Engulf & Swallow

I keep turning to this blog when I'm down, and down I seem to be. Why? Because there is no rest against your own past. It is not a battle but a war that can only end when these two mutually antithetical forces cancel the other. Hah, see? I'm such a liar. Using academic lexicon to gloss over human pain rationalises it away, or at least appears to. It is a distraction.

I need a distraction. What? Youtube, anime, books, all light on the head. But I'm neither light-headed nor light of heart. If I could talk to my circumstances and face them eye-to-eye, this blog would serve as its face. Mere words to point to something more abstract and real than the larger world. Politics, economics, environmental issues - the great questions of this age swooning around in the public eye, a dizzying spectacle of how mankind continually plagues itself with endless ills. We fought back nature, but we've hardly progressed fighting ourselves. But I digress.

Clarity of thought is difficult when one is plagued with muddled sentiments. There is no enemy to grasp by the throat, whose face you can rearrange with hardened knuckles and taut muscles. It's not as easy as fighting someone else. Instead, the vacuum of my mind pulls me further inward. Insularity becomes a cannibalistic virus and my own little world begins to eat away at what my pills were meant to fight against. Like China, like Japan, the inner corruption weakens external defense. Wait till an imperial power (another of mankind's follies) invade and everything will crumble... but some Meiji milk and Kahlua would be opiate, allowing me to turn a blind eye to the war.

I'd like to travel with good company someday, see the world. I'd have accumulated sufficient reserves before that. I'd stay at motels with the optimum balance of budget and comfort, and the same goes for food and mementos. No, the world is too big. I'd prefer to visit certain cities - not a hurried tour - and take in the history, the culture, the land and the zeitgeist. Paris, Japan (but not urban Tokyo), Berlin, Vienna, London(?)...

I caught that lie. I'll be running from more than going to. To be rational and realistic is a torture without the means to achieve the ends prescribed by my passions. I'm tired but, as usual, I don't want to sleep. I like to believe that my days have not floated by pointlessly, so I delay (with utmost futility) the coming of the next day by sleeping late, as if absorbing the most number of hours of each waning day would delay sleep and 'therefore' the next day. I have woven interesting structures of thought, strange systems of beliefs. The conservatives will balk at it, the realists scoff at it. But I don't really care.

Well, it's been a long time since I've had suicidal sentiments. If only the antithesis could be divorced from will, I'd have no blame in my own death.