Friday, February 17, 2017

You're pretty to me regardless

Birthmarks? Birthmarks. Ah, what a bittersweet mark. You grow used to it, yes, but never the attention it draws. I think I am lucky that I have no visible birthmark. For those who do, do they feel as if the world has wronged them? Maybe some. I know not. But think I know that a birthmark, anywhere, becomes a literal part of you and your personality. The subtle changed either repel or gather people. It is believed, by some, that birthmarks are the physical mark of a wound on to where you have been killed in a previous life. If so, I feel pity for those who have died in horrendous ways. I once knew someone with a heart-shaped birthmark on their face. It makes me wonder if them dying that way could have been an extreme case of torture. It brings up images of a hot heart-shaped brand being forced through a human skull at just the right angle to be a quick torture. I'm losing my train of thought with such morbid ideas. Back to the topic at hand, this being birthmarks this time, I didn't feel much for them besides a bit of pity. Even the story that Miss Stacy read aloud hasn't made me really care full heartedly. I do like hearing her read, truthfully I do, but that article was simply just another story to me. I really hope not that birthmarks are wounds from a past self. It might mean that I died of sickness. Or old age. I fear that I may have died alone. Could birthmarks also be a mental mark? Let me explain. Have you ever done something, or feel some way about something almost on instinct? You've never thought about it much, but it's there. Like the hate of feet, the love of certain wine and some habits you know not the origins. If they were visible, I might look like Deadpool. I have too many "quirks" my older sister calls them. I don't think that's the truth, though. Mental illness runs in my mother's line, and a not so subtle sadist kind in my father. Before I knew of my father's 'bad quality', I knew something was not quite right. When I grew up some, I researched it and found out I got it from him. I haven't acquired my mother's, hopefully. I hope I never do. Those might be another 'secret birthmark' though.

Unforgivable dishonor

Yes, truly we must address the issue of me naming anything. With words at least. Mostly I use dates to name any writings. This one, being so in my mind, 2-3-17 (now revisioned on 2-17-17). Now that that over I shall continue to discuss the meanings of happiness. What is it to me? Truthfully, it's mostly a dreadful topic. It makes me understand with happiness comes the opposite. The opposite of happiness has too many names, but for the reason of me being slothful and caring not to write them all down each time I mention it, I'll call it sadness. I have grown weary of contemplating happiness. Maybe on another day, I'll destroy this topic, but I feel not the need or want to do so currently. I have had too much happiness for myself to be able to digest. Like an upset stomach being full of food, it throws itself back up. Did I really call happiness vomit? Yes, I did. An odd comparison, I know, but it only matters, in this writing, that I understand it at a later time. My happiness has been "thrown up." I have too much of it metaphorically shoved down my unwilling gullet. My mind, this being like my stomach in this scenario, hasn't had time to digest it and let it live in me. No, instead I "throw it up." When I get sad, this being compared to hunger, I want to "eat" once more. But I can't find the meal to really be digestible. There are no "soft foods" around me. I am surrounded by excitement and suddenness. I crave a calming happiness. Maybe a new friend. Which, I have not done. I have instead thought about all the friends I have not interacted with in quite some time and decided my friend Angel, not Marvel's Angel, is a type of "soft food." Ever since I've started interacting with him again, I feel my "stomach" settling. In a way, my happiness is slowly, but surely, returning back to its normal consumption. He makes me happy. Not in a romantic sense, I think, but happy nevertheless. I am thankful. That isn't the full truth on to why I've started interacting with him again, but it's about one-third the reason. To the other two-third of that story, well, I care not to share it here.

Friday, February 3, 2017

Again I must approach this tenderly

I may be biased to what he explained. I believe most TED talks are psychobabble. I thnk that I might be too into realism. But this isn't about me, is it? No, but it's on my thoughts on that TED talk. Happiness is desirable, yet should it be the main goal in life? What about the feeling of satisfaction? Or relief? Is happiness just all of the good feelings? If so, of course, I want to be constantly happy. But happiness isn't a birthright, we must work one way or another to experience it. If negative feelings are never felt, understanding and feeling happiness is not possible. Have you ever read or watched an adventure story where the characters go through different lands and in the harsh conditions of the day they comment on how great their bed is? Beds are taking kinda advantage of, but when you're sleeping on just ground instead, of course, anyone would miss it. That's kinda the same about happiness. Once you're feeling extreme negative emotions, the longing of happiness comes over you. That is what I believe is the most important role of happiness.

Monday, January 9, 2017

Farce is but a word, is it not?


Sometimes I think happiness isn’t an actual thing. That’s when I’m sad. When I’m the other way around, I feel it to be one of the best things in the world. I feel sad now, so happiness is irrelevant. Someone who made me happy betrayed me. They did so with pride. It really hurt to have to pretend to be happy. Maybe for some the term,”fake it ‘till you make it” works, but it does the opposite for me. I realize it’s all a farce. That realization makes me cry. Have you seen someone seemingly so blissful with the heaviest tears? Not the joyful kind. These tears are of pain so deep that it’s difficult to even consider happiness as an option. It hurts having to go on about acting gleeful when you’re not. This is why I’ve considered myself a great liar. No one sees through it, even though I silently beg for them too. Enough about me, the question was what true happiness is. I think, maybe, just maybe, it could be control. To control everything, every outcome, every war, every little detail of everything. To be God essentially. Maybe he achieved happiness before Adam and Eve and in his blissful state, forgot about us. Being forgotten is not a happy thing. Stacy Johnson said something once that had me feeling like I might get interested in it. She said along the lines,”With happiness comes the feeling of being petrified. The more happiness, the greater the fear. It’s fear of losing your bliss.” She used her daughter as an example. Do all parents feel like that? What about the ones who abuse their child but refuse to give them up? Are they taking out their fear on their child? Maybe happiness could be balance. The balance of all emotions. Maybe we should listen to monks and Buddhists. What is they know, but won’t force us into bliss? Why would they keep that from us? Why not force happiness down our unwilling gullets? Like cat mothers. They hold their kitten by the back of their neck and do parental things, but to the kitten, it might be torture until it’s over. Are we no better than felines? Have they surpassed us in achieving happiness? I don’t know if everyone can. Everyone has a dark side. Everyone has the potential of being corrupted and mad. Like a hatter. Yet, not the child’s version. Mad as in wanting to see the world burn. Do we send people to the looney bin because they disrupt our own happiness? What is the purpose of this subject? Is it to achieve our own happiness? Is this your way of being our metaphorical mother cat? If it is, I’ll congratulate you now before I forget to do so later. Compliments make me happy. Being beautiful makes me happy. Beauty is power after all. And with power, comes control. I essentially have a better chance at controlling others with beauty. I think it too much a hassle to do so, though. What if sex is bliss? Is it? I don’t think it is. Well, not eternal bliss. I fear that ignorance may be the only thing to real happiness. I much rather not be happy and instead be intelligent. I can’t say for sure why, though. If it makes me unhappy, wouldn’t it not be a goal? I don’t fully know. But, I think as I grow older I’ll find that answer on my own. Is openness a candidate in being truly happy? Could it be that us asking too many questions and becoming knowledgeable makes us unhappy? What if they never ate that apple? Would we be mindless, yet blissful, husks? God damn it all to hell, I say. I don’t need to be happy. It is ignorance. I need not anymore of that. I think I need to be more unhappy. Maybe even cruel. Keep up my mask. Keep it up, but not become it.

Monday, November 28, 2016

Can you hear me?

I have found one quote, from my favorite writer, that describes almost perfectly on to how I feel about the world. "I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone" -George Gordon Byron. Experiences piling upon experiences hath shown me that our world is disappointing. For every good one soul receives, its twin, bad, chases another, ungrateful soul. The truth has made us hone our blades to slice off digestible pieces for the ignorant. For they shall never have the brute and bitter experience partaking from the fruit of the knowledge tree. Perhaps it is my own viewpoint on the inner and outer workings of our world. Perhaps it is actually how it is. Who will really know? Not I for sure. Neither shall you, seeing you're reading this.

Friday, October 21, 2016

Waver this one if you will

It really depends on what thoughts I want to provoke with a question. Maybe I'll ask an innocent one,"Does sunlight weigh anything, and if so, how much?" I've already learned the answer years ago, though. Google it if you care to know. I don't care to use one of those questions, but I feel that for once I owe you a correct response. Following the outline. I'll answer, "Are you holding onto something that you need to let go of?" Yes, I am. I can't forgive myself for his death, her downfall, their misery and my blessing/curse of reading too much into people's body language. I feel guilty for his death. It was my fault for not being there for him. He trusted me and what did I do? I left him alone with them, knowing how they are. I love the last months, but also get the saddest during the time. Especially as November gets closer. His death and birthday are too close. As to her downfall. I've mostly become indifferent to her. She is burying her own grave. Ah, my favorite. Their misery. They deserve it for his death. They didn't even have the decency of cleaning up his blood. He'd be 4 now, if alive. I call it a blessing and a curse because I've always wondered what it feels like to be ignorantly bliss, but a blessing overall because I'd rather use than be used. I was having a bad day until now. I don't know why I've told you that, but I'm unwilling to take it back. Maybe it was because the guilt is refreshed for him. I've become horrible and have been unable to cry for him anymore. I'll regain some humanity from this I suppose.

Monday, October 17, 2016

A place of nothingness

It's difficult to describe my favorite place. It's almost overwhelming to be in my favorite place. The darkness, absolute silence, the tile floors, and the scent is only yourself. I've only been in this place two times, yet it is my favorite to be in. It's so quiet in there that I can even hear my own blood rushing through my ears. My fingertips tapping against one another. Each breath sounds like a yell. Absolute silence the room is. Until I disrupt it. I can't make a visual representation of it as you'd probably like. With the lights on, it's a blank white room, about the size of 2 bathrooms, and the only thing on the wall is a doorknob. You can't see the outline of the door because of how absolutely bare the maker of the room wanted it to be. There is no light switch. The way to turn off the lights is but a mere,"off." They turn on by either moving frantically or whispering "on." When the lights are off it may get a bit nerve wracking for some, but for me it's absolute. The ventilation is also hidden. I think it's with the doorknob as well. The door is made out of softer material than the wall, because if anyone panics about the doorknob locking, it is easy enough to break down. You may bring things in the room if wanted. I usually bring a glass of water. I enjoy how the dripping sounds make me calm. When exiting the room, there is a grayer hallway. From it you can hear the muffled sounds of wild birds and insects. When you get to the door at the end of the left side of the hallway there is the garden. It's green and bright. There are many wild creatures there. They are all kind creatures. If you tread through the trees, you may see a deer. Most come up to you curiously and sniff around, in case if you have food. Past the mile of trees and wildlife is a path out of white quartz. On the right side of the gray hallway is a door leading to a huge, glass-domed garden. From every treetop is a new shade of bird. They all are different shapes and sizes. Their beaks can either be long and curved, or short and sharp. Attempting to pronounce their names is next to impossible though. If you keep walking through the garden it opens up to another door. The door is locked until the night comes. In the night, it all changes. It's as if it's a whole new place.