The feeling doesn't come around very often
An old friend familiar footwise to different pastures fitting the fantasy
New experiences constructing strong someone's admirable psychology, fresh beauteous landscapes making up the ends of days that aren't quite taken for granted, but nonetheless become more and more common
As life becomes such an obvious thing to engage with, to fill the mind with an intangible, unnecessary to reconstruct explicability, defining reality
Where that ******* smirk just works, and is taken for granted

Forgive me for being jealous
As austerity and holding back defines our culture in recent times, suits and faces for hating, numbers and reports spurring disparagement, and sentiments of dream and realisation eroded and rained down with flu
Optimism becoming uphill, a difficult sentiment to come naturally, I try nonetheless when such metaphysical and intense psychedelia sits uncomfortably in the back of the mind
****'s sake Britain give me a break

But um..
That girl, that guy, those people, that moment in all those minds that grows from a simple glimpse of a day dream into an empowering determination, realised more and more through presences and establishments from the outside world
Those are the opportunities I'm looking for, amongst solidarity in a fluid and ****** up world
As I steal that smirk from that smug self involved person in the paradise of personality
To see into space and realise how my reflection looks good amongst such fantastical potential realisations

Yeah.. I should go to sleep, but a bit of clarity as to my direction, a little a bit of mirror monologue giving a bit of 'you're all right', well it isn't **** all to complain about.

How to approach something so intangible, with little cellular to describe to my nerves
How to make verbal something so emotional, based on psychology and civil construction
How to perceive myself appropriately despite the eroding drips that pierce progress and old photos I cling to with such immaturity
These questions all are for the same goal, that progression of the self, all those substantial, cerebral, sensual and societal realisations that I yearn for
And yet... I sit, making delusional dreams come true in screens, I sit, making deep intellectual arguments for causes that aren't my own, I sit, researching complicated **** ups and ****** withs the powerful inflict in their attempts to balance a system born broken and biased
Screens are our new ****** it seems, as we reject religion our screens let us forget that the world continues around us, or encourage us not to care
And I come to this self consciousness, this ironic hypocritical reprehension
Because I really enjoy what all these creative minds and years of work and beauteous ideas have given me, but with the same hypocritical tone, despise my compulsion to stare into pixels

As I indulge this self awareness, I know I will continue with the same mental obesity of consumption tomorrow
And there will be no hypocritical self evaluation, just self involved enjoyment
Until the moments come when I am left alone with my mind
Self conscious, reflective, feeling as the time has been lost, but my mind is too tranquilised with pixel and poster representations of reality to notice
This won't change but...

Maybe if I take some time to turn pages rather than press buttons, and stare at sunsets rather than screens
That self evaluative journey I've ignored and returned to sporadically in the reflective yet warm darkness would be less intimidating
And if nothing else, on those days where reality lies next to me filling my cerebral stomach with the undeniably existential
I might feel a bit better about those days lost to other people's stories

Again
Such a vivid yet abstract motivation, a warm sense of meaning in my gut concocted from some poignant expression
And again I'm at it
Clattering into a comfort, a comfort absent of the cellular and substantial, yet so personal and surreal

Without a definite direction, do these words have meaning?
Well... what means a lot to me right now? What clenches against my skin, burning it red with tension in pure uncomfortable distraction? What insecurities make me feel as though my bones and bits could brittle to the point of sand?

Well.. the usual. Clarity, validation, ****** release, a definitive admirable prowd sense of self, a bunch of ethereal concepts that haven't had the decency to manifest themselves and be nice enough to kick me in the face, shocking my nerves into a smile of reality. And the usual reflection on these worries reminds me of the usual image glimmering back, a response of criticism. For ****'s sake.

And it is then I say ******* to the irrational and rational growths of pressure, and try to discern, rationalise, make distinct what matters. Or I let it all go, but remind myself soon enough that the world is waiting. The usual.

I wonder if that job, career, book, **** even if that house would center the scales, but I doubt it. I wonder if the girl would massage my mind into tranquility, or if that girl will even be close enough to not notice me there. Or if a new someone will wander in, force me into a unavoidable eye contact.

Either way..
The rooms are less foggy, the words are more clear. The mirror man does look sexier. The critiques will keep coming, the work will cycle and the validation won't be felt for a while, and may not be felt at all from the sources associated. But my tongue has more words and my throat has more volume. The stigma of the eyes from a thousand people morphs from suspicion to callousness to clarity.

So yeah. The meaning here... well...

I'm fine thanks.
How are you?

Strange that something so accepted should still cause self consciousness before I approach it honestly
The relative anonymity this site gives me is for some reason still not enough to stop that pressure in the back of my mind
Here's me standing between that I guess, a self evaluative expression that deep down I'm okay with who I am

I'm lucky I know that much, living in a social culture of indifference from friends and family
My heart goes out to those prisoners behind abstract bars, walls constructed by opinions, traditions, religions
Who find someone with their own body shape attractive, a subtle reinvention of their minds and eyes
A smile that is just that little bit more reassuring thanks to a comfort in the air you can't quite put into a definitive shape
After one abusive encounter that still makes me ******* teeth biting angry well, I can't imagine that towering over me every day
I've said it before, I'll say it again, I've got a lot to be grateful for

Me well.. people joke that I'm one of the greedy ones, that I can't make my mind up one way or the other
There's a certain truth to it I must admit
The day dream of another as sub consciousness fades in similarity, that person staring back at me with a sheet covering up to a profile
Either seems attractive in that figurative make believe image, something concluded in the struggles of psychology
But forgive me if a certain pessimism surfaces from the prospect of earning that image, showing real social certainty towards whoever it is I'm curious of
But that's beside the point, a daunting prospect for anyone who stares silently into a crowd with a drink in their hand
Those comfortable with it getting a silent smiling ******* for their confidence

Despite all the usual traps and speed bumps, there is a certain ease to it all though
Whoever is eating that pizza with me, on the phone to me, sharing a shower with me
I'm at that point as an adult with a clear mirror
That I know its what I want, I know its okay to want it
And if there is anyone out there, with whatever representation of reality that perceives a problem with it
The ****** can **** my ****

Oh its that time again isn't it
Summer, had my ticket for months, but its that time properly now
Planning brings a strange nostalgic reality to it, little multi-sense photos
An atmosphere can be difficult to really deconstruct when you just got words to go on
But its definitely one I enjoy, one that I embrace headlong

Travelling is that monotonous thing, early rising to enjoy the window of a minivan for a few hours
Watching the familiar turn to new hills and roads that represent thousands of lives and millions of cells
That I don't give two ***** about
Did somebody bring a CD? Does it work? *******.
The service station provides our group with yet another chance to take the **** out of each other
And converse in that usual way, a spontaneous collection of enjoyable media, social events and our opinionated picking apart of the world

Then we get there, I'm reminded of my sheer lack of exercise as I carry all my **** to the campsite
And after a while we're set up, the tents are out, the deck chair is under my *** and the plastic cup of *** and coke is in my hand
And here's the atmosphere again, that memorable ******* where the brits are really bohemian
We drink, we talk, we laugh, we **** take
The night develops and the spontaneity and quiet chaos cracks out of our shells
And if I've done well I've forgotten all of it, or puked it up the side of a fence

The bands come on the next day, and the drink is that usual inhibition ******* friend
As a couple misfits in black shirts and jeans surround themselves in thousands of misfits in black shirts and jeans
And the dark comes along again, I lose my crowd to immerse myself in another
That song on my mp3 player becomes four men on instruments, with bigger speakers than my house
The experience becomes completely mine as alcohol lowers my cynicism and enhances my immersion
Making that band a little more ******* awesome

I wake up with a dodgy looking beard, misplaced hair and a tent to abandon
Looking forward to a shower and a plate of chicken
But with resounding sense of success and a slight smirk
Definitely do it again next year.

I had a long dark one last night, a heavy rush of reminders
Overwhelming sense of stationary among a network of people who move so far and foundationally
A feeling that lingers like a cold behind my primary camera to the world at the moment
I know I'll start moving again
The mechanic's on his way, the suit looks sharp and the tie dye I'm making looks comfortable
A gradually developing mess of colours and concepts, it feels good

But err..
It's amazing how flexible you are, how much momentum you can get when you feel like kicking yourself in the face
Those self indulgent destructive couple of hours, amplified by a liquid haze evaporating inhibition
After something so simple and reassuring, it's easy to crash under the weight of repression
And after all the perfectly sad songs and poisonous self indulgence, you wake to a light of relief and shame because you let yourself be weak to it to all the building *******

Uncertainties for me stem from those classic counter productives, a flashing red light of low for confidence, clarity, certainty
And that crippling feeling that all those open eyes and open hearts that have given me a chance before just won't come again, new faces, social opportunities, chances at a real deep connection just moving past as I just sit still
Watching the escapist worlds flourish, reading the corrupt cracking at our pride as a country, and seeing photos of all those new places and people surrounding their momentous lives

But.. writing such disparity... well.
As relaxing as the release is, I'm reminded that that guy in the mirror still wants the life
The validation of a finely crafted creation that exemplifies my personality and passion for creative media
The dull but reassuring letters, bricks and decorative crap that make up an owned home
The relaxing calm of attaining just that right ******* wavelength with someone, where conversation flows with the same notes and tones and can go on for as long or as short as it likes without breaking the bond between the eyes
Be it from a woman, who can dance and talk and looks good in shorts
Or.. well, from the exception to the rule in those other interests
I, like most of us dumb self involved ******* and wankers, wouldn't mind being close to someone again
Forgive my hollow faith in it, like my ambitions and the foundations of my future, I fear it'll just smash leaving glass in my toes and the same old ******* walls around me.

But that doesn't mean I can't ignore all that. Or at least help myself let it all go.
Doesn't mean I can't smile for that girl who takes my picture, giving me that look of understanding from across the hall.
Doesn't mean I can't sit in a field surrounded by friends, holding two drinks and laughing at my mistakes.
Doesn't mean I can't rattle out a few words to get this **** off my mind.

And wake up the next day, drink a cold sobering glass of optimism,
and get the **** on with it.

Defining solitude is an interestingly malleable task
You can be one of strangers dotted randomly around a room, with the nature of your task distinctly yours
Or pressed up against 4 or more others, in the compact discomfort of a crowd that defies personal space, joining hundreds in a shared disdain
Or even with that one, in a similar change to the norms of personal space, but one that is welcomed chemically, emotionally, socially, where you test your nervous systems together, trying to get those **** little noises and faces

Amongst all this it has to be said that you are one person though, a single distinct identity, a single perception, a single source for emotional and ideological response to the blisteringly large amount of stimuli beyond counting over the course of years

With that.. comes uncertainty, especially when younger but settling still sometimes on the oldest of shoulders
An uncertainty, or an adversity, or a challenge
A challenge for some which drops down the back of sofas, or is gratefully piled under by gift after gift of shallow victory or opaque validations
For others they stand taller than the highest of towers with the most intimidating of faces, deconstructing the figurative cells of the beholder
For others still the matter is more personal and individual than two tone truths, the task, the anomaly amongst lucidity, the defining cracks in the mirror manifest in different animals, expressions and caricatures
And the singularity of existence, which is gradually being ballooned by technology convenience well, that doesn't ******* help.

So what do we do about these ******* bits of our brains? These resounding sticks putting pressure on our cogs and wheels, slowing us on our trip to the ideal
Some repress them, building them like ulcers, ulcers which burst in destructive forms or simply crush our backs till our smiles are hollow
Some indulge them, pursuing the irrationality till blood, ***** and tears surround our overwhelmed and tired doors to the world
Others.. those that I always admire, fight them, engage them with a rational or honest stand to last, and some of these ones win
I like to think of myself as one of these but..

I'm not there yet, not truly
But I see things differently, thanks to traditional private channels and a tipping see saw between healthy and really unfucking healthy approaches
The miniature disasters, the minor catastrophes, they've become different, something opaque, analysable and approachable
I can see them for what they are more than how they make me feel, and that is something I'd advice you do next time that thing, under whatever buckets or barrels of soaking context you've got going with it, that's an approach that really works for me
When it has substance, a color, a shape or a texture, when it can be really perceived for what it is, it can be dealt with
And you can be the one to deal with it, let the thing be what it is

Then grab it, squeeze what you need from it onto your plate
Or let it go and drift along to the sides of your vision, allowing you to focus and let go of what is peripheral in sight and insignificant in mind

I can't imagine what you're going through, I will never say I can, unless say, you're eating jam toast.
But I will say that I have faith in you reader, and that if I can face what my challenges have been and what my challenges will be well..

You can too.