Eight and still.

Isn't everything subjective? We just need to find the courage to take control.

There was a distance, but it still caught my eye. All the air was thrust from my lungs, and my stomach sank to the seat. My heart rose to the base of my throat, and my mouth went dry. I remembered how to breathe. And that was enough.

It's like my mouth opened over the pavement.

"I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought."

- Alfred, Lord Tennyson (Ulysses)

Mistah Kurtz- he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar.

Shape without form, shade without color,
Paralyzed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us-if at all-not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer-

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meetings places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom


Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long


Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom


For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the


This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

I have swallowed cement. It is hardening in my throat, making me unable to swallow. It is plummeting into my stomach, a pit of burning weight. Bruising me from the inside out; making my insides raw. When will it stop?

There comes a time when it is necessary to leave your own reality. It becomes essential to escape your thoughts and enter the mind of another.
There comes a time when a book is all that will suffice.

Break.

"Go after her. Fuck, don't sit there and wait for her to call. Go after her because that's what you should do if you love someone. Don't wait for them to give you a sign because it might never come. Don't let people happen to you. Don't let me happen to you, or her. She's not a fucking television show or a tornado. There are people I might have loved, had they gotten on the airplane or run down the street or called me up drunk at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now and because they cannot regret this and I always thought I'd be the only one doing crazy things for people who would never give enough of a fuck to do it back or to act like idiots or be entirely vulnerable and honest. And making someone fall in love with you is easy and flying 3,000 miles on four days notice because you can't just sit there and do nothing and breathe into telephones is not everyone's idea of love, but it is the way I can recognize it, because it is what I do. Go scream it and be with her in meaningful ways because that is what loving someone is. That is raw and that is unguarded and that is all that is worth anything, really."

The rambling thoughts of some insignificant person who knew the right way to live.

We build expectations. These expectations only set us up for disappointment. Thereafter, we search for reason. Yet, there is never reason. That's okay, though, because reason isn't enough. We really only want truth. But truth is only what you allow it to be. So what are we really searching for after all?

Some things just aren't meant for words. I rush to write it all down, have something concrete. Yet, I sit here thinking too many things at once, waiting for some actual stream of sense to surface.
It doesn't.

Love is real; so real that it is terrifying.
We have the ability to control nearly every aspect of our beings. Happiness and sorrow...they are subjective. We are susceptible to emotions as we please. Our state of happiness is based solely on how we direct our mind's perception. Our own mind is the only determinant. We can prevent negative emotions by directing our brain to do just that. All you need to do to gain this control is to become aware of it.
Love, however...love is uncontrollable. The feelings will come and go as they please; mainly come. They will slowly trickle into your subconscious, stumbling through the weeds, then come surging into the most conscious areas of your mind. These, at times, undesired synapses will make your knees buckle and make it feel as if you are becoming detached from your physical body. They will gather every sense of logic in your head, and they will dispose of them. They will rewire your brain to make you insane and irrational. These emotions, they will make you ugly. They will make you so ugly that you become beautiful. Love will create an entirely unfamiliar existence that you will now thrive off of. You will be vulnerable and exposed. Your lungs will swell so large that you will think there is no possible way they are still trapped behind your rib cage. You will be ugly and you will be beautiful. You will be.
And these feelings...they will never depart.

There is a veil; a partition. It surrounds me. I watch from behind it. I encompass all that is around me. I watch the world pass by. I want out of this safety. I want to explore. I want to see what life really is. I want to see who I really am. I rest assured here in my haven, yet I want to escape. I am held hostage by familiarity. Give me something new. Something for my eyes to soak in. Something for my ears to search for. Something to burst through this haze that envelops my senses.

The audacity of some people digusts me.

What did you expect?

Is it alright for you to feel this way?
Put your head in my lap, the world will go away.
We can go there, we can go anywhere.
We can go there.

Wanderlust.

You feel so right.

When is enough really enough?