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Cackles.From.A.Mad.Duck

'Who am I' she asks : A creative explosion of paradoxical remarks the student replied.

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Dreams

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f7fae34ccef755487d2f3d4ea091a02e-american-flag-beds

Would relapse be those mornings I wake up too soon
to find that you were on the cusp of my imagination.
It seems to make more sense before I confess aloud
these longings that seem so ridiculous now.
I feel like I’ve been drunk or high,
but what it really is, is to wake up;
you’re not here anymore.

Dreamscape Therapy

dreamscape-therapy

“You don’t understand the gravity inside a dream
Your subconscious would think it is like Peter Pan – just believe
And yet you don’t fly on sole belief…it is something else that makes you run away.”
“What were you running from?”
“This school…that was wrought with the self righteous echelon that exists in life.
I was granted to fly on a ¬†carpet, and I was laying upside down atop it when I came through the principal’s office
And as if their mere presence did it, I felt my backside against the rooftop shingles.”
“Did they stop you from flying?”
“They did.”
“How do you think they did that?”
“I remember the vice principal woman said, ‘—– You can’t do that, honey, you’re falling.’ and there I was, sliding off the roof top.”
“What happened then?”
“I ran out into the street trying to pump belief of flight but it wasn’t taking, so I ran between cars and side streets to avoid them catching me.”
“What do you think would happen if they caught you?”
“They’d drag me back into the school.”
“Is that really so bad?”
“Yes, it’s where dreams die.”

In the Dream I Shot Myself

I first started with apologies to my mom. Then to my ex from the beginning of the year. Last, to the man I visited in Vienna.

Somehow, in the tapestries of human subconsciousness, this all took place in an unassuming grocery aisle.

aisle
While googling this photo, I came across the liquor aisle. I wish my subconscious was that cool .

The dream came to me fast – the way light travels faster than sound. I could feel my physical body catching up to the helms of fleeting imagination, like I was being lifted, and it felt like the whole story unraveled within the condense few seconds my conscious mind took to register the sunlight.

7:56am, I opened my eyes and saw my phone.

I first apologized to my mom.With foreshadowing remorse because I knew what I was doing. Then my ex was brushing against my backside in the grocery aisle, looking over my shoulder at something. I felt his approval. I felt our excitement. The kind of lust and young puppy love attraction. The feeling seemed to melt or dissipate in an abstract way, much like Picasso’s art [Scream]. Then he was there, whom I was most sorry to. Note: *I am overwhelmingly sorry to my mom to be sure, but I think I have gone through this process too many times for the thought not to wear.

Laying in bed, I looked outside my bedroom window and saw the grey cast of a sleepy day. Mind ticking away to grasp the reclining dreamscape that always seems to want to say something.

It was the thought that they wouldn’t believe I am sorry. So I apologized one by one in due diligence.

“I am sorry, Mom.”

“Hey you, you were a great guy. I’m sorry.”

“And you.” I can only smile sadly. Bravely. “I’m sorry.”

Then I shot myself.

I thought about this dream while I brushed my teeth this morning and wondered whether it was supposed to be a sinister indication of my mental health. I didn’t think so. Not so much holding in mind the subject matter, but rather the sort of ecstatic imprint it had left behind. I felt like I had come upon an epiphany without knowing what the revelation was.

On the bus ride home from work I thought about my ex again. I found our last messsage in my phone and wrote a simple paragraph to apologize and wish him best of luck. I think about the last 5 days – when I had first begun the challenge to put myself back on a ‘core’ run. Back to reading the books, plunging into healthy thoughts and putting your mind at ease all the while. Sometimes I do indeed narrow into a bit of a pickle with myself and doubt the integrity of this impassive calm that has come upon me since. I felt good and in one breath of air I wanted to laugh aloud.

What a load of escapism, these thoughts of death.

I ran through a mental dialogue of explaining this revelation to someone else (as one does). I thought about his reaction. Maybe I’m still working on the incline to not feel the need to prove my sincerity, but today I feel good. And somehow this odd, disturbing dream had been the pivot point, in the dream where I shot myself.

When in Focus

The title should be more appropriately renamed to ‘Being Lonely.’

We all hear of these romantic endeavors from famous athletes, to singers, to poets, to dancers who pour their life into their calling. It has always sounded like such a storyline, like being a hero in your own life. So much gripe and passion, so much conviction that all of this currently endless seam is ultimately going to lead you somewhere.

I find when you are focused on something, a goal, to polish yourself, to build something, to change something, life becomes really lonely. All of your usual old hobbies are no longer within acceptance under the self-imposed stanza of excellence. All your familiar pals and buddies no longer challenge you in such a way to move forward. There are none of those tantalizing intelligent conversations that aid each other in uncovering one epiphany to another in life. They’re still great people though. But then there is just you. Then there is only the comfort of this one discipline – to do the work and keep moving forward.

All of a sudden though, the rest of life’s perspective seems to be absorbed into focus too quickly. Much too abruptly for you to realize what has just happened. It’s too much and you begin to question what you’re doing all this for. Everyone else questions you as well.

You found out that you had ultimately changed, for better or worse. Different than the last time your friends and family have last seen you, though it really did not seem like that long ago. But wait, let me count this, last Christmas…really?

Take a look around yourself and you find that you no longer talk to the entirety of your phone list. You find that because you removed yourself away from social media outside of the blogosphere you feel like a fish on land. Where else do you quietly and discreetly find out about someone else’ life. What, to actually meet up and talk to them? Well, we’ve never quite done that before, and quite honestly you don’t really care enough to. It’s just the intimacy of a presence. Anything.

At the end of the day, you find you can’t even fully indulge in this fleeting sense of neediness because you know spending time with these people – great as they are – are still ultimately a conscience in the back of your mind to move on.

Focus, you say. Well, it’s pretty darn lonely.

It never is as romantic as we thought it would be. Not getting in shape. Not getting out of bad habits/addictions, not moving out on our own (though that has been in more ways than not, plenty great), not in developing yourself and trying to be a better person everyday.¬†You are personally moving forward and it feels great. You’re pulling all the right stops and telling your friends what a ride this has been – but hey, hey guys, come on, let’s gooo…

They’re not coming. They say people sometimes come into our lives for a season, and they leave or are left behind for a specific reason too. We all know that nobody is your best friend when you’re focused. We know as well that they will love you, if they really had meant to care for at the end of the day when you come through. And you’d probably readily love them back, not for the generosity factor, but because you know that’s the better way. You can’t help it though, you’re lonely right now and you wish they would tag along. I can’t help it either.

Many a times I would wish for the console of a selfish relationship. The parent/child strategy, the soft caressing escape route. The one where you’ll take care of me and I’ll be as carefree as I please. I’ll be weak and you’ll be strong. I’ll be your opposite and your biggest fan. I’ll depend on you. And I know everyday I am being tested, I am weary and human and tempted. It all sounds pretty self-defeating, so because you knew that already you mentally wear yourself down weather thin.

Focus.

Trying. Trying to be stronger everyday, to understand yourself. Trying to grow up, just the little bit. Inches to make up miles. They say we are all lights in this world, but if you are laser focus you can cut glass, because you are great. You have so much unmapped potential it would blow your mind. You have the capacity to love more than you think you can handle. You are capable of vulnerability but also to hold steadfast. You just might not know that yet. Or believe it.

Either or, we focus, quietly, watch, patiently, it’s happening all around us. You are charting unexplored territory. Don’t forget to have fun with it. I’m needful to remind myself sometimes too.

It’s just bound to be a little lonely sometimes.

When Dreaming in Colors…

I tell myself I was half asleep when this occurred. I say I was a little delusional, and that the saying about sleeping with too full a stomach does in fact give you funny weird dreams. I’m not weird though, because we all make out with our same-sexed friends in dreams. Right?

Maybe it developed from the bad habit of the two of us leaning towards each other (in real life) pretending to be lovers. Or maybe, according to this specified friend, I am just inexplicably irrevocably attracted to her. I concur with the ladder. Mainly because I don’t want to stop my awful perverse practice of flipping out my other, less than flattered friend when I did actually kiss her on her birthday.

Muah. Your first and only innocent sweet one. Wait though, my Casanova status continues to rise –

The dream was actually as interesting and impossible as dreams do happen. There was a hotel room – not in the slightest romantic as it was compacted with other females, none of whom were sadly of potential kissing partner quality, as none of them had a physical body in my realm of subconscious. Yes, that’s right, I do think my girl friend is my one and only more and more.

At first, it had been just an accident derived from our habit mentioned above, and we laughed about it. Then with a whirlwind of events, I was all snuggled up with my thick blankets when whomever, I’ll say nerd-girl cause she sounds like one and not because she has glasses, right beside me got annoyed with my friend’s and my tactics. Hence my friend and I proposed to make out. And voila. Life fulfilled. Just until the mean old woman that I would supposed to have been a maid/nanny/housekeeper of sorts barged in and separated all of us into new rooms. Good stuff for a 9am wake up call.

I still attribute it to my other asshole friend (other than previous mentioned in last post) who called at 4am. There are studies that you shouldn’t disturb someone in deep sleep. REM and all. Or maybe it was watching We’re the Millers and laughing a little too much at its inappropriate-ity.. Hm. It’s a 50/50 shot I think.

Or Duck, maybe it’s just you. Maybe.

In real life though, I know my one true love is only this guy.

Doesn't budge an inch for flash photography. My kind of man.
Doesn’t budge an inch for flash photography. My kind of man

Reminisce of fateful first times..

For those who remember
Their very first meeting
I remember mine,
April 17th

My mother urged me to go
None too alike a bad match maker,
Towards someone who was waiting, supposedly,
Dearly behind the closed bathroom door

She slowly opened the door ajar
And I verified she has finally accepted alas
My imaginary boyfriend
For there was nothing reflected
In the mirror of human features

Slowly it came together
The plump shape of a furry round romp
Snugged on the floor,
Round eyes of sapphire blue
Perked ears of an attentive partner;
My cat and I lived happily ever after.

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celeste lee cloud

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