An obviously unwanted voice

Ok, I've seen enough. Can't bear to view more of them, to be exact. It's haunting. Not disturbing in particular, but - hmm how can I express this with an understandable phrase - ok - are you familiar with the sentence "it's hurt to look back"? Yes, that kind of hurt, that kind of disturbance. It reminds me of my own kind of thoughts back then. Back then when I was producing the content of those four notebooks.

Those four notebooks are currently sitting idly at the corner of my working space. I've been thinking for a while (like, for three and a half years?) if I should burn them. It hurts just to think about what's inside.



The pain of overgrowing things too quickly. Oh my, but that would be a self-centered assumption from me. Yuck. No, scratch that, then. There are enough of them around here, enough for a lifetime. I don't mind mainstream things, I really don't. It's simply a matter of personal preference, I guess. My dislike happens to coincide with some of the things travelling adrift in the mainstream. Simple enough.

Of course you could be tired, or bored, of a single person. Or two, if you include yourself. Or more, why not? Heck, I also hate it when my self analysis gets stuck, and even more so when my analysis of another would get stuck in the same spot of a derailed track.

That's why there are lots of humans around, dummy.

If you regard most of them as uninspiring, then of course they will be uninspiring. People claim that nothing special is happening around them save for the things they are paying attention to. The question if they ever pay close attention to any other things comes to mind. One must look with the heart, for the eyes are blind. But they are not even looking with the eyes. Pray tell, what are you hoping to see? No, it's not generalizing. It's okay for people to be ordinary, to be uninspiring, perfectly fine. There are such people, I admit. Ah, perhaps you'd get my point at this point, so I shall not bother to continue.

So I once turned to restating my own obvious humanity, to let myself be lost in the dark beauty of the unknown mystery. To be overwhelmed and excited and frustrated but boastful still when others didn't seem to get the bold, curious concept. It was utterly random and seemingly rubbish, but golden to me. A sudden mental slap. Then I resolved myself to translate it into something that could possibly be understood by my peers. Thus the books. That single -could also be counted as two- slap(s) was my turning point to a further growth and more nauseating journeys ahead.

Oh, and it's really okay to continue being overwhelmed, drawn by your own brilliant curiousity and not bothering to share them. Actually, I don't know if that's okay or not. But curiousity does keep the possibility of having an open mind, open.

The difference between us, I think, goes something like this: I thank God for I had been touched by the grip of love at that time, and of the solitude, pain, anguish, disappointments, forgiveness, acceptances and anger. At that point, and they continue along the linear path of time until this very second. I take them as miracles and without them, I don't know how I could possibly be the person I am now.

I guess it's okay to be a bastard, by all means go ahead and make my day. But I've seen bastards that really hurt people and I'd hate to be one, personally. Yes, this is a mere personal opinion. I personally like (seemingly) disarming person(a)s. Through kindness, I sense warm and thoughtful brilliance, and a possibly dependable mind. This world is too butchered, paradoxically systematized and fucked up, obviously. Those who realise that, and love it still, are just otherworldly crazy, or awesome, or both.

Then again, my life hasn't expired. Maybe some of this would evolve to be something else later on, maybe some of it will not. This is nothing but a slice of what I think of things as for now, if this statement could serve as a late disclaimer. It still feels, strangely, like looking into a mirror that displays a part of my one-third twisted side, a face of id born from despairs, comforting moments and grateful thoughts. I'd give that. But I think I'd resolve it differently still.

And this is so obviously unwanted. Never mind, I'm merely talking to a wall. See the labels? A wall. Really.