Phantom Amongst Us

There are phantoms;
at this hour, people online, yet
they are not.  And I,
amongst them?

But I am here, am I
Electrodes firing, at a rate
faster than resting state.

At zero state,
the phantoms gather
in hordes and stream
leftover, after effects,

phantoms, on my screen.


I hate this.  Hate these tangled up emotions.  Hate how they resurface, how they render me incapable of moving.  Incapacitated.  That I feel as if I do not want to do anything at all.  Not angry enough to swear at the world, but not sure I would mind if it swore itself.

My hands, they vibrate, buzz.  Miniature oscillations, quavering in place.  But that is not me.  I was known for my steady hands.  How I could take picture, video without a tripod for some time.  How steady I was with the beakers and flasks in chemistry.  I was somewhat anal about precision measurements.  Because I could be.

When did things get so messy?  I tell myself I still can, but can I still shut things out like I used to if I wanted to?

I still doubts about posting things like this as myself.  People like happy people.  We gravitate towards them.  Whyever would we not?  Is it better to hold onto lies that are nice or hold our faces to the dirtier truth if the dirt never washes clean?  I hate being like this because I don’t know when it will stop.  When the oscillations will finally dampen out.

Maybe this is a sign that my original analysis was correct.  That I cannot live as a scientist where my primary occupation is sojourning to the lab.  That I should be in a field that is about people and forces me to be among people.  Because I definitely automatically adapt, re-configure myself to the environment.  It is somewhat annoying.  I feel I am searching for something.  A scream caught in my throat, not fully formed, pushing to get out.  Out to where, in what form, it and I know not.

And I hate that it may be my psychological issues that determine my choice of profession and life goals, rather than actual desires.

I need to do something though.  I think I am not dealing as well with things, as I suspected it might be the case, because I am not doing much to any of humanities.  That the majority of my time is in doing things that involve little to no communication with another human being.  That I have become bad at interacting and connecting with people again.

My mind’s driven state is increasing back to where it had been again.  But I haven’t been able to really use it.  It gets caught, fragmented, distracted.  And I am lost in a dump of increased inputs.  There are two solutions that I have for this.  The first, monitor and control all of the important processes thus preventing harmful threads from occurring, ie thought processes that tend to loop upon themselves because they or not resolvable.  The second, increase the amount of randomness so as to increase the likelihood of random thought processes, that cut across the hue of the others and any possible loops, to occur.

It is quite foggy outside.  For some reason, that makes me feel better.  As if the temperament of the weather is working hard to match mine.  Sometimes it is nice just to know that someone is listening.

I feel, I wish it would stay like this.  A perpetual fog, protecting me from the world.  Preventing the fears, both acknowledged and unintelligible (infantile or animalistic?) from closing in on me.  And through earbuds I hear the sound of rain and outside, the wail of trucks and cars being rushed on by.


Free-falling Parachute Skies

a thousand blue parachutes, fell
like droplets,
from skies lavender hued.

The day
before, they, were red,
and after, today, white,
not unlike flags of surrender.

what color will then be surrendered?
The sky looks heavy,

they fell from the sky, the aftermath
painted upon the ground, today, and
the remainder, tomorrow, know naught but

Free-falling is not always fun.


Yup, still prefer short line poems to long lines.  I wrote a few long line poems for a poetry class I took this semester.  Actually I think my better ones were among the longer lined poems, but I like playing with enjambments.  I am glad I took the class.  I feel I have a more solid grasp upon my own poetry.  It is at the same time more structure and more fluid.

Hmm, perhaps all I really need is a more healthy and regular allocation of time for creative activities such as writing.  I am unsure of whether or not this would be more or less of a crutch with compare to going out and doing more people-related things.


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