Oh Dear

My head’s in the clouds,
My head’s in the clouds once again

I’m looking, but I’m not really looking
I’m listening, but I’m not really listening
To anyone or anything around me.

‘Cause I’m not even sure why I’m here,
Oh dear,
I’m here again.

My head’s up in the clouds once again,
Mhmmmmmm

It seems that everyday, I struggle through the same pain
Of living life once again
A circle spiraling
Over and over,
Once again.
I’m here again.

Mhmmmmmm

Now my head’s in the clouds
My head is up in the clouds once again.
My dear,
My baby, oh dear.

Are you looking, are you really looking
Or listening
To anyone or anything around you?

When your head’s in the clouds,
When your head’s up there in the clouds
There’s nothing and nowhere.
Just time and space,
Between you and I,
Just ‘being’
Up in the clouds once again,
My dear, oh dear.

Mental

Everyday you see new construction sites building high rise concrete complexes.  Creating more homes for our ever growing population. Or tourist spots that are making so much bank that the government continues to develop these destinations. Creating louder noises like faster cars that roar through the concrete landscapes. That loud high pitch pedestrian crossing light constantly ringing, breaking the silence of the night. All these things are suppose to help run our community. But something tells me that we’re doing it wrong. Not completely, but fairly wrong.

The growth of our communities are of two main components; structures and inhabitants. These structures are rapidly replacing our environment, and most of us are born and raised in artificial surroundings. These physical structures create a subconscious recognition of physical boundaries for our territories. There’s no wonder that humans are an ever growing depressed species. Nothing around us fully satisfies us. We have these subliminal needs and desires that are constantly being ignored, and one of them is the ache for freedom. Walls only define a form of imprisonment.There’s no wonder why there have been studies that show an increasing number of mentally impaired people, cause we’re driving ourselves mad. More and more people are becoming stressed, anxious and unwilling to participate to living in our communities – living in the sense that they are physically participating day to day, interacting with one another; playing basketball, or just chilling on the roof watching the streets and talking to one another. We’re all becoming so boring. Living such sedentary lifestyles, staring at screens and constantly checking our Facebook statuses to see how many likes we get. It’s pathetic. But that’s our life today. It’s fucked. We built technology for our convenience, and this convenience is turning out to becoming more of a nuisance than doing good.

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Now that I think about it, why do you think that holiday destinations are always so… natural. Beaches, countrysides, sky diving. They all seem to act as an escape. An escape from our stressful city lives. Freedom from all the regulations and physical confinements that are constantly imposed upon us. That intrinsic yearn to be free finally being satisfied. Freedom from the laws of physics as you free-fall from kilometers high and not face inevitable death. Why is it that we’re so much happier, and more relaxed when we’re gathered around a tree on a park than when watching TV in the living room? Or even that major hype of getting drunk in the park, so much more fun than being drunk at home. There’s something special about it. These sensations that we feel are a form of communication between our subliminal consciousness and consciousness.  It’s a way for our intrinsic self to tell us what is good and what is bad for us, and it shouldn’t be ignored.

Remember that first time you tried alcohol? And you felt like puking straight after? It’s a protective reflex in protecting your body from consuming something that is harmful to it. But after time, you get used to it, and sometimes, worst comes to worst you end up needing it. But it’s killing you. Faster and faster with each sip that travels down your throat… into your liver. It’s killing you subtly, and makes you feel great for a little while, until one day… your body fails. Isn’t this the same?

Maybe it’s why some people have mental breakdowns. No, rather it is the reason. There’s too much stress in our lives. Even if you exclude all that over-crowdedness, and heavy traffic. There’s still so much stress and pressure from society.

We’ve been brainwashed to believe this commercialized definition of a ‘home’… and yet many continue to search for one despite our ability to satisfy our basic needs for survival. ‘Home’ is something more than our physical external surroundings because somehow this idea of a home only causes our stress, anxiety and other non-infectious mental illnesses. Every year the population with a label of ‘mentally ill’ increase. Every year we battle not only our physical survival but also our mental sustenance.

Can we not see it with our eyes?
Can we not hear it with our ears?
Can we not feel it with every touch?
Can we not sense it with every breath?

The environment is a place where an individual is able to express their external bonds of existence, bridging to their internal being, as well as the depths of their freedom and reality. Urban consolidation is unnatural, so our bodies are rejecting it, just as we prevent bacteria from damaging our bodies. Our spiritual minds are becoming less and less able to connect to the physical reality that we have created for ourselves, leading to these anxieties and disorders.

We can see it with our eyes… how we yearn for luscious green fields, sapphire blue ocean water and peaceful white beaches. Beauty.

We can hear it with our ears… the tantalizing horns of cars and traffic. Agony.

We can feel it with every touch… the tingling sensation you get when you walk barefoot on grass, sand or mud. Nostalgic. Even if you’ve never done it before, you feel this arising excitement and happiness.

We can sense it with every breath… that sick mucky feeling of inhaling intoxicated fumes of cars and trucks. Suffocating.

Despite all of what we can see and all of what we can feel, we continue to pride ourselves of our superior intellect. How ignorant. That’s what most of us are. Ignorant and indenial. The funniest part of this, the fucking ‘cherry on top’ of our societal muffin, is that we separate ourselves from those labelled as mentally ill, mentally incapable, and lock them away in isolation. Asylums. Cages, essentially. Further inhibiting their ability to connect to their reality, to connect to their existence, to connect.

Who are we to decide who is mentally ill? Who is in the right mind to even suggest that disconnecting someone, who was born in this already deranged world, help them in any way to connect? Are we not human? Are they any less? Even through science we look at our progress of evolution, so are they not just the offspring of our chaotic urban settlements? Lastly, why do those with power continue to label these people as abnormal whilst they continue to create the abnormality within our natural environment, and why do we let them do so?

The whole scenario is so overly ironic that sometimes I feel like we can’t claim our title of being smart. Not by a long shot. Sure we’ve been able to create technology, things that still amaze me of course, I too am just a human with a greedy instinct to make things easier for me, but still… none of us have a clue with what we’re doing here. None of us know how we’re suppose to be, and definitely none of us have the right to label someone as mentally wrong. So here’s a thought for everyone, including myself;

You’re mad.  You’re weird. You’re ignorant. You’re  mental.

“Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of intelligence…”  

                                          – Sir Edgar Allan Poe

Dreams & Reality: Round 1

Dreams…

Reality…

What are they?

They both seem so real. Or rather they are real. Every night I wake up to my dreams, and everyday I wake up to this ‘reality’. Sometimes there’s no way in telling where I’m at, I lose track… both are so vivid. Conjuring all kinds of emotions and images, affecting every aspect of my thoughts… changing the way I see things… changing… always changing.

Lately I’ve pondered on how one can prove that they are now currently awake, and not dreaming. Is it physical pain? The logical time frames? The limitations of science and the laws of physics? Somehow it makes sense… but also far from being a viable truth.

It’s been over a year now since I’ve taken this, almost, obsession with dreams and dreaming. I don’t have nightmares anymore, or rather I don’t consider them as nightmares… they’re just mishaps and misfortunes… I just learn to let go and let the darkness fill me until I shiver and sweat in my wake. In most cases there’s nothing you can do, you have no control over your (sub)consciousness. I just let it show me what I need to see and what I need to feel.

Every so often you hear, experience or know of blood shed, rape and outright torment. Some consider this a nightmare, but to the victims, it’s their reality. Sometimes denial may convince them it didn’t happen. Is it then right to impose acknowledgement and torment them psychologically for the rest of their lives? Or is it better for them to think of it as a hellish nightmare that they soon will wake from and move on, but treading lightly?

That’s the thing… reality can have so many complexities at every given moment, simultaneously haunting your mind and your body. Some can go crazy from all the pressure and stress. So, in this sense, is this not a giant continuous nightmare? There’s no denying that there are moments of relief, moments of ecstasy, moments of enchantment and fascination. But don’t dreams display the same perplex pool of emotions and physical distress?

Dreams, to me, are far less complicated. Although we experience them in a jumbled and random order… they show everything in broken down clips, a montage illustrating a larger concept of my (sub)consciousness. Is this the flaw in thinking that the dream is our actual reality? The fact that there is no order. No control.

But what if our dreams were our actual reality? A chaotic realm lacking order and any form of control. A world where not a single one of us holds any control or structure in our lives? What if we never had the keys to our own fate? What if this reality, our ‘reality’, is our dream? A realm with control and order, where we are able to mold our own destiny and not given to us. We are able to tell our own story, and try to have some form of control with what we experience and what we don’t. What if all of these are the things that we’ve longed for our whole lives? So we escape to dream of this reality. And sometimes we wake up in this reality and forget what happened because sometimes it’s a gift to forget, especially painful memories.

So we choose to believe that this is our reality, and choose to base our knowledge and perception through the experiences of this reality. Is that why there are stories and beliefs of a higher being, able to control our destinies, holding our fate? Do some of us go about living our lives disproving the existence of a higher being due to their desire to forsake relations to the ‘dream reality’ where we aren’t the determinants of our life? Is this why we crave control and power? To rid of the notion that we live in a chaotic nonsensical world.

Most importantly, who is to say that there is solid proof that we are in our reality and not dreaming? Much like our dreams, can’t we dream of everything that we do in this realm?

I’m not saying that I truly believe that our dream world is our real world. But I’m just fascinated by the complex manner of trying to disprove the theories regarding each side. So there is no solid proof (?) just a feel for strong justification. Funny. Don’t you think?

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The Fool

Inhale… Exhale…… flick the thumb, then repeat. Inhale… Exhale……

“Let it cuddle your lungs, let it drift off of your tongue”, I told myself. Staring into the night sky. Looking for a star to catch my eye. There’s one. No wait… that’s too bright to be a star, it may just be a satellite…

Funny that. So relevant to so many aspects of this urban day to day life… “If it’s too good to be true, then it probably is”. Just don’t get fooled, “don’t be a sell out”. That’s what everyone says, cause what everyone wants to be is a genuinely unique individual. Outside of the norm. That one star that shines brighter than the rest. To be ‘the best’. But what is it that makes someone the best? Because somehow in our world, being a sell out, being fake, is the best way to become ‘successful’ and to be the ‘best’. It’s sad really. How the more genuine people are always left unrecognized, not invisible, but left unmentioned. It’s almost as if our whole system is built around a falsified image of individualism. They say to be yourself, to be you. That you can make anything out of your life, to become anyone you want to be. But sooner or later, they ask you to change. No. They force you to change… To adjust yourself to become that missing piece in their big puzzle. To be a part of the whole system. Go to school, get a job, have a family, grow old and maybe go to a retirement home. It’s expected, and needed.

For some reason, our lives start to become a lifelong monetary struggle. You can’t get by without any financial support, and that to me is a little strange don’t you think? How a piece of paper can determine how you live. That’s how they get you, that’s how they force you to become part of their system. They want you to be involved with the community marketing and consumption. Fed by the greed of power, the greed for money, the greed to be on top. The top of the ‘food chain’. But no one really stops to think about what it really means to be on top… instead they plunge themselves into a lifetime full of artificial emotions of love and power from fake friends and materialistic objects that one day won’t be needed, or one day become redundant.

I used to be that guy, always flashing their money and paying for who ever comes around. Seeking for some form of happiness, some form of friendship in this new land that I had found myself to live in. I made so many friends, no doubt, and so many girls… damn. But as I grow older, I start to become more sensible. I start to recognize the value of money in our society, and the fabricated emotions that come alongside it. I stopped giving so much, stopped being so naive. Now I find myself, sitting here trying to recollect all the memories that I spent and all the efforts that I put in, through money, to make these relations and to pursuit a form of happiness. But all I see now is a mockery, of me, being so naive in spending so much for those who care so little. I don’t see them anymore. I don’t hear from them anymore. Now all these emotions are stuck in a hollow abyss in my memory. I never know what to do with them anymore. Useless.

But lucky for me, I was able to find true friends, those who would always be there no matter how little I can give. They always attempt to connect with me, no matter the distance or condition. Now I find myself feeling better and slightly lighter. My head’s steering away from the clouds and moving into the sunlight. I don’t need the constant intoxication to help myself from feeling something, and something real. I now realize that I don’t need to shine so bright, and I don’t need to hide the truth. Stop myself from being anyone else. I just need to be me.

But this idea of being me, a unique individual, just seems so cliche for a story book ending. That special one ‘being’ that makes me feel like I’m, in a sense, on top. But no matter how much I think about it I always end up questioning; who has the the right to define what I’m suppose to do in this brief existence of life? No one. Just me. And I guess that’s as much power as anyone desires… To have full control of a person’s life, and that one person is to depend on you no matter what. To act and feel like a God. Does that make me, my own personal God? Or at least feel like one. But as a human man all I can do is respond to what’s around me and adjust with my flaws. Social pressure. Political pressure. Financial pressure. Regulations. Rules. Expectations. The list can go on. All of which inflict wounds on my personal being, sometimes catalyzing or giving  birth to more flaws. It hurts… sometimes. But sometimes it helps me feel ecstatic. So I guess I’m no God to myself. I don’t see myself in any way perfect.

Our society is shit.  “Just don’t be fooled, don’t be misled, and don’t be discouraged to do what you want and can do”, that’s what they tell me. But you know what? Sometimes it’s just easier to be the fool to get by. It’s shit.

When You Realise

It’s gone too fast. The time. How do we adapt? The time has come and gone. And now, it’s just memories of our reality. I still remember clearly, well, vividly, turning 18 and rampaging through the streets of this new city.

But now I sit and ponder the questions of what could be, of what could have been. Whether or not the path I had taken, the days I spent, were worth it in the end.

Because in the end, I’m left with fabricated emotions and notions that attempt to satisfy my inner desires. What do I desire? Am I even satisfied? Will I ever be satisfied?

Everyday I wake up to my mirror. Everyday I wake up and watch myself decay as I age, in this cage that we call an apartment. Pissing into the toilet bowl.

I guess this is the life of a young man, and I’m sure, close to the life of a young woman. We’re all trying catch a breath, that small break to have some time to breathe that fresh air. We’re all longing for something to feel. Joy, sorrow, or anything in between as it’s the only thing that can reassure that we’re real and  still living.

All we really know is that we’re all stuck here as souls, in containers that someday will get old. In containers that are so vulnerable. In a container that is so complex that it goes beyond our own understanding, and yet will gradually dissipate back to the simple cycle of the Earth.

That’s how it goes. I guess that’s what makes this life so worthwhile. That smidgen of time that we can all call an experience. That smidgen of light we perceive into our very own eyes, and into our very own hearts. And as this stream of consciousness enter the thoughts, I realise the value of my life. The value of life, of any life.

The most bizarre thing about this is that we’ve always known and experienced the relentlessness of time throughout our lives. Such as when your favourite cartoon show ends and you have to wait a week for the next episode. When your parents insist for you to go to bed cause it’s too late. Those curfews that consistently cut your fun short. Or even that annual celebration of your birthday, a constant reminder that you’re one year closer. Despite all that, we turn a blind eye to the truth. Rather, we choose to ignore the truth. I know I used to. Going about my days, spending money and not giving the slightest fuck about what else was happening around me. Hopping into the fast lane, we intoxicate ourselves until our sweat and tears drip of only chemicals, not entirely sure why. Just following.

Then this day comes. When you realise and acknowledge everything that you do. You have your reasons, well rather that that’s what I’ve converted to. But these reasons are always seeking for a purpose. While that purpose is always seeking for a solution. But the bitter truth is, that most answers, most solutions are never really satisfying. They leave you, at best, content.

So what if I finally got employed tomorrow. Full time employment. Earning big bucks for me to waste and get wasted. Not going to lie, I will be very happy, may even declare that I’m more than satisfied. But through time, will I still be as happy working 70 hour weeks and not being able to spend any quality time with friends or family? No. So I guess in the end I’ll just be content, not satisfied.

I guess this is why you have to embrace every moment, and embrace each scene. With comfort or discomfort. Because despite the circumstances, that sensation will become another sensation to your library of sensations. That one sensation will affect you more than any material you collect. That one sensation can change a man or woman to become or not to become.

So embrace. Because soon you’ll realise, that everything is beautiful in their own twisted ways.