Capricious

44 - Shadows of Greed

"You can design and create, and build the most wonderful place in the world. But it takes people to make the dream a reality."
- Walt Disney

I've left reality for a day or two, set for drug-fuelled mayhem, she lays in my thoughts all the while. Then set through sudden stages, more and more and more, through staying up all night. There's nothing here to worry me, nothing here to live and breed, neither the orgy it could have been. I shouldn't have expected, for now those futures have left, and I lay here okay and nothing more. I've done this, and now I've lived a little more in the unexpected, but I feel less satisfied than I wanted to be. Sample a feel and moving on, I've gotten too used to bathing in bliss, now this shimmers weakly in comparison, now we are running down different streets. I just wanted to go beyond myself, was that too much to ask?

What storms of dazed adventures crowd around my conscious self? Dreams of my choosing keeping me warm, their feelings brighter, their might shattering the air, to cordon off my concentration, to wrap me in a blanket of naked thought. My mind is lying broken all over the floor. I can't think how to respond, no wish to leave this place, but my music is old, moments of my memory's curse not sailing down this road, and an aperture it becomes. Still I take on more and more, but only one bomb cannot burst the emotion disguised behind enemy lines. A break is all it is, just one expensive on time, money no care as it slips away, closer to my heart yet not feeling as natural as it does with her, my rose such a glamorous frustration, that I can only adore from afar, until we meet again. So I play their games, something different at least, dreaming of possibilities, such that I have something to live for, and that I can live it each way in time.

There is surviving, and then there is living, repeating your life versus living something new, same or different. For the same never feels the same, but the different does, that exhilaration I crave. I cannot stay constant, I cannot repeat this over and over, what's done is done, it has to be different, it has to change. I have to be open, live not by rules, risk integrity for love, spend every ounce I have on extracting all I can. But greedy I feel I am, a tolerance I've built, I need so much more than I used to, now that the good barely feels good at all.

I have exhausted those inspirations, I need new ones, I need to feel, to realise, to live, or else my mind cannot flow. I expected something more, but hope is oft a disappointment, there was no way, and friends of mine have no wish to take this further, remaining in the past, like remaining in a bath gone cold, afraid to move, to feel the cold, to approach refreshed. I love hanging from the edge with no worry to think, of living beyond when I was supposed to, of feeling something so presently, so originally, so personally. Living relative to what would have been rather than what could have been. Still so little new, skills unpracticed wavering, little time spent living, still hardly giving a fuck, still missing her.

I say I like change, and yet I do not change from the current moment, do not adapt tasks to things with some unknown, never alone. It is only from force, ego and competitive will, or shifting surroundings just to change back. I'm safe in this monotony, I don't want to let it go, I just want it to change, but I won't let it. I'm a broken record on repeat.

Do we only see what we are not, what we want to be, in those we believe we love?

I just can't think anymore. My mind doesn't work as it used to. It's cloudy, can't remember, can't connect, can't understand. I hate it.

Don't compare to others, only compare to your previous self. Do not envy others, value what you have that they don't. You do not have to be them, you just need to be yourself, to the extreme.

Approaching everything too technically, following rules that shouldn't apply, and only pulling it off half the time, for rules wear out, the games moves on, and I am left behind, with nowhere to go.

Building great ideas that end up floundering in the gutter once the atmosphere is lost. Hope collapsing so sharply, so pathetically, so miserably. I just can't stay the same person for very long.

For if my reality does not change then my mind will. I will see it in my taste, the way I write, what I listen to. Yet the faster my mind changes, the more I lose touch with reality, with my reality. I become so capricious, so full of conflict that I become nothing, losing myself in darkness. That's why I need to keep going, not have to question, just lose myself in the originality of change instead, else I die once more. I can't let that happen again.

Sacrificing untowards, for I will never feel it, for I will never become it, from desperate edges I will muscle, and ache through the odds I find.