Ready The Camera, Cue The Voiceover

Time, it goes slow sometimes and faster other times and each way it goes, whether backwards or forwards, we all know that one way or another it's going to leave us hanging in the balance if we believe it really can go both ways, either ways. But not way, it can't. That would not be controlled, like is the fighting now of the brain of the whole of the wow I am writing this fast and I feel like maybe I'm making a run-on sentence now. So. Pouvons-nous vraiment perdre notre tomps en faisant n'importe quoi? Qui sait? Ok so this is my attempt at continuing and following the thread that I am subconsciously yet automatically making. Go on, the camera is panning, tracking each movement along the line, and these words you see here are the voiceover that accompanies the lovely images you see in your head. Tick. Tock. Please, this isn't any time to have one-word sentences that aren't really grammatically correct but at this time there is little care for such things. I'm still heaving that emotional brick I exposed last night, it's still crushing me - because I let it. I don't know how to stop it even though consciously I should, I don't want to listen to anyone tell me how to do it because I think I have to already have the answer yet I'm not really in the mood to listen to myself because I don't trust myself enough in order not to get into crap. So here's the predicament then, why this wall of text is so long, is because the thread goes on and on until someone decides to cut it, which probably will be me, but it might also be circumstance in which case it is me in the guise of something that is not me. Hear hear, I'm confused too. Should I go out clubbing? Drinking? Partying? I remember the ball last year, and that was fun, except then I had no alcohol and dancing, while awkward at times, was actually quite fun once I realised that no one around me really cared about how I did dance. Once there were some girls that I liked, at one point in the night I mean, that came around and they danced in front of me. The one in the yellow dress was quite good and they seemed to actually dance with each other which if you've never seen is quite nice to watch, not because it's sensual, arousing, sexually appealing or whatever else you want to call your horniness, but because it's freeing, it's much less constricted by the thoughts of others. I.e. they don't care what you think about, they just dance, and they move with the flow. I wished I could do that, I wasn't very good at what I was actually doing there because I got held up by my embarassment and my surprise that they were kind enough to actually come and say hi. For the brief moments of their sejour that they stayed in front of my awkwardly moving body, I felt out of place, because those girls, were cool girls. They had lives of their own, they had their own little swagger-thing going on (je ne sais pas si j'ai utilisé le mot correctement mais ça ne fait rien maintenant) and I felt included by their presence. Then they left, so I turned around back to my circle of awkwardness where I felt less awkward because the awkward friends that were dancing were awkward themselves and I felt like I was dancing better because I didn't look quite so awkward from my eyes compared to them. But of course, back then was still prime ego time, which means my eyes weren't quite open to what I was doing. So then the question arose lately whether I want to go clubbing. Odd, there's people that say they want to see me get drunk, so maybe I might be a happy drunk, but hopefully not an aggressive drunk or an emo drunk... I don't think I would fall into either latter categories but you never know, I might be hoarding emotional turmoil for revenge on some unsuspecting citizen. I don't think I can pull off the Veronica Mars quips and smart-ass comments so I'll just keep going on my own little train of thought and not tell myself that I'm Veronica Mars, because I'm not. She's funny, she's not real. I'm. I am. I am. Ok, the more I say that, the more weird it sounds in the eyes of me seeing through what I perceive are eyes of others. I tend to do that, look at how other people look at me. It's paranoia, that's what it is. There's this girl that I want to ask out, because she's great, funny, modest, smart... I feel she knows a lot about herself and that's what I think really attracts me to her, besides her visual appeal, which there's plenty of so I don't need that box ticked especially, but in this case it is (yay). Still I don't know if she likes me because she's into her own little things and I don't think I fit into her wall of text if she ever did write one. Possibly not. I act different, I say that a lot, and if you know how I act around people you would be able to tell that I did act different. Why do I act different - and why am I so scared of really opening up to people? I don't think people will approve. It sucks when you're in the world and you want to open up to people but just before that you uncover a certain barrier, a glass piece that has needles in it. They sting if you get closer. Magnetism pulls you closer, but you can turn the switch off with a quick shot of alcohol probably. I don't really want to lose control. I fear that if I'm drunk people might actually get to know who I really am and will push me away because they will find me different. Two things though - can you get drunk and actually show off who you really are? I think that's a good question because it's honest and you can tell what others would be thinking of you. I sound like Christopher Boone here, Asperger's? *shrug* I want people to know who I am. I want to be authentic with myself. I know some aren't quite yet ready to accept, but I think those that I do meet and connect with are. The consensus is that I act differently because it's a mechanism for security - if I'm funny, people like me, I make friends, I am happy for a time. But it's not real, because while around people I am mostly funny, jokey, sarcastic-at-times, it's not really me, it's just designed to get them to like me because if they don't I'll be a sore loser that's alone and has no friends. Pathetic. I would call it scared, actually. I'm just terrified inside. It's not quite the excuse I was going for but it will do. Fear ain't real, yet I believe it is so I place my belief in it and voila, life threatening situation sentiment. It was so easy to slip that coin into the slot that I keep doing it on and on... someday, now, I wish I wish I wish now, it would be now... that I save my imaginary money and stop gambling with what I think is real. Where to then? Where to? Hitchhiking somewhere maybe? I am scared of what might happen, and so we come to the point where I would say something inspiring so I can conquer my fear. There's nothing really I can do, but shatter the glass, be who I am. After all, who I am has no requirements. I give love to people and allow them to be who they are, for the hope that they would do the same to me. And if they don't? If if if if if if if if if if if if if if if if if if if if if if if if if. If then clause. Yeah. If I go clubbing, drink, relax, dull the barrier, I could run through. Oh here's what Blaise Pascal has to say, according to the calendar.
"We run carelessly to the precipice, after we have put something before us to prevent us from seeing it."
This tells me that when I am not inebriated is the best moment to be who I am. That way, they can get used to me - not that there's anything to get used to, but I seem to think there is. Seriously, the glass pane I put up for my own protection early on in life, has to come down. It has to. It has to.

Dancing With Birth, Life And Death

It's not just a phase, is it?
Fleeting, fugacious, ephemeral... all words that depict limits, an end, implying a beginning. Where do we start, where do we end? To this, we fantasise about the dance of life and death. The slow waltz moving through gardens, wealds and marshes. The tango of tragedy inspiring the phantasm of such love that unites two people and only expands dreamily, revered, as they are separated. The quickstep set off by the emergence of a drop of sweat, the momentary ceasing of the heart, then a black trigger pulled back and fin; the curtain falls and the audience leaves behind popcorn, empty cups and straws. Desolace. This show will take place again, and crowds will again assemble and dissolve. There are tides of blood, after all. Whether we can see it or not, we dance together in shallow waters, splashing here and there the eerie.

What life is, I don't know. But the end is death... when the music stops, the steps cease, the couple becomes a statuette on display, and gently or not, they decay. When did they start? Not at life, but at birth - the first movement, that first smile, the first slice and glance. The dance itself is life. It started with our first breath, our first step, and ended with our last of both. Romantic, is it not?

Before, that last step, the end, death, was deemed an existentialist problem. You can't escape it, yet for some crazy absurd reason, we are lead to believe that we can keep on dancing forever. To some extent, this is true, because death has an opposite in birth - when they dance, they face each other - so life has no such end because it has no such opposite. Why then would we have a fear of death? Life doesn't end even if death happens... Is this because life never began (and so cannot end)? Birth results in death, yes. Rebirth results in death encore? Following the same logic, it would. Such thinking leads me to believe in the possibility of past lives, if life is one continuum. But life is not the line. Can I say what it is? If I were to say it's the space it would be excluding the continuum itself which makes this paradoxical, a yes and no question/answer. Neither. Or both.

So my birth has occurred, which means my death will one day occur. This can only be considered an existentialist problem if this was somehow thought to be avoidable. Things pass on, nature goes through cycles. We grow up, we grow old. Up down. Left right. Action reaction. Circles. Are we in the middle? Or the outside? Both or neither? Or all? This search for answers is out of fear. It feels scary. The possibility, the worry... the climax, the fall. All will pass through this gate and many other gates that are the same, until they decide to not take the same path, but take one path.

What is life?
A guitar melody. A choir of voices singing in unison a message.
There is the dancing.
The dance floor of the world.
Everyone stops dancing one moment then begin another dance.
Each step stops and starts. A moment of silence, then the heart beats, a moment of silence.
Is life this cycle?
Or is this simply the way our making is made ephemeral, unable to be attached to, fleeting? All our dreams, our aspirations, our lies arrive and depart, always in that order. And the space in which this occurs we call life, and it never leaves because it never came. Somehow, we are just here, becoming aware of the changes going on around us, and the lack of change within, but not because there should be change, but because there can be no change to life itself. Space is empty, space is clear, and its filling cannot be sustained because space cannot be filled. So then, I ask what is the point? There is none, because the space cannot be filled, as much significance and meaning as I would like to place on the journey, the experience, there really is none, because it's ephemeral, invented and therefore a lie. But life, is true, for it is unchangeable. This makes it real. And the meanings, the thoughts, the importance... are the different steps we make in our dances. Either which way our feet, our slender bodies, our hands move, dance happens, and we call it different things - jive, cha cha, Macarena. The differences are how we define the dance, which has no significance, even if we attribute it. If we cannot make any changes, why can we? But because changes don't last, what makes us think that we can make changes? Whichever way we move, little or more, we dance. Metaphor aside, this is life. The dance that is never will be and never has been.

Can I understand it? No.
I'm not the dancer, doing the dancing. I am the dance, because I am always here. You may say you hate dancing, or you may love it. But is either true? You are the dancing, and this whole text makes no sense, or maybe it makes perfect sense. Regardless, watching my steps keeps me not from dancing.