Whispers and Pain

iv already failed. i said i would post at least once a week, and here it is quite a time since my last post. shame on me. despite the haphazardness of my previous rant, it had at least some uniqueness to it. i credit all of that possible uniqueness to the venue in which i wrote. sitting on a third story balcony overlooking beautiful trees and homes, with a soft cool breeze tantalizing my skin, brings about a much more inquisitive and intriguing mood than slouching on a couch under an awkwardly bright light in indoor heat. sooooo, i have nothing on my mind to discuss. of course my mind has yet to sleep in years, but the majority of my thoughts are too personal to blog about. they involve people id rather not publicize. therefore to jog my psyche i have proposed a question to several people in relation to the word 'whisper.' i found myself playing "Careless Whisper" quite a bit today, mainly Seether's version so i thought it was appropriate. as is, the word 'whisper' is such a beauty. you nearly have to whisper to say it correctly. brings to mind the flow of wind through willows. my comrades mentioned gently , softly , WHAM, and the uselessness to care what they feel when hearing a specific word. Gently and softly i would definitely agree with, for as i said before, its a word that you must perform when reciting. malicious whispers exist but elicit cringes and fear. im sure you can, at least, imagine this genre. the movies do their best to utilize the malicious or threatening whisper. "if you make a sound, i'll slit your throat." i have to argue a person's imagination is in fact reality, and "reality is stranger than fiction." sitting here i can visualize, hear, and feel a father close to my face, precisely and softly whispering his plans to burn our home down, and kill my mother. whisper necessary? no, of course not. he would have counted on my preconception of a whisper, beautiful between lovers, and shattered it with the whisper's revelation. i can shield myself from a scream, but a blow to my psyche? unbearable.
i feel a brief shift in discussion.
a blow to my psyche......a mind f*** . this damage immobilizes. however, i live to feel it. this must be the ideal description of personal dysfunction. i thrive on thrill and contemplation. make me think. make me cerebrate until my mind is mush. make me recoil. coerce my pining. drive me more insane than i was prior. force me to experience something other than SELF-inflicted desolation. captivate my intrigue. i am a masochist. want me to fall in love with you? mind rape me. perhaps someone will wean me from my desire, my emotional sustenance. as for now, this is as close i've come to describing what lies under the skin, what makes the skin tingle in anticipation. i can't say my dysfunction arouses joy, rather it is a mere necessity to feel alive. hell, it's a necessity to feel.

Ghost of Christmas Past

as of the instant, i have no title for this particular post. for some reason unknown to me, at times things such as that bother me. it's as if i need some things wrapped nicely in a tight package. i did not say it had to be a pretty package, nor pretty wrapping, but a wrapped package nonetheless. its confusing, for i enjoy spontaneity and the excitement of an unforeseen ending. so why in some cases, do i prefer such uniformity? reflecting on that answer, while listening to Hallelujah--a fantastically metaphorical ballad--, i can only think of how i feel when i experience the ecstasy of the unknown. the unknown is so treacherous, and yet inviting. come...if you dare. but some possible endings are just too scary. unbearable, rendering all joy, joyless. yes. joy can exist and then be stripped from its core, discarded along with the tears of a "something happened between your father and i a while back but you are still not mature enough to handle it" or a "i might have cancer." nice packages in these times are necessary to remain any type of sane. not knowing in these times can be more horrific than the truth. the mind flutters to every maybe that could cause grief, disdain, terror, without consideration to probability. then as all the facts start becoming clear, a paradox plays out. the package starts to be boxed, wrapped, tied with twine, and yet the box is being opened to reveal its nastiness. and only when its lying in your hands, the remains a mess of christmas past, staring into the monster's face, you deny it. all of those bloodcurdling possibilities you had predicted seem impossible, including the dreadful truth. see, wouldnt a nice little package have been nice? no managing with the wait for wrapping, then unwrapping the reality that cages you. it starts out a package, you open it, you deny it, you deal with it. no mind-screwing yourself every which-way to make some sense of something you have no information about. i really have no clue where i was going with all of this, and even now arriving at my destination, i dont know how i got here. i dont know if anything makes sense. but...its just an inkblot. so for this title. i think packages may sound too suggesting. how about...

Fear

i did not defeat bowser last night after all. my brother thought he'd be a punk, so i left and read some Sandra Brown. amazing author, but her writing keeps my sleep pattern erratic. i was up until 3:30 am reading, then up by 8:30 because the sun was beaming through my window. sleep is an elusive gift.
has your fear ever made you not afraid? this sounds absurd, i know. however, i am at this stage of fear, that i feel no fear. it's as if i have spent all i can of that emotion, and now running on numbness, ignorance, and at times, hope. any possible benefit from fear, ie. adrenaline, has become moot. i know i hold no power this time. the hardest thing to do in life, is nothing. love is all i have left. but admitting this, is detrimental to my psyche, so i put it out. to admit helplessness, to admit time is all i can give, breaks my heart. this is not lying on the floor in a pool of tears and drool from the "i dont love you anymore." this is not the "daddy, why were you never there?" this is a heartache like none other. watching and waiting for someone you love more than life, deteriorate in their prime but pain, and be as full of worth as an icecube in a blizzard. i refuse to feel. if i feel, i am admitting this could be the end. so i pray on.

Initiation

today's post will not be all that exciting. i figured i would say a quick hello to the blogging and blog-reading world.... HELLO! *giant smile* my younger brother is hounding me to play super mario bros. with him, because we finally got to the last world, so i must keep this short. the url features "52," because for 1. inkblots and inkblot were already taken and 2. i am going to make myself post AT LEAST once a week...52 posts in a year. however, i know i will post more frequently than that, unless i go back to journal writing, as well. the inkblot came to mind thinking of handwritten letters in the days of the necessary ink wells. then it reminded me of rorschach tests. this concept captures me all too well. not only do i feel everything i and others say can be taken in several different ways (due to the person receiving the information's background, state of mind, etc), but i feel the world is that way in general. i am not trying to imply that every possible interpretation is correct. however, to that single receiving person, it may feel correct. on top of all of this, i am a psychology student, so surprise surprise my love for "mind"y things! for all i know, none of that made any sense to anyone. but...take it as an ink blot. it may mean something to you, it may not. have a great evening everyone. i will be back soon, i am sure. i must defeat bowser first!

"life's a dance, you learn as you go"