first part, i wrote this the other day, dunno if paragraphs are connected anymore
In one episode versus another, I found my life transient, tumulting, tergiverous. Thus with it, I took my mind on a journey where it didn't belong, to a belief which didn't exist. A sort of exceptionalism, American, or not, or rather, a deminishment of it altogether. Thus, it was stronger, weaker, of a little strength though, most definitely. Because of her, the cigarette, my mind, to personify my most personal features as feminine, I went on into belief most defiantly for a half dozen years. Was I then a Salman Rushdie in hiding or was I in denial? The thing was, I was noone special, but it was definitely a combination of both, that is, hiding denial.
Sure thing, lost can and has costed
More blessings than lesser things
Have witnessed, and a zephyr westward
Can in no word express that interest.
Sunshine gone but my life is still in a zone
and if worse,
then I have already atoned.
Should I begone -- when I have beseeched,
Indeed like a bird to a picked location
Settled derived and decided, what a good pick is and is not?
However thoughtful any moment is, in dereliction, with derision, in a doodle, in dignity, I arise everyday within some timeframe to the sunrise, to the sunset, with no reason, no columns or structure, completely complacent, useless as a productive force, just a person in foibles, featured on my couch, though the day sometimes, through the nights some other days, and otherwise for no reason; for little reasons in my soul, to exist, mend and become, I move to the kitchen as I rise to grab some tea, a melted cheddar sandwich or other fatty food that will grease my dry mouth.
So lackluster is my existence in such continuity, that I withdrew inwardly, believed that I was an introvert for sheerly my depression, and for no other reason. I learned to project that I was so introverted that I was solely strong, an island and not the man on it. And in the cases where I was the man, I found myself with sustenance alone, strong, an anamoly and with didactic strength, an exogenous, sole proprietorship by my mere existence. My days passed on chatrooms, conversation that was had to gloat, to create self thought, to pretend to be strong while I was denigrated on a continuous basis and largely bullied. Thus, in a manner, I was a matter by myself, an avoidance, a denigration, a complacency, a transference and more, a mixture of emotion. In fact, the psychosis was so strong, and it was to be pointless to deny that it was anything else, that is, that it came with fervourant and continuous emotion and crying, a loss of some female, a delusion of some perspective or another, for a reason, that I was exceptionally strong, for another, for myself to represent an unforeseen love, a possible endowment in my existence, to be there, was extremely 'thoughtful'.