Day 6: Happy Halloweeeen

The only day where the dead walk the earth, I hope you've come and visited the ones that you miss. I know no one is thinking of you today, they're focused on all that is materialistic on a day of requiem. We give homage to you although it is through candy companies. Sleep well, until next year.

Day 5: 11:11 make a wish

It's 11:11 and my wish is you and me forever.

Day 4: HOMECOMING!

Have a good day!, I know I will :)

Knowledge is in the mind, held between continuously primed neurons. For my own consideration I'd like to say that perhaps that is what I am so concerned of. Often I have fears of my body failing me.

Moving on, Moving forward, Moving up.

The battles of direction. Consistently torn from one guaranteed axis, Pulled towards growing up. We move from conception, birth, infant, toddler, child, adolescent, young adult... anything after that I'm somewhat confused. How do so many people know where to go...

Day 3: Flaws

Day 2: An Introduction to the Preservation of Self

Day 1: A One Year Commitment to Myself

Standing up.

Standing out.

Welcome to the reasons you live your way the way you do. Today is the day of realization. Why are you in school, why are you working there? Today is the day you marvel in personal satisfaction, in the "Paradox of Choice". Funny thing? We are sifted into the reality we face, however many holes contribute to your location in the grand scheme and is relative to the amount of the world you've seen. Our choices and decisions are limited by our acknowledgment of other paths, if we deviate from a path that society believes is destined for a person of our competence, bet you will be persuaded back onto the lineate model. Perhaps 'God' can foresee all, perhaps he can see your destiny through tangles of probability. Perhaps he is a mathematician so simply building formulas, of chemistry, physics and simple population statistics. The acuity of the formulas seem so precise and enveloped by surety. The path I choose to take may not be separate from god's plan, for I can not foresee my destination, for all I can see is happiness. I will not bend and break to societies confines in order to seem worthy of praise and enviable luminescence. Education and intelligence in the way societies perceives it is overrated, my rites of passage are different than yours. I may not have control of my future, I may not have control of my designation, but I am sure that I am Me.

Don't do what you feel confined to, open your eyes greater than one degree of foveated vision; saccade, saccade.

Because Society Told Me So

I go to school. I get decent grades. I smile at other people. I choose my own fate. I will get married. I will graduate. I will have kids. I will be happy. I will become old. I will become wise.

But only because...

Catharsis; Parapraxis.

I often wonder whether these words are meant to be seen. Whether these feelings are insightful, dull, mundane, unique. I wonder if exhausting my knowledge of symbols will ever truly be purged and placed on paper. I often wonder if these words are so vague and flowery that I may not be able to reinvoke the powers I held within them. The moment these words are lost. The moment they will be lost may hold Catharsis or Parapraxis.

I cannot abandon these negativities when I think of you.

These words were meant for me.

God is a weapon.

These words won't matter until I'm dead.

The Beauty in Paranoia

A multi-conceptual thought, by Cecilia Lumley

Perhaps there is Beauty in Paranoia. One is always worried, shaken, to open the window in order to avoid the neighbour. To be constantly awakened to your senses. Your body floods with hopes of endorphins, when push comes to shove pick life, pick life. We find trivia in life's questions. Where is the hope of being anti-anthropocentric. In remaining spiritual, I hardly ever write pen on paper anymore, where I found the beauty of acute linguistics. To feel the remedies of surety and constancy. Speaking in motivational speeches is not always honest. There is something to the nature of paranoia. The sacading of the eyes that comes with paranoia allows more to be perceived and acknowledged; to witness many more visual stimuli. I'm sure I see more of this world than you do. Twitching and Fiddling, I'm sure I have more fine motor skills than you. I've been depressed and I've learned to fight it, I'm sure I'm stronger than you.

Be strong with me. Because there may be beauty in paranoia.

---But I doubt it.

I will write tonight.

The clouded mirror and the illusion of unmarked paths. The vague undertakings and shadowed ambition. Perhaps these pseudonyms take part in the one named I. Perhaps I am eager to speak your language, inflection and introspection . These mirages of my future inclinations are all encompassing and are eager to stear me in the wrong mortality. My soul seems to spread through these codes, these morse code actions upon my keys. Often I wish to have grown when you did, to write in the isolation of my room rather than the isolation of my mind. Without context the obsolete may remain at that, the biographers and stenographers over shadowed by the actors that were once cast in my lifes dialogue.

What is my purpose?