My Red Web

Preface: I just found this poem folded up on my book shelf. I read over it and I was impressed. I'm assuming I wrote it last school year as a sophomore sometime in December or January. Read it fast.

Another sheet of paper, but this one with red ink.
Time is not a factor, time is not a factor,
Hey murder! I'll waste my life away.
Surrender our thoughts for reassurance,
And make haste from the unkempt holes that we lived in, believed were safe.
Believe my name, I have good taste.
I've rolled and wrestled, made mistakes,
Taken blocks to recreate.
But don't criticize the cracks that break,
I've watched lines form, I think it's great.

It's not necessary to facilitate destruction.
It's not worthless to postpone creation.
What happened to wants and the self?
They fade in obsession or extended concern.
Take responsibility, I don't want it.
I won't be blamed, won't play games,
Won't be put in a position that causes change.
I'm not insane, I've got a brain and have been known to use it from time to time.
Time is there and bringing me down.
Since when have dimensions been so sound?
And nailed to the ground, strength we can't surmount.
Get off of me time, you're tearing me down.

I'm so nice though and yet the complaints,
Problems are magnified before utopias are made.
I'm trapped inside of a shrinking cage, an absurd stage,
And they won't break, they'll never change.
I've been told I'm wrong so much that I'm starting to believe it.
But surrender's a coward that takes more than it gives.
What do we get for saying "okay"?
A rain check for resolutions to be found another day.
In times of transition we swap our masks.
We're working for progress, we're not trying to act.
I can help but I really can't do it all,
And the same rule applies when you're in control.
How now, fair spirit, can your lips emit sound?
Can your thoughts fight the fear of being turned down?

What makes me so sick is I'm hiding away.
This wall of interrogation only seems to explain,
That underneath the mirage I'm hung on display,
And it's clear to see that you feel the same.
Affected and swayed still not lead astray.
Aware that a balance must be maintained.
I can't stop now and finish this way.
I may be resistant but I can still change.
I won't lay down and sleep through the storm,
Won't force an extraction, renounce being born.
I'm not alone, extended arms invite you in.
Together in a perfect place, I'm better than I've been.
You take from me a tension, allow me to unwind.
And shine light on a future, the détente of time.

Take Life

Taking is so vague. The connotation is aggressive, but implies an importance with the corresponding action. I could have titled this as seize life and its days but I want it to be misapplied. I love carpe diem. What a great dictum. I hate murder. What a terrible thing to force someone else into the unknown without you, yourself, going along. I don't know. .. Raskolnikov may have been able to justify to himself that he had the ability to transgress, but he couldn't escape the tormenting guilt of his actions. Ha ha, it still won't keep me from wearing my "Raskolnikov was Innocent" shirt, but that's only meant to be thought provoking. Like this.
I want to seize life and create meaning from it. I don't blame some suicidal men. I wouldn't take my own life over a loss of materials (though I may have someone kill me if I ever seem too materialistic) and I wouldn't kill myself over a loss of love. I know what that feels like. I loved. She loved. I still love. She doesn't love anymore. Is there pain? Yes, in tremendous amounts. Worth death? Please...
However, should I ever suffer from a loss of meaning, should I ever see no essence in my life and no way to gain it, I would end it. Prolonged suffering should include at the very least a destination. I blame not the deluded soul who suffers in poverty with dreams of golden streets and choirs of angels. They have essence.
I want the beauty of life to flow through me and flow back outwards at a higher intensity. Let me be an outlet and a power source, an extension of energy, a reflection of the magnificent. In that sense I will take life, and though I suffer now from the losses I possess (how ironic) and the obligations I have assumed, I still perceive with clarity the promise of my future, my time of redemption. In this sense I will take life, my own, and create something beautiful. For what more could I ask from my time here on Earth than simple meaning? If Sartre was right and existence does precede essence, then what should be my obvious choice of action? What comes next?

An Angsty and Overly-Philosophical Tangent on Track and Field

So lately I've been feeling pretty apathetic about my participation in track and field. It's almost like suddenly the entire prospect of racing seems absurd to me. I feel like my coaches and teammates are proponents to a system that seeks to create distinctions and superiority where it shouldn't exist. The false competition yielded reflects America's capitalist nature and also the nature of the humans therein to conform. Where is the meaning in any of this? The Olympic Games were first created by the ancient Greeks to keep people from killing each other in war. Okay, so preserving peace is an indisputable good, but is athletic competition as effective at squelching violent conflict anymore? No. There are far more effective means, like communication, for example, and international unions. I could see some usefulness in how it reveals the physical potential of the human body. But that's almost like saying that I could see some usefulness in the exploitation of Jews for medical and surgical advancements during the Holocaust. A little extreme, but I can't help but feeling like a test subject, when I'm not feeling like an addict to testosterone abuse. Now I'm all about staying healthy, but I just can't get excited when I'm asked to explore the limit of my physical potential. That's dangerous and calls out to injury. So if the competition is trivial, and the challenge self-defeating, where again is the essence? It's madness. Organized and glorified.

Lasting

Lasting

Taken from a distance
Glances past and floating by
Noises in the background
Forsaken spirit pines

A market of emotions
The mood is sell, sell, sell
Hope swims among the bedlam
Diluted wishing well

Tragic desperation
But on the surface, stoic
The center of the universe
And anything but heroic

Risks a gentle exposure
Benediction by the crowd
Compromise a prophecy
Self-fulfillment’s out of bounds

Claims to be abandoned
Though equally to blame
Suffers from delusions
Had lost a loser’s game

They’re lasting impressions
Though intangible
Marks made on the surface
Preservation: the miracle

Static and lingering
Refuses any kind of change
Scoffs at growth and development
It’s here, right here, remain

I’m chilled, I can’t remember
The last time it was just me
So far gone, I’ve been denying
This existence and what it is to be.

It’s not like I’m unconscious
Nor so blind as not to see
I’ll admit we’re all united
Yet separate entities

And what of my resistance to
Individuality?
I’ll take what I was given
Embrace this identity