Have you seen me?

It’s kinda sad how I always turn to blogger or twitter when I’m stressed out or depressed.

Something about people always missing at the right time.

Always.

withdrawal

I wish I knew any better. I wish I thought about the consequences. I wish I carried out actions after thinking about the outcomes.

But I don’t. Fortunately, or unfortunately.

But you drive me up the wall, so well. It can’t be helped.

So, pissed, off. It’s, insane.

Maybe it’s the withdrawal. Maybe it’s just me.

Changes

Why send out subtle hints, and subliminal messages? And encode everything you really want to say, in between other words. And go around in circle. And waste time.

And not go all out. With everything.

Why do you insist on playing mind games? Not that I mind. But it's getting tiring. And I'm tired of running around in circles, I really am.

Because that's all I've been doing for so long, and I could use some slowing down, or walking without getting lost. That's all walking around in circles has done for me.

I get lost, but I try finding my way. It never works, because you insist we do this. Each and every time - it happens too often.

Just meant to be isn't it. Because everything happens for a reason, right? And only good things always happen.

But they don't. And if they do, explain what good is. Because if this is good, I'd much rather accept bad. Because it's all a riddle, good and bad.

-sigh- ... Life used to be much easier. With tall green fields of grass, and windmills complimenting the blowing wind. Dandelions, and puffy white clouds, against a light blue sky. With things making sense, with people being what I wanted them to be in my head.

Everything has changed. Absolutely nothing's changed.

All pleasure, no business.

It's all pleasure, no business. If that will calm most people's nerves.

I don't really even give a wooden nickel about the issue at hand, most of the times. It's just for the sake of a petty argument between humans. The thought just tempts me so much, I love poking a few people - and then stepping back to watch them go. It's hilarious.

The more controversial it is, the more it acts like a catalyst for the whole thing to blow up sky high. Ya'll should try it some day. Works like a charm, each and every time.

It’s a different high.

Nicotine Withdrawal.

I shit you not.

So jaded – my idea of what I want and how I shouldn’t want it. Only because I’ll end up getting it. So, instead of feeling guilty after getting it, I feel guilty for even wanting it. Because wanting for me – is ultimately getting.

Not that it’s ok, or a good thing – just saying.

Bite my nails because of how crazy it’s all gotten.

I’m liking not having things to run to.

Being back home, it’s all so peaceful, so calm, so easy …

I had almost forgotten how nice this all was. The comforts of home, and what not.

I wish it could stay this way.

Mine to keep.

The next time you’re pissed off, ask yourself. Who are you pissed off at?

I could’ve asked you the same, but I didn’t. I could’ve told you what I thought of You, too, but I didn’t. Because you proved yourself a hypocrite trying to prove me one. And it was a wonderful and joyous sight.

But I can’t blame you, now, can I. It wasn’t your fault.

Of course not. All the fault, and the blame – all mine to keep.

Figments of my imagination.

“I like that quote,” she said, pointing to a James Dean poster.

And I told her how I love, that people love such cliche’ things. And that mankind is pretty much doomed, if people need posters that say such cliche’ things, to feel better about life.

She said she’s ‘’high on life.” I couldn’t help but disagree.

I said, really? No you’re not. And if are, then it must be a really depressing high.

Life used to be much easier before I started figuring things out.

The happy have the advantage of stupidity.
It’s the knowing that’s driving me insane.

Knowing how predictable, selfish, and …

No … I need to stir things up a little. The shit needs to hit the fan.

This is no more fun. Something insane must always happen.

Life shouldn’t be this easy. I need mental trauma.

And all your drama.

And everything needs to go wrong.

And everyone needs to stab each other in the back.

And our backs should hurt our knives.

Otherwise, we don’t have anything to go on for.

We need more wars. And more natural disasters.

Otherwise, life is just a stroll in the park.

I’m not a pessimist. I’m not narcissistic. And I’m not sexist. I’m just realistic.

“That’s a smart way of saying, you’re a little pessimistic, a little narcissistic, and a little sexist – but it’s fine,” she said.

And if only she was real. Then maybe all of this would’ve been easier.

If only I was real, maybe yours would be too.

We’re all figments of our own imaginations. Because the world is what you turn it into.

Too bad none of it is real.

Leaving God’s house.

It’s 5 in the morning and I just woke up from a weird dream.

I dreamt that I was in a small church, out of nowhere. And not a church, but a small room that was made into a church.

I remember seeing someone wearing a black beanie/hat thing. I think it might’ve been me.

So, after realizing where I was, the house of God, or whatever, I think to myself; “This can’t be right, I’m at the wrong place,” and start to leave.

But this old man, although I don’t remember seeing him in the dream, stops me and says something similar to; “You really shouldn’t leave.”

That’s when I woke up. Trippy, huh?

51 and The Ace of Spades.

Shuffling a deck of cards, a card aimlessly plopped out from the middle of the deck, and fell face up.

It didn’t surprise or scare me though, it was the Ace of Spades.

I picked it up and pushed it back in the middle of the deck.

At the end of the day, the cards all belong in the same deck. Somewhere in the middle, most of them.

Someday I’ll put the Ace of Spades up on a wall somewhere, for the world to come and see.

But not right now. Right now, the rest of the deck needs the Ace of Spades.

If you say so, love.

I’ve spoken about being self sabotaging, a lot.

Also, of being careless, and irresponsible.

I let everyone know just how guile I am. Just how two faced, and reckless.

A proper dosage, really.

I say it out loud, I try expressing it to the best I can.

Like sand. I’ve written it about it numerous times. So that it won’t go away, and be there always.

About not knowing what I want, but wanting everything – so I can take my pick.

Agnostic. On the bench. About most things. Or everything, if you say so.

I’m getting predictable, say the masses. And why wouldn’t I, when you put your eyes on me and refuse to look the other way.

Why wouldn’t I, when I want just that?

It’s like leading this nation. This nation of people, this pool of humans. You, and everyone else I can manage to. But not to lead, but to learn something from. And I do, I really do.

It’s you, that has taught me everything I know. All of it. So I try giving it back somehow, to the best I can. But it never works in the favor of the messenger.

I try to prove, to the best I can, how messed up humans really are. How messed up the human mind really is.

But if only things worked that way, yeah?

But if only you were any different, yeah?

But if only I knew any better, yeah?

But if only I really was who you expect me to be, yeah?

If only you didn’t put me in a chair so high, that I couldn’t help but fall off of it… yeah?

And fall so deep each time, that I wouldn’t want to climb back up … yeah.

If only my mind was in the right place. And not all over the place.

If there wasn’t so much to learn from everything. From all of this.

If only you could keep me in your palm, I would love to have sat right there – and wouldn’t ever even contemplate moving.

Does that make you wonder if I will?

Why are you so predictable, world?

Why are you so cold, harsh, and similar to each other?

I have a feeling, my search will continue. And continue. And continue.

Forever perhaps.

Until the world is colder. Darker. Lonelier.

And until this ends.

Till death do us part, perhaps.

The only thing that set you apart. The others all left.

See the similarity yet? The predictability yet?

Things will happen if they’re meant to happen.

If you say so, love.

You know my name…

You may think you’ve won, but you never saw me change – the game that we, have been playing.

I’ve seen angels fall from blinding heights.

And you yourself are nothing so divine. Just next in line.

Arm yourself because no one else here will save you.

The odds will betray you,
And I will replace you.

The coldest blood, runs through my veins.

You know who you are, and you know my name.

Hello, me, meet the real me.

Took this quiz. The result is so accurate, it’s creepy.

Look at last two traits. That’s as accurate as it can get.

“Risk taker, easy going, outgoing, social, open, rule breaker, thrill seeker, life of the party, comfortable in unfamiliar situations, appreciates strangeness, disorganized, adventurous, talented at presentation, aggressive, attention seeking, experience junky, insensitive, adaptable, not easily offended, messy, carefree, dangerous, fearless, careless, emotionally stable, spontaneous, improviser, always joking, player, wild and crazy, dominant, acts without thinking, not into organized religion, pro-weed legalization.”

I would put up the whole thing, but it gets too detailed. And I wouldn’t want you just figuring me out like that, would I?

Sorry.

No apparent reason.

Nothing beats waking up in the morning, and not wanting to get out of bed.

Because you realize what you’re going to step into, once you step out of bed.

Asking yourself if there is a point. Hoping the night could’ve gone on for longer. Hoping the sun would’ve waited.

But it doesn’t. And it never will.

Nothing beats staring at yourself in the mirror after crawling out of bed.

With a cigarette in your hand, and the smoke over shadowing your reflection.

Fighting fire with fire. The one inside you, and the one between your fingers.

Nothing beats staring into your own eyes, and not liking what you see.

Like looking into yourself, and not finding what you’re really looking for.

For searching, but not knowing what it is you expect to find.

Floating in nothingness, and for no apparent reason.

No apparent reason.

Agony.

My poetic sweetheart and the truth.

dibelleva: you think you being depressed is only depressing to you?
dquicksilvera: well, about that…
dquicksilvera: it wouldn't depress other people if they didn't want to be
dibelleva: they probably don’t want to be happy without you
dquicksilvera: that was poetic
dibelleva: truth

All Apologies.

I tried.

I really did. I tried making you happy, and you told me it worked. I tried wiping all your tears away, and bidding your sorrows goodbye. And you told me it worked.

I tried giving you everything you asked for, and whenever you asked for it. And you told me it worked.

So then I asked you for what I wanted. And you told me it wouldn’t work.

So I went out and did everything I possibly could, and more. Things deemed impossible. So that it would work.

But you told me it still wouldn’t.

I didn’t give up. I don’t ever give up. But there’s a limit. I’m only going to do so much, before my attention diverts. Until I deviate.

Because you weren’t the only one asking for it. Even if you would really like to think you were. There are others. Perhaps more deserving, because they don’t ask for so much. And they give back in return.

I don’t want your selfishness anymore. I’m sorry. It may hurt to realize this, but it’s true. You don’t know what you are looking for yourself. You just made me run around in circles for no apparent reason at all. And I’m sorry. I’m not destined to walk around in circles to not get anywhere. My journey is a straight path to the top. To the skies. Not around in circles to nowhere.

No one can do it any better. No one at all. I’m the only person that could make all your dreams come true. It’s true, and deep down inside, you probably know it.

No one else dares think of the impossible. And I don’t believe in the impossible.

People look up to the sky, hoping to count all the stars. I look up to the sky, hoping to one day shine brighter than them. Because their number doesn’t daze me. And you knew that.

It’s unfortunate you decided not to do anything about it. And realize, that this isn’t my fault, or my doing. You should’ve known this would happen. Like sand. I tried explaining. You just wouldn’t listen. Or would shrug it off, thinking you could hold on to me forever. But you can’t. Nothing ever can, or will.

The only way I would ever stay, is if you made me want to. But you didn’t. You only wanted me to stay, because that’s what you wanted.

What about what I wanted?

I hope you have what you wanted. It sure seems that way.

And I hope you’re happy. And know that I’m alive.

You just proved me right once again. How selfish people are, it’s true.

And therefore, I live life by just one simple rule. Which could perhaps explain why I do what I do.

I’m never going to need anyone. Everyone else whoever, will always need me.

You know who you are. And you know my name.

- Quicksilver.

Sleepyhead.

Moving on down my street
I see people I won't ever meet

And I cannot remember
What life was like through photographs
Trying to recreate images life gives us from our past

I was walking down the street, in the middle of the city, at 4 in the morning. With music blaring straight into my head. And no one in sight. The wind blowing against my hair, and when it stopped – strands would fall either back to their position, or in a completely new one.

Intoxicated by miss Mary Jane and a few pints, I was free of care. Ataraxic. Free from worry. All thoughts were clear. They were all in the present.

Having that isolation, but still understanding ego and I. Having that vivid perspective and perception of self. Like a close up head shot, in a group of pictures. But the only one in color.

So your attention is all focused on it, instead of the bits and pieces. The universe. God.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about myself. About who I am as a person. About where my life is headed and why, and I’ve realized something that may be miniscule but still very important to realize.

I’m not doing this for myself. None of it is, really, if you look at the broad picture. And therefore, I do not care so much about it. I’m doing it for a cause that is not greater, or less than, but just different. And therefore responsibility has a different label and idea.

Life is abstract. It has no dimensions. Dimensions are vivid and surreal, but limiting. There is no limit.

It is vast. Like the sky. The sky is life. And I’m skydiving right now. And I don’t ever want to hit land.

You thought you might be a ghost.
You didn’t get to heaven but you made it close.

I like tapping my fingers really gently on the keyboard. I like the sound it makes.

Two really weird things just happened.

One of them is the following:

I’ve been getting calls from a ‘restricted’ number since the last two days. Someone calls, I don’t get to see what the number is, and after I pick up, they don’t say anything or hang up. And it’s been happening for 2 days. And almost non stop. 15 times in a row, at once. Someone obviously has a lot of time on their hands.

It just happened a while ago. And it’s almost 5 in the morning. I picked up, and no one said anything on the other side. So I hung up. I’m talking to Belal after that, when we hear his phone ring, and it’s a ‘restricted number’ too. But unfortunately, he doesn’t pick up.

Fortunately though, it rings again, and it’s a restricted number again. He picks up, and no one answers on the other side.

So yeah, I’m not freaking out. It would be stupid to. Because this isn’t a teenage, slasher movie. We don’t have a black friend here, we’re all brown skinned, how would the serial killer know what sequence to kill people in? And which one would he save? And our skin colors aren’t light enough for one of us to be the serial killer either. We’re not THAT crazy either.

Laugh out loud.

I’m going to stop trying to write, it’s probably not working as I would hope it does. –sigh …

… being intoxicated, I wonder – what’s it worth? But then again, what is anything?

“It’s so hard to find you. Even when you’re close.”

This is sweet.

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<3

The one about time.

I’m sitting at the edge of my bed. My laptop in my lap, and face book live updates in front of my eyes.

I’m running my bony fingers through the length of my gravity defying anime hair. I can’t remember the last time I got my mum to do that for me, and I miss it.

Thinking about another 13 hour flight was making me cringe last night. But waking up today in the morning thinking about it – if it’s 13 hours just to go back home, it’s probably worth it.

I think I saw a couple of more dreams. I don’t remember them anymore. I rarely do.

Listening to Hush by Deep Purple.

I just felt like it’d been a while since I wrote. I don’t really know how long it’s been, my last blog post probably isn’t that old. My sense of time is pretty shaken.

And if not shaken, just so different than your sense of time.

Time being just an illusion, I think I’m going to start ignoring it completely. And if not completely, to the extent at least, that I don’t remember when certain events took place. Or how long ago. Or for how long. But it’s ok, the flow of time might just be subjective too.

It’s one of the many things the human mind controls, but we don’t realize it. Which is sad, really.

It’s been a year that I’ve been in Philadelphia. I can remember like yesterday.

I went to the subway near CCP after a really long time, yesterday. I remember going there when I first started going to CCP. I remember going through that solution-less loop, and being worried and tensed. I remember getting lost, on my way to CCP, like 6 times. I remember getting lost inside the CCP building itself.

I remember not knowing where things were, near the apartment. I remember having to use Google maps, and then writing directions down. I remember still getting lost.

I remember being all alone for a month. My first month here. Inside an apartment, with no internet, and no friends. With nothing.

The ability to control time, or at least the sense of it, and how we contemplate it, is wonderful.

What’s even more wonderful is realizing how far you’ve came within just a year. What’s even more wonderful is, realizing a year can be as long or as short as you want it to be.

What’s wonderful is also remembering the things you wouldn’t want to remember.

Like people telling you how certain things you dreamt of, would probably just stay that way. In your mind, in your imagination. Because some things are impossible. And you can’t always get what you want.

What’s wonderful, is knowing you proved people wrong.

I’m sitting at the edge of the bed, running my fingers through the skin of my face. Pushing against it, so it feels like rubber. But it doesn’t. Tiny shard-like hair brushes against my rough skin, and I can hear friction.

It’s wonderful how there is no limit, to what fascinates the human mind.

There is no limit.

Not to time, not to the human mind’s fascination.

The only thing that can limit us, is our stupidity. Our standards, and contemplation of the world so far – falls under that category.

Hush by Deep Purple has stopped playing for the fourth time. I should get up, shave, maybe shower. Get something to eat. Go downtown, try to sell my books. Indulge in a little lower level human activity, and let my mind rest for a bit. Let me rephrase. Try to rest my mind, for a little bit.

I’m getting late. Or am I?

So.

I have this sudden urge to write.

I was thinking of creating a blog, one that’s not public, and pouring out on that. I’ve been contemplating it subliminally for a while now, just never get to it or put much voluntary thought into it.

No matter how open and public I go with voicing my thoughts and everything, a part of me always insists – that it’s somewhat fake.

And that I can’t help it.

But I try. Sometimes I can’t even tell myself. It’s not easy when all your thoughts are jumbled up in such a manner, that you can’t really tell what you want or are feeling.

Being bipolar isn’t easy.

Like being bothered severely by something, and not being able to figure out what it is. Specially when you’re so good at figuring things out, and figuring out what other people want, need, or feel. It’s ironic that it’d be so hard to do it for yourself.

Poetic justice, maybe. It all falls on paper so much more beautifully. When there’s some ironic misfortune that entails it all.

It’s what you’d want to read, at the end of the day. Not just some happy bullshit.

Like how I get surprised feelings from people when I tell them I’m happy or love life. It confuses them.

Which is kind of sad, if you think about it. People tell me I’ve become predictable.

Yet it confuses some people when I’m actually happy for a change.

Then it confuses me, when I’m not happy anymore, out of nowhere, for no reason at all.

Life is confusing that way.

End of transmission.

The average man.

Sam brought this to my attention, and I feel that I couldn’t have said it any better.

Alan Moore, ladies and gents.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! You've read about it in the papers! Now witness, before your very eyes, that most rare and tragic of nature's mistakes! I give you: the average man. Physically unremarkable, it instead possesses a deformed set of values. Notice the hideously bloated sense of humanity's importance. Also note the club-footed social conscience and the withered optimism. It's certainly not for the squeamish, is it? Most repulsive of all, are its frail and useless notions of order and sanity. If too much weight is placed upon them... they snap. How does it live, I hear you ask? How does this poor pathetic specimen survive in today's harsh and irrational environment? I'm afraid the sad answer is, 'Not very well'. Faced with the inescapable fact that human existence is mad, random, and pointless, one in eight of them crack up and go stark slavering buggo! Who can blame them? In a world as psychotic as this... any other response would be crazy!"

~ The Joker’s monologue, from Batman: Killing Joke.