Kaleidescope

Sometimes I just like to close my eyes and let my mind do its own thing.

Let it get carried away in Jay Vincent’s notes and beats.

While my mind goes on adventures, I am curled up on the floor.

It’s easier to stand to the side and let my mind do all the thinking. To shut my mouth and let my pen do all the talking.

While my fingers fly and my notebook thins, I am silent in my bed.

Emotions streaming in are easier than emotions streaming out. That’s what music is for. To feel someone else’s heartbeat so you don’t have to share your own. To let others do the screaming and the singing; that’s what music is for.

Reading and music allow us to dip our fingers into the essence of the universe and are the tools we use to live.

Music and words allow us to create—make the invisible visible—and share our heartbeat with the world so that it doesn’t have to.

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I Can Feel a Change In Me

Come with me and bring along your dreams, for they shine too brightly to leave behind.

Come with me and bring the kiss that your mother blew you last night.

Come with me and leave everything else alone. For they will fix themselves, dearest.

Understand that the world thrives on its problems. Without them, society would fall apart.

Time after time has proven that we can dream up the impossible, and impossibility is what drives our thoughts; our lives.

The prospect that we might not be as alone as we believe we are.

The walls that keep us from reaching out are the product of years of careful planning and thinking. The daily paragraphs we think to ourselves can be broken in one swift motion.

Yet we don’t realize this. And when we do realize it, it leads to a paradigm shift we gradually grow into.

But sometimes we’re too late, and we wake up to find that all the opportunities we had to grow and change have flown away.

Addressing the Elephant In the Room

Everyone around me is wearing a plastic smile plastered on their face with perfect force, asking people how it’s going when we’re all going “Oh it’s just a test, just a jest, not the real thing.”

It’s hard when everyone around you is focused more on reality than letting people see the real-ness welling up inside: The night they spent crying, their families divided.

Everyone’s putting on a show, a front row seat to look at their perfect lives when really it’s just a patched-up lie. Just looking through a stained glass window at the counterfeit world and lifestyle that we know. Everything’s fast and snappy and no one’s an inconvenience, and no one has to look at it

Everything’s fast and snappy and no one’s an inconvenience, and no one has to look at it, no one has to talk about it because everyone’s mouths are glued shut in a fake, plastered on, perfect smile.

And no one sings.

And no one thinks about anything that isn’t theirs, nothing about the perpetual whirlwind of feeling and trust that no one pays attention to. And I’m sick of pretending like it’s not there. Like the elephant in the room is a perfectly normal substitute for life, like they’ve given it a name and made it a pet and now it just stands there. But I think it’s gonna die soon if no one addresses it, so I will.

Everyone has to be real. No more fake, please. I’m sick of hearing it, sick of listening to it, sick of staring at it and stuffing it down my throat–literally.

It’s sad when you realize that everyone knows how to accept reality but no one knows how to be real.

The Epitome of Relaxation

Living in a state where you are not constantly trying mentally.

Not trying to fit, not trying to act, not trying to smile.

Just breathing and relaxing and walking normally.

Not trying. Not conscious every second of the day.

That kind of relaxation.

The kind where you can curl up in a ball in your closet and drink tea and close your eyes.

That kind.

And when it washes over you, you feel like you could stay that way for hours. But then knowing you can’t. And being okay with that.

You only need a few hours.

You only have a few hours, anyway.

Away from all the trying, away from all the confusion and worry and fear.

And just alone in your closet.

Moments like these are moments worth living for.

Someone

I miss someone being there.

To hold my hand, to walk with me. I miss someone being there for me to talk with. For me to check in on. Someone being there to check in on me. I miss being surrounded by people. Good quality humans. People that I love. I miss the joy that all of these souls would give me. I miss all of the intricacies of the human life and mind coursing through my brain and into my veins until I forgot who I was.

I miss the smell of France.

I miss the temperature of the big white hall of the church.

I miss the times when we resorted to using humans to build ladders, tables, and to spell words.

I miss everyone’s voice. The different underlying textures; the rasps, the sweet high-pitched swallowing sound of the vocal chords. I miss my little brother and my older brother that I didn’t know I had until a month ago. I miss both of them. I miss the day when I discovered that I possessed more freedom than I thought I did. That day when I figured I could be myself; be my own person and no one could stop me. No one would know the difference.

Everything was new and felt like an excuse to feel the wind in my hair and the breath in my lungs.

I felt like I could paint my portrait anyway I wanted to.

I took care to apply all of the right colors in broad brushstrokes until my masterpiece was complete.

And then realizing that the hand holding the paintbrush wasn’t my own.

I miss someone being there and painting along with me.

Living Out of a Suitcase

Imagine leaving. Leaving home. With a suitcase clutched firmly in your hands.

The only cords you have attaching you to everything you feel comfortable with fit into a convenient box you haul around. Your past life has become quite personified into a three-dimensional shape. It’s frightening to hold everything that you’ve ever felt comfortable with in your hands. And yet it’s freeing as well. For then you have the ability to simply let go and let it all trickle through your fingers into the unknown.

Forcing your mental cage into something that you can see and touch makes you realize just how big the world is and how many people are living in it. The freedom that living out of a suitcase brings is hard to describe. It enhances an attitude of indifference towards the daily decisions of life and yet packs a pungent punch of reality in it’s cloth compartments.

Packing a suitcase is sometimes like packing your worries away; knowing that you will unfold all of these troubles later as you fold up your shirts is a way to remain sane in this confusing world.

The ability to zip up the tangible representation of your home and comfortable life and leave it zipped up somewhere where it won’t follow you around is extremely refreshing.

It makes you feel alone in the world, but it allows you to open up your view of what the world actually is.

Living out of a suitcase is practical, forces one to prioritize, and frees one from cluttering thoughts.

It bequeaths one with a feeling of invincibility and an eager excitement for the world ahead.

It forges a path of new experiences, friendships, and thoughts.

Living this way shifts the focus off of oneself and onto others. It changes the view from possessions to experiences. From things to memories. From your own house to new places.

Living out of a suitcase makes you realize that we’re all in the same boat. We’re all actually lost and don’t have complete control over our lives.

We’re all trying.

We’re all breathing.

We’re all living out of a suitcase.