Remembrance

This one, this vial of virtuous poison, this "one," goes out to all of our brain cells (may they rest in peace) whom were massacred in triumph. On a groggy thursday midnight they met their end, suffocated in a smokey haze. For our mirth we will remember them fondly today so our guilt (though who's only prisoner is ourself) will not get the best of our conscience when we forget them tomorrow.

Celebrate our sacrifice now, because in 20 years when by the audience of our own progeny we will honestly question "where is my mind?" And, heaven will have no answer for those at fault.

Remember our lost aides, otherwise they were lost for naught as none here can honestly say they really remember last night.

-Dan

A Real Conversation

A: If I ever need to get rid of a body, I'd drop him in this mud. No one would know for years.
B: Him?
A: Or her...I'm not sexist.

-Dan

Hallucinations

Should I not be scared of a rose without a thorn?

Most likely they are only better hidden; perhaps they, camoflaged by the venom of desire, are waiting to plunge and sever. Or maybe they really are too small for my trained eye.

I'll submit that I am in truth scared that a rose cannot grow with a weed by her side. But I can only be content knowing there are those with a taste for weeds for so long. I can only be content a weed for so long.

Therefore my battle is waged on the avenue of fate. Two courses but no direction. Either content that fate wil finish what it started and barring that neglect its potent beginnings a conclusion fruitful or tragic. Or, for once, take the reigns of destiny and chase the sun. Could be I take heart in the former, or chances are I am, as habit, paralyzed.

-Dan

Fear of Rejection

What is it that makes you less apt, what is it that makes you apt? If she is for you and you for her, then maybe you can win her heart. Or maybe you'll fuck it all up.

What's the definite, the finality or the solution? To follow desire to it's most succumbed limits, or to discard it in the fallacy of ease.

Oh, to BE everything you wanted, is that the fear? If not then follow your heart, Dan, follow it into the most deceitful depths.

-Dan

Night Ritual

I like how 4 hours of work is 15 minutes writing 2 pages of pristine lab report, sandwich in 3 and a half hours of writing and drawing, and then a second slice of 15 minutes writing another page and editing the entirety. While I may be hopeless, at least I can take comfort in that I am potent.

-Dan

Flailing

It is the overwhelming tendency of the natural world to take the path of least resistance.

So how do you motivate a leaf to fall upwards? Well every now and then a river flows backwards, but I've never seen a bird walk north for the winter. I'm sure it happened, once, though.

-Dan

Sometimes Your Best Defense is a Good Reminder of Your Common Sense

It would be weird for me to say that any of my decisions were the right ones. I really don't have much to show for them.

I used to listen to a song that chanted "all my past mistakes and all my wasted days, I wouldn't have it any other way." It was soothing not renouncing my past because it made me who I was. Well, I can't say I was wrong when I was on the blacker edge of redemption.

I wonder whether my selfishness, selfish desires fulfilled in hopelessness, has maybe become habit even on the brighter side of life. How quickly my ideals are compromised, my convictions fade, my promises go unfufilled.

I may be a victim here, but that's hardly the point. My addiction to immediate gratification and negative self perception isn't excused because I wanted to kill myself.

No longer is this the fact that I have to stop feeling sorry for myself, now it is the realization that on this clear and starry Meadville midnight I can turn the page.

-Dan

Hollow

I want to hold her, tell her it would've been alright,
Or at least escape with her into the bleak black night.

-Dan

Something New

Sometimes it's hard writing because it has all been said. In my case, I've always used these hollowed out nooks of cyberspace to stretch out into something like definiton (this way it's all very private, like a peep-show behind a one way mirror).

I find myself writing a sentence only to remember the same sentence a little less elegant, a little less aged. And then I find that I had already said that.

When my high school English teacher first introduced me to the concept of post-modernism I felt it all very bland, very fake, entertaining, and exceptionally worthless. Well, maybe even though I'm thinking the same thing, at least I'm feeling a new perspective.

What? That's it.

-Dan

For Wellesley's Lost

Jenny died over three years ago now. Dan died a year ago. John died a few months ago. John died last week.

Depression or worse, there is nothing definable about the death of those unavaenged. The loss of a soul loving and giving. Is there any excuse for these martyrs? The ones who got caught up in the glitz of the unsustained glamour of what shouldn't ever be because it can't ever be. Forever is just a word untranslatable to reality, but a lifetime is closer to perfection than the sliced in quarter tragedy that my fellow Welleslians have sustained.

Do not blame their minds. Nor the demons that coheresed them to let go of the mortal coil. Do not blame them when you feel cold and awake in bed. It's not just them you know, it's me too. It's not just us you know, it's a world of ill-suited heroes borne.

Tell me god, how do we honor them?

And just when you think you've gotten it all figured out, life throws you a curve ball. Never what you expected, but it alway fits in a one line cliche. You think of the worst, you think of the best, you never think of this.