Random. Thoughts.

I reigned in my fantasies so far as to have smothered even my hopes. I've got to be a boy again; I've got to be present in my own moment.

It fails to register that other people's lives continue in my absence.

My judgment shall be my point of view - it is the idol that I have in doubt erected separate from the truth, to verify the truth of the truth. "Original sin," "knowledge of good and evil" - I am Thomas's dubious fingers. Easier to thread a camel through the eye of a needle... I've convinced myself that this is balanced - it was easy, because it makes sense as I see it; the only contest offered is that of the appallingly apparently convoluted, mutated standard hailed as "normalcy." Of course, from within its bounds, it's something different.

So, I was going into my martyr mindset over the trifling struggle I encountered while digging for my phone charger; then, I realized that, immediately before that, I had been planning on firing up some porn... My capacity for rapidly changing, agile, precisely detailed delusions astounds me - I created and sustain what I call "reality."

A statement with balanced potential to convey a thing profound or one mundane, "me, too."

I don't allow myself to acknowledge my weakness. Whether or not that's true, it's a reassuring thing to say. The Earth is my Kryptonite. This author is Clark Kent.

If you're looking for "normal," consider this heading a disclaimer. [CL]

amidst this blur
of sincerity and jest,
resultant of strangers
each doing their best
to compress the pertinent
details and such
- might I amount
to much?
to very much?


I rarely compose poetry. I rarely write. I should write more; I'm gifted in the art, and I enjoy little else more. I backspaced over the beginning of this sentence because it began with "What am I to say," and that seemed too cliche a question to allow myself to ask here. What medium is there that could convey any significant portion of what I am? Face it, self, there is yet to exist a language which will "sufficiently convey" what I am, as I don't run out of me to convey - so I'll plan to stop some time soon rather than ramble on indefinitely.

I am aware of a fountain of love inside of me, one that I share equally with everything and every thing. I am not looking here solely for someone with whom to be "in love;" I seek beautiful people I might befriend. You are welcome to whatever you garner from your interaction with me; I promise only this: I am honest, sincere, and forthright, and will remain so; I may be the most open person you've ever met.


Would you answer "yes" to any of the following questions?
Are you lonely in a manner that neither sex nor friendship comfort?
Do you detest the linear and pre-determined nature of "relationships" of whatever sort?
Do you seek interaction outside of the confinement of propriety and normalcy?
Do you feel as if you are too vast to be encompassed by the understanding of another?

Would you believe that I am usually perceived as a "normal" guy? I don't even endeavor to camouflage myself. What is this place?