Plangent tangents on bell curves.
the stem of blooming bursts.
Surging urge. Purge?
Should I swerve?
splurge.
submerge. emerge.
ending the deadening dirge.
life of a plain plane among birds

Just when the idylllic life becomes near enough to touch, it evanesces and whispers from behind you into your ear as the eternally free zephyr does to the living jailer of itself, a tree. It soughs but sounds like a hammer blow and terminates in my own sigh that sweeps my thigh.

It is the incarcerated who is the best at running for he runs from running itself. Ran runs ahead of running and stretches the prisoner thin. To be on the run is to slither in the shifting sands and shed your skin to make sin your kin.

Breathe in the breeze that flees to trap freedom in your ribcage. Lunge into the punch that seeks to steal it --escape within its reach-- but the whale is beached.

He who lifts the myth finds a thief beneath it a better grifter than he is.

Infinity is a blind alley.

* * *




Is this prose or poetry or just some flotsam in my head? Been through what I would call a lot, having to do what all males in my country has to do. No matter what I do the conclusion is the same. Both in terms of being unable to escape this ordeal, and also finding this very same dead end in my other pursuits.

Why do I still wait in my puddle of stillness?
Why do i convolute the complicated?
I kNow No one will come. The pivottal moment in life comes only when one realises no one will come.


Fuck.

In the midst of the A levels now.

Figured it should be safe to upload my A level stuff now that the grading is over.

This is a series on:

It all began with a general state of discontentment I had with my parents. I initially recognised the problem as their desperate clinging to restrictions, regulations—quintessentially choosing the more “established” approach of doing things—choosing to save rather than produce. Herein lies the paradox. By containing me they meant to make me a better person, better than them. The confounding thing about this is how they expect to be capable of comprehending thoughts and actions that are supposedly the product of an individual they intend to be better than they were—it was akin to trying to create something new with old methods while denying all new methods—utterly impossible. I initially saw this as their fault.

I saw the irrevocable repercussions what they did had on my identity:

“Our identity is the definition of our existence. Who we are, as individuals, is the prime question between us and the answer to the eternal question of the meaning of life. Many people say existence begins in the womb. What I think is that until one can define oneself, one is merely a collection of chemicals with a humanoid form, nothing more. And so we are all walking foetuses, entrapped in our own little wombs, which are our comfort zones.

Many people live their life in their own cocoons of comfort, unwilling to seek true existence. These are the people who have yet to leave the womb, still unborn. Those who die in this state have wasted their lives, stillborn. This is where our identity begins, within our own self-made wombs.

With the process of birth, of every form of true progress, comes a struggle. As an adolescent,t part of my struggle is with myself, and part of it, with my parents. In the womb we are part of our parents. In the delivery room the umbilical cord is cut, but still, we are part of our parents. Our parents are an integral part of the formation of our identity. In truth, until independence, the umbilical cord is still attached.

Before our identity is formed, we are but extensions of the will of our parents. As our metaphorical birth begins, a painful divergence of parent and child’s paths must be made. As much as the link to our parents gives us nourishment and sustenance, it is a leash. We are not fully human thus fettered. Like a pet we are subordinate to the will of another. The complication arises when there is a conflict of interest between parent and child. What if we become what our parents don’t want us to be? The leash becomes a whip; a noose. It coils round our neck and constricts, becoming the thing that will make us stillborn. Parents guard our interests, but what if they don’t know what our interests are? Some mothers, seeking to protect their child from external threats, fail to see what is within, and so the child is smothered alive.”

I began to consider the nature of the society we live in that allowed this to happen. It was then I decided that the family unit was only a microcosm of the faults in the bigger picture. On the macro-scale the parent was The Establishment (governments, academia, religion, canon, systems in general and how they always inhibited the ascension of newer systems), and the child was the wildcard—the unnamed individuals who are born everyday.

“systems themselves that I see as dangerous. Systematic is a deadly word. Systems originate with human creators, with people who employ them. Systems take over and grind on and on. They are like a flood tide that picks up everything in its path.”—Frank Herbert, author of Dune.

I saw how the Establishment became an entity in itself and how leaders and followers formed a fugal relationship that none had any control over—even the leaders. It was borne ironically from a desire to regulate everything, which was impossible, hence the creation of the messianic complex in people, how

"people tend[ed] to give over every decision-making capacity to any leader who can wrap himself in the myth fabric of the society. Hitler did it. Churchill did it. Franklin Roosevelt did it. Stalin did it. Mussolini did it.

The delusional urge to control, predict and contain led lesser(or rather less confident) people to seek out those who could accomplish this insurmountable task—the leaders. But who said they could? They themselves did.

It is demonstrable that power structures tend to attract people who want power for the sake of power and that a significant proportion of such people are imbalanced-in a word, insane."
–Frank Herbert

A system was fine, only if it was what it claims to be—the one true way, to hell with all the others. However, we cannot know the “one true way”.

Society became a train on which everyone was a passenger, one that grinds on and on, driverless, dragging everything into cataclysmic collisions, oscillations of destruction and creation as new ideas arose to replace the old, regrettably only when the old had collapsed upon its followers. Systems that society creates are as sandcastles on shores seething with surf, shattered with every wave. Systems have failed so far because they resist nature—the fount of all that is new and alive—much like the perennial example of the mighty oak being shattered in the strong wind while the willow, which bends and sways with it survives.

This brutal process perpetuated by the Establishment is reminiscent of a slaughterhouse—all its occupants caught on a one-way trip to destruction. We are our own guinea pigs. I use the word “caught” because society frowns upon deviation. Following rules and making every new individual with a new idea run the gauntlet of going through the system first is the nature of such an approach. Galileo, the man who first considered the possibility of the earth being round was an example. Einstein as well—he had to contend with the Newtonians. Deviancy is near synonymous with malignance in our world, although this problem is becoming less prevalent (albeit only superficially) along with recent trends of openness.

The abovementioned process may have prevented us as a collective from springing into the course of every interesting tangential idea the next young thinker conceives, but I must venture a question: Why must we act as a collective? Are we not individuals? Each individual is like a leg of the body that is society. The way the individual is forced to amalgamate essentially reduces the number of legs of society, and having the One Establishment forces it to have only one leg in the end, as all of us “unite”-- a precarious situation indeed. Diversity is the very essence of evolution.


Well, my ideas can be said to be a bit more mellowed out now. hurts to look at how angsty I was. Lol

Ok. I'm fresh outta the bath, and from a long philosophical monologue to an imaginary panel of interviewers to whatever shit I'd be applying to in future. If I apply to anything anyway.

Long time since I organised my thoughts this way, by voicing them. Wish I recorded them. Always did and still do, graah.

It was about Infinitarian Paralysis, and titled very vaguely and discombobulatingly, "Are we FROM, or OF the System?" For those who wanna know, drop me a message. Not as if anyone actually reads this journal anyway haha, this is more of a kind of reminder so I wouldn't forget what I'd wanna bring up in a conversation. I"m not gonna write it down in full, as it will be undergoing constant metamorphosis. Man, my mind is disorganised on a massive scale and in a murky manner. Messed up. Insight from insanity. Whatever.

Well, my biggest exam ever, the A levels, is exactly four weeks away, and I'm still failing many of my subjects. Oh. Most of them.

Got lots to say. Fuck. Can't get myself to settle on something. Study like shit, or continue as I am? Infinitarian Paralysis here. Some people'd call it Nihilism of sorts. Or Bad Faith. Or more simply but no less comprehendably, not in the zone. I'd update this if I feel like it. Got lots and lots to say but no one to say it to. Not even myself. Into parkour lately. Addicted. Check this out if you wanna join us in training. [link]
Well we're kinda noob at it though.

Down with the flu. Crap.

ALL MY ART HERE IS OUTDATED! CANT UPDATE WITH NEW STUFF FOR ALL MY LATEST PIECES ARE FOR THE A LEVELS.

will update when im over and done with this fucking academic shit. I'm not me as i am when I'm in fucking school.