the rage of achilles

Pursuit of Permanence

Pursuit of permanence 

“It’s broken.”

“No. It’s just changing.” 

***

My feet dragged behind me along the long stretch of road, dirt and gravel and rocks. Cars passed by on either side pretty quick. No sidewalks. I chose to refrain from listening to music; I was content with the sound of my own two feet shuffling along the ground. I always enjoyed walks because they helped to put things into perspective. A little perspective was perhaps just what I needed. In fact, I wished they sold perspective as little energy shots at gas stations and convenience stores. 

Exhaustion had wore me out, and it wasn’t from walking. It had worn me out far before then, before I had arrived there twelve hours previous and had nothing to do with the fact that I hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours. This exhaustion was more associated with frustration, anger. The suppressed brand. The kind you don’t want to shake or else to have it blow up in your face. The kind that hurt. I’ve always been like that. 

Late for work. To top it off, no smokes. 

I hated smoking. Having vowed to quit so many times over, I never really did. Perhaps it was the mind set to quit that always prevented me from really doing so. What I did know was the reason why I smoked. It was because I always hated change. 

Permanence was something I always sought after. Assurance and certainty; I craved for a taste of such things, in all things. I wanted to know that I could wake up every morning and find things exactly as I remembered them to be when I left them. It never happened. 

Maybe it was because everything had always changed so fast and so suddenly that I could never once keep up. Maybe. I didn’t know. My kid self was strapped onto a roller coaster ride at the age of only six or seven and that’s how it had been ever since. 

“I can’t recall my childhood.” 

Growing up too fast had its consequences. Quite overly mature in some aspects and childish in others where I shouldn’t be. Turned myself out to be a clown, but I preferred magicians instead. Magicians had a sort of elegance to their appearance. Clowns just always seemed straight out miserable to me. It worked I guess, because I always pictured life as a circus. Everyone had a role to play, everyone was a character, an eccentric, a freak or a weirdo. The magician stuck out to me, but in imagining myself as a character I had become the magician in clown shoes. It made no sense, but things rarely do when you’re growing up. 

Things never really do, actually. We just assign universally accepted values to things that otherwise have none. The colour red could have been called purple and people would have associated its emotions and semblances as purple. “Red” in itself was man made and given a universal interpretation. 

I sometimes wondered the same way about god. 

In my quest for keeping things as much as I could, I seemed to have really lost myself. Smoking was perhaps an assurance that one thing would remain the same even though if all others changed. Perhaps like an anchor for my sanity. 

Though running out of breath along the gravel path proved to me that I needed to give that up too. For the sake of my health at least. To think I once used to be athletic. 

I missed running. 

“Everything with a beginning has an end.” I had always heard that and agreed with it but never really accepted it for myself. Instead I tried to fight the fact and search for something that wouldn’t end. But it was quite contradictory that a cigarette would always burn out. Though I could spark another, the previous one would never be. 

Perspective. 

I realized that I was changing. Everything around me was changing too, always in constant motion. But for the first time I started to accept that I was, in fact, changing with everything else, and willingly so. The mechanics of my life were taking new shapes and forms, directing me towards a new path, much like the gravel path I walked. A path of perspective. 

The realization occurred to me then that everything and everyone around me were a part of my safety net. A comfort zone that I created but needed to suddenly break free from. I had caged myself in and then grown too large to be contained much longer. Suffocation, if you may. 

I learned that permanence tasted stale after a while. Things change, people change. Everyone has problems. Everyone has demons. Perspective helped me understand that. Also, that my pursuit of permanence was a pseudo state of satisfaction that I had created and trapped myself in. I wasted too much time. 

Nothing is permanent. 

//navk. 

Portfolio Assignment: Paradoxical Encomium

Finally got it back, scored a decent mark on the overall portfolio, scored close to perfect on this encomium. I thought it was poorly written because of word count limitations, but whatever. T.A. said she wasn’t a smoker but was convinced well enough. 

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Encomium of Cigarettes

                As much as it is argued that cigarettes have detrimental effects to a person’s health and well-being, it is actually also a positive method of stress management. Smoking a cigarette can help an individual cope with particularly hard times or in times of stress, and in a manner that does not harm others. As many people can get aggressive and physical when stressed or upset, cigarettes offers a way to ventilate and release that tension. It has soothing effects and offers a sense of immediate satisfaction in a way nothing else can.

                What is more is that cigarettes are a sort of reward for the smoker, working as a reinforcement or motivation to get something accomplished. Everyone has the need and desire to be rewarded, and cigarettes happen to be a simple reward a person can give to him or herself after it is felt that something has been done to receive said reward. The warmth emitted from cigarettes harbor feelings of rest and relaxation which in turn induces the spirit of the holidays to any daily routine. For this reason, cigarettes are often enjoyed accompanied with or following a meal. Cigarettes can also serve as a marker for time and help keep a person stick to routine as well. That is, as smoking becomes a part of a daily habit, it can mark events and duties for certain times of the day, thus making it a way to keep to a daily schedule.

                In addition, cigarettes bring people together. Often strangers become at ease while smoking (because it is relaxing) and converse with and share stories with other smokers around them. The experience of sharing conversations while smoking are highly positive ones because immediately the participants have one thing in common, and are able to build a foundation upon that. Consequently, the fondest memories a person has may be attached to cigarettes, for the moments may have occurred while smoking, whether alone or with company. It can be nostalgic and cathartic, and hold many emotional values for any given individual. What is more is that cigarettes help rid of the feeling of loneliness, as cigarettes serve as a symbol of permanence. As time passes, as people, places, and events in life change, cigarettes always remain the same and offer a kind of solace that can only be found within a close and intimate friend or companion.

                Cigarettes are something that does not necessarily leave a person until the persons decides to leave it. It provides a sense of familiarity for the smoker, a secure feeling and a promise of permanence. That in, in itself, is empowering, and helps the human psyche keep a balance. Quite simply, cigarettes offer people sanity, and though smoking is said to kill, it in fact saves lives.  

The Kind of Woman

I need the kind of woman I can connect with, not just to have sex with. Someone who can finish my sentence. Not selfish; keep it fresh like breath mints. I’ll treat her like gold if she treats me like a prince. Watch her moan and flinch as I’m kissing her every inch. The kind of woman that gives me no reason to put her in the past tense. Sure shit happens, but she’s gotta want to make us last it. Not plastic, something more classic. No measures too drastic, so long as we can move past it. The kind of woman I can match my stride with, get lost up in her eyes with. A woman I can vibe with, learn to take my time with. Shine with; express my mind with, and if needed to help me find it. And a woman who knows how to supersize it (uhm, that one’s meant for private).

//navk.

Opacity

I used to love the feeling of everyone else around just fading away. It was like they weren’t even there, and not for the reason of being alone, but for the reason of being left alone. It was always like time standing still, and us just being two of the only people left in motion. What mattered was directly in front of us. Nothing else was important. It was empowering in so many ways; a sense of empowerment laced with the eminent danger of vulnerability. In that moment, we left our defences open, because only we existed in the world we created. A city built with care, diligence, and ambitions. Perhaps we were overly ambitious. In being the only people there we assumed we were safe, but we never accounted for how vulnerable we were to one another. Winter dawned upon the city one morning, and it never left.

//navk.

Matters of the Mind

They say it’s mind over matter, but I’ve got so many matters on my mind. Like, all the time. And I don’t mind if it matters not to your mind as it does to mine but the fact of the matter is that the matters in my mind are about to go off like a mine. And at this time in my mind, the matters that dwell are matters that are not related to mine. Or. Me, but rather her, and everything in between. Words, said and unheard. Or never said but imagined. And I imagined this to be so much more than it is. But I still can’t define it, let alone find it in the realm of my being to express how I feel. How I feel? I thought I forgot how to feel. I’m a virgin again, completely new to this. I ask her what’s on her mind only to receive the answer of nothing. But nothing is still something and some times it’s good enough to be the only thing. Good enough. But I’m not satisfied, so I dig deeper and ask again. She says:

Never mind, it doesn’t matter.

Oh, but it does.

They say it’s all mind over matter, but she’s been the only matter on my mind.

//navk.

Cold

Is it creepy that I’d rather hear you sleep on the phone than fall asleep alone? Then wake up and hear you still sleeping in the morn. I’m torn, a bit forlorn, look at all our baggage on the floor. I’m subject to the scorn of your eyes, bright as a sunrise. Keeping hope alive in mine and I hope it never dies. The line is blurry, but what’s the hurry? We’re expecting flurries but pray we don’t get buried. In six feet of snow, that would be cold, indeed surely. And as cold as I am you seem to still endure me. Let’s run away with the jury, take a dive like Arthur Curry. I only dream of success and I pray I never fail. If love is blind then I’ll write my notes to you in brail. And yet and still, you say I hold back like a cold cat. Nah, I only write cold rap. Not even cold deli meats, close my window to avoid the cold drafts. I’m so lax, so class, cut a deal with the devil once and now I’m trying to get my soul back. I had a heart, and then I broke that. I’d give it to you taped up, with all the pieces that I scraped up. But I doubt it’s enough with the few feelings that I’ve saved up. Be patient with me, I’ll come around soon. If this works I promise you we won’t need a round two.

//navk.

Blanc (revisit)

I’m not crazy, maybe. I know lately I’ve been acting kind of shady. But lady, you can’t blame me because it’s not like you’ve really asked how I’ve been. Lately I’ve been a fiend, only concerned with inbetweenities. I’ve fell victim to a world filled with obscenities. But I must admit, there’s beauty in the scenery. I mean, I’m talking about her body, not the greenery. Pardon me. Her gaze is locked up in mine, there’s no avoiding me. She’s staring at me, glaring at me. Her eyes screaming out that she’s unhappy. Telling me to choose her, to use her, take the pen and bruise her. Just so she could feel useful, write down something fruitful. She says she loves the feeling of my ink on her skin, soaking into her delicate pores. She knows she’s at my mercy, for if I don’t like what I write I’ll just crumple her up and ignore. //navk.

Would you still holler if I was down to my last dollar? Even bother to help me with my problems, regardless of the tag under my collar?