It started with the Master

Feels like dragging.
I've come to realize that expectations are being created even if I'm not aware of it. It's a self-backstabbing. When you feel like you don't want to carry on about the cycle's end, because in the end there will be another beginning. And all will be the same.

You realize it gets lonelier. But it's all your fault because you expected people to gather. And you don't know exactly why was that reunion so anticipated if nothing was ever discussed. It was, thin air. Becoming solid misery.
And that voice always warned you. We live alone. We are alone. You've strayed from the path when you made that choice. Because you thought that all that area could be fulfilled with people. But you did not consider that you cannot work well with people. People bore you. People tire you. And sooner or later you won't be able to give your all to them. So you cannot possibly expect something in return.
The voice warned you. Those words came not for omens, or for division. It came to help you. Because it hurt too.
But you've learned in the past, that being hurt is important. It teaches you not to delve deeper into what brings you down. Pain is fundamental, suffering is optional. You used to repeat that to yourself. When did you forget what you learned?
Don't step back. This is your fight, and no matter how much we wish we could, we cannot help you.

And you see...
Now that we are alone in this bedroom, and there's nothing the outsiders can do to change what happens. I start to wonder.
Why did I become this?
How could I let it get to this point?
I've asked myself these questions through and through this year. But only now I get to figure out, that I have no will of getting up. I could lie in this bed for the next dozens of hours. No new year's party, no messages, no pretending. Just me and the darkness.
Saying darkness makes it look rougher than it is. It is that dimmed light that waves us goodbye as the sun sets itself. It's a period that feels particularly sad, but it's also beautiful, and it brings the night. I love the night, for reasons unknown to this day.
But it's also silent.
A silence that I've pursued mentally many times this year. A desire that feels ungrateful for all people have given me. But still, it remains. I crave for not worrying, and while I keep in this form, people make me worry.
I don't want to go anywhere.
And suddenly all those weird childish teenager illusions come back. These characters that bring peace and comfort, endowed with beauty beyond belief.
They help me. They help me? I guess I know the answer. But while they are around, I like to just be taken care of.
I don't even need to ask for the comfort, they know by heart.
All by heart.

I won't scream, I won't cry.
I hope you rest and come back.
And after you come back you find yourself.
And when it's all put together, you feel yourself.
I beg you. For I know what you can do.
And I've seen what you're made of.
Please, for all that is still worth standing up.
You get off this bed.
Just stand up.
Look in the mirror.
And see.
Not the vast emptiness that's between you and what you look.
But rather that.
I know what makes your heart beats faster and what brings chills down your spine.
And deep down, under all that crap, you know it too.
You remembered it all year.
Every. Single. Day.
You dreamed of it, you thought of it, you breathed of it.
I don't speak of the crap they speak, I don't care about this spiritual and social mumbo jumbo.
It's all there.
And it's real for you.
And that, is enough for me.
And I won't stand in here trying to get you up.
You're the one who has to get out.
Brinstar, Larapool, Azeroth, you name it.
You will get up and you will get back there.
And if you can't get there, we'll at least, on the very fucking least, die trying.
Because that is one of the things you've learnt, I know you did.
No matter how many times the princess is taken, we WILL GET HER BACK.
Just because.
Now, please. Get. Over. Here.

The clock is asking

Last hours of this cycle.
It's impossible to not make any reflection even though you believe it's just numbers. 7 becoming 8, what does that have to do with lives changing anyway?
I dislike that question. It just makes me think I haven't done anything. I'm still stuck with an investments' system. I'm not making games, I'm not writing, I'm not playing games.
This year, something struck me. I had never felt such a strange feeling towards travelling. It feels like I'm aroused by the idea of going to places and staying in nice houses. But for the travel itself, the tourism, the sights to see and experiences to live, I don't want. It brings me down. I feel like I need to plan and I'm lazy to plan, and soon I'm feeling moody.
Maybe the pressure of working took a toll on me. Everything that seems like an obligation or a chore soon makes me want to avoid everything.

Egregious

It turns out the prophecies attained reality.
Or maybe we just didn't have faith where we had to.
There's this boiling feeling that shows its teeth when offenses are thrown. When the accelerator gets pushed. When thoughts of revenge make their way into the spolights.
All what was hidden suddenly seem to be all that matters. The bad sides overcome all positiveness. Those who accompanied slowly turned into shadows, commentaries darker than the view. They linger now. An expulsion that halves resistances. How can this last change feel so hard if all the previous ones took place so smoothly?
Albeit natural, it was shady. No fingers were pointed, no hearts were crossed. It came as clouds.
A rage perfected, a cruel diamond that forces pressure unto itself. 
Could it be halted? Is this the cycle of living things?
The notion of an ending punctures the thoughts. That would be a lost fight. The clock hands waited as much as they could, yet their efforts were in vain.
The rounds are now delimited clearly.
It starts with the silence. A state of waiting for nothing, for anything. Judging, wondering how deeper could we go.
Then comes the voices that scream for silence, for loneliness. A grave voice that moves away presences. Ready to go all-out on whatever decides to remain.
Finally, comes the tornado of guilt. It who finds someone to blame. Always on the center.


The question that dawns is...
Up on the hill of all that knowledge, high above all observation points. Do you fly?

Count your blessings

I face thee yet again.
Again and again and again.
And all I crafted while the sun shone turns to dust.
I have no words.

I can see your eyes.
The endless hunger feels like being was never an option.
You're there, among the passers-by.
You have no words.

And none of us has got what to say.
We're both to blame.
You thought our boats floated parted ways.
We have no words.

It ain't by fire.
The end creeps.
Unprecedentedly.

By ourselves.
The darkness hallowed.
Unfathomable.

D01122017

It's one of those times I'm roaming through the city. It's cloudy, not so dark though. It ain't reminiscent of night or of storms, just, darker than sunny. I walk towards somewhere I don't truly reckon, and in the way there's this tall man with a big knife. I face him and somehow I manage to pass through the situation this time. It seemed like a robber, but he's bleeding profusely through the side of his neck.
I managed to make that knife DELVE into the area between neck and shoulders. He won't be a problem.
Walking through the city again, I see a girl with a sword. She feels like a weird encounter, not a robber. But she dashes in my direction and despite not recalling her words, I know she wants me dead. I miraculously get to wound her, not sure if a mortal wound, but she is unable to follow me.
I start moving to a friend's house. I know I'm nearby and maybe I could meet him. At a distance I see some sort of barbeque party, his building now looks more like a house and there's people partying but I can't get there. Not sure why, it's like I can see them but at the same time I can't, for they aren't on my view range. I just, know they are somewhere. I try leaving without being noticed by the people nearby the other blocks.
From this point on, the memories show that I'm moving using my arms, as if my arms were stretched. I grab the floor and pull myself, making short dashes, beastly. I see a fence around me in an area I know I shouldn't be, and by standing there the spotlights are going to be upon me, I panic. This wasn't what I meant by leaving unnoticed. Pulling myself and jumping I leave the area, there's a big grass field between residential areas. I move on a stone road put above the grass.
Two guys appear before me, they speak fast. They're there mocking me, and perhaps they also want to take my things away. I try to avoid 'em, but soon her figure is made seen. Her sword slashes a torso deeply, making a surge of blood paint the stones and grass. I run.
The other guy seems to run after me, but he becomes irrelevant, I dodge holes on the ground while using my arms to move. There's a group of youngsters nearby, I get closer and start asking for help. She makes way through bodies. I don't know how many died, possibly not many. But my back meets the ground, and soon comes her.
A menacing presence, and this time I feel fear escalating through my thoughts. Amidst the screams and rampage, the blade misses me as I dodge sideways, kicking her right leg. The anticlimactic unfolding of events brings me courage and I grab her sword while throwing her body on the floor.
I urge the crowd to hit her, and they start to kick and stomp her. The sword then makes its way through her stomach. And there she finds her end.
I start moving home, always pulling my body in short dashes. The floor under me seems to change into newspapers. I see news passing in glimpses as if the ground had some sort of projection on it. As if time passed by while I moved, and ultimately, I see myself at a fence. All those youngsters are back.
They block my way, making a line parallel to the fence. They are happy though, and they want me to see someone. Feeling the blood running away from my face, I recognize the girl.
She's there, now wielding two swords. The arms open sideways, with the blades making her silhouette continuous and dreadful. I feel something.
In the blink of an eye, I realize it.
I move forward, and hug her. For some bizarre reason, it only feels right that we should be together. She seems glad, yet surprised. She hugs back.
The screen cuts to some sort of vignette. It's night.
A night at a house with a small door and a friendly couple inside. They seem to have animal traits, yet I recognize them as friends I know. We talk to them, and by we I mean the group of youngsters and her. We remain outside the door, which does not allow us to pass by walking. There's a baby being taken care by the woman, while the man works.
And under these cozy yet weird circumstances, I'm taken back.

Rose Berg

I feel like I've found the way to truly disconnect from reality.
It comes funnily, as a rise of interest into something that wasn't there before. And once you get the bait, the hook never lets you go.
It's one of those obsessions we generally get with new things. Just that it doesn't... get old. But other things start getting old. People start to look strange. Activities seem to get boring.
And when the bells ring, you're already knee-deep.
But are we knee-deep in the money?
Is it money we're looking for?
Is that the surge that drives our senses to senselessness?
We pay all attention to nothing.
And nothing pays us back.
I feel stranded but it's hard to say that people were actually right when they said the hunt is evil. For these papers and numbers were never the root of all evil. If there was ever evil, it had its horrific birth inside us.
And that, you can't eliminate.
I wonder... Why does that feel so wonderful?
It's bewildering, it's bedazzling.
And it slowly becomes all there is.
For maybe, when we get our senses, we see we prefered to be blind.
So it could be said that this is the real meaning of having a run for your money. In the end it will beat us, and we run straight into it. Like a moth to flames.
And they burn gold.
It possibly becomes so right after you feel like that's the best you can do. That comes after you're too frail to face the reality you're not actually good at nothing. And this way we can trace back to where it all started. But we ain't following that way. 
Our way, we're dead set into going big, or going down. And big means giving it to those that matter. And that is the biggest appraisal, for we won't be tracing back to where it started, to fix it. We are going to overwhelm the the sinking feeling by numbers and attention.
Is that the reality or is it what we see because we were told to see?
Reality was never that high on the score anyway.
And now I bid farewell.

No drives from this point on

I kind of think that everyone seems to be so certain of themselves. It's weird. How can they? And how come you talk to me about all these complaints and all of a sudden you seem to be sure? It that the norm? Am I the one who doesn't change or are you the ones who are bipolar?
Is it their words or is it my ears?
Was I born with this? Or were they?
It makes me cringe.
It makes me hate.
But I don't want to hate some of these people. I wanted things to be good. But maybe my threshold is broken. Good was something way past. And we didn't get ahold of it.
All this perfect imperfection yadda-yadda.
How can you be so full of yourself? If you are just as empty as anyone else?
We are all zeros in this count.
And I'm getting tired of emulating ones.


I guess I'm only good at this.
Well that's something you're good at, at least!
But what's the use of it?
Well, it serves for you to be good at!
Your ludicrous excuses of positiveness aren't being of much use.
But you were complaining of being good at nothing.
And...?
Now you are good at something. And something is eternities from nothing.
It just happens to be a something that has no utility.
So we'll make it become useful. Be so good at it that it looks like you're good at all else. But what they don't know, is that you're only doing the same thing. Except, it is being used in ways unimagined!
Idiotic again...


We'll program it.
Until the program defeats us.
And code do us part...