Bored as Hell

Done importing entries on my Tumblr account. What now?

In here I set free words I can never say to you, where I have kept alive every strange moment I have chosen no longer to dwell on. Every thought of you and of how much I would have loved to love you if I could.

Yet any thoughts of me you can just as easily wash away. Because all i am to you is just a debris in the river of your overcrowded memories.

If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world.

I’ll never be perfect. But you make me want to be.

i smile for your existence

Your mind is amazing. I love to read your words, to feel them touch my soul, to revel in the beauty that is you. You’re so complicated, and I know I only see a small fraction of that. If the visible colors are beautiful, what would the rest of the spectrum look like?

Sometimes you say something simple that strikes me as profound genius. I want more; I want to hear you talk forever. I always hoped that there was someone like you, and now that I see there is, I couldn’t be happier.

You’re like the stars and galaxies that grace the sky on clear nights, so brilliant and unreachable. but it’s enough to know that they exist. It’s enough to know that you exist. That this, here, isn’t all there is. There’s something better, more noble, somewhere. Maybe I will never reach it, but my heart knows it is there.

We search, lost souls looking for something to latch onto, something to shield us from the emptiness. We don’t know what we seek, only that we hope to recognize it when we come across it. Somewhere in my wanderings, I caught a glimpse of you.

Knowing that somewhere out there is YOU that makes all the difference. The world doesn’t seem so bad when you are a part of it.

Shit happens

Haven’t written here for a while. A lot has happened, but there’s just one major thing on my mind right now. My girlfriend just broke up with me like an hour and a half ago. LOL. We went out for exactly one week, i asked her out at around 10 pm last Friday, and now she broke up with me this Friday at 11pm again. LOL. Oh well…

I guess you could say that I crashed and burned, since when I asked her out, i said, “Let’s just give it a try, huh?”. So we did, and she said it didn’t work out. I jumped, flew, then crashed back down again. Heheh.

She said it was because she couldn’t find a connection between the two of us. That’s actually quite a generic breakup excuse. That’s the only thing i don’t appreciate. My ego took a bit of a hit from that. Generics are usually left for those that don’t matter that much. But I’m actually somewhat indifferent right now. Heh.

I pretty much am just going to pick myself up and move on. What’s unlucky though is that she had to do it tonight… I have four deadlines tomorrow and two chapters worth of notes, which i still have to make. This is just more on my plate right now, which i don’t need, by the way. I’m so close to the edge from the stress, plus this. I just might go over it, you know? I just might relapse  into my old ways. Too much pressure and the dam WILL break…

I remember those old days, before my Bohemic romanticism phase I’m in right now. I’ve tried being the nice guy now, being the romantic sweetie, but it got me jack shit. The old me wanted something different, and actually got it. So, maybe, just maybe, i might go back. I changed… I can change back too.

I wouldn’t say I was happy when I was the old me, but I was satisfied. Now, with all this Idealisticism, I feel empty and left behind by it. I put my faith in Idealism, and I got nothing from it. When I put my faith into slefish materialism, some time ago, I got what I wanted, and was sated…

So, the conundrum is, stay the way I am, the romantic idealist with nothing, or the selfish materialist who can satiate his wants… The idealist is morally correct, mostly, while the materialist is indiffrent about ethics. Neither bad nor good, just doing what i need to do to get what i want.

What is it going to be? Old me, or New and Current Me? I must sleep and consult my spritual twin.

Product of a coincidence

Picture This: I was in the Play Section of a bookstore yesterday reading a Tom Stoppard play,The Real Thing. There was music playing in the store, and at this particular moment it was “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off.” The song’s still playing, and I’m reading, and I get to the third page, where this man and his wife are having a disagreement. The character of the man, says, in a sing-song voice, “Let’s call the whole thing off.” And I read those words just as the song came to its jazzy conclusion, with the singing of that very line.

I don’t really believe in coincidence; I know the mathematical fact that yes, maybe hearing “Let’s call the whole thing off” sung while reading the line “Let’s call the whole thing off” is a one in a billion chance, but I’ve read a billion books and listened to a billion songs while I read, and they’ve never once synched up until now, so it’s just the law of averages that it would happen at this moment, on this particular afternoon.

There’s no significance behind the song, or the line, or the play, or the sentiment; I’m not taking it as a sign to stage the play or buy the CD or, in fact, to call the whole thing off, or to decide on a thing that I might want to call off and then call it off, and give as my reason that I received a message in the form of the confluence of a line from a song and line from a play.

What I’m wondering about is whether life is better if you go around believing in coincidence and signs and auguries. Seeing meaning in every billboard and opportunity in every meeting. There’s something about that kind of life that seems young and hopeful.

There’s a way of thinking about the world when you’re young, before you’ve learned all the rules of social order and acceptable behavior and career path, where you think that anything can happen, when you believe in ghosts and angels and UFOs and government conspiracies and true love, and everything seems connected, or at least sometimes it does.

I can still feel the feeling that I had while reading that play, with that background music playing with my insane mind. The feeling of wanting to be a part of something big and significant and magical, and half-believing that I was; of half-believing that I shared mystical connections with the people around me, as well as with Woody Allen, and Steven Spielberg, and Barack Obama, and you.