We The Unjust

Reading is equivalent to thinking with someone else's head instead of one's own.

Money is human happiness in the abstract; he, then, who is no longer capable of enjoying human happiness in the concrete devotes himself utterly to money.
-Arthur Schopenhauer

I’m pointing fingers, so is she, directly at me.

In my recollection, i don’t think i was ever good enough.

My mind is racing, let me rephrase myself because races have a beginning and a finish, my mind is moving faster than a relationship can handle.

The thing I didn’t like most about my previous relationship was me. At times I felt proud of progression I made, the hospitality I gave, and the care I displayed but at the end of the time line was my mind. It stopped everything.

I want to take care of her. I’ll call her. Let’s see how this goes.

awful.

She made the same valid points I made to myself.

In my recollection, I don’t think i was ever good enough.

She’s got a good way of making me feel like shit…..

“…you’re usually the problem.”

the abandoned, abandon. A statement I emulate so well. I am weak, much like my legs that brought me a quarter of the distance away from home. Impulsively I called my mother to pick me up but once I did that so much shame settled in. Why, a woman that has so much burden, did I burden her with picking my dumbass up? I called her back hoping she didn’t leave her home. Unfortunately, the next quarter of my trip was in the luxury of my mothers car.

“I’m sorry mom this will never happen again.”
“It’s okay” my wit-full mother begins, ” I’m just worried about her. I don’t want to generalize things but you’re usually the problem.”

I don’t deny that I am.

Right now nobody matters but this woman right here. Oooh sooo special she is. Beyond fact, faith, evidence, this is where I want to be, my life after death. I used to have a theory of how death felt. Just like when we wake up from slumber without dreams, without recollection of our bodies resting through the hours, instills evidence of nothing, that is how i believed death to be. Bliss from knowledge and awareness. How wrong could I ever have been?  Beyond fact, faith, evidence but within the power of knowing, this is where my conscious will be after death. Loverly Joy DeGuzman. 

Right now nobody matters but this woman right here. Oooh sooo special she is. Beyond fact, faith, evidence, this is where I want to be, my life after death. 

I used to have a theory of how death felt. Just like when we wake up from slumber without dreams, without recollection of our bodies resting through the hours, instills evidence of nothing, that is how i believed death to be. Bliss from knowledge and awareness. How wrong could I ever have been? 

Beyond fact, faith, evidence but within the power of knowing, this is where my conscious will be after death. Loverly Joy DeGuzman. 

Lacking Accurate Reference

The book, is coming along so well. My idiot brother once told me something that gives me the decency to refer to him only as, “idiot brother”. Should I act any more accurate to how I feel for him in this moment, it would only be appropriate to make a separate blog dedicated to accurate references. It would be managed with sadness, pity, anger, rage and most importantly and what may be mistaken for irony, Love. 
  I lost my book because of technical error. Pissed off I sat staring at my computer opening and closing folders trying to find a back up. Disappointment settled with every click of my mouse. My brother witnessed my anger. 
  “It’s okay, I’m sure it’s gonna be better the second time around.” 

He…was right. 

I Do It To Myself

This headache. Every throb is a thought that makes me crazy. It doesn’t help anything. Nothing in this world can be fixed by those throbs. I keep digging so deep just to see how far have to climb to get back on solid ground. 

“ready?”

no.