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Entry #1

Isorelations

2013-12-10 22:49:05 by Insanctuary

There are many rifts in our everyday lives .-. some more profound than others. We choose to gain way, or to run away from our rifts .-. with little or no reassurance to follow. They come unnoticeably when we're at our least expectancy, and at our broadest point of remissence. There's no winning the struggle, for the rift we've created defines us .-. it's the integration of our lively faculties. To run from a rift would be no different than running from our reflection, or our shadow. There's no point in running from ourselves, or what defines ourselves .-. whether it be a scar in the deepest remnants which lie beyond our unpainted eyes, or a bright star that ceases the highest regions of an opened sky. Life will always tear us away from our shadow and force us to face it .-. else, our world will only become darker the more we reject the darker side of our moon. This rift is essentially an aspect of death .-. a form of emptyness that can drive us into becoming the very thing we hate and fear about ourselves, for that's all that remains left when no action is taken with enough time. Then there is the power to take this emptyness to create an expansion of life that will always grow greater than this emptyness and its boundaries. Why do we fear isolation or its reflective tendencies? Silence is a rocket ship that can never leave a cold world, but it takes us places where we matter most .-. a home. Silence takes us home. It reveals us to ourselves, only when we close our eyes and let our senses cease for a moment's time to drive ourselves from the inside rather than the outside. Silence is that blank portrait .-. that blank sheet of paper .-. that person you never met in your life, but feel naturally drawn to. We are always trying to piece ourselves together in this empty world to realize that life isn't about piecing ourselves together .-. it's about acknowledging that life isn't a puzzle .-. life is a parabolic ocean of mirages that we cling onto when we forget about our own reflections. Life is about always holding onto ourselves .-. a piece forever intact. It is only our sheer lack of willpower that convinces us we've lost something when it was the thought of losing something that created the rift, and not the object/subject itself. Ideas define us more than our actions .-. actions will only be the facial expressions of our definitions.


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VicariousEVicariousE

2013-12-12 17:30:25

There's resolve in your words, you want to smile, despite the contradictions and conflict. We all have some defect in our character, but I sense you resisting the chaos of past problems, and are trying to embrace 'the better angels of our good nature'.

The world bends on the thoughts of individuals. It might not happen right away, but if you are centered and sincere enough to yourself, the world will bend. It takes time to make new routines, to keep calm... wishing you the best man.

(Updated ) Insanctuary responds:

I'm a man of chaos, to be honest .-. natural chaos, to be exact. It's human chaos that turns us into unnatural creatures. The chaos observed in humans is not the same as the chaos in the universe. Chaos is the beauty of contradictions creating .-. chaos does not create beauty when in humans .-. it creates a contradiction that tears away all natural chaos. When the world is at odds, it's whole .-. when we're at odds, it's because we are yet to be whole. Or perhaps we're on our failing journey to accept our opposing virtues.


VicariousEVicariousE

2013-12-11 17:44:14

Very nice, reads like a dialog from Cowboy Bebop in its transcendental nature.. which becomes a new genre in itself.

Insanctuary responds:

I never expected anyone to respond to this. Thank you for your words. I haven't been in my greatest of moods lately. My father is at his sickest state. My mother is slowly revealing that she can do something with her life after all of the unwishful turmoil and pain she had caused us precedently .-. this can be like trying to get used to a sober parent that was once an alcoholic .-. wherein you do not know if it's true or not. The only person I ever could share my life with that isn't family... vanished. I am left to suffocate in the repetitive cycles of reality, while I can only further understand the process of becoming insane .-. how living in rituals, good or bad, somehow cause us to become inverted creatures. I have my suspicions, however I would like to write such impersonal data where my ego ceases to exist.