WARNING: THIS BLOG WILL BE EXCESSIVELY FLORID AND GARRULOUS!
This is the simple story of six wily characters who all got together one day. Our fighting did not come from a wraith (as Hamlet's did), but from our own zeal. I thought that the climax of this fight had already happened, but I fear that the zenith is yet to come.
We've all had some sort of accretion since the initial incident. (Some have been able to use their growth to aggrandize themselves too). But I could also say that we have all become more fecund, because we now know how to deal with our lives and how to cope and cope fast. We learn. We're learning. However, I doubt I have grown at all. The only thing I have done is tried to keep a fetid lie behind my back. Everyone kind of knows it's there, but they can't say it's mine because there isn't proof. And everyday, my strength flags and I fall. I give in to hatred of secrets and furthermore, myself. But by some scrap of home, something fortuitous, that has left me with all of my friends. But are they really my friends if I can't talk to them? I feel frenetic every time I'm around you, because I want you to know. But I'm still garnering the courage to say.
However, the true fear I possess is of your anger. I want to be your friend, I want to so bad. There are all these endless reasons. I'm very wiling to do anything for you, but I'm afraid of your glower. That one look can tear me down and destroy me inside. Not in a way of gradations, but straight forward-so quick, so fast, and without a second glance. Oh, how I don't want to lose you. But if you become implacable, then that's that. And there I am, without something I never wanted to lose. And this isn't to say that you're irascible, but when something angers you, I know I can lose you easily because your anger is scary. Almost as if it consumes you, but the sanity remains.
She tells me that I', being guile for not telling you. She says that when I tell you, things will be better. But, if they aren't, I guess I'll kind of deserve it. I mean, maybe I just say I'm not lying because I'm trying to weaken my crimes, but anything but complete truth is a lie.
If my dreams were a man, his beard would be hoary from being so old. Each one is the same, but is so wrong all the same. They represent iconoclasts, everything which I shouldn't think. Every idiosyncrasy I've ever felt for you. My dreams are about me being impetuous. I remember being close to you, and wanting to kiss you, but you tell me (in such a nice way) that you aren't comfortable with it, and I back away (guilty and ashamed). Then I wake up in n inexorable panic and the only cure is lying there for a few minutes going, "You're alright; it was just a dream." Then I inter my head in my pillow and wish that all this confusion would go away.
My attraction to many people I could call kinetic (or maybe like magnets), but all the same. But my feelings for you are an anomaly, because they should never have existed. Not to say they still do, but they did. I remember, that everything (originally) was a scam for jealousy. That's why everything was so funny and "ironic" back then. Now, the feelings are gone, and everything is serious, but these dreams harass me like bugs in summer. I feel like I can't ameliorate myself either, but then again, maybe that's because I don't think I have the right. I really don't. I've been a bad person, I don't deserve to be someone saved in the end of the world. I don't deserve any analgesia from the pain I caused myself; that's logical, isn't it? Why do I keep asking? There must be some human confirmation that I need.
You know what I find odd? That people will ask me for advice. Of all people! I complicate my own life, I'm so surprised that anyone thinks I'd have the proper answer for them. Even I know that I have apocryphal things about me when it comes to life circumstances. Obviously, I have no idea what I'm doing. I've been an apostate of so many religions. I've been without friends and turned my back on some of the closest. I've broken so many hearts. I'm sure Satan already has a seat for me.
My ardor for you hasn't left. As I blog my words attenuate me and make me wish to call everything out. I want to feel like I can call myself august, because I want to be able to tell the world. I feel like my who bevy of friends are denied the truth. That's it! I'm tired of trying to bifurcate myself to be pleasing to everyone! WHY CAN'T I JUST BE ME? I'm sad that we can't all agree and still be people just because we don't share the same opinions.
Don't blight the friendship we have. That's not my intention. I'm not going to turn this into some ignorant and blithe situation and just go off into rants about him. No, I'll shut my face if you don't want to hear it. I just want to bolster our friendship, but I don't know if you'll let me. Maybe you'll form a cabal to hate me, but that's alright. I'll understand. If you want to be candid with me, then do it. If I have anything to my favor, at least I understand. I don't need someone with cartography to figure out where something is going. I know when I'm being castigated.
There are caustic people in my life, those who are ready to fire back every day.I know the chauvinists and the feminists, the democrats and republicans, the war hawks and the peaceful doves. What makes their fighting so cloying are the days that feel like they never end, and then the fighting will continue forever. No coffer can contain the riches to hold something that makes these days pass faster. Maybe they're just days that have some sort of collusion, something planned to make life infinitely terrible. Can someone condone me for wishing that life weren't so evil? For having some hope in this world? But I am quite contrite with my behavior, believe it or not.
I thought I was craven, but I'm proving to have some amount of courage.But I am also proving not be as credulous as I thought. Or am I? I've been pretty solid in my beliefs, despite the valid point.Maybe I'm just some curmudgeon, but young. I am not decorous! I refuse to have the decorum in my life! I'm not some societal girl. I have the right to demur about this Earth and dammit, I will!(Maybe I'm deriding myself by doing this.) My dictum is strong. My way of dissemblance is a weak way to avoid what I shouldn't have. I understand that my happiness and yours are a dissonance, but all the same. If you don't want to talk about it, neither do I.
I have my doctrinaires. Others have their droll friends. Others are easily duped. And some are those preppy girls who are so ebullient. All of them make up an eclectic of friends and lifestyles. Their opinions make an overwhelming efficacy for seeing the world. Then, you know what you're missing, or see things you can't see. They don't emulate the world you've already seen, but reveal a brand new one. Their disease isn't one endemic to your life, the home you've already seen. They bring a perspective that shines a light onto the dark room you thought you knew. They engender a new hope and new happiness. That is what makes people so great. Everyone sees through different eyes. Whether the friendship is ephemeral or it lasts forever, it is important. I want us to be the latter.
'Where are the erudite men,
with the dollish girls?
The cacophony of screams
when the effigies lose.
The bodies are desiccated,
but the diatribe continues?
I distend across the waters of your heart,
I am ready to drown.'
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