Capricious

56 - Sun Spells

"Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls."
- Anaïs Nin

Making progress in every dimension of life. In friendships, relationships, lusts; in culture, music, art-forms; in appearance, education, futures. My head is clearing, I feel okay about myself, and I drift from darkness, settling comfortably in these shoes. It's all coming together now, into one life, negativity seeming a strange shadow fading ever smaller, as the sun reaches the top of the sky.

A slight high, dazing softly in the sunlight, a delightful dizziness washing over me. The warmth pouring through my skin, letting go of the past, running through the present so casually, old problems seeming nothing at all. Flowing through life on a cloud, attacking all I need, and pleasuring in leftover time, it all works out, for survival is everything, and yet nothing at all.

Any pain dissipated, head running smooth, mind curling up by the fire, just floating in the wind.

Awkward acts seemingly made into nothing at all, failure only an amusement, now I'm associating with those of a warmer heart, lost throughout my darkest past.

A creamy pleasure streaming through me, with music half-forgotten, all discomfort washed away, living through the rhythm amongst the crowd.

I am all me now, not the shadow I once was, comforted by acceptance on all fronts. To sample several lives and be all I favour out of those, fitting in places I hadn't dreamed, being ultimately weird without regret. For there is enough of me in the others I know, that I can live in peripheral centres, and spin in and out when I want. For the centre doesn't really exist, I know that now, and so I'm happy where I am, with no intention to break, only to make do with what I have, and accept any chance that comes my way in time.

An identity forged, from burning flame and the darkest brimstone, all faces of my character certain, floating now in time and space, saved from the wilderness left behind in the recesses of my metamorphic mind. Downs seeming so ridiculous, my darkest times diluted, for every time I break now it hurts less and less, any innocence or ignorance I had destroyed by reality's deadly kiss. True wisdom arises from being broken, and from rising to avenge ourselves, growing by understanding why we lost, until all our dreams are destroyed, until there is nothing left but that knowledge, until we agree to accept death. Thus if I must die again so be it, let it happen, so I can rise again stronger than ever. I am who I am, there is no stopping it, I'm wild, I'm pure, and intense as can be.

And like that all anxiety has vanished, past obstacles of fear dwindling to their rational form, I am what I once envied, able to exist as I am, nothing crashing down upon me, soul bared free.

I want a girl that is sexually confident, witty and pretty, I want her to fall for me and me for her, and to be so adventurously naughty together. I should know by now that can't happen, that those types of girls do not desire love, the same way they only wanted me for sex. Now becoming averse to thoughts of her, seeing ugliness in place of beauty, everything that seemed so pure now appearing to be so fake; so rough, so rigid, so broken, a soul of stone, unworthy of my love. And yet all this has happened before, the mere process of a broken heart trying to reclaim its sanity, it's just happening quicker than last time.

Yet my mind ignores the sparks that could have become, possibilities to fall in love if only given the chance, for desires flaunted the same as those I fell for, only without anything becoming of it. I just can't know, can't wallow in the failures of a few, or lack of feelings for others, I just have to be ready when such encounters arrive, and not leave them to the wind as I so readily did, in the magnificent naïveté of my past.

Era ending at the city by the sea, only straddling its shores, trading blows with princes not seen for time, frivolous breaking of old rules to corrupt both body and mind. Still I feed the beast, who can smoke as well as any, to keep from dwelling on the rawness of my survival, rare loves falling in love with the many. And I realise now far from life how one-dimensionally I took myself, tensing body-shots sinking into the chest, for my character is shady, again losing itself in thoughts of my luminous lady, dancing through forced dreams, yet fading allure does make me want to scream. Winning battles that hold original, declining entrance into arenas so worn, paths of a sense falling short all around me, singing aloud helping me realise how terribly I bleed. The illusion of respect clouding me, for I know not what to make of all I see, that will not fit in others' eyes, or else constructed by a manifesto of lies. Yet slowing time does no longer save me, blazing almost to collapse, to smoothly crackle through a perfect distraction, a forfeit of character just to relax, I forget who I am as the screen turns to black.