soul-less

[No idea what this is about…if you peeps know, please do enlighten me!]

On this day, I grow restless. Let me then unburden my soul.

She said I have an old soul.

Tis strange to think I even have one. A soul, that is. It seems to me a word that belongs to an older time, a time of belief, of myth and wonder.

Is there a place where souls congregate?

Darkness and stillness and silence – “the rest is silence”

I’d blame Hamlet except… I understand him.

The thrill of spiraling darkness.

It frightens me.

 

Darkness prevails. 

In the end.

 

 

Unanswered questions.

– Don’t ask me how.

I have no words to inhabit my purpose.

These are my sparring words.

 

Thoughts wither before the abyss.

And thus begins the fall.

The Achievement Ideology

Finding Purpose

“Ambition makes you look pretty ugly” – Radiohead

Imagine you are at a funeral. A close friend of the deceased steps up to the pulpit and proceeds with the following eulogy:

He was a was a hard worker… highly organized and independent, a skilled communicator who could work well with others, detail oriented, and was able to work efficiently in a fast-paced environment.

He was a wise man… never received a grade lower than an A-, balanced a full course-load with extracurricular activities, and maintained a full scholarship throughout college.

He was a loving man… he loved the sweet taste of victory every time he closed a deal.

He was a committed man… always committed to the bottom line, he could consistently increase profits by 30% every quarter.

You would be startled by this friend who completely neglected the things that actually matter. Rather than a eulogy, it would look as if the…

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And the darkness comes creeping in…

See that darkness? Hear that silence? Feel that numbness? That nothingness?

Bury it deep.

So deep it’ll never see the light of day. 

My heart actually hurts today. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the darkness. From burying everything so deep. Some people have said that they find it strange I don’t react strongly when I’m angry. I used to think it was an advantage – mastering my feelings so well that I could hold my tongue when my blood boiled. Over time, I’ve come to see there is a price.

I have no idea if it’s related.

I can feel the sinking feeling tugging at the corners of my heart, as if to wrench it from its place. Like a loose brick being pried out of place with a crowbar. I want so badly to give in, I really do. Embrace the darkness and forget. Darkness isn’t so bad, after all. It’s why I became a teller of stories. A wordsmith.

I couldn’t carry it within, couldn’t leave it be. I spurted and spilled it all over the page. Page, after page, after page. Diligently. Obsessively. I skipped sleep. I fucked up a few (well, several) times. I’ve been lucky in that I didn’t have that far to fall.

Time spent writing is never time wasted.

But once I click open that lock, what demons will I unleash?

I am probably overreacting. What’s the worst that could happen? I write something shit? Well, that’s nothing new. Maybe if I throw myself into something, I’ll actually stop feeling so crap.

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