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I walked around the block to stretch my back some. It's
3am, but the moon is so bright it casts a glow that makes
it seem dawn-like tonight. It would be eerie, if it was
not so damn natural and normal, making it completely
tangible and hence not eerie. We are not Stone Age
I recount the edges I have visited now, the places man
least desires to matriculate, mental wards of hospitals and
jail. The former is more tormenting than the latter, but
both seem to always lead to an epiphany of sorts, which
usually deteriorates as soon as normality returns. The
hope in this case is that the epiphany this time, that I am
not above the law, nor invincible, shall stick. Jail,
while not in any way as bad as I imagined, was certainly
not a Holiday Inn, nor was it a house of horrors. It is a
place of comradarie, without freedom, a place that leads to
conversations with men you may never converse with
otherwise...and resultingly, intriguing productions. My
cell mate, Ruben, was an intelligent black kid in jail for
riding his bike at night and getting caught by a racist
police officer determined to imprison him for a misdemenour
committed three years ago after scanning his driver's
license, though he was on a bicycle. Ruben held the
believe that there have been three stages of man in the
Bible: the period of God the Father in Genesis until Jesus'
birth; Jesus' birth and the resulting nascent of
Christianity; and the time of now, the Holy Spirit. The
thought, given his explanation of how now the only means
man has for guiding himself is through unseen force, was a
thought provoking one, though I am by no means religious.
It did provide an answer for why the God man has known has
seemed to appear "dead" (see Religion, in Unsacred
Doctrines), and a rather adequate one.
But that is a digression from the self-reflection intended
here. I am at a point where I have come to realize that I
cannot control my own mind enough to stay within the realms
of true sanity. The extraneous neuron transmissions
continue to produce side-tangental thoughts that later meet
consciously active axons to leave me feeling as though I am
attempting to ride behind the motorcar that is my mind on a
skateboard, while crusing at over 100 mph; sooner or later
the bearings and wheels are going to burn completely
through, and I will be left to skid on the concrete. The
hope, then, is that I will not make it through, because the
thoughts that torment me, the questions that produce more
questions, only serve to drive insanity's cart. Death has
never been more desireable, and suicide never more
repelling. The pain it would inflict on others is simply
not fair and I am not that selfish. However, I can only
wonder if this will continue to progress and drive my mind
further along the edge, as I tightrope a wire over hell.
The moon is reflecting bright tonight.
My junior AP english teacher disagreed with me on
something, and now I am beginning to see that she, in her
wisdom, was correct. I wrote a satirical section in my
novelette "What is the Result of Your Bodik Gods?"
regarding the production of new humans through sexual
intercourse. In this, the robotic beings of the world were
mocking many of the ideas humans had regarding love,
including the idea that you must first love yourself before
you are able to love others and be loved by others. Now,
for the first time in my life, this is beginning to glimmer
as a truth, and a haunting truth. I cannot love myself
because I conflict with myself; I drive myself insane.
Does this mean that I can never love or be loved? It is
entirely possible, daunting, and terrifying. While I
attempt to discern the answers of all my questions using
mathetmatics, this is clearly an element which cannot be
subjected to such rigors (though I did humorously years ago
in my poem which ended "The heaviest hearts carry the most
cruel exponents..."). It appears as though the best I
could ever obtain would be a superficial relationship since
I am not even able to truly understand my own mind. But
moreover, I am beginning to empathsize with everyone else,
as I believe this is not an isolated phenomenon. We spend
our entire lives attempting to discover who we are and
expect someone else to love us through that while they are
simultaneously doing the same thing. The task, when viewed
realistically, casts the light on love for the mystery it
is. I attempted to relegate it to a mere combination of
friendship and lust, but there is more. There is
understanding. That is the element which is most elusive...
To pursue the understanding is to pursue love since the
other two are somewhat more easy to find. Marriages can
exist without the third, but these are marriages without
the deepest connection of love, superficial marriages
formed on little more than sexual friendships. That is not
to say that these marriages are invalid and not worthy of
forming and maintaining. But I will remark that I desire
no such union, lest it be a mere escape from the true
I felt the beginnings of true love on March 13th, 1998.
I felt the beginnings of true love on January 30th, 2002.
And I do not feel loved now.
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