The Curious Adventures of Gordan's Thoughts

Dear…friend,

It has been a long time since I’ve written you a letter from the heart. Yes, it’s not the first, and it may not be the last. But it is a letter nonetheless, one that should be read; if not by you, then by those who will meet you in the future.

For the longest time you have been a key part of my life: my existence, my core, my all. I became dependent on you in my time of weakness, of need, of vulnerability, letting you in and giving you that freedom to roam around my world. You did, and you were a lovely contribution to what was once a monotonous and decaying life.

You were a rainbow, a sunshine, one of the brightest lights I’d ever seen, especially on my darkest days.

But you also came with collateral, one that I did not comprehend until much too late. The collateral that did not explode or destroy upon impact, but slowly imploded, leaving the toxins to seep out of the crevices of a cracked shell. You were that destruction I needed, to slaughter my demons and fight through the pain. You consumed the evil in my life, and I let you.

They feared you, but they loved me. You were my protection, the blazing amour of a knight in the night. They were apprehensive around you, but embracing of me. They blamed you for the pain in my life, not realising that you were the one protecting me from them in the first place.

Nay, their egos and self-centredness I could not fight…but you could, and you did. You brought out the sides of them they always feared the most, the sides they never wanted (me) to see for they stupidly believed they could escape pain.

My friend, you were the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me — the best, because I learned how strong I could truly be if I let the right people stay by my side. But the worst, because you had to wear me down completely until I accepted my limits. Not simply understanding limitations, but a full-on acceptance that I am fundamentally a flawed human being.

Just like the rest of them.

You showed me how to stop caring about what anyone else thought, that if people had anything bad to say it was generally a projection of insecurity and not a justifiable validation. You showed me that if people truly did care, they’d communicate in a sincere way rather than lash out based on emotional impulse.

You, my friend, you showed me the difference between emotions and excuses. 

For this particular reason, I thank you for all that I have learned, all that I have seen, and all that I have become because of your persistence.

You taught me that, too. You taught me that it was never about being the biggest, or the strongest, but rather the one with the most endurance.

Thank you, my friend.

I don’t want to let you go…and by the looks of things, maybe I don’t need to, either.

I’m sorry for being wrong, and I’m sorry for thinking you were the cause of my destruction.

You weren’t…….

Because……

 

I’m still standing.

Thank you.

Sincerely from the heart,

MG

 

They say that I don’t belong
Say that I should retreat
That I’m marching to the rhythm
Of a lonesome defeat
But the sound of your voice
Puts the pain in reverse
No surrender, no illusions
And for better or worse

When they turn down the lights

I hear my battle symphony
All the world in front of me
If my armor breaks
I’ll fuse it back together

~Linkin Park~

 

 

Submarines.

Float, sink, swim.
Up, down
Back, forth
Dare I say,
in and out.

Over, under.
Immerse, emerge.
Plunge, halt.
Release, holt.
Forward, backwards.
Round, straight.

Bullet.
Proof.

Never missile proof.

Resistance of the seas
Push and pull
Against the currents
Along with the wave-
-lengths
Of fluidity
As evidenced
By the ever-flowing,
Always-forward,
Sometimes-evaporated
Seas

Reflecting the skies.

Blue, sunny

Vast.

Endless stretch into eternity
Infinity on the rise.

And fall.

Compress.

 

Resist.

 

Fight through.

 

And emerge.

 

MG

 

Love is our resistance
They keep us apart and they won’t stop breaking us down
And hold me, our lips must always be sealed
If we live our life in fear
I’ll wait a thousand years
Just to see you smile again
~Muse~

 

M.

I write to you from the bottom of this empty pit you used to call a heart. You had a heart once, remember? Back in the day, when you always had someone to love. When you had everything to give and nothing to lose. When you truly believed in the kindness of humanity and allowed as much leeway for others as they did for you.

Do you remember what it’s like to love, what it’s like to look at someone and just be able to take yourself out of the picture, to be able to care about the betterment of that person more than your role in the life of another?

I don’t think you do, my dear. I don’t think you want to. I think you’ve loved to your fullest capacity and given it all away — you’ve given your heart away. You’ve given your soul away. You’ve given your body away. You’ve given your mind. You’ve given away so much of yourself that you’re left with the core.

I’ve seen your core, my dear, and I know exactly what it entails for you to be you. I understand your intelligence, I know how it feels to be ostracized by ignorance and idiotic masses who have been lowering the standards of what is produced because they’re too entangled in their own egos and insecurity. I know your pain when you look at the world and watch people care more about their reputations more than the people in their lives who give it to them in the first place.

I know you, my dear, I know that you’re suffering. And I know that you choose to suffer because you want to be around the broken. You want to be the saviour of the world, for you’ve had people save you when you didn’t even realize you were drowning.

My dear, I’ve spent years in search of you. Every broken, shattered shard of glass that you turn yourself into every day that you look at this chaotic and monotonously egotistic world of humans. I’ve been trying to piece you back together, despite your relentless resistance towards being whole.

I’ve given you space to do this alone. I stayed out of your way so that you could grow. I’ve stayed in the background in case you backslide, I’ve been at the bottom of the canyon in case you fall. You can do this alone, but your solitude…has collateral…

You might want to be left alone, but my dear, I know how dangerous you can be when no one is reining in on you. I also know that you can’t be contained, which is why I wouldn’t dare try.

But one thing is certain. You want someone to stay…you just can’t accept that you have it already.

Because my dear…here I am.

I’ve been here all along. You just never realized it while you were so busy watching the great-wide-world break that you didn’t even notice the cracks in your own. The earthquakes and tsunamis reaching out to you from the depths of what you once loved about yourself.

Back when you still knew how to love.

Back…when I was a secret, and not a performance.

Back when…

I was you.

 

 

G.

 

Do you remember, m’dear
Back when you had everything to confront yet nothing to fear
Everything to give and nothing to lose
Everything decided and nothing to choose? 

Do you remember when you looked up at the buildings?
The skyscrapers?

Do you remember when you tried to do it alone?
You dug and dug
more and more rabbit holes 

Do you remember? 

When you challenged a system that was created for
You,
not to challenge but to enjoy.
Still you chose to explode and destroy
Be it with excitement
Unprecedented curiosity
Unencumbered fascination
But do you remember your impulses?

Do you remember being… 

 

free…? 

 

MG 

“The person who wrote this
Permitted me to post it
But only on the premise
That I keep the name anonymous”

Letter To A Lover

I’m writing this knowing that you probably won’t read it, and even if you did, you sure as hell won’t bring it up, so win-win for me. I get it out the system whilst helping you to avoid the responsibility of feeling like you have to care. It puts the choice in your hands, and I’d understand either way.

Obsession.

I’m like an addiction to you, a fascination, this idea of a person as if I’m from a novel or movie. Thank you, by the way, it is highly flattering.

Why am I writing to you about it? Because, darling, I can relate. I know how much it means to you that people can relate to how you’re feeling, and so here’s me, telling you openly that I completely understand your obsession.

I was obsessed with myself, too, once upon a time. Unsurprisingly, as well. You’ve felt it, you know why. Imagine actually being in my shoes where running is not an option. Where being surrounded and encompassed by my own presence time and time again is pretty much my reality.

Yes, I have people in my life who know me.

And I have you.

Well, I know you.

I don’t have you.

I’m not great with possession: I enjoy you, I appreciate you, but I don’t base the foundations of my life on you, darling. Romance should be an experience, an entertainment.

My greatest fear with romance is that I become anything more than a desire. I like the wanting, the longing, the obsessing. I could commit if I wanted to, my dear, to friends and to family. But romance, darling, romance is dessert.

And dessert is great in doses.

I, too, am apparently great in doses. This, I’ve come to accept as truth, with the amount of addicts who’ve overdosed on me and instead of healing, ended up poisoned. That’s not entirely my fault, either…a bottle of medicine doesn’t generally sprout legs and walk; it is picked up and consumed.

So my darling, I do understand your obsession.

Being with me is bordering obsessive. If you want me, and not merely the idea of me, then we’re just going to have to be okay with that, won’t we?

Signed with love,
Z.

He was a trendsetter.

He wrote about himself,
and they all wrote about him.

So he wrote about her,
and they all wrote about her.

Then he wrote about them,
and they all left.

None the readier.

 

 

MG

 

21.2.17

(Creative writing: May 2009 – when it all began)

Perhaps there was nothing wrong with her to begin with, and she was just as normal as everyone else. But maybe it was her honesty that landed her where she was now—a rut. All that she once represented, all that she once was, the person she used to be, all left behind with the rest of her past. Her memories are what they are—memories. None of it the reality of now, rather a fragment of the past she carries around with caution.

No one can explain her, no one understands her. No one can love her to the capacity she does. She’s alone, but not. Thrown into this place she couldn’t comprehend, this place she could never absorb, she sits in wonder. She watches as the cars go by, as people fall into the deep abyss of love. She watches as people don’t realize they’re being watched.

Life, the one big controversy waiting to erupt. Or maybe, just maybe, it already has. Maybe this rut she’s in is the result of being swept away by lava carrying to this state of confusion.

She watches everyone around her—no one is normal. No one conforms. No one can fully blend in with the scene. So what was she doing here on her own? Was there even an “answer” to such a question?

Tears started forming in her eyes as she unraveled the memories of her past. She wanted things to go back to the way they were. She would give up all emotions, even happiness, just so that she would never feel pain again. A long time ago, she was never happy; but a long time ago, she was whole and complete. A long time ago, she was never broken.

She had to fight back the liquidized demons they called “emotions” that were beginning to fall from her face. No, she couldn’t be weak. She couldn’t let society win. But society itself had an advantage over her. It was closing in tightly around her, entrapping her, blocking her from herself.

Outside this cage was a mirror.

Inside this mirror stood a girl with a distorted smile. She was pretty, and she was smiling. The eyes in the mirror told a story, a happy story. But as she studied this intriguing person, she realized that her hands were tied. She had no means of breaking free, but she was happy. The person in the mirror sighed. A tear drop trickled down her cheek, fell to the ground, but didn’t break. A single teardrop, so small and fragile, yet so strong it did not shatter as it hit the floor.

This girl looked away. She couldn’t bear the image of a teardrop. Looking down, she found a pool of clear water on her shoulder. She looked away. These teardrops were her memories melting, liquidizing. She couldn’t fight it anymore. She looked back at the mirror once more, at the girl who smiled and hid her tears. The girl whose hands were bound, yet didn’t struggle to break free. The girl, who could be happy.

She blinked, and turned around.

On and on she ran, looking away from anything which fueled her memories, her emotions.

Those memories, no matter how close they were to her heart…were unfinished.

MG

I spent some time in a metaphorical submarine as the unconscious unfurled while I sought answers in the depths of me. Thankfully, I did have wifi connection wherever I went, so upon emerging from the deep blue seas, it was not a particularly intimidating readjustment. If anything, I was rather excited to come back to life fully revived and ready to thrive.

In my journeys far from humanity, I discovered many treasures that lay beneath the tidal waves where few dare to venture. These observations quenched my thirst and satiated my hunger in the days where human interaction was scarce; when those above sea-level lived their lives offline, engaging in human activities such as parties, discussions, sports competitions, birthdays and weddings, explorations of the natural world or what not.

It wasn’t until the humans commemorated their life in a shared memory space called the Cyber-Web did I know what was going on in the world above. It was entertaining, I enjoyed living vicariously through those I once knew, and those I had yet to know. Being a few hundred feet below sea-level with only a dozen other souls definitely beat soaring thirty-thousand feet above sea level with four hundred anxious flyers. There was less…turbulence, so to speak. Less chaos in the depths.

I observed the humans, they amused me. As times got tougher and the planet became hotter, each for his or her own reason reached for the skies, seeking life in more temperate regions. Those from the Cold Lands migrated further east, towards where the sun rose. Those from the Hot Lands aimed to move North, away from the sun and into more habitable temperatures.

The humans moved and migrated, each taking a piece of the land to new lands, cultivating and planting new seeds in soils becoming more and more crowded. What was once intended to be a garden soon became a forest, one that later branched into a rain-forest. Lands soon changed and merged, as physical survival became the sole focus of humans. Those who did not face physical challenges soon became bored and created  problems for themselves; problems of perception, of opinions, of emotions, and of status.

Humans…

I returned, for I missed the chaos.

MG

One day, our paths will cross again
One day, our worlds will merge
Day after day
Readying the way
Until the stars emerge

From behind the clouds
That sheltered you in the crowd
You hid from the spotlight —
sunlight and moonlight

But our journey is the same
Our destination is nigh
I took a train
And you, the night flight

We took a different route
Leading to the same airport
A transition point is where we met
Yet “Hello” and “goodbye” was all you sought

I remember you, my love
But the memories weren’t enough
I had to pave a way to ready
Myself for thee

So one day, my dearest,
We shall meet again
In the forest or a desert
City streets or beach
Mountain peaks, ocean deeps
Rooftops atop old bookshops

One day, you and I will meet again
But maybe not today.

 

And when we meet again my dear
She will be nothing like you…

 

I fear.

 

MG

Through literature and writing, we understand our actions, our choices, and our decisions. Words without actions are…a form of art. While some actions may seem impossible, there’s always a thesaurus to shift a perspective.

I’ve encountered fiction that appear impossible in real life, but there is always a way to actualize an idea into a reality. Surprisingly, concepts such as transfiguration in the Harry Potter series, vampires and werewolves in most contemporary fantasy, or even serial murder mysteries by Doyle or Christie can be done.

How? Allow me to demonstrate.

As a child, I enjoyed reading Harry Potter. I wasn’t one of those fans who had to have a wand, or wanted a cape and rounded glasses. I simply experienced the story and wanted to know what happened next. It wasn’t until later on in life that I discovered how much literary metaphorisation I had unconsciously “experimented”.

Transfiguration and levitation were metaphors of changes in life, of rising, or ascending to a “higher self”. A better, more improved (upgraded, one could almost say) version of me.

Then there were the vampires and werewolves: the immortalized entities that I soon found were projected by textbooks that had captivated me over the years. The law books, the political theories, the philosophical doctrines, the economic downturns of the century…to name a few.

Vampires represented immortality; philosophical thinking is arguably so. They go around in circles leading nowhere except deeper into the discovery of “self”, and that constant flux of how being in the here and now causes one to feel “stuck in the present”, or “stuck in forever”, as the story goes…

Werewolves are obvious; they shift and “transfigure” at full moon. It indicates that there are cycles and moments in life that force one to reflect. Why? Because, um, the moon is…reflective…? It reflects the light from the sun, stealing a radiance that was never its to have.

Finally, murders and mysteries. Does this represent aggression and violence? Well, yes and no. Not physical aggression or violence, but a relentless anger that is channeled into destroying my demons. Into terrorizing the hell out of them. My demons see me coming from a mile away, and are either subservient to me, or they run in fear of being slayed.

I’m friends with some of them though, don’t get me wrong. Pain and Anger are fun. Pain gets me paid, and Anger keeps me awake. Anxiety and Sadness, on the other hand, seem to have found themselves a nice little hiding spot; I haven’t seen them for ages. Can’t say I miss them, they kept thinking the world was running out of oxygen so we had to conserve it by sitting around doing nothing. Strange ones, they were…

So, through literature and writing, we understand our actions, our choices, and our decisions. Words without actions are…a form of art. While some actions may seem impossible, there’s always a thesaurus to shift a perspective. Magic!

Peace!

MG

Getting things done.

Organizing, tidying, shuffling.
Redecorating, rearranging, reallocating.

Compartmentalizing.

And when you’re done with all of it, you take a step back and look at the bigger picture.

What do you see?

MG

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