This is a foma that I sometimes tell myself.

Some are cursed with unhappiness because the universe knows we would be too powerful without it.

This is a foma that I sometimes tell myself.

Through many long hours of intoxication I have seen a balance in the universe. Or, if you would prefer, a pattern. I have long believed that the universe continues infinitely, fractally, in direction of scale. There is always something bigger, and there is always something smaller. But in each of these proportional slices, each exponentially smaller or larger than the last, you notice the same tendancy that I have. No matter how small or big you get, change is simply a matter of making contact. This universe is, in every sense, matter being flung around by many cosmic forces, most of which are far beyond my own conception. But sometimes, as if by chance, or by the least a moment  where the universe’s flow could not be found perfect, a tiny kink forms in the perfectly flat surface. And change occurs.

Take, for example, the social mechanic of romance. This something I would usually prefer to discuss over theoretical physics, though I am about as equally as unqualified in both. From what I observe, through my daily life, people move like particles. They stay close with the ones they have bonded with, and stay as far away from the others as the space allows. Sometimes two of these particles collide, sometimes do a little dance, and sometimes, they fuse. Or, at least, they remain together as long as the atoms in their bodies are mutually attracted.

In space, planets circle one another, attracted but seldom do they meet. Fortunate, for if they were to collide, they may both be destroyed. The best that two or more planets can hope for is a close orbit, like that if the earth and the moon. At the very least, an orbit within the farthest reach, like that of our sun and the theoretical “Planet 9”.

Beyond that, there are rogue stars, and rogue planets, too destructive or weak to keep anything near for long.

Maybe this is all coincidence. Maybe the many forces that govern reality are simply that: many. Too many to list and too many to comprehend. Maybe the smallest changes in the smallest units of our universe, infinitesimal beyond our measure, echo through space, making changes on a great scale. I guess we’ll never know. Maybe someone will though, someone far away in space and time. 

Screaming into a Void

I'm just so tired, you guys.

I got drunk this weekend. Way too drunk. Entire bottle of jager drunk. Blacked out, threw up in the bar (apparently) and woke up in my bed the next morning, tired, and praying for the sweet release of death.

I feel like a husk, like a ghost. I feel like people are looking right through me in a time when I just want to be seen, and more than that, to be touched. This is the least real I have felt in ages but I feel so far removed from even caring about it. I'm just tired of having to give myself strength from nothing at all. I am a closed system with no energy going in and far too much coming out. I've been like that for so long that now it feels like dry-heaving. There's nothing left, just fumes and dust.

I don't know if I'm even capable of feeling attraction anymore. Companionship has, for as long as I can remember, been my greatest desire, and having been refused its warmth for so long I no longer respond to its pull. I had a thought today about attraction. It requires hope and faith. One hopes that the object of their attraction will feel the same. One has faith that they are deserving of the affection of another. But there is almost nothing I can find in my life that would merit the hope and faith required to foster an attraction. My attractions have gone virtually all unrequited for so much of my memory that the idea of such a feeling being mutual is utterly absurd. My brain has built a road in itself that leads from interest straight to disappointment and despair. It's a road I now refuse to walk; I've come to its conclusion too many times to fathom any other outcome.

So I guess that's how my heart died. Now I don't really feel much of anything, except boredom, dissatisfaction, and ennui. I terribly crave the touch of another but am utterly powerless to accept it. The risk of failure and pain is too high. If I were to try and fail, it would simply be another in a long line of confirmations of a possible truth I'm genuinely not strong enough to accept: that I am simply not good enough.

I sometimes read my horoscope, and although I know that they are just a silly game, I can't help but get a bit excited when it tells me that romance is near. So far, these have always been false prophecies.

I just want something good to happen so fucking bad. I want to feel something good.

I just want proof that I'm even still fucking here. Proof that I deserve to be here. But I just can't fucking find any.