A dream - Jerral is dead

I had a dream about Jerral. I was at this party-type get-together, with all of the fam, and friends from the old days. It was such a surprise to see Jerral walk up, just this huge, barrel-chested shape, unmistakable with his arms kind of out to the sides, just resting there on his massive chest muscles. Jerral walking up, looking like he always did. So huge and intimidating, unless you knew him. There he was, walking toward me with a big smile, looking like he did the last time I saw him. And I thought to myself, how stupid I've been, to ever think that he was dead.

The Scientist

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eliash
My Interpretation:
This song is about a broken relationship. How do I know? Because I know what this certain kind of broken relationship, the one the song is talking about, feels like. For anyone who has been through this, the lyrics describe it perfectly, and it's pretty much unmistakable. It's all about a guy (or a girl, I suppose) who is so very sorry that he screwed things up and wants to just erase the huge mistakes he made and go back to the start of the relationship, back when everything was ok and when she still loved him, and he is tortured by the memory of when she used to tell him things about herself and ask him questions about himself, about his life, his story... you know... the way it was at the beginning when she was excited and wanted to know everything about him and he was her world. And he's remembering those times, and how it was back than... especially how she said she loved him, how she used to say it all the time, and how he thought so little of it at the time, and how he never hears her say it anymore, and never will again... and now it haunts him, because he remembers her saying it now, he hears it in his head incessantly... he actually hears it now and pays attention to it now, now when she doesn't want him anymore. And he remembers all of the magic at the beginning, how it was then, when everything seemed perfect, and he understands his mistake... how he played the part of the scientist. How he took her for granted, thinking that her love would be as reliable and logical as a machine, not even realizing that he wasn't giving her the love and understanding and emotion that she needed... and how he analyzed everything and came up with logical reasons for all of the mistakes he made, making her seem wrong for just loving him and feeling hurt when he hurt her, and how he realizes now how he was letting their future love be decided by something as meaningless as a flip of the coin. The flip of a stupid switch. Logical statistics. And now he would give anything to just go back to the beginning and start over again, but it will never happen. His apologies are too late, his confession is too late, his realization is too late. He was the scientist instead of the lover, and he's lost her, and it's over, and he never ever knew, never ever had an inkling of how hard it would be without her.
   2 Years Ago
8 Replies
Very true, she hurts too...it doesn't go away no matter how many miles, years we put between ourselves. We can never get back to where we were. And that hurts.
toritide · 2 Years Ago
Spot on!
vengefor · 2 Years Ago
You touched my heart... I respect your explanation !!!! Thanks to you I am able to tell the guy I love what I feel for him... First I had my doubts about our relationship. But it's true : DONT BE A SCIENTIST, BE A LOVER !!!! So happy that I read your part.. Thanks to you I have to courage and motivation to hold on this love. Thank you !!! God bless you !! Greetings from Amsterdam
Evolet · 1 Year Ago
you know i should have listened to this song awhile ago i'm a very similar situation. i'm kind of a "scientist" myself and when i heard your reply it kind of touched me I never really realized it but yes even a year after i cant forget this person and this song kind of helps me out you know. it reminds me im not alone out there and she might feel the same. remember i said similar situation its complicated.
TheSkepticCatholic · 1 Year Ago
Thank you eliash for writing what you did... you captured my experience as well, of course with slight variations. But the core is exactly the same. Maybe men tend to be scientific and very concerned with what is correct and wrong, because that is how we make it in the working world, and "manage" our surroundings. But that approach is not helpful in a relationship... and sometimes we learn too late. I am working on being able to do better next time, but the memories keep lingering. One other thing that might help -- sometimes the woman (and these behaviors do have some gender aspect in them) gets swept away initially and does not communicate well later, when she is not getting what she wants, and then suddenly says "It's over" and then it is too late. It is not all "his" fault, but that is not much consolation when missing the past.
PlanetThoughts · 1 Year Ago
Uhm.. Does that relationship end up crashing..? If there is someone in that type of relationship and the two are constantly just bickering and trying to keep it together because they both are trying to get over ones mistake together.. They really want to work it out but its so hard... Do those relationships typically end or have a crashing ending..?
turtle2312 · 11 Months Ago
Very very true! When I was pregnant on my way to work I would cry like mad. His scientist had taken over and become mad and only got worse later. While I admit I am a bad communicator and bad showing my feelings they were always there. But Mr. Jekyll literally became Dr. Hyde. I wish for the beginning to but know I can never go back. Beautiful interpretation.
gwaziii · 9 Months Ago
@eliash wow. I love the way you explained it. I've actually been in this exact kind of situation and I was the one who got screwed over by the guy. Now I hope he feels the way the guy in this song does but I feel like I'm more hurt than he is.
kelseyp07 · 1 Month Ago
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SongMeanings
Copyright 1999-2013
About Terms

How it feels

I'm thinking about dying.
I'm considering the end.
I'm wondering about it.
I'm wondering what happens to the music in my head.
I'm worrying about that.
I care that my memories might disappear.
I'm afraid I might be wrong.
I'm afraid of hell.
I'm thinking of all the people I've damaged.
I'm thinking of all the beauty in the world.
I'm thinking of my little tiny self.
I'm thinking of eating a hamburger.
I'm hoping my life is worth something on the plus side of the gray misty source of all phenomena.
I'm thinking of my favorite joke.
A bear and a rabbit were taking a shit in the woods. The bear turned to the rabbit and said,, "Say, do you have problems with shit sticking to your fur?" "No," replied the rabbit, so the bear wiped his ass with the rabbit.
I'm laughing.
Oh God, why is that so funny?
Is it the nonchalant way that the bear just uses the rabbit as a personal waste disposal device, just moments after acknowledging it as a fellow intelligence? Is it that surprisingly blatant and purposefully disdainful categorization of a fellow and brother as a mere piece of trash?
Why is that so funny?
Oh God, why is its so funny when the bear wipes its ass with the rabbit?
11qq
Then the weather started doing this crazy thing, but first, something out of a happy ending happened, is what happened... I found my umbrella, which had been lost in Denton for weeks, and right then... Oh my God, everything went to hell in a hand basket right then.
Wow. Just... Wow. Wow, fucking wow! The wind was like a wall, a wall, a wall! Holy SHIT! I thought, and holy crap, holy crap, I'm blinded and what was that, oh shit. I can't believe what's happening, I can't see, and... and... wait, there's Jupiter, right there. Right over there, on the clear western horizon, with stars. I must must be dreaming. Everything besides the western horizon is going to hell, so I must be dreaming.
This is one of those rare real moments. An instant memory which keeps going as a moment, somehow. It's everything about the moment. Damn... it's the night, the lack of light, the temperature of the air, the movement of the air as it moves over and past my skin, and just the sound of it, humid and cool. That can't possibly be a real thing that I'm experiencing and remembering right now.
It has to be a dream.

Everything feels like a dream now.

See, this is what I'm talking about.

And all I can think of now, is, how can this be real, how can this be real, how can this be real.

Where there is life, there is hope.

Earlier I watched A Theory of Everything, the movie about Stephen Hawking, one of my childhood heroes, alongside Isaac Asimov and Carl Sagan. At the end, he was asked where he drew his strength from, considering his illness, and he replied, where there is life, there is hope. This struck me particularly at that moment as profound, as life seems to weigh down on me from all sides with despair, almost all the time... mainly because of my addiction. It truly is a hideous thing to have strapped to you. Slavery, permanent bondage, is what it is to me, and those thoughts rose up when I heard those words from that movie. But am I not alive? I kind of marveled at the seeming contradiction of being alive and being an addict; that life is the medium of my addiction, but where there is life, there is hope. It didn't make sense, but it made me feel better.

Then later, as I was walking to the store, I was reading The Way of a Pilgrim again. Dax gave it to me for my birthday. I'd given my copy away, as it was given to me. I'm tired of being separated, and I want to be excited again, and that book is what first got me excited about Orthodoxy. At the part where the pilgrim was robbed, he was in despair, and was ruminating on how he would have been better off killed than robbed of his Philokalia and Bible. When I read that, something in my mind went 'hey'. It nagged at me, and I couldn't get rid of the feeling. I had to stop reading to think about it; what it was that was pushing at the bottom of my thoughts. Then I remembered, it was from that movie I'd just watched. Is being an addict worse than having a crippling disease? Is being robbed of your spiritual food worse than being an addict? Is having a crippling disease worse than being robbed of your spiritual food? But where there there is life, there is hope for all of those things, I guess.

A dream - The night light and the day light

I was at the old homestead in Omaha, where I spent my formative years. I was walking west on the old road that branches off of Davis road, right where our old house used to be before it burned down; the one that goes up to the highway where the sale barn is located. Hwy 259, I think. Whetmore is the name of that road. Like Percy Whetmore, from The Green Mile.

It was night and the moon was full, just above the eastern horizon, and lighting up the world with that same, ethereal unearthly glow that comes when it snows, caused by the city lights bouncing around between the snow covered ground and the low lying clouds. I was happy. I walked west, reveling in the euphoric feeling of it, and fell asleep when I reached the highway.

When I awoke, it was broad daylight, and a crushing disappointment filled me. I only got one chance a year to experience the night light, and I'd just slept through it. I wanted to cry.

I stumbled outside and saw that the sun was up and shining, about 25 degrees above the horizon. I wanted to locate the moon in the daytime sky, to get an idea of how long I'd slept, so I drew a track with my eye from the horizon to the sun, intending to follow it until I found the moon. When my eye reached the part of the sky where the blue begins to disappear into the yellow-white of the suns glare, I got dizzy, and my vision blurred, and I fell to my hands and knees into a deep bank of pristine, white snow.

At first I was completely astounded. Did it snow again, while I was asleep? I looked up, and the landscape before me was like that of those terraced mountains in China, where they grow rice. You know the kind? Those terraces, like a bunch of flat surfaces, stacked on top of each other, gradually diminishing with height? It was like that, except instead of watery rice paddies, the surfaces were earthy and rich, interspersed with patches of green plant life and white snow banks. I was on my knees and up to my elbows in one of those banks.

I started to crawl forward, 'chuffing' - I know that isn't even a word, but the sound of it is right - my way forward through that fine loose powder. It was such a pleasure to do that, to chuff. Then I stood up to survey my surroundings properly, and when I saw it all, how perfect and beautiful the bright blue day was on this snowy earthen green terrace on the back of this tremendous alive thing, spinning through space and attached to that incredibly bright, god-like source hanging a few degrees above the horizon, I thought to myself, it IS a dream landscape! Just like the night light! I was so disappointed at first, but it really IS!

I was joyful all over again, and then I realized, that's why I'm so attracted to the night light, when it snows - because it's like a dream. And that's what my life has been like so often, for so long now. That dream feeling I get when I'm awake... like a memory of long ago, which has become a dream... the feeling of that, but right now, and enduring. That stagnant feeling of living in a vague, past memory of a former life, forever. And now I'm dreaming it. It's a forever kind of thing, comfortable and nasty.

It feels weird

It's like I'm living the dream of a memory.  I don't know where all this feeling comes from.  It seems so familiar.  And so basically abstract, or simply huge, looming, permanent, above, over, simple and immediate and on top of you and then, it's a simple twitch, a small yank, and you can see so much further.  You can see it all, and all of that stuff recedes into the distance, and now from far away it looks newly complex... but there are wide open spaces, green spaces, and the convoluted surface of this dream-like substrate becomes apparent.  And it's all so simple when taken from a big wide distant vantage point, and suddenly not black but blue becomes the color of forever, and you never noticed that before.  In the daylight there's dimension to all of this.  It seems much more like a personal thing, a personal affront, instead of just this anonymous sufferingness.  Everything is visible, and geez, it's like the most f'ed up deja vu you ever had, because everything everything is so obviously a visual average of every full color dream you've ever had, and every sight you've ever seen, and it becomes so clear that the feeling, that dream feeling, that feeling of a stagnant attractive comfortable hell which has been growing on the surface of your brain like a lichen for the past 13 years, that that feeling is an average of all the feelings you've ever felt, and that total emotion is named you.  All added up together and divided by a bunch of years.

I know this sounds like, how can I be serious about this?  Don't it sound retarded?  But all of that is really really as close as I can get to putting it into words, how things really feel.  It's weird, and it makes me feel crazy.

What happened yesterday during my walk to Kroger

Earlier today, at about 4:30 in the afternoon, I was walking north on Fulton from Fry St.  Kroger was my destination.  Acquisition was my purpose.  Sundries and accoutrements were my objective.  Irritated was my mood, and defensive was my mindset.  I had just woken up. 

I was going to miss vigil again.  I will most likely have already again missed vigil by the time this may or may not have been written. Since I'm writing it now, then it will have been missed after I will have thought about writing this, or after I would think, or would have thought, or will have thoughten to think about having wrought it, or after I had written it, hence it having already been wrought.  I'm writing it now.  I wrote it then.  I missed.  I miss it.  I mean, I missed it, too.

Anyway.  There's a high school on Fulton. Normally on Saturdays I don't have to negotiate the wiley wills of other motile meanderers,  but for some incomprehensible purpose the kids were out in strength, and I had to look up from my eBook to negotiate a safe passage through the throngs.

I was almost to Crescent and had just gotten settled again with my eBook when, utilizing my peripheral vision, I sensed someone approaching from the left.  My spacial awareness functions kicked in, and in their mysterious way, calculated that our paths would almost definitely intersect.  I began my normal preparations for this type of event... I switched over to autopilot and went into lockdown mode, ready to defend my right-of- way against all transgressors.  I looked up at the moment just before imminent collision for a last minute acquisition of data.

What I saw... what I saw was power.  I saw something so strong, so immediate and demanding with its mere existence, so authentic and truthful and independent and needless of any weaponry or defensive strategy; something that wasn't playing the game... something so far above the game that even the idea of the game was rendered meaningless. Right there, directly in front of me, dismantling my projections, sequestering my variables, dividing my equations by zero, violating my momentum, usurping my impetus, manhandling my delta-v, discombobulating my geometry, unraveling my dimensions, warping my space-time, and interrupting the basic, uncomplicated math of my moment and assimilating it into the chaotic collective... right there in front of me, doing all that which I just laboriously described, about three feet and one and a half seconds away from imminent collision, was this smiling, radiant, beautiful, gloriously bright, youthful face, surrounded and framed by these glowing golden tresses, and in the middle of all that... eyes... her eyes.  The shock of those eyes was completely unexpected.  It was like being ambushed by a gentle and disarming benevolence, warm and inviting; lacking any trace of malice... those impossibly innocent portals into this soul that just happened to be standing before me, flung wide open and without shame.  Those eyes.  Inviting and trusting, naive and indestructible, and smiling.

When I looked up and saw those smiling eyes, it was like getting whacked on the side of my head with a reality stick, or a truth club, or a staff of revealing or something, and having all of the cobwebs in there - those things that confuse and complicate and tangle up and tie down my perception by crushing it all into this hard cornered, jagged kind of order; like trying to force together repelling magnetic poles - it was like having all of that cobweb covered crap just knocked right out of the other side of my head.  It was like... there was that moment before, and then there was the head whacking moment, and then the moment after that... and the moment before was like a muddled dream, and the moment after was like being jerked violently wide awake.  That's really what it was like.  I shit you not.

All of my carefully crafted and calculated irritation vanished instantly, and I was dimly aware of a smile to match her own erupting across my face.  There was maybe two seconds of pure honesty contained within those two seconds of eye contact, and then we passed each other; neither one of us breaking stride or missing a step. 

I continued on with this goofy, dim witted, detached sort of grin plastered across the front side of my noggin, and I was giggling like a moron with my head shaking in this barely discernable gesture of not-quite-belief, muttering over and over to myself, at normal conversational volume:

"Holy cow, holy cow, holy cow..."

Clouds

I wish somebody was here with me to see this. Nobody I've ever known has ever really been the type to get excited about this kind of stuff, so I've always gone out alone to seek this kind of thing... but I think if you just happened to see it, like a surprise, you'd be impressed.

What it is, is ice dust way up where the cirrus clouds form, lit up by moonlight. The winds up there are going from east to west. I can tell because there are clouds with streamers blowing off of them, like smoke blowing off of a smoke stack. It's a full moon, so those ice particles are lit up pretty good. There's a ring around the moon, about 20 degrees wide, and those long streamers of clouds are blowing through that circle, with the full moon right in the middle. They look like contrails. It's a pretty clear sky, but then those long cloud streamers are blowing across it, right dead center through that circle around the moon.

It almost looks unnatural. It's like, there are these long streamers of clouds, shooting across the sky right above me through the glowing circle around the full moon, and only there. It's really fantastic looking. Like I said, it seems unnatural. Uh... incredible. Like a wind blowing straight around and to the end of the world. I've never seen anything like it.

Where it flows over the moon, it looks like pearly fluorescent brush strokes. I wish I could take a picture of it. I've already tried, but my phone camera is the type that sucketh. I'm amazed at how shitty an average camera phone is, compared to my eyes. Compared to my phone, my eyes rule... but compared to my phone, my memory is shit. Ain't that a strange juxtaposition of quality comparisons between natural and manufactured? Carbonaceous and metallic? Organic and non-reactive? Shit and Shinola?

Back to the sky thing. My imagination calls it a moon clock. According to the brightest stars embedded inside it, inside that circle, with the moon at the center, it's 10:30. Those streamer clouds cut chords across it in several places. Isn't that funny? Geometric chords corresponding to musical chords on the circle of fifths. I don't understand enough music theory to know which notes those cloud streamers are striking as they pass over that circle. It would be fun to know, and even better to hear it.

I wish somebody were here with me to see it. Dang it's cold.

A dream - Shelter from Armageddon

It was the year 1800 and something or another, and there was a house. It was a big house, like the kind that would hold 3 generations worth of families, way back then when families were more close knit and stayed together, instead of scattering themselves to the four winds like we do nowadays.

I was running away from something and looking for a place to hide, and this place felt like home, so I sought safety inside. There was a trap door that I knew of which opened to a tunnel which led to a secret backyard, so I followed it through and emerged onto a green lawn and an overcast sky.

At the far end of the yard there was a tall, dead skeleton of a tree, gray and twisted, that thrust up about a hundred feet into the sky. The many stunted remains of branches spiraled up its length, jutting out in all directions like huge misshapen thorns; jagged and broken. Attached to them were what looked like the remains of some kind of construction, like an old tree house, dilapidated and abandoned.

I climbed up through this rotted mess of old boards and tangled pieces of twine to the top and found myself standing on the roof of the house, surveying a dreary and featureless wasteland that extended far into the distance, eventually merging with the gray until it disappeared.

After getting an eyeful of Armageddon, I jumped from the roof of the house and back to the tree. As I was covering the distance through the air, the passing of that event slowed to a crawl and I had plenty of time to ponder at length the strange feeling of having done this before many times, this crossing from roof top to tree top, this passage through the empty air, through this endless void.

Eventually I began to consider the possibility that I had misjudged the jump this time. The tree seemed much farther away than it usually did in all of those other memories of dreams in which I remembered dreaming of the memory of this particular dream jump.

I almost missed it. Normally (according to that memory of a feeling) I would land firmly on the trunk of the tree, but this time I had to grab onto one of the protruding rotten branches. I caught it and held onto it, and it bent alarmingly under my weight as my momentum was arrested. While this was happening I looked down, and only then did I really notice how high up I actually was, and how a fall from this height would probably kill me. The branch brought me within reach of the trunk without breaking, and I jumped onto it and scrambled down.

I went back inside the house and found a long banquet table set up and covered with food. All of my family and friends were there taking shelter, as well as everyone from church. I worried that Leah hadn't been able to make it to the shelter, and I looked around frantically for her. I finally spotted her on the other side of the room, at the far end of the table and standing in a long line of people with plates, waiting to get food. I shouted and waved to her, but I couldn't get her to notice me. Then I was surprised to see Nick over there too, in the same line and already at the table. I tried to get her attention again, but she was staring at Nick with a kind of dreamy half smile on her face, seemingly enthralled, and focused on Nick utterly. Nick, for his part, was completely oblivious to her presence. Neither of them took any notice of me at all.

I heard a loud crack of thunder and I went back outside, into the backyard. It was raining, but the sky was clear. The air looked like it was filled with falling diamonds as the sun shone through the raindrops, and thousands of tiny prisms of light washed over everything. Then somebody shouted 'Earthquake!' and the ground shook, the world opened up, and everything came apart.

Happy birthday

Happy birthday, Leah.

A dream - persistant evil

A nightmare. A really long, really bad one.

There was an evil thing, an essence of badness and ill will that pervaded everything. A vague, undefined presence of extreme malevolence. There was no help to resist it and no defense against it, and it was doing horrible things to people. This formless, persistent evil is a recurring theme in my dreams.

We were all afraid and coming together as a group to feel safer. It was myself, Matt, mom, Chey, grandma, Ed, dad, Glenna, Laine, and several friends and other familiar people. We were all walking single file up a stairway to an upper floor that had rows of seats, like the balcony of a court room. When we got up there, I sat next to grandma and sidled up really close to her. The girl in line behind me sat next to me. We were all squeezed in together on those benches as close as we could to each other for comfort. I put my arm around the girl next to me and held her tightly. I was a little uncomfortable holding this girl as closely as I did, but the general consensus seemed to be that it was alright, because we were all terrified.

It was gray and overcast outside. Empty cars lined the street of a small town business district and everything was still. I came upon one car with an occupant who was frantically trying to start it. He was having no luck, and was plainly terrified. He was a big man of about fifty, wearing a short sleeved business shirt that was tucked in over a substantial mid-section, with a pair of no nonsense black framed glasses perched on a sweaty, jowly face that jiggled as he struggled with the ignition. Then, without warning, he just came apart. His body separated into these little shiny, wet globules of semi-translucent fleshy matter. They all collapsed down into the seat and onto the floorboards, scattering and rolling every which way. The evil had done that to him.

Lots of other people suffered their own individually different and horrible transformations into insensate and purposeless forms of abominable insults to nature. They were crafted prisons of awful putrid chaos and suffering, pure manifestations of the will of pristine evil. Infinite hopelessness is what it felt like, to know that these things had happened to people. Back in the upstairs room we huddled together more closely in terror.

I could see downstairs that someone was vying for our attention. It was a woman with a harp and an accordion. She was a part of the evil, and she was going to play the evil for us on her instruments and she wanted our attention focused on her. People began to chatter nervously and a general panic ensured, but it was a still kind of panic as nobody moved. We all just waited for the evil to start flowing into our ears. I thought to myself, during this portion of existence comprised of palpable horror, what it would be like for someone who was deaf or blind or who otherwise lacked the physical means to sense the evil. I could only imagine that it would be even more horrible to have the evil seeping directly into their minds, skipping the nervous system outright, and just boring right through the skin and muscle and bone, right into the brain and heart. How horrifying that would be.

This segment passed, and a feeling of hope returned. People were out and about and gathering the broken and scattered pieces of cursed flesh, in all their torturous and unholy forms. There was hope that these people could be 'reconstituted', and brought back from their suffering. We piled all of the fleshy globules that we could find of that particular person back onto the front seat of the car, and he reformed in a reverse of the event which had torn him apart. He was whole, except that his flesh had an ashy, gray pallor, and it was missing from his head. The reformed dead man held a wadded up glob of skin and hair, which he pulled down over the bloody musculature of his head and face, and reverted to a look of dead normalcy. We asked if he was ok, and he assured us that he was, but he wasn't. He was dead.

I was in the back seat of that car, and we drove down the streets of that dead town. All of the other animated dead were there too, driving or walking or otherwise going about their business. An exuberant young girl in the front seat was turned around to face me, with her arms resting on the top of the seat back. She was joyfully explaining all of this to me and trying to communicate a sense of how wonderful it all was. "But this is horrible," I said, "that these people are animating their dead bodies from hell," to which the little girl replied, "No, this is the will of god. It's the miracle of resurrection." My mind quailed at this blatant lie, and I could only mutter to myself, no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no

I was back in the house again, and we were all downstairs, waiting for the evil to do whatever it was going to do to us. I watched but was only vaguely aware of something horrible happening to a friend of mine. We all accepted it as inevitable, and I stood with the girl I'd been sitting next to, and we held each other tightly.

At the end of it all, I managed to utter a prayer of desperation:

"Oh you wretched and perverse spirits, your presence has been felt and your power made known. Now I command you, in the name of the eternal Lord who made you and cast you from the heights of heaven, to cease from this disturbance!"

Then, with the intent of driving away the evil, I hauled a huge dry, rotting log over to a bonfire, and several others helped me to toss the heavy thing into the flames.

What happened?

Life got better once before.  Once, when I thought it was over and there wasn't anything more except for the wait, it surprised me and exploded and knocked the end way over the horizon, beyond view.  That was so weird.  And so unexpected.  But what the fuck is happening now?  I guess it's the same thing, or a similar thing, as what was happening before.  Right now, it seems like there isn't anything in the future, except for a slow decline into a continuous painful event, which gets deeper and deeper, until the pain becomes fatal.  I can't kill myself.  I just flat out can't do that.  What would that be like though?  Thinking about it makes my head hurt.  It's almost worse this time, because before, I had no idea that life was going to pick me up and turn me around.  Now that I have the memory of that happening, I can't just live inside of an ignorant despair.  Now I gotta keep thinking, all the time, what if it gets better again?  That's even worse than being completely hopeless.  It's a continuous 'what if what if what if what if', all the time.  It's like staying awake on Christmas Eve, and being so hopeful and anticipating something wonderful, except that there isn't any reason for being hopeful that anything wonderful will ever happen.  How can I sit here and say to myself, 'Ash, remember last time, how it was so hopeless, and you'd accepted it and didn't give a shit, but then life exploded in your face like a nuclear magnolia blossom?  Remember that?  Will that happen again? 
WTF was that all about the first time?  It's like... it's like it sucks.  That's what its like.  What happened?  I must have missed the part where everything went to hell in a handbasket.  I didn't wanna go there.  No wonder I missed it.

More of the same

When I hear a certain song, it makes me grimace. My lip curls up on one side of my face, almost as if I had tasted something bad. A disgusted snarl is probably a good description. It's one half of a frown, the bottom half... and left that way, it would just mean frustrated and pissed off.

But I can feel my eyes and my forehead clench up into an expression that is more grief than pissed. On either side of my eyes, near my temple on both sides, the muscles contract inward. The part of my upper lip directly under my nose scrunches up, almost as if it were trying to push my eyes closed. It definitely feels like a struggle between these two muscle groups; the ones at the top of my face and the ones at the bottom, as if this were a natural reflex to stop tears from coming out. Grief stricken on top and pissed off on the bottom and shoved together violently, like two magnets trying to repel each other and held together that way forcibly.

Its a feeling of extreme anguish. Its extreme emotion. A really hard, shiny, glossy pain; a beautiful bright and reflective pain that attracts with a compelling force. An irresistible force, like gravity when it crushes.

What? Why does it do that? What purpose does that serve, that kind of emotional reaction? Is that nature's way of thinning out the herd, by nurturing suicidal tendencies through beautiful pain?

Sadness

Here is a feeling of truth.  I have an extreme sadness.  I'm surrounded by people, good people who care.  I'm alone inside myself.  A sadness is debilitating, paralyzing, and it insinuates itself into my cells, from the inside out.  It's a thing that makes me very tired.  I'm so tired of it.  I wish I could peel myself open with a scalpel, layer by layer, and scrape out this disease with a paring knife.  It's so heavy and demanding.  I feel like once it turns me gray all the way through, I'll just switch off like a blown fuse.  Maybe a loud pop first. 

Going forth I feel things

Going forth I feel things, I get these feelings, these familiar feelings. That's what links all of them, that they are familiar. They can be lonely dark full of despair sad stagnant but all familiar, and all attractive. All of these feelings, that's what makes them the same, all linked together they're familiar and attractive. They draw me down into the shadows, dark places that I can see into that hide more mist shrouded apathetic and comfortable dangers which I'm afraid to approach. Like dreams. It's all like a dream, like that dream you remembered in a song that made you cry and despair and was oh so comfortable. I can't get away from that dream thing, the whole aspect of it, it's like a dream. It's like a dream. It feels like a dream it's like I'm in a dream all the time. When I feel like this, it's like it's like that, it's a feeling of foreverness and heavy like gravity, of being drawn into the foreverness, gravity, of being pulled into it, the heavy feeling of sinking into the never forever. It's it's it's I'm afraid of it. But but it's but I'm it's I'm pulled to it into it pulled in falling in I'm I'm in love in love in love in love with it.