kev-ism.

Suspension

Sun, 15 Mar 2009 18:28:05 GMT

It's the upbeat, yet strangely melancholic tunes that are the soundtrack to a day filled with uncertainty. A contented feeling, as the frigid weather attempts to gnaw away at a weary body, only to be subdued by the comfort of a perfectly fit leather jacket with a compelling backstory. The places I know too well, and the aptly coloured white, pink and baby blue hooded jumper.

The deep sighs in those empty minutes of resignation.
It's the questions I have, and the answers I don't.

These subtleties of life, that keep me here.

Crystal Clear Mud

Wed, 11 Mar 2009 16:01:34 GMT

"No man, for any considerable period,

can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude,
without getting bewildered as to which may be the true."

Nathaniel Hawthorne

I'm not fully convinced that my writing is at all a looking glass into my soul, but rather, another compartmentalised aspect, perhaps diverting you from any sembalance of the truth in this otherwise indiscernible, intangible anima.

I try to rationalise everything I encounter in terms of black and white, even though I believe the world itself is the grayest of areas. Letting Occam's razor, and the most simplistic of explaintions, define my perception of the world.

But I know that I am the furthest thing from simple, as I think upon how I'm wired and find that even I, with the most intimate of knowledge, can't rationalise the way I am. It turns out that the more I know, the less I understand, and the more I tend to question which aspects of my personality are real, and which are fabricated due to circumstance and severe escapist tendancies.

I state that all this, all that you see, is the truth.
And I could be unconsciously lying. And I could be nothing but lies.

There are too many conflicts from within to feel satisfied with any real choice, any real answer, that I make or give beyond the mundanities of the everyday. A prominent theme over a great deal of time, and a reoccuring one due to different versions of similar words:

"You're not what you seem."

The Second Year of Scattered

Sun, 01 Mar 2009 02:43:17 GMT

The friend I'm with keeps reminding me throughout the night that this isn't real. All that I'm feeling, and the warm glow on the inside. It's not real, apparently. They try to stop me from hitting it again, but I cover it up with my nonchalance, stating that we might as well enjoy ourselves while we're here.

"That's what's real, Kevin." Using my name, highlighting their concern, and perhaps their aggitation. Pointing at the sea of decadence. A sea of limp and lifeless bodies, zombified to a single resounding bassline. Smacked, as it's known as. But when you're in the scene, when you're in the moment, it's nothing. That's the scary part... that you can actually make some fucked up sense out of all of it, that perhaps we aren't all empty. We can create a form of validation, amidst the soullessness.

I woke up this morning with a sore throat, an ulcerated mouth and for awhile I forgot where I was. My pupils were still dilated, and my appetite still suppressed. And for that instant, it was blissful. I had forgotten who I was. Then everything slowly diffused back into my mind, flashback by flashback. I died a little, a little more.

I've lost the one thing that made sense in that place, after the warm glow, after the come down. The one irreplaceable thing from that place, from that scene, that wasn't just around for the high, but for the crash, and for the neurotic week after. Everyone there, they all asked me about you, because it seemed so unnatural that I was there without you. I told them you weren't coming back. It didn't help.

I'll forever be in my own version of hell, strolling through it with a cigarette in hand, inhaling my life away. Alone.

The Tiny Prayers: To Father Time

Fri, 27 Feb 2009 04:28:17 GMT

I've always known that I would never be able to change anything this year. That the gaping void would be here to stay, along with the doubt, remorse and this slightest hint of regret, that I keep reminding myself should not actually be there. After all, it was the way last year played out that found me here, and to regret it would do a great injustice of sorts.

We'll evolve. "Let the chips fall where they may" she quotes my hero, Tyler Durden.

And anyone who has actually played hold'em with me will tell you, I'm pretty eratic with my chips in those crucial moments. At any given time, I can push all my chips with nothing in my hand. Somehow, this is going to be the theme of the year. Making something out of nothing, via acting out of whim and impulse. Win all, or lose, big.

I'm going to make this year bearable, because I know it will never surmount to perfection. I'll achieve this, or die trying.

And where I'm heading, that might actually happen.

All in, again?

Of Ways And Wills

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 22:00:00 GMT

I asked the devil for help today, to save my soul.

She said she'd get back to me.

Melbo_rne

Sat, 21 Feb 2009 20:15:43 GMT

For once, it's lonely.

Not empty.

This new room lacks personal touches. It's just an open suitcase, and a bed which isn't even mine. I can't help but think about how inhuman this place actually is. For I look into this unphathomable abyss of a year to come, and I'm afraid. I'm lost, wishing that the part of me that could find the silver lining amidst anything weren't dormant.

I don't regret personifying the hope that would carry me through the year, even though that meant the hope could disappear in an instant. I don't regret anything, really. Though I can't help but feel depressed at the plight of circumstance, and slightly cheated, as awhile back it seemed like we'd be carrying each other through this year. It felt infinite, if only for awhile.

If only.

I sometimes believe that I only truly love the things that I'll never have, that I only ever truly appreciate people when they are gone. And within this conundrum I dwell, prisoner to my own neuroses.

The voice over the phone reminds me that I'm not empty, not anymore.

Absolute

Wed, 18 Feb 2009 23:49:03 GMT

The ebony and ivory keys are my friend for the night, in the absence of Brooke, my Fender, and friend. Singing a melody for two, from two, that comprehends the dying scene. I'm trying to figure out this Fray song by iPod to slight avail. The sun rises, and I'm tempted to remove the mute.

Music has always been there for me. I won't delude anyone, or myself for that matter, by declaring myself a musician. I'm not, really. I'm just a casual guitarist, an amateur pianist at best; but the simple ability that these fumbling fingers have to breathe life into an empty room from the nothingness is a heartfelt consolation. It's one of my last few evanescing nights / encroaching mornings in this place of moments and memories, in my home... it doesn't feel like a total loss.

Something from nothing, like how we began.

With a little will, and a dash of luck.
Thick skin, and a smile
that lights up the sky.

This one's for where my heart is.
Where it wants to be.

Is this all we get, to be absolute?

Not Dead Yet. Only Dying.

Tue, 17 Feb 2009 08:31:04 GMT

We live forever,
between flashbacks.

Wish.

Sun, 15 Feb 2009 22:49:22 GMT

This fragrance still lingers in my room, and I wish it didn't.
It's nostalgic, and I wish it wasn't.
All I'm left with is that reoccuring feeling of emptiness when I smell it, as another portion of my life is relegated to retrospect; another part of me, departed.

It was about six years ago that I lost faith in humanity, only to become spiteful and malevolent to anyone unforunate enough to happen into my life at the time. It took two close friends to make me realise what I had become, to save me from my version of the darkness within. And for that very reason, they remain in my heart forever, and it depresses me everytime I say goodbye to them. However, I'm getting used to it over all these years. They're there, but a part of me knows they aren't a part of my life anymore. We've all moved on, and our paths happen to cross, but only every now and again.

Last year was another year that had me losing myself in an overwhelming tide of circumstance, misfortune and the evils dwelling in human hearts. Friends disappeared, some voluntarily, and I walked a more decadant path to find myself, to find meaning of the lunacy of life. I chased highs, chemical and carnal, and I met many people, many faces, amidst many crowds.

Through it all, I met someone who stopped me from fully being consumed by my inner demons. It was a story a random encounter, taking chances, and an adventure leading to an unlikely friendship that became a huge portion of my life. This friend was there when I wanted to be alone, reminding me that I wasn't. They were there when others left. They understood what others didn't even try to.

This fruitful fragrance that is slowly fading away belongs to her: one of my best friends, and perhaps the one who played the most important role in my life last year.

Now a wistful memory of the past,
and a hopeful encounter in the future.

But not part of the present,
the place I'm in, and wish I wasn't.

Pre-Emptive Revenge

Sat, 07 Feb 2009 21:11:10 GMT

I wish that I were less vindictive in many aspects. While I believe in karma to a certain extent, I'll get this urge to balance things out when I'm wronged, and when the occasion calls for it. I sometimes create my own karma, my own version of balance in this gray world, in which I rationalise things in the purest colours of black and white.

But perhaps pre-emptively doing so gives oneself a sense of overwhelming guilt, as initially it wasn't done to settle a vendetta. But the world works itself out as vindictive nature turns into vindication; guilty to justified. The actions once regretted, that once made one feel like a monster, now making one feel complete; almost human. The world in order, the rage extinguished before it even had a chance to ignite.

Pure bliss.

Now, we're even.
And it's gratifying to no end that you'll never know why.