Chasing vultures and black crows...

Hey, miss sunshine, 

I took a tab and felt the sky.

It's a good life and then it's bad, 

but that's alright.

On the bright side, 

we all sit and sympathize.

So in the meantime, 

might as well enjoy the ride.

Don't ask for forgiveness...

I find me, leave me, go towards me, come from me, nothing ever but me, a particle of me, retrieved, lost, gone astray. I'm all these words, all these strangers, this dust of words, with no ground for their settling, no sky for their dispersing, coming together to say, fleeing one another to say, that I am they. All of them, those that merge, those that part, those that never meet, and nothing else. Yes, something else, that I'm something quite different, a quite different thing, a wordless thing in an empty place. A hard shut dry cold black place, where nothing stirs, nothing speaks, and that I listen. And that I seek, like a caged beast born of caged beasts born of caged beasts born of caged beasts.

Hear that sound ringing in my mind...

We have each other, at least. Even though in many other lifetimes we lived apart; we finally understand now what it means to be together. Our failure to touch, to belong to each other has cost us dearly in the past. Now it's all we know. But soon it won't matter anymore. Everyone is gone eventually, and we will be alone again. We are born apart, driftwood on the banks of an endless dark ocean. And we will be carried away by the swell soon enough. But in between, even if in a single day of living, dancing in a strip of sunlight, we can find what we've been missing. The love that makes us whole. The imminence. Not everyone finds their other. This pattern is ours. 

There's no telling what comes next...

They're here for his soul...

Just keep watching...

When I'm overwhelmed within,

from the weight of all my sin,

I need a friend to call my own,

I need a house to call my home.

When I'm broken down inside,

and there's nowhere else to hide,

I need a place where I feel known.

Can someone help me?

Then I hear your reply,

bringing teardrops to my eyes,

saying I'm not alone.

Worst case scenario...

If he truly had understood what that meant, that time runs out. he would have done it all so differently. Maybe you can't understand until you're the one standing on the brink. Maybe we're not meant to. Maybe it's some biological trick designed to keep us safe from the saber-toothed tiger, only now it keeps us building big homes and worrying about deadlines. Maybe we're not supposed to get that it will all be gone, we will all be gone - until it's too late to do anything about it. If life's a joke and death's the punch line, in any good setup, you never see it coming. Because if we did understand, we would spend it all in the sun with the grass between our toes. What else was the point? 

We're here, then we're not. And before that and after that, the mountains stay put and the waves keep crashing and the storms come and go and none of any of that is aware that for a brief, fleeting moment, we were here too. I was a part of it too. In some sort of way it's a relief to know that I don't matter. Understanding that brought me the first moment of peace I'd known since you had passed. Surely you must have seen that too? After all, you had walked ahead; I was the one just catching up. None of it, none of us, matter. And once you see it, once you get it, once you're free from the false belief that you think you have time, you can just enjoy it for what it is. And it is all so, so beautiful.

Forever be mine...

He will never accept life for what it is. He doesn't need an easy life. His road was meant to be hard because anything worth having in this world will take him to the very edge of himself. He will overcome everything he has ever gone through and will make his future the one the universe intended him to have. He will pick up the pieces of this pain and sculpt it into something beautiful. He will not settle for the ordinary and never will. He walks into his birthright as a king with his head held high. He was born to do this. He was born to ascend. 

Get up and do it all again...

I see the lights, and I slow down...

Nothing is wrong. Everything is right just the way it is. I mustn't try to understand this or figure it out. I have to leave it alone. It will happen by itself, by keeping myself quiet and still. Let it be calm. In all situations, I will be calm. Let it be still and quiet. The world doesn't need any help from me. The world came out of me, of my mind. The world that I am in, is a creation of my own mind. When the mind becomes still, the world begins to disappear. And I'm in divine harmony and joy. Happiness comes to me when I stop thinking, when I stop judging, when I stop being afraid. All the answers are within me. Everything I'm looking for is here, everything.

I've been gone for a little too long...

Because I'm back in the saddle, 

like some old cowboy,

who dug his way out of his grave,

pulled up his boots, 

put his pistol on his hip,

climbed up and took hold of the reins,

don't worry where I've been,

I'm back in the saddle again.

Whatever it is, you know I can take it...

That's my time...

You have bled. You have cried. You have had sand kicked in your eyes. On your dreams all before. There is no difference then. Now. Twenty-six. Twenty-two. Eighteen. Twelve. You did not cave. So why do you think you should now?

It's so hard for me to forget pain. I guess because it's so visceral, hard to ignore. But it's even harder to remember sweetness. I don't have any scars to show for happiness. I learn so little from peace. Peace feels like something I'm entitled to, and so I don't really pay attention to the quiet lessons it offers. Perhaps the reason I learn so little from peace is because it asks nothing of me. It doesn't force me to grow or change. Pain, however, demands transformation, leaving me no choice but to adapt. To do anything, to make it go away.

He's going to be golden...

Put these patterns in the past...

I see the beast so clearly now, hovering above me, tangible and in a recognizable form. It's wrapping its stickiness around my throat - and I was helping it. It's grabbing me tightly, making me believe it's my friend. But it isn't. It was a thing I created as a child to allow me to imagine a world where I wasn't in pain. But now it has morphed into a harbinger of the very thing it was supposed to shield me from. Conjuring up fantasies no longer shields me from the present, it prevents me from understanding it. It sets me into overdrive, imagining all the ways people can hurt me, not seeing how I am in fact, hurting myself. I am not my emotions. The beast is not my handler. I will break it, before it breaks me. 

My time, no fears, no lies...

I'm done hiding, 

now I'm shining,

like I'm born to be.

I'm dreaming hard, 

I came so far,

now I believe.

Can't find my own place...

The more things shatter, the more clear it becomes that the brittle and broken things will never again be made whole. The beauty of being shattered is how the shards become our character and our marks of distinction. This is how we are refined by our pain. When the storm rips you to pieces, you get to decide how to put yourself back together again. The storm gives us the gift of our defining choices. You will be a different person after the storm, because the storm will heal you from your perfection. People who stay perfect and unblemished never really get to live fully or deeply. You will not be the same after the storms of life; you will be stronger, wiser and more alive than ever before.

Just another day...

Like an attack this melancholy comes from time to time. I don't know at what intervals, but it slowly covers my sky with clouds. It begins with an unrest in the heart, with a premonition of anxiety, probably with my dreams at night. People, houses, colors, sounds that otherwise please me become dubious and seem false. Music gives me a headache. Talking with people is torture and immediately leads to me making a scene. Anger, suffering, and complaints are directed at everything, at people, at the universe. But they have no effect on things and are deflected from everything, back to myself.

The changes I make in my life often happen when I have a degree of certainty. However, the pain of my past failures often fuel my indecisiveness. This inability to predict the future is why I find myself stuck and unable to move forward. It's not like I want to feel the emotions of failure. I just prefer to talk myself into settling for an "okay" life, rather than the life I really want. However, as I found, failure is a matter of perspective. Is it not failure when I don't take a chance on the one thing I want most? Am I not a total disappointment to Her if I don't even try. 

It's a long way home...

Sorry, I'm here for myself...

Play a sad song on a tiny violin...

Wish someone told me,

living this life would be lonely,

trying to get away from the old me,

still stuck singing these blues,

all I really need is a little good news.

The universe holds me tight, then lets me go...

I think I have to make a clear cut. Or at least pretend I'm making one. Go off on a new journey. Force myself to see myself in a lighter way. Allow myself to say no. To be disliked. To walk away and not feel the need to explain or get an explanation. I am at the heart of what is supposedly my life, and I am squandering it away. Fuck my childhood traumas. I will grow past them and I will be at peace with my decisions. It has always been as simple as that, but making it hard was always my way of avoiding pain. If I want to change my trajectory, I have to change what I am doing and force myself to choose. So, life doesn't choose for me. Because somewhere in that crazy mind of mine, time stopped. I thought someone would rescue me, but they didn't. This is not a fire I can put out; I have to walk through it. Getting burned is half the fun of life, didn't you know?

Hold on, hold on...

What I want to say is, I think the main reason for my anxiety and unhappiness is my almost superhuman ability to think too much. To weave even the most minuscule of moments into an elaborate tale of my downfall. I know that I'll never be truly content, until I can calm the voices in my head. So why then can't I make them stop? Books, games, fantasies, other worlds, nothing can overcome the fear that races inside. Am I then doomed to never be happy again? To hell with patience if my insides are on fire. The overly developed faculty of thinking comes at a price. How do I make it go away? Can someone tell me please? How can I use my mind so I don't lose it? How can I stop using it, when it's not needed. And when using it won't serve any purpose.

Hear the clock ticking on the wall...

The abyss was awake, and its entire population was stirring, some to flee, some to investigate, but many, all too many, to feed. Fish with fangs came. Bulbous bloated creatures came. Shelled monsters with massive jaws came. Things that defied description came. Every form or shape that stalked the nightmares of a child lurked there in the deep, and they all descended on him, no eyes to see, but many mouths to taste. 

Deal with all this, and find ways to live with myself? I honestly don't know if I can do that. If I'm strong enough to deal with the pressures of going through life with integrity. I stand often enough at the abyss of my soul, asking that same question, looking down into the dark crevices where the black monsters dwell on the bottom. They gaze up at me, and I look them in the eyes and they taunt me, almost making me fall into the void. Sometimes I wish I would just let myself fall. But I don't. Not yet at least. I turn around and go do what needs to be done. What else is there?

Neverland is home to lost boys like me...

Not sure I can take it...

The summit is believed to be the object of the climb. But its true object - the joy of living - is not in the peak itself, but in the adversities encountered on the way up. There are valleys, cliffs, streams, precipices, and slides, and as he walks these steep paths, he may think he cannot go any farther, or even that dying would be better than going on. But then he resumes fighting the difficulties directly in front of him, and when he is finally able to turn and look back at what he has overcome, he finds he has truly experienced the joy of living while on life's very road.

And it's all I can take...

These symptoms of my sensitivity,

feels personal when no one's listening,

there's things that I can't change, 

lord knows I've tried,

we can leave it all behind.

Play another verse...

After the whirlwind of the past few months, one thing was certain: life was a maze. There was nothing straight forward about it. Everything that pretended to be straight somehow ended in unexpected twists and turns, only to leave me full of wonder at how I possibly made it through to the end. I couldn't just pack a pair of hedge trimmers to take a shortcut and hoodwink fate. No, I had to walk the path of life given to me with all its detours. The goal wasn't to avoid getting lost all together - in fact, that was most unlikely given that I was in a maze. I think the trick is to simply keep walking. To enjoy the process of getting lost and finding myself again, different and more grown-up than when I had left. One step after another, that was all that it took. One step after another, so simple and so utterly enough.

Headfirst into the abyss...

I don't know, either way...

I keep quiet and look out the window. The light is weak and watery-looking, like the sun has just spilled itself over the horizon and is too lazy to clean itself up. The shadows are as sharp and pointed as needles. I watch three black crows take off simultaneously from a telephone wire and wish I could take off too, move up, up, up, and watch the ground drop away from me the way it does when you're on an airplane, folding and compressing into itself like an origami figure, until everything is flat and brightly colored - until the world is like a drawing of itself.

He's been falling, tumbling through the air. But this time the darkness is alive around him, full of beating things, and he realizes that he's not surrounded by dark but has only had his eyes closed all this time. He opens them, feeling silly, and at the same time a hundred thousand butterflies take off around him, so many of them in so many brilliant colors they are like a solid rainbow, temporarily obscuring the sun. But as they wing higher and higher they reveal a landscape below him. All green and gold and sun-drenched fields and pink-tinged clouds drifting underneath him. And the air around him is clear and blue and sweet smelling, and he's laughing, laughing, laughing as he spins through the air because, of course, he hasn't been falling all the time. He's been flying.

What it sounds like...

Dig in some roots...

Maybe that plane wouldn't ever take off,

maybe that dust wouldn't fly off the drive,

maybe that tumbleweed and me,

wouldn't leave every other sunrise.

Maybe I wouldn't be already gone again,

if it weren't for the wind.

Something I won't talk about...

You are wrong. If there is anything I have learned in my travels across this absolutely absurd concept that is life, it is that many things may change the nature of a man. Whether regret, or love, or revenge or fear - whatever you believe can change the nature of a man, can. I've seen belief do mystical things, make my grandmother stave off death, and turn my jaded heart into something resembling life. This entire thing that is not a blog has been constructed from belief. Belief damned all those whose heart clung to the hope that another loved them when they did not. Once, it made a me seek immortality. And it has made a posturing spirit think it is something more than a part of me.

Weren't for the wind...

It's during these times when we are weakest, when our feet tremble and we are being pushed down to the ground by the sheer weight of existence. I have to remember that this is when the universe can show itself the most dramatically. And I'm not talking about just taking way my panic attacks, although if it wanted to do that, it certainly could. What I'm talking about is giving me the grace and freedom and courage to live out my life - stress, anxiety, and all - in front of others with a vulnerability that can only come from above. Are you there, universe? It's me, Karr.

It might not let me go...

Fix what you didn't break...

He exists in the tears that you shed when you stumble upon a song that brings all your memories and pours on you at once. He exists in every touch of you, that kills a rose for a second and then makes it immortal. He exists in that thunder that shakes the heart of your world and brings it down to its knees. He is everywhere inside you, where you know he would exist, but you would never search.

Sometimes it's okay to be surprised. It's going to sound stupid, and I wouldn't ever say this out loud, but the way I have stumbled through the last six months er was sort of like getting caught in a thunderstorm. Storms can suck when they're knocking out power and ripping apart houses, no doubt. But other times the thunder is a soundtrack to something unpredictable, something that gets our hearts racing and wakes us up. If someone had warned me about the weather, I might have freaked out and stayed inside. But I didn't.

Go forth and have no fear...

Watch the only way out disappear...

Fold down your hands,

give me a sign,

put down your lies,

lay down next to me.

Don't listen when I scream,

bury your doubts and fall asleep,

find out, I was just a bad dream.

It's breaking his heart...

His whole life, the gnaw of anxiety has made people opaque to him. No matter how well he knows someone, no matter how deeply he loves, no matter the logical patterns, no matter how many allowances he knows someone might make for him, that bone-deep fear of rejection has always made it impossible for him to see any of it. It frosts over the glass. He never had anyone to begin with, then he had someone and she died. And every since he let it be unsurprising that nobody would want to have him around or truly trust that anyone would stick with him even as he's yelling at them to go away. 

Don't loosen your grip, get a hold on me...

Dear solitude, how I missed you in the times I was so attached to the illusion of loneliness, how I secretly longed for you in times of distraction with music and addiction, how I desired to dive into the creativity of your silent whispers. Oh, solitude, I remember you there when I started writing, I recall your inspiring voice when pen hit paper. When I was no longer by your side, oh solitude, how you silently tried to draw me back, by showing me the continuous struggle to feel full among unfulfilling relationships or restless nights of loneliness.. Oh, solitude, if it weren't for you, where would I find all that you could provide, only you?

Storms are raging...

There is a mountain placed before me. It's wide, big; high above the clouds. With no way around it; no choice about it. Just to climb it, even through low sighs. Some mountains, I chose myself. Often those are quite easy to climb. They leave no bruise; I step on them like crumbs. No sweat, no fuss. But also no valuable lesson. Just an excuse after an excuse. There are harsh sessions on the high mountain. No breaks, no fountains. Just hardships and rough times. No awards, no rewards. Just emotional, mental tides and fines.

He has become a destiny with no back covers. With his back against the wall. His back totally exposed to all. But, step by step, day by day, with his veins, he climbs up but not in vain. Some days he wants to go back to his fortress. Some days he only sees black, no success. But, after a while, mounting in grime, he forgets about the pain. The hardships start to fade and he seeks to become one with isolation. In isolation, he starts to rely on himself more. He learns to love all his sores; to trust his own instincts. In the end, he reaches the top. Out of it all, he comes out unbreakable, alive. Tired but, surely, revived.

I'll hold on until now...

Head in the clouds, but no closer to the sun...

I'm starting to question 

if the universe is trying to teach me a lesson.

I'm starting to wonder 

if my true colors changed since I left.

I used to shine bright like gold, 

now I'm all indigo.

My colors are darker and cold, 

I think it's time that I went home.

If it weren't for the wind...

Sometime, somewhere, somehow...

Če je kje usoda,

naj udari, naj pokaže smer.

Time is the one thing I have been given, and in turn, I have been given to time. It truly gives me a whirl, as I keep waking from a dream I can't recall, looking around in surprise, and lapsing back, for years on end. It happened as I was awake, with my eyes closed, when I had a dream. It was a small dream about time. I was dead, I guess, in deep blank space high up above many white stars. My own consciousness had been disclosed to me, and I was happy. Then I saw far below me a long, curved band of color. As I came closer, I saw that it stretched endlessly in either direction, and I understood that I was seeing all the time in which I had lived. And then what previously felt endless, instantly felt so small and fragile. Like a blimp, and it's gone. 

With the hero in your dream...

Karr, you can't let things like guilt, fear, anger, and grief be the narrative of your life. You need to train your mind to latch on something less toxic. Something a bit more beautiful. Because the thing is, the world keeps spinning and you're going to be left behind in your own miserable sorrow. Loss is hard. It's difficult. We do not always win, but when we do, we cherish those wins. You cannot be afraid to live just because you're scared of losing. You only live once, Karr. Cherish its highs and its lows. Don't be scared to live it. Don't let fear take over you like it once did me.

No one could save me but you...

My love is so mythical, magical...

I don't always feel it,

but that's when I need it the most,

so I'll keep on singing,

until my soul catches up with my song.

There's times when my hands go up freely,

and times that it costs.

There's days when praise comes out easy,

and days when it takes all the strength I've got.

I don't mind if this takes a million days...

Like a tornado swirling around me, I am in the eye of the storm. I have a front row seat to the destruction of everything I've worked oh so hard to build. I try to tell myself that like all tornadoes, the rain will halt and the winds will calm. The pieces that remain from the cataclysmic destruction of my former self, will soon dissolve and I will find that the only thing that was destroyed was the illusion, the attachment. Allowing me to rebuild a new, a stronger, a more mature me, that I didn't even know existed. So I have faith, that this too shall pass.

What would he do without this world faceless incurious, where to be lasts but an instant. Where every instant spills in the void the ignorance of having been. Of becoming something from nothing and then nothing from something all in one breath. What would he do? What did he do yesterday and the day before? Peering out of his deadlight looking for another wandering like him. Hello? Is anyone there? Edging far from all the living in a convulsive space among the voiceless voices that throng his aloneness.  

Life can break my heart if it wants to...

Let the fires bathe us...

Mislim, da sem končal.

Zdaj pa res. 

It's hard to say what exactly is wrong with him. It's nothing, but it's also all-encompassing. He feels strangely empty, devoid of thought and energy. He is not sure where his days go, but they go. Every single thing he must do, any hint of a demand, grinds against him. He doesn't know what he'd do in that time should he ever achieve that perfect aloneness. He likes to think he would write more, but in truth he would probably sleep. His brain feels entirely separate from him. It is empty, but it also cannot take any more in. It seems that it's a useless organ, endlessly refusing to notice what he wants it to notice. It will not engage. It just glances off everything, a pale beam.

Talk enough sense and you'll lose your mind...

On the broken road...

Here's who I am; I am a lover of words and tragically beautiful things, poor timing and longing, and all things connected with my soul. Oftentimes I wonder if that means I am entirely broken, or if those are the things that have been keeping me whole. I have never seen battles quite as terrifyingly beautiful as the ones I fight when my mind splinters and races, to swallow me into my own madness, again. I will blaze through you like a gypsy wildfire. Igniting you soul and dancing in its flames. And when I am gone, the smell of the smoke will be the only thing left to soothe you. But above all I hope that someday when I am no where to be found, someone, somewhere, picks my soul up off of these pages and thinks, I would have loved him.

I’ve got voices in my head and I can’t lie...

Just like the air I'm breathing, 

these open wounds ain't healing.

I've been holding onto pieces,

swimming in the deep end,

trying to find a way back to you,

because I'm needing.

I need some relief...

Like the sun, I rise in all my glory and splendor. As the sun, I seek the shade of the clouds during stormy moments in my life. If the sun remained constant and bright, it would be missing a lot of beautiful changes that take shape during moments of retreat. Like the sun, I pull back as I set intentions anew to reawaken with the morning light. I will allow myself the same space as I allow the sun. I will master the setting and the rising, and all the transformations in between. 

Keep moving, Karr. No need to ever look back. If nothing else, at least walk. Feel the earth under your feet with the feelings that once felt like defeat, leaving meaning in the imprints of your soul. Walk, with the universe on your back. Walk, journey, trust and receive. All while walking into infinity with the realisation that there is nowhere else to be. You are here. Exactly where you are supposed to be. Feel the embrace of fate and feel the echoes of eternities grace. Walk with them for there is no place to be except here and now.

When my eyes are closed...

Tisto noč, ko sva šla,

dvignil si me z dna, do neba.

They had never promised each other every lifetime, every universe, every possible arrangement of atoms. Those are in infinite supply, and they are just two boys. But they are two boys whose blood runs with the heat of exploding stars, even as it drips down their knuckles. They are two boys whose souls reach for each other and ignore probability and infinity. They are two boys who crashed together and touched each other gently. They have each other’s names carved into their bones and each other’s fingerprints tattooed on their ligaments and they breathe in time with the other’s heartbeat. They would count the steps to hell and freeze it over to save one another and they would burn if there were no other choice. When the sun goes supernova and solar flares lick across the sky, they will see one another, even if only for an instant, and think, this is almost heaven.

That's what I want...

I have realised that patience is not the ability to wait. Patience is to be calm no matter what happens, and have faith to believe that it will all work out in the end while you are waiting. So I lay there with my mind running amuck, on the brink of madness. And somehow, gradually, when early morning came, I became calm. I was reciting the litany against fear, and I started to feel that I was being looked after, that everything was okay. It was strange: if there was ever a time in my life when I had the right to feel alone this was it. But I lost that sense of loneliness. I felt like there was a force in the room with me, not a person, but I had a sense that there was another world, another dimension, and it would be looking after me. I understood that this isn't the only world, this is just one aspect of the whole thing, this isn't all there is.