something lost

The person in the mirror is looking me in the eye and I’m wondering who that person is. Who is staring back at me from beyond that shiny surface on my wall? Will reality again cover this barren land I roam, like the warm blanket of snow that has kept me safe all this time? One, two, three, four— four – I spot four glasses for me to warm my spirit and quench my thirst for unconscious introspection.

One, two, three, four, one by one, down they go.

It will keep this going for a little longer and stimulate the circulation of impulsive ideas from my neurons to yours.

Going back to the beginning, back to when we were mere children basking in the little utopian universe we have created, we fondly remember the rosy and carefree existence that we used to lead. Not a thing was wrong in the WHOOOLE world. It was simple. It was innocent. It was the Garden of Eden before god spoiled it with his little clay toys.

But even fruit in the Garden of Eden don’t last forever. Eventually, drunk on their own happiness, they drown in their blissful glass of wine, floating to the surface, motionless, plucked from their green stems, gently begging for help in ripples that dissipate as they grow bigger and farther away.

But not even the looming foreshadowing in a glass of wine could stop a wandering mind from wandering through the corridors of imagination. And wandering it did...

Traversing vast and varied terrain, it attempted to explore as far and as much as it could. From the old and classic reflections of a dry vodka martini, to the new and exciting aromas of a Red White and Hpnotiq Blue.

As time went by and experiences accumulated, an unconscious race to the next exciting thing began to burn in the inner-most furnaces of our restless wandering mind. Little by little, it discovered that a sparkly crystal glass at a nicely set table just didn’t cut it anymore. It needed more. It was hungry.

Candle-lit tables lined with empty glasses ready to be filled with such delicacies as anticipation, yearning, excitement and delight were, by now, very apropos.

Of course, the humble dry martini of yesteryear always had its honourable place on one of these tables. It became a signature, a custom almost, something that is an essential part of the experience. You arrive, you take your seats, you order a glass, as simple as that.

But like all good meals it must all eventually come to an end. Well, perhaps not really an end, but more like desert. And what better drink to serve for desert than a warm and encouraging glass of Blueberry Tea. We of course start with the 'little-bitter' amaretto to set the mood. The initial sting is then softened by the sweet but nevertheless potent Grand Marnier. Finally, to warm up our spirits and reassure us we mix it all in a nice glass of steaming hot tea.

More changes ahead, but that's for the entry.

There.

Isn’t that better?

confused rhetorical tropes

To want to speak and be muted in your tracks – to want to scream and be silenced by your cries of despair. To want to lie with words of truth that hide behind dark curtains of deceit. To walk the path of the righteous in reverse – backtracking your steps to cover your footmarks in the cold snow of honesty.

It’s a labyrinth with only one way out – the same one that put you in. What will it be? Facing the minotaur in a battle for your heart or a futile attempt to fly away into the sun only to end up having your brittle wings melt and drown in the endless sea of tears?

The impossible reality that you dream of is nothing more than a hazy mirage invoked by a series of mirrors and shadows intertwined together to form your vision of life.

And sometimes I don’t know if agreeing with me is more infuriating than complete apathy. Things like “you’re right” or “you’re entitled to your opinion” are the worst of insults and there is a little razor blade cutting a little wrist in my brain each time you chose to use this tactic. I want some real, vibrant, blinding pain for a change. I want to feel the burn of the flame on my fingers or the dagger in my heart telling me that I’m not dreaming this badly scripted movie which you insist on making me live through.

What’s more hilarious in its own melancholically tragic kind of way, is your inability to comprehend my contorted way of backwards communication or respond to it in kind. The level at which I can barely bring myself to utter half a sentence containing anything at all at best marginally resembling direct communication is one that is so buried underneath so much innuendo and other equally colourful (yet most probably inept and misused) rhetorical tropes that I, myself, lose track of what little information I was trying to convey in the first place.

But alas, I am preaching to deaf ears. My disciples have all left me when there was no more water to turn into wine. In Vino Veritas and we’re all just a bunch of drunken liars. Where are all those hours and minutes and days and months and years that we pretended to be happy? Like auburn autumn leaves carried off by the winds of change, I suppose…

Happy travelling, wherever those winds may take you my dear reader. I will drink a glass for your health and light a candle in your memory. May your spirit burn strong and bright and may it light your path towards whatever it is you seek.

something happy

So I really wanted to write something happy, I really did. I tried my hardest, and as hard as I'd try, the worse it would get. And after each phrase I am tempted to press the backspace once more, advancing one word and retracting by two. Repetitivity has a way of repeating itself in an endless loop of repeating itself in an endless loop. A dot marks the spot where the sentence ends and a new one begins so in a way it marks the beginning of the end. Commas are more graceful. And just because you can write doesn’t mean you can write. It is very easy to make lines on a paper, not so easy to make nice ones. Words shaped into ideas are nothing but ideas put into words - but each sentence is a thought. Writing without thinking will not result in any useful amount of information aside from the one delivered in your text. Listening to music while you write doesn't affect your writing so you shouldn't do it because you may end up writing meaningful notes about subjects. Reading books is useful because you can later repeat what your read, in your own words and your opinion will be based on others' who most certainly know better than you about your opinion because they read about it in a book. Knowledge is power. Power isn't the ability to control but rather to achieve results without being controlling. Grammatics are but a suggestion when you're writing for yourself. Spelling is important because if you spell right, the bad grammar becomes transparent. Of course this being said, bad grammar will evidence itself in a blink of an eye no matter how good your spelling is. Logical fallacies are fun when used in the right way. Illogical fallacies however have a way of only existing in the imaginary world of word-games. Chemicals tend to generate squiggly lines which get straightened when diluted by water. Washed out paper is hard to write on. Dissolving ideas into concepts only further advances the fading color of the ink. Stains tend to cross through paper if the ink is still wet and the paper is absorbing enough. Typing text avoids this problem, but it creates a new one by necessitating both hands to type instead of only one to write. Rubbing your eye won't make it stay open or avoid drying.