Wherever you go, there you are.
I am lost. Like wandering in the Alps lost, or sitting in the middle of the Sahara lost. And everything is cause for alarm, and anyone can be the enemy. Some days it's hard to breathe, most days everything stays pent up and I don't know how to get it out, nor do I think I want to. The more I try to keep it under wraps, the quicker it surfaces. Concern just makes me want to shut down even more. I feel unfulfilled, directionless, and stuck.

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day." - Rainer Maria Rilke

I want to believe it, I want to live it. And yet, something in me keeps me from it. There are no answers, I think. I just want to leave. Go anywhere. I don't want to keep driving sales figures up, I don't want to keep answering others' questions. I am tapped for advice. I don't know what to do for anyone. I can't write papers, I can't write creatively. I can't find inspiration and every moment of contentedness is driven by caffeine and nicotine. There is no peace, there is no endgame. There is just this lonely grind and every way out is not an option.

Blah Blah Blah Philosophy Bullshit

To all those lovers and players of video games, even though I technically am not amongst your ranks, I do find that "The Best Is Yet To Come" off of the Metal Gear Solid OST is an amazing calm-me-down, pick-me-up. Something about the composition and the Gaelic makes for a momentary panacea in my immediate world.

So where to from here? A couple of questions have been roaming in my head, and I've been getting them out on paper; apparently the internet might see its share of the outpouring, since it's the current median at the fingertips.

I get the feeling that I am going through an existential crisis. Big words, I know. No worries, I only got this crap off of Wikipedia. Apparently, when a disconnected and confused individual begins to question the meaning, purpose, and value of his or her life, an existential crisis is in progress. Side note: not trying to plagiarize dear Wiki, but upon comparing my explanation and the site's definition, I find that they are nearly identical, though I only read the Wiki once. Fascinating. /end side note.

So here is the glorious, inane, and typical question that I have not faced for many years now: Will we ever be anything?

Or are we doomed to be lost in the myriad of other people that roam the planet? Will our time spent here amount to a worthwhile existence, or will we only be remembered by those immediately surrounding us, and thus inevitably forgotten? The obvious follow-up questions is, what is considered worthwhile? Every person might have a slightly different view of what would make his or her life matter. Some wish to live a satisfied and average existence, centered on family and good times and marred by the inescapable job. Others strive to change mankind. There are those that have a singular goal in mind: money, fame, or power, to name a few.

Would it be a mistake to group all of these individuals into a single category: seekers of happiness? Or do the goals people set for themselves, their hopes and dreams, not necessarily coincide with their recipe for joy?

Might a worthwhile life, for some, be in stark opposition to a happy one? Are they settling for fulfillment in place of happniess, or something less than that? Do they feel the burden of sacrificing their happiness and do they think it is WORTH it?

And are there those that worry that setting the goal at happiness is not enough, that if there is potential to do something more than perhaps truly desired, aiming for success and enacting change in the world should trump the selfish want to settle for an easier and simpler path?

So, in essence...Fuck. Damned if you do, and damned if you don't? The risks seem to be disappointing others, disappointing yourself, or both. What is worse? And most importantly, who suffers the most as a result? The answers to that are pretty obvious in our Western, individualistic society, but are they viable? The actions are not so clear cut, no matter the emphasis on personal happiness and disregard of the public opinion.

No solutions here, just endless questions.

Margaret Thatcher said in The Iron Lady, "It used to be about doing things; now it's about being someone." I rather think that feeds into the whole frenzy, too. Perhaps it is the core of the mess.

Maybe that's why I study history - to take note of moments of success and strategies that worked. Must learn to apply them readily, and with little hesitation.

Just waiting for some sort of need to kick in
to clean, to win, to focus and achieve
and whilst I pretend to not be disappointed when it doesn't
I am really seething at my treacherous psyche
where are you, my fucking muse and inspiration?
When giving in to every guilty pleasure
means only a tiny reprieve from the general sense
of worthless, useless, hopeless
where in hell's name is the creation that I took for granted?
The words that flowed forth, prose and rhyme,
the easy dispensation with work of any kind
happiness even in view of desperation
lost it all.

Elusive Fish

Looking into this lake
seems like the possibilities are endless
the fish shimmer with their pretty blues
and languishing greens,
red and orange and a flash of yellow.
My, reach in and grab any one that pleases
your color sense, your sense of romance
but not all fish believe in breathing above water.
No, most will not dance to your tune of romance;
you either must toss them back or let them
suffocate for your momentary entertainment.
Have you truly become cruel,
letting fish die to satisfy the brief
hope that flirting with elusive romance
brings to every man's lonely existence?
I thought you were more than that, able
to reel in only the one which truly fits
into a landlocked fling, a fleeting glance at romance.
I suppose it is no surprise
that believing a man might consider
more than his nights' furlough leads only
to quiet disenchantment, laced with a sultry wine
for no one must handle such swine with grace,
not when romance so easily succumbs to man's demands
to please his immediate attraction to a fish
that would narrowly hope to spend her lifetime
granting wish after wish
and yet is only viewed as an easy portal
to a night of sating one's lust
for a whirling dance with seductive romance.

amor fati

Am I who I want to be?
Hair getting longer every day
red for two years now, going on three
a double pierce, a fresh tattoo
lips quite crimson, eyes lined in blue
what exactly do I mean to you?
Wearing a combination of my favorite perfumes
sporting the coveted leather
staple scarf in a purple deep
smoking those Smooths
is there anything left to prove?
I think you know me not at all
there are still things I'll never tell
though I'll lie and deny
their existence, they go nowhere
I could never love you as much
as I miss you now
though you're still here
I am teetering on being gone.
Where will we go from this point in time?
I'm sure my nails will be bitten to the quick
my cuticles raw as hell
before I can tell if I should have gotten out
with my young heart intact
or if surrendering it was indeed the
audeamus moment, mixed with a pinch of amor fati
accidental wisdom of a little girl in need.