Archimedes’ Other Principle

It still hasn’t stopped being disconcerting.

Admittedly, I’ve been more touchy than usual in these days last few days. The Domino Effect of Shitstacks states that new nuisances will compound older ones and all of them put together, reawaken the oldest. Or, release the broken Kraken, I suppose. And mine’s barely on a leash.

I wonder with increasing frequency, when this un-banishable feeling of inadequacy will finally leave. Every day I wake up feeling empty is a day I spend wondering, in every unguarded moment, _why_ I wasn’t good enough. Why you were stupid enough. Why I was stupid enough. Why nothing was enough. And I’ve had enough of it.

I want to be free, of this persistent nothingness. I’m not looking to fill it with someone else, and as gut-wrenching as the thought is, not even with you again. You punched your way out of my chest. You’re not finding home in there again, no matter how contrite you are.

So there’s that, I suppose.

At least the birds are so loud that they drown out my thoughts. Good morning it is.

– C

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Cilice

I wear my unhappinesses on my sleeve

Carefully rolled up and tucked away

Never farther than two fingers’ reach

I work, with my laughter elbow deep,

Cuffs stained with streaks of artifice

While I prevaricate- wherefrom do I secede?

As the painfully cultivated illusions recede-

I pluck my hems unconsciously

Too nervous to confess or deceive

So I hide it all, in plain sight

I wear my unhappiness on my sleeve

I save my lonelinesses for the night

Where I can, uninterrupted, keep sole company

Judge, witness, lawyer, mob, and jury

Pass my own sentences, give verdict

Justify and deny with equal practice

I weigh the twilight of dawn against dusk

Somewhere, in betwixt, sleep visits us

And all the hopes gentle pass into the void

-the cold warmth of pillow on pillow, on my side

Subterfuge borne of necessity

-but an expedient ploy

So I save my lonelinesses, for the night

And mornings come fraught

with anticipation, overwrought

with promises, potential, all these glorious things

hovering just out of reach,

but not out of thought

All these fallacies and fantasies

That I am capable of – but I’m not

I need my sorrow like monks their cilices

A reminder to self, even when not displayed

Even when rolled up and tucked neat away

I work with my laughter, loud and elbow deep

But never farther than two fingers’ reach

I wear my unhappinesses on my sleeve

.

.

.

Cilice

©️Yusra

06.09.2018

⚫️♥️⚫️

Messages Off a Cigarette LX

Well, the series returns.

Today was a strange day. Not the kind that I can do justice to, in turn of phrase, but perhaps that’s a good thing. Some things need to be taken only as seriously as is necessary in the moment, and beyond that instant, only ever again for the sake of a lesson. Including the thoroughly organic and completely unavoidable presence of death.

So… linger just enough to remember, and not long enough to dwell?

Let’s try that.

One quick flare at a time, if need be.

Cheerio chin chin,

C~

Of Gods and Men III

I was talking to a friend yesterday, about the problem with the notion of love.

Specifically, how being cynical robs you of the so-called ‘honeymoon period’. You never have the initial few weeks where you see the other with rose tinted glasses. Where all their eccentricities are still cute and endearing, rather than being nails-on-a-chalkboard intolerable. Cynicism and a healthy wariness of love never lets you experience the euphoria that brings.

At the same time, it seems as though it’d be a distinct advantage to going into something with your eyes wide open. Fear and vulnerabilities aside, maybe starting with a rational acknowledgment and acceptance of imperfections would be a better foundation weather the inevitable storms.

Maybe it’s just the pragmatism of surrender speaking, having been utterly defeated by that one and only attempt at loving madly that I could muster. Rationale makes for a sturdy excuse.

Or maybe, this is what my version of hope is going to be. But I’m finding- loving smart is so much more difficult than loving hard.

Here’s to falling, one way or the other, and hopefully flying.

Love and light,

Cookie ❤

Moon Man

There’s something about black eyes that are endlessly darker than the night.

They sparkle- as do the glances- in a setting paler than the moon, yet harder to gaze at than the sun.

What do you do, when you can’t look, and you can’t look away?

I suppose you lapse into writing these mouthfuls of the night you can’t swallow anymore.

I suppose I can’t swallow anymore.

And while I am ashamed and relieved for the respite this eclipse brings-

Moon man, where did you go?