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Empath’s Chronicles

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Young things have a mind all their own.. They really really do.

I always love when movies start. I really really do… It gives off a great sense of adventure and promise… Movies to me are like people,  I am wired to believe that they never end, similarly I assume that people are going to fade away in a form that does not involve pain and suffering …. The movie business, boy do I have a load of thoughts on that topic… I just hate how the movie business only wants the bodies and talents of individuals…  It wants the bodies of beautiful women to further our depraved imaginations into thinking that when they engage in lasciviousness,  it is for our pleasure… I find this vicarious thrill sickening in my imperfect yet renewed heart which has submitted itself to the Lord… I think old people choose young people to marry bcos they want the illusion of being young in some warped, twisted way. I don’t like it when that happens, it’s sick and revolting even though people pretend that it’s all normal and okay.. But then again so many things are far from being okay.

I think that people pay professional shrinks just to hear them talk without interrupting… People get so used to hearing the same things that they stop listening.

Why do people pretend like they have it all together?  Isn’t life going to snatch everything away?  Job, parents, kids.. Wife…!!  And yet they pretend like they know what’s about to happen next?   
It’s all about money in this town..  Survival…  Money.. Rent.. Bills… These are the true realities..  True love..  Soulmates – These don’t exist … They really don’t. God exists though and boy am I glad that I never get tired of Him!! 

Why do people grow up and become so cold and lonely?  Why do women control so much of our interactions?  I hate how much I re-read conversations with women in different voices and emotions trying to decipher some hidden clue of inference that will supposedly be an  “eternal treasure and joy”

Why does it hurt to be vulnerable? How can I switch off this feeling of being absolutely vulnerable at all times?   The older I get the more I see things differently.. Why do people desire each other..?  We all get tired of each other anyway..  don’t we?  What does last in this life then? 

I hate how all that people see are faces..  What about my heart?  My soul? Is your vision only limited to my vision?  I guess that the Lord is going to talk to me when He truly wishes to.. Or when He really wants to…  I don’t mind His approach.. I just want Him to talk to His favorite kid, on this side of the ocean..!  Why can’t I save all the sick, dying and broken people in this world Lord?  All the homeless animals?  All the poor people losing their minds..?  Why can’t I stop war?  Crimes? Poverty?    Prostitution, human negligence?  Trafficking ?  murder ?  merciless killings? 

I hate how forgiveness turns back the blame on myself and checks my conscience and wonders in invisibility about the relative state of all things and about our own inability to be absolutely clean and pure , People say the meanest things when they are angry… they really do…!  

I can’t understand how comfortable people are in who they are…  don’t they have fears?  Insecurities?  Timidity?  Shyness?  I’m seriously beginning to wonder how people can feel so confident when at anytime anything can happen!!  I hate what death does to a person…  I hate how it tears open a person’s soul with grief.. And brings the great treacherous injustice of the world into our hearts as we struggle against its vicious and vile might..! 

My mom doesn’t understand a thing about WiFi or the internet or what an Android app means…  and sometimes I laugh at her like it all means a lot, I hate it when I laugh at my mother…  I don’t deserve such a lazy and careless act..  She sweat blood, sweat and tears for me…  She clothed me… Placed my life before her…  what selfishness has my heart to laugh when my mom hides what her generation has trouble comprehending?  How cruel can I be? 

I feel sorry for people a lot…  I really do,  I just cry for them…  I hurt for them…  I pray for them…  the good Lord made my heart to be open and not closed to the world and it’s sufferings. I struggle in weakness against the might of my high sensitivity…  But the Lord has crafted me to bring Glory to Himself. I write stories about girls with whom I had chances with, or spent my life around with but never personally clicked… but they later found someone else.. And I roar and heave with all my anguish and mature sadness even as my pen weaves grand feel good dramas when my heart was broken so many times by decade old infatuations…!

I studied in this college where I felt invisible, where I was invisible… Nobody talked to me, it didn’t matter to them if I would’ve died right before their very eyes they still would’ve been so enamored of their great significance and privileges…  No girl ever opened her heart to me when u was there… I longed so deeply and lovingly towards my muses who were happily oblivious of my affections… I was always forgotten…  sometimes when I laugh at my ma and tease her I remember the pain of being made to feel all of that, and I grow angry at myself and start cursing myself. I still remember how much I hated myself… I can’t be like those flaky, pretensive scoundrels to my ma… She means the world to me.

How strange ?

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How strange we all are. 
We see each other with our eyes but we don’t really seem to see.
Such distance seems to exist in our true comprehension of each other.. We need deeper truths to look beyond what we see, since we are spirits.. Eternal beings caught up in existential enormity, gripped by this madness to merely survive against the mighty tides that crash onto us all.
We live amongst each other but we don’t really feel each other’s presence… We build castles with learned fears which we reinforce with anxiety.
If we stay inside our souls and inhibit the process of straying outside in order  to find solace in tribes, creeds and dogmas, nobody enters our hearts and stays.. No incarnation of memory comforts us whenever we feel the loneliness of our soul… Memory, that mystical compass of our fate,  compelling our imagination to record our finest moments, to thrill one’s heart with a world more delightful and eternal than the cruel, neglect driven world that exists beyond our minds, our intellect and our sanity.
Whatever I see takes on a life in my mind, I am left to a dark world blind to my thoughts… Stoic until opened by the will to find meaning against the inky black.
Men without coats feel like charcoals beneath a pouring fire..They see us as wanderers left to our own unchangeable fate, roaming about without shelter.
Love is confusing..  if I refuse to feel something for a certain somebody,  I lose myself in a maddening desire for everybody.
I wish I could articulate my experience in words that can be eaten.. But I can’t..  I’m halfway between the stars and the gravity of this planet… Halfway between Heaven and Hell
I discover pieces of me everyday…  but I lose some in others.. I lose what I want found

Mirrors of stone

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I wish to be ingested.
I am no mere fading sensation,
Bright And radiant and full of life one brief, eternal moment but then the sun moves on and it becomes pale, common, forgotten and then proceeds to become like everybody else and their lives.
I refuse to be dulled about by the incessant changing of the seasons ,
I refuse to stop my heart from deciphering the mad noise so loud around me,
I think it was Stephen king who said that the most important things are always the hardest to describe.
I wish I can see what I used to see…  but now I don’t have it in me.
I have become blind and what I am unable to see controls and rules over me.

I wish that I could understand the mystery of what it means to live,
Understand something so plain and visible yet so profoundly ungraspable and vague.
Who am I..? 

I am created with value, other people and their messed up choices won’t define how I see myself.
I am not the sum of my mistakes, I am not who left me, I am not who are unable to see me and choose me or want me,
I am not here to feel lost, or be lost..  I am not here to be poor, rich or some other fancy thing that money can or cannot buy.
I am here to be what I can never see

Why?

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Why do people have to die? 
Why is there a heaven and a hell? 
Why do sins demand eternal punishment? 
Why do people fall out of love?
Why do earthquakes happen? 
Famines?  Wars?  Child Trafficking?  Paedophilia?  Road Accidents?  Rapes?  Murders? 
Why do questions arise? 

My beautiful, sweet mess – Short Poem

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How strange this desire to want, need, thirst for and crave someone…?
Tell me where can I take shelter from this obsessive pressure..?
I want to run away from this crazy heart that I possess,
Run like Joseph did from Potiphar’s wife.
Do you wanna know why..?

There is a reason I am pouring out my heart to you listener with a seeking heart,
because I am afraid for what it has done unto me in the past,
it has left marks and scars where formerly dreams used to hide.
My eyes, they don’t see colors anymore,
I am a man who now shuns his eyes.

I am afraid to desire her,
I know that I want her,
but you see, that is the problem.
I had convinced myself that I needn’t care.
I have come past ghouls and horrors that once tortured my soul.
Dreamer that I am, I suffered reality’s cruel strikes,
Demons played and wrecked a tremendous destruction upon my soul.
Dragging me even unto the gates of death.
But my curse seems to pull me into complicated situations that are full of
wreckage and mindless abandonment.

She has another,
Everything that I feel for her,
this intensity, this deep desire of my soul to possess her soul,
She feels for somebody else,
You know that I can’t bear a truth such as that,
How did I get myself into this mess..?
I am not going to psycho analyze every contact with her with my heart’s
detective lens, I know when somebody wants somebody else..,
I really really do.. It hurts like every ache in the universe
has decided to cry.

Why am I staying here, waiting in painful uncertain obliviousness..?
Why do I enjoy this stinging pain of yet another disaster..?
I believe that I enjoy being the martyr..,
I believe that I enjoy the chase, the challenge,
the thrill, and the exhilaration.
I know that I see myself as a hero in hiding, who will pounce upon whoever he believes in his heart is his princess..,
I wonder if I truly do need her..?

The Drifter and his unfinished love- Part One ( Short Story)

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Theshydreamer8's Blog

“Moon river, wider than a mile
I’m crossin’ you in style some day
Old dream maker, you heartbreaker
Wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way
Two drifters, off to see the world
There’s such a lot of world to see
We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waitin’ ’round the bend
My huckleberry friend, Moon River, and me”
– Breakfast at Tiffany’s

They were meant to meet.., they really were. He was supposed to meet her at a railway station as he was about to give up his hopes of ever making it as a novelist of life as it expresses itself in a humid city by the sweaty sea that he had spent 8 years in, she was supposed to bump into him at the end of a bittersweet college love affair that had rapidly gone sour.

They were meant to be in each other’s way, their hearts were meant…

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