The Best People

The best group of people that I have ever met are musicians. They are by far the most caring, funny, entertaining, and understanding people that I have ever met. A musician will understand me like no one else will, they seem to get me, or at least a bit of me, by just exchanging a couple of sentences. I feel whole when I spend time with musicians, I laugh more than I would anytime else, I smile more than I would, I talk, and feel, and live much more in their company than with anyone else that I have come into contact with... Sadly this connection only occurs either when we are surrounded by a musical environment, or only musicians are in the conversation. At school and other events they blend in with the crowd and don other facets of their personality and life. They fraternize with people that I wouldn't ever fraternize or come into contact willingly and display their tastes that have absolutely nothing to do with music. Their taste for classical music is buried, and they don't let a tad of it come to the surface around other non-musicians, and when asked about the instrument they say that it's beautiful and really like it, omitting all else to the subject, since how can you explain such beauty to ignorant brutes? It would be like talking about colors when someone sees only in black and white. And so I am once again left alone for the most part, these incredible people hiding behind masks of their own and leaving only the memory of the times that we spent together. I cherish every fleeting moment that I have with musicians in their real form, and am sad to say, that they are quite rare and my thirst for their interest is never sated. If only I had not seen the colors I would have remained ignorant and been content observing the world in black and white.

Someone to listen

I have so much to say, so much to write, so much to sing, so much to cry. But when I turn around rejoicing in a new idea or opinion just formed in my mind, there is no one. The recurring fact in my life and the recurring fact with what I write is that there is no one there to listen or to read... Maybe that's why I started this blog, in the hopes of being heard, if only by a few. I have read and heard and felt that all want only for one to keep ones opinions to ones self... but how is that supposed to be? As social beings we humans have a natural instinct to group up and, in "later times" have decided to group up and discuss ideas and opinions. We cannot ignore this fact, and we are drawn to others with the sole intention of sharing, and that is what drives humans to all in life: to power and to love and to live. So I am left here alone yet again with no one to turn to rejoicingly and tell them all about what I am and feel. Admittedly, my environment is a very influencing factor, and being alone has only started to affect me recently at seeing what others have all around me, something immaterial that I cannot seem to acquire, probably also due to the fact that I do not feel as comfortable with the technology and ways of our era. I abhor texting and the telephone, and feel that Skype is to unreal and barely use these methods of communication unless absolutely necessary. I would much rather send an email or a letter (albeit my handwriting is horrendous and no one really likes it..., perhaps typing machine?) . The joy of writing phrases in prose with long, complicated, and beautiful words written correctly. Such methods are (sadly) a bit antiquated or too formal for ninety nine percent of the population. Perhaps that is why I have named myself M. Gustave, as I am most surely living in another time, long gone, where people talked to each other directly and wrote long, beautiful letters pouring their hearts out in long lines of prose. Perhaps I merely fantasize... everything a dream, unreal... Too far from reality... But I would very much like to sustain the illusion for as long as I can...

M. Gustave

The Future

The future is virtually unpredictable. You might think that something might happen, but in reality it might not. No matter the probability that it might happen, it might not. This phenomenon comes hand in hand with the fact that time passes to quickly for us humans. We see ourselves day by day feeling miserable at our jobs, at our schools, at home, and although it seems to only crawl by at the moment, a year will have passed in a blink of an eye. The feeling of uselessness and the need for more time is always there, either nagging at us from time to time, or overwhelming our every sense and clouding our minds to the point where we may no longer even think. This last year has passed both very quickly and extremely slow, for me at the very least. I am no longer the person that I was then, merely a shadow, a wraith draped in the skin of another. The entire world crowds around me, asphyxiating me and pulling me down further and further into the depths of sorrow, despair, and hopelessness. I feel the world around me wallow in despair while I writhe in pain at every instant, every waking moment. My vision darkens and the so called future is completely obscured from sight. I am left alone to die in the darkness of this cruel world. So I might as well kick back and enjoy every brief pause in life and the pain that it ensues. I enjoy the lines of poem that I scrawl lovingly all over my notebook; I enjoy the few pieces of music that are actually worth listening to; I enjoy the brief moments when I close my eyes, and blocking the world on the outside, delve into myself and fine peace if only for an instant; I enjoy the brief conversations that matter with the few people who seem to matter. And so it is that I write down these words. Of the things that I enjoy, I must admit that the least frequent one is finding people that see the world as I do with whom I can engage in meaningful conversations, not the enormous amount of crap that I must endure to speak every day because that's what society requires of me. In the end I would too end up saying those damn words:

I love Big Brother...

Reasoning loneliness

Have you ever looked back on your actions of the past and loathed yourself to see what you were and what you have become? Don't you find it hard to appreciate anybody who exhibits these aspects of your past which you loathe so much and can see reflected as though a mirror on those around you? The feeling of loneliness at shunning all out who reflect such things is unlike anything you might experience. Observing these people whom you cannot bear to even hold eye contact, these people whom you know would have been loved and appreciated by the person you were once, now long gone. My friends are few and sparse, for none of them reflects those aspects that I shun. Such a simple thing as fanatical Young Adult Book readers who actually believe that they are reading something of importance but in reality waste their lives on petty literature. And to believe that I was once one of them. I must have read the entire Twilight saga three times, along with such pitiful series as the Hunger Games, the Mortal Instruments, the Infernal Devices, the Caster Chronicles,  among others that I wish to erase from my mind for all of eternity. As I see these people who adore such books I cannot help but to look away so as to hide my face of distaste and scorn. The insecurity that led me to lie my way to a slightly higher popularity status in my younger years makes me want to wretch every time I see someone of the sort trying the same thing, trying to make seem that they are always of the same opinion as those who are with them at the time. I want to wretch not because I find a specific loathsomeness in the person, but because I pity this person just as much as I feel disgusted by them. For I know what it was like to be alone and to feel that the only way to get into someone's good graces is to lie to make them like you. But this is no excuse, for I am still alone, but now embrace my decisions and opinions, standing by them and fighting off scorn and dislike. The option is there, but people do not want it, since it requires them to leave their comfort zone and step into the light where they will be scrutinized by all those around them.
I do believe that I might require a higher level of tolerance, but at the same time can still not ignore the decisions that these people are making. To make this clear, I try not to offend anybody's personal opinion if I can help it, but I also do not have the hypocrisy enough to just let it be, and rarely find any sort of friendship down such a path...

Lonely Poem

Probably the first in a long series of poems about being lonely...

I'm absolutely terrified, mortified

for I am alone, alone

the world seeks to deny me, defy me

for I am alone, alone

Alone in the world I cry, I sigh

Alone in the world I seek, I seek

seek for love which I cannot find

seek for love that has not shined

for nothing shines, not even on the highest peak

crying out to be heard, it's absurd

no one hears me in the herd, not a bird

the darkness closes in, and I'm to thin

to thin for I may sin, that sin which we are born in

and so alone I will die as I so lie

lie to say that I try to tie this tie

tie this tie of life, on the edge of a knife

Doomed

Geez, I thought I wrote happier stuff. But no matter, I'll keep on with the depressive stuff which I enjoy writing so much. Here I have to monologues about doom. Enjoy

If the line between hate and love is a fine one, does that mean that we could actually make the world slightly better? Sadly, that is a naïve idea. We are a cursed species, doomed to worry and occupy ourselves with meaningless causes. Unless we find change soon we will be doomed, once and for all. Die! I say, die for we have lost ourselves on the way.

Doomed we are, doomed to fleeting passion that takes control over us and our world destroys. Just as this ink slowly turns black*, so does our passion and our nature slowly poison us. The once pure mind is left black to die. So it is that will we all die: dark,black thoughts filling and drowning us. Black thoughts that slowly kills us from the inside; black thoughts that poison us and leave only ghosts of what our real selves were or could be.

Longing for America

So I got slightly home sick once, and ended up with this poem of four stanzas, four lines each.

I feel it

feel it in my bones

my destiny awaits me

across the vast sea

I feel her calling me

Lady America

her sweet song of liberty 

floats across Neptune's domain

Lady America calls across the waters

the waters that divide us

I used to hear her shout and scream

an now I struggle to catch a murmur 

Take me to he cruel fate

I beg of you, leave me not here

for I feel her calling, can you not hear?

She calls for me, longs for me, and I do too for her