've been restricting them, mostly myself. I feel this too often when I'm alone. I don't know if this is something that's normal, or something that I should learn to get over. Brooding doesn't help, but it's better than not doing anything about it. Brooding feels like I'm stirring a sick concoction rather than letting it sit stale. There's no clearing up, but at least there's movement. I feel broke. I feel broke in life, in love, in relationships, in friendships, in work, in style, in fundamental communication, in myself, in my duties, in my family. I am poor. I cannot see past. I don't know how to begin to ask someone to help. I feel so much all the time, but I have no idea how to put it to good use. I've given up trying to teach myself how to be a less emotional person. Yet at the same time, I have no good use for it except to use it to waste time. I am at a loss. I tried writing. I was encouraged to do so. The more I write, the more I feel like I'm doing injustice to the way I feel. The more I feel that I'm unequipped to express. The more I feel that my articulation, be it for show or for comfort, stinks. I tried playing music. I was inspired to do so. If I could cast a spell, and turn my emotions to music, what a tune it would play. But because I'm unequipped and untalented, nothing sounds right. I mimic other songs. Nothing is mine. I'm singing someone else's words. I'm playing someone else's songs. I live my sorry expression through the voice and heart of someone else's. I try to borrow a lyric or two, I try to borrow a melody or two. Nothing is mine. Everything of mine is stuck inside me. Dying to get out but dying to stay in at the same time. If I force anything out, it's equivalent to barfing. So I draw. I paint. I paint my cupboard. I draw designs on the side of the drawer. I get my hands dirty for a good hour and take a step back to admire my "work". This is not my work. This is a pattern I followed from somewhere. Nothing is mine. So I rant. Ranting is mine. Ranting is not ranting if it's censored. I wrote this in the mindset that no one will read this. I wrote this because I've given up. I do not try to craft my words carefully and intentionally so I may appear less cliched and childish. I write with fury, not with fear of pending judgement. No one cares. I realise. The extent people will care to is to offer you the time of the day to give their judgement. Good beyond that has died. So I rant. I write. I tear. There is nothing to tear. A keyboard is rigid and cold. So I toss and turn inside me, unable to rest. I battle with myself. I vs I. Round infinity. It never ends until I end my self-absorbedness. My self-absorbedness will never end so as long as I am cursed to feel this much. People say I'm caught up with myself. No I'm not. I'm caught up in trying to reconcile with being outside, ultimately feeling like the world cannot see through the same lens as I do. I feel blind, yet I feel like I'm seeing clearer than anyone else. I explain, and I'm pacified with very unsatifiying reasons. I try to swallow the hard pill. I barf again. I look forward to forgetting. It helps me gain room for more bile. I will grow senile. And I always thought that was a frightening thought. But forgetting will help. Feeling this much will bring me some good next time. And forgetting will help me get there. When there is no carry-on, I can continue. Forgetting will help me get there. How happy is the blameless vessel lot.

story

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 14:09:32 -0500

An urge, not to confess the ugly, but to admit the way it really feels. When you don't dare, it's like holding back the ill-tasting vomit in your throat. It's hard to swallow all that bile. And you haven't even begun to eat.

the easy way in

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 13:00:09 -0500

My repeat-mode-song of the month. Been a while since a vocal trance song got me hooked like that. I feel like I've revisited the younger days being lost in the indulgence of being lost. If that made sense. My heart went heavier and heavier as the day droned on today. I'm glad that I now know how to fuck things and grab a friend out for a drink than go home and mope. I'm glad that massive cleaning still works as the greatest therapy for me. I'm glad that when I'm done with all that mopeing, I feel a sense of cleaniness and acceptance as I watch the completely unappealing view from my window. I'm glad that I can settle down after a bath, clean and squeaky and accepting of myself and write emails, and entries, and scribble words on loose paper and feel bad feelings get scribbled away. And then after all that, the day just ends.

xoxo

Thu, 24 Jul 2008 13:30:16 -0500

There was a time when fear didn't seem to exist. It rode on the back of the younger and foolhardy teenagers that we were; hovered at the edge of our ears as warning whispers. And then one day I woke up realizing that it had long ago settled permanently inside as a restriction to ever going back to being carefree. I was always a goody-two shoes in my awkward years, because well, I was awkward being myself. I couldn't have been any other way anyway. But lucky for me or not I don't know, I had a chance not to feel that way for a while. Awkward I mean. And during those moments, it actually felt, good. Not to fear, so much. A literal example. When I sit at the back of a cab, I buckle myself up for only 1 reason. I don't want to die. Why am I immediately thinking of death when I'm really just doing something so mundane as making my way to work. Do I have alot more to lose now as compared to before. Where did all this fear come from. Anyway, that was an example. I dislike moments when the past and the present are placed on the table together. I don't know what I can't deal with more: being able to see the present clearer or being able to see the past that I cannot relate to any longer. It makes me feel, out. I really can't find a better word. Being fearless was foolhardy really. Pretending that you still can be is even more ridiculous. But if I always have to buckle myself up because I fear, the one hell of a ride is nowhere to be seen. And I chose that.

currently

Sat, 19 Jul 2008 18:03:48 -0500

chanced upon. like every other bittersweet thing

blue will still be blue

Sun, 13 Jul 2008 13:42:31 -0500

There are some days when I wonder about the logic behind the bad things that I've done. Sometimes I think of it in a warped way and justify the bad things done as me accumulating ammo. Ammo to be used when I want to get back at my enemies. But I don't have any enemies. Funny thing is, people I end up not liking are usually the people I liked very much from the start. And I didn't prepare any ammunition against them. I somehow do hurting things to people who cared for me from the start. I am wary. I do not think. And then, a long time later, there they are, sitting there quietly, being so super duper nice, not fucking me over. Hmm, what do I do with all these bad karma I've accumulated now? Great, just great. I think the pain caused someone you'd never expect to is more hurting than by one whom you'd expect it from. And since I'm such a vengeful spirit, I do bad things first and justify them later. I don't have good reasons for the way I feel sometimes. And usually those are the times when I'm lonely and my mind starts having too much time and I start trying to stir shit for myself. I'll throw a spanner because I get these moments when I can't stand the perfect grinding of a well-oiled machine. Sometimes I just want to cause a drama because it sheds some attention on me. I wish people saw me more for what I say or do. Mostly because I'm not really myself most of the time. I'm pretty out of sorts today. This is a nice song:

no lies, just

Sun, 29 Jun 2008 14:32:38 -0500

It took me around 11 years and 18347 mistakes before I came to realise. A tad too late but what the hell right I said this before: that it would be beautiful because I hate my life now. But how can I when this is beauty. How can it not be beautiful when you redeem me. My life isn't worth hating. Things are. I can't undo things. But I can not do things. I heard this song today. It went like this: and I sat watching a flower as it was withering I was embarrased by it's honesty so I'd prefer to be remembered as a smiling face not this fucking wreck that's taken it's place so please forgive what I have done no you can't stay mad at the setting sun cause we all get tired I mean eventually and there's nothing left to do but sleep It starts at the lowest. Then it goes up.

wolf blass

Sun, 22 Jun 2008 08:08:37 -0500

When it's us, I have no complaints. When it's not, I am strayed. I am damaged goods again. When I know I am, temptation is all I know. When I get lost in high, I remember you. And when I don't know anything, I turn to forgetting everything. Bottoms up Jamie Tang.

is all i see

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 13:17:59 -0500

I found 2 new songs that's going to be on my playlist for a while. Not trying to pull a SATC scene here but a song that works is a song that works right. It's been a while, and I forgot what it felt like to be immersed and swept up by the way a song can make me feel. I'm trying not to use the "carried away" line okay. It actually changes my outlook in things for a while. If anything, it makes me believe that there's a bigger world out there for me other than the daily one I live in. I don't feel so hopeless about life. I honestly do feel so everyday. I just don't show it. Not even to my closest ones. I just don't think there's any point in saying anything and I don't mean it in a bitter way. Talking just doesn't cut it anymore. Once upon a time, I felt okay about feeling this way. I used to feel secure and assured knowing that some things don't change and will always remain with me the way I imagine it will always be. I must be very naive, because I was pretty damn sure those things will always be the same. Nevermind that they left, in more ways than one. I just kind of knew it would always be there, be it in memory or just as a name, a thought, and idea. But certain things happen, some evitable, some by choice. And it was hard, when they faded away. It didn't hit me hard, because somewhere along the line, I became a kind of Jamie who didn't make a ruckus when something I wanted threatened with its departure. Whenever each of these precious things left, I just watched it go. It feels like I'm sitting there, watching it go, feeling my heart drop, but not saying or doing anything about it. My body collects dust while sitting there, my heart following suit. Gone, no more. No goodbyes. Just an internal letter to myself, going "Okay, it's gone. Move on." Move on, move on. My mantra. My grown-up mantra. My unnatural belief. My dying self. I don't need it back, I will move and amass more. No, I didn't I haven't. I lose. I lost. If only those things knew how much it impacted me when they took a turn. If only I did something about it. If only I wasn't so cynical about doing something about it. If only I believed that outrageous crazy-hearted moves still makes a difference in today's world. I believe, I don't believe. Times like these, I confuse myself by letting some hopeful silly part of me out. I'm glad, that all these emotions inside me, is contained in this little unpopular site on the world wide web. I'm glad, that they never got the chance to explode into a ruckus. I'm glad that they are entitled to be thrown all around the place in words. I'm glad that I face the days in my real daily world leaving all of them in places like this. I'm sad that I can be glad. Somebody once said to me, that if no one was there to listen to my blabber about the dreams I have when I sleep, that I would be a "sad little Jamie." When I think about it, I'm not sad that I don't get to blabber. I just don't think it's that important to me anymore. Or at least I tell myself so. I picture how I am with everyone these days, these months, this year, and I know while everyone has seen me in my element, they have not gotten to this part of me at all. This keeps me lonely. And while I don't like this feeling, I'll still keep it. I believe one day there will be someone whom I can give it to. It will be special then. It will be beautiful. It will be beautiful. Because I hate my life now.

sing with mondialito

Thu, 29 May 2008 10:34:48 -0500

I walked into every glass, in reach of something I really wanted. I crashed each time, questioning if I was right. I thought I had it, but I betrayed it. In return, I've lost their trust. I thought it was unfair. It was just retribution. I thought again, no satisfaction. When you cannot comprehend what you feel. When you feel what you can't comprehend.