Dear Not-So Anonymous Reader,

Surprise.

July 1st, 2016

All of this - It's utter absolute mockery. It's tomfoolery. This is nothing but a list of words meant to symbolize my life, winnowed through the poor filter of time. If only the reader was there, and able to feel as I have through each and every little and large incident and event. If only what they read was not this, but what my mind had been writing in the moment, when no pencil nor pen was in sight.

Only then could I express with justice.

But the truth of the matter is, spectating eyes are spectating eyes, and reading is just the act of piecing together the events of your own life to simulate the one inscribed in phonetically inter-mended symbols and handstrokes we call writing.

If only shoes could fit all sizes.

I'm still here, drifting about my head within my bedroom. Why should I remain in my bed hours end on yet I am rare to sleep? The very act of breathing is such a distress, let alone the unspeakable torture of carrying about my daily work, carrying about my nightly work, work that only seizes during the times I rest asleep, but even then my dreams refract on my lively surface.

That's right... My sudden inspiration wilted in great haste, and was plummeted by the nonstop bickering of all that is around me. My mind races on a track that doesn't exist, at a speed that doesn't exist. I'm too busy struggling to prevent my own-self an obliteration.

The words here, why do they sound as they do? They're aimless and they dumbfoundly reiterate. The quality, the ambient, the essence is unworthy in the comparison of my mental wrath. I can be dragged away from here, and the moment that I am, my true telling resumes. If only you could hear it.

I now find myself doing unimaginable things. Not good things either. When I find the opportunity, I do it so much that the taste grows indistinguishable from water, but the internal warmth shields the violent foe from within. I do it so much I'm rendered disillusioned from life itself - a shifting entity that floats about its own mortal coil.

You couldn't blame me for doing it - It's the only thing that can domesticate such an outlandish treachery.

Flashing back to the night before my sub-nimrod-esque illogical attempt of forever warding her off, I remember spurting a swig of German. A quote from a recent (Year-wise, as of this writing) movie called "DJango".

From my perspective, it's an excellent movie with pristine characters and plot. It takes place back in the days of slavery in the west, where a clever old German bounty-hunter disguised as Dentist goes about the country executing wanted criminals. Along his journey he acquires a slave associate he finds both amusing and significant for his name. The slave himself joins up for a bounty-quest in hopes the German assists him in fulfilling his destiny, which the German himself finds as an honor to do due to his "[the] most famous German tale". Might I warn you the movie isn't for the faint of heart and strongly conveys ruthless violence.

I don't recall exactly what the quote was in its native language, but it's meaning flutters somewhere along the lines of "Until next time, my dear".

Yeah, if you haven't got it yet, I'm far-fetched and crazy. I'm an alienated, mutilated figure that timelessly abounds isolation. Could you really hold me to blame for the ill-cognizant uncertainties?

Nearing the end of that conversation, I slipped on my own distrupturement.

But you know what really hurts? To be ignored.

To be held down by the very inability of projecting yourself, to be resented by those biased of their own will, ones who aren't willing to go the extra mile - just one of many you're reluctantly thrusted through non-stop. They aren't willing to give a chance, because they assume stepping out of tightly concealed bounds meant taking a destructive risk that would serve as only a mere trivial dent to their wholesome liveliness.