I looked away from my phone screen.

My phone is a portal and when it doesn’t light up I start to think something is wrong. I spent the day with my thoughts. They were trapped in this flat and became huge balloons. I noticed they took up a lot of space. I had to monitor them. I had to let them pass. They were still balloons but instead of creating claustrophobia, they floated by, through windows, out into the atmosphere. Sometimes returning, other times disappearing. I find monitoring thoughts identifies how you see yourself. Mine are extremely detrimental and cemented in the past. I wondered why I felt actions and friendships I felt years ago still remained sore. My thoughts clung to them. In a recent break-up, I tried to tell myself this over and over again, it was ‘the only time this person is alive in your life is through your thoughts.’ This is the power of thought. Immaterial but deadly. My thoughts are constantly trying to resolve or solve issues from ages ago. My thoughts are constantly attempting to predict future occurrences. Whether it’s coping or boredom or idleness, it is a part of me that never switches off. Could you imagine have a conscious voice in your head mirroring ideas, situations and perceptions just while you are trying to exist? This voice does not switch off for me and when it does, I feel serene, surreal and anxious. People say it’s overthinking, I say it’s a function of the mind, one that can easily tip into dysfunction. A highly evolved mind that lacks control. Will controls the mind and this, perhaps, has me thinking that we have a will of authority to place our thoughts in line. I think from thirteen I began developing this secondary voice, it is an interesting part of my brain. I can tune out of any place and sit comfortably inside my head, debating, discussing, conversing with my self. My collection of thoughts, perceptions and ideas. Ones I’ve picked up from the world around me. I write with the ability to put out conscious other perspectives, I write to put out the immaterial of a sense of self or selves. I find as I’ve gotten older it is important to be whole rather than fragments. Fragments feel like a freedom, it feels flexible but it leaves you piece by piece rather than an entire thing, most people don’t understand what it is like to have different thoughts spin and run through your head. My brain is always shooting messages across and in-fact, I write to convey these messages in a soothing and understanding way. Reading and writing communicate and validate these thoughts, if they don’t matter, they remain pieces of floating points. However, my thoughts are diluted by emotions. Emotions can be conflicting and lead irrational decisions to be made. I’ve made a lot of irrational decisions, a defective computer can do this sometimes when its running on automatic. Autonomy that’s infected is incredible hard to deal with. Perhaps this is what I’ve described as depression: the loss of control, the automatic emotions numbed, the sense of nothingness, reproduction of empty acts. I used to be ashamed and confused but there seems no reason to be any longer. I don’t think I have a mental problem but rather, a mental functioning that serves me both good and bad. If you are your thoughts, using Descartes loosely, it means your existence has a basis in thought and its process. Positive thinking can be delusional, but negative can be deathly. So do I choose ignorance or death?

Is there an in-between?

In writing this, I’ve learned that my mental processing of information is quick and tedious. Maybe this is why I find it hard to focus on topics that don’t gratify or stimulate my brain… especially elitist, traditional teachings. University has done this and pulled out a brain-dead research gummy bear, but this is not what I went to University for. I gain life from like-minded thinkers, not dead old guys who I am forced to read from 60’s ‘pioneering’ theories. Where is the contemporary relevance and why must I prove my ability to critical think through regurgitated others before me – pioneers, lectures say, who have dictated certain inequalities in my already unequal world. It’s still elitist, specialisation means nothing but agreeing and progressing idea before you that will continues to influence masses. Ideas that create power for elitist and leave the poor powerless. If anything, University has made me internally, quietly, angry.

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Golden virginia, it’s Monday morning.

 

Cigarette after cigarette, parisian etiquette

Dancing tables, skin in sin

Where do you start

where I begin.

If my life was a crystal ball,

this would be a refraction of one part

and if my heart was a bowl,

I promise it wouldn’t be full.

replace the blame,

its no-one actually.

life so centred around pain and woe of love, maybe

finally

time to move on?

love ain’t the be or end all and fuck this discourse on young love being like death,

I choose to rise, phoenix to skyline

alone but free –

I don’t want any trauma to become my identity.