Wednesday, April 18, 2018


is going to be



Monday, April 16, 2018

This is what happens at night:

1. I stare at nothing

2. I cry sporadically, little individual tears. The big ones are all used up.

3. I startle at small noises and turn, wondering...

4. I read books three pages at a time. In between, see #1.

5. I keep the lights on.

Darkness has always had some sort of hold over me. I'm afraid of my imagination, of my nascent thoughts being brought alive. I'm afraid of the emptiness, the slight whirring of the fan, the chirping crickets -- all the little sounds that highlight how quiet it is, how empty the darkness, how easily it could swallow me up.

These days I'm afraid of the what ifs. I'm afraid of examining every action from every angle, every minute and hour back to the start, and wondering, what did I do wrong? I know that there's no point to this any more. I know that it's not exactly my fault. But my brain wants to do it, and I want to stop it.

These days I'm afraid of the pictures in my mind that come up when I try not to think of them. How damn hard it was to say goodbye, how hard it was to leave that room. The cool skin of your hand. The-

I'm afraid of remembering what it felt like to be tossed in a flipping car, waiting helplessly for the final smash that would end everything. I'm afraid of remembering the grey emptiness and the quiet but angry resignation I heard in my mind then: Maybe this is it.

It feels like just a small hit could break me, but the blows keep coming. Little fucking rodent blows, wearing me down. But I get to choose what breaks me, and this is not it.

And finally, my hand. The new swelling is worrying me. How far can this go? I've seen it before. How much can I cope with? I don't want to find out.

Thursday, April 12, 2018

What happens from here, Joshua?

I keep asking you, although I know I should find the answer myself. If you were here, perhaps you'd say that it's my choice, that you won't take responsibility for my life, but also that I should try harder for what I want. Perhaps you'd tell me that you're sorry.

I feel as though I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere, and supposed to walk out--but walk where? I find myself staring at the starless sky asking you the same question: where now, Joshua? Don't you think you should take some responsibility for what happened?

I can't seem to find the way forward. And for now maybe that's okay. Maybe that's just fine.

Is it good where you are? Are things okay where you are? Are you watching over us, over our pitiful human struggles, or are you in eternal sleep, a final rest? If it's the former, I know you're in someplace good. If it's the latter, then you did well this life. You did more than enough. I hope you rest well.

We miss you.

Monday, April 9, 2018

How does a person become two bags of belongings and 'the body'?

How did I end up writing an eulogy for my good friend?

You looked peaceful.

Sunday, April 8, 2018

Who what when where how


Monday, April 2, 2018

Travelling with strangers is hard. I say things I shouldn't. I hear things I shouldn't. It's painful sometimes, and I know I get hurt too easily—that I need a thicker skin—but I still... Can't. We hit each other's boundaries, scrape off each other's paint.

Whenever I meet someone very different from me, I inevitably compare the world they see to the world I see, and sometimes I can ignore the thought but sometimes I can't: is the way I live really alright?

I like being alone, love being with books and animals (DOGS!), occasionally need a dose of nice people. Loud noises startle me, bad taste hurts my eyes, ugly language lands like a stain... I'm a snob, I have a huge ego that feeds on my deep-seated insecurities. I can charm people if I really put my mind to it, but it's amazingly hard for me to sustain long term relationships.

Sometimes I see the world from other people's eyes, and I sort of see how I must look to them. I tell myself it's alright, that I'd rather be clumsily awkward than loud and inconsiderate, but is that really true?

If it's not, realistically what I can do about it is limited. If it's not true, then I must be resigned.... But I don't want to live a resigned life (hello, ego).

If it is true, and I'm okay, really okay, then I must also be resigned to all the downsides of my human condition: a solitary life, exclusion, a narrow world....

Honestly this bugs me a lot. It seems just very...Very... Hard. Maybe I should have lied and not said what I said. But some part of me believes I'm okay, so why should I lie? Why shouldn't I say what, in my eyes, is? Why do I have... To feel... All this?

Monday, March 26, 2018

The things I want

What are they?

Do I want love? Do I want peace and quiet, books and solitude and loneliness? When we have a thing, we have its shadow as well. 

Do I want love and arguments; do I want companionship and compromises? 

Do I want to be saved and to lose a bit of my self-respect? 

Do I want independence, and struggles not ever entirely won?

Do I want answers? And despair?

Do I want a massive change, and do I want to struggle? 

I honestly don't know. 

"Marry, and you will regret it; don't marry, you will also regret it; marry or don't marry, you will regret it either way. Laugh at the world's foolishness, you will regret it; weep over it, you will regret that too; laugh at the world's foolishness or weep over it, you will regret both. [...] Hang yourself, you will regret it; do not hang yourself, and you will regret that too; hang yourself or don't hang yourself, you'll regret it either way; whether you hang yourself or do not hang yourself, you will regret both. This, gentlemen, is the essence of all philosophy." -- Kierkegaard

I want to make the choice whose shadow I can embrace the most. 

But sometimes I just want to look at the sky and watch the clouds pass. 

"The happiness of the bee and the dolphin is to exist. For man it is to know that and to wonder at it. -- Jacques Yves Cousteau