Anxious

Attention readers!

This morning I woke up feeling anxious. I woke up quite early. There was a erie feeling. Something is crushing my chest. I went to drink a glass of water, came back to bed and I was still feeling the same unrestfulness.

It is quite strange to feel so empty sometimes, specially after feeling so much joy during the past few days. I do not know what prompt this. Maybe I cannot shake the feeling of loneliness. 

I guess the anxiety comes from the unknown, from the inability to scrutinize what reality is offering us, but at the same time, the gifts given you cannot fully comprehend.

I'll try again to Slumber into deep sleep hoping to find a piece that is missing which hopefully will grant me some peace.

For now I would feel intolerably lonely if it was not for the care of the unique Iris.

Back in a few...

Requiem for two fantasies by an editor

Imagine, if you will, that you  have been granted the ability to dream, nay, to fantasise about two possible outcomes for your life.
One in a far away land filled with entanglements and journeys daring and heart warming to fill ten thousand life times. The other, close by, built by the specs of sand that cover any given beach. Sand that could be witness the birth of a shared look, gazing like a reflection yet unwilling, yet irresistible to condense in one second the same life times as before, but with the intensity that gods only knew when the light was born eons ago.

I tell you dear friends, this July has been a friend. Fantasies have been emerging from unsuspecting corners. But like " the baseless fabric of this vision" they leave me with the scarce memory of "what dreams may come".
For now, I sum the friendship beyond the oceans to rise my soul to heights of new comforts. I am pleased.
I do not count much more on these fantasies, but I am still thankful for the opportunity to dream. "To reach the skies" and believe that fantasies may fuel actions to shape realities. I am now content with the little visions this month unfolded.

The requiem for these fantasies is most certain, but the soothing memory will linger on, and most likely keep me going searching for welcoming strangers that appear by form or innuendo.

So as I am about to start a new week of image weaving I take the inspiration of these past days close to heart and hope that all that I do can fill others with the same contentment as "these spirits who apeared" confide in me (with words or with glances).

I am yet, a better person now. What more can I aspire to be...

Flight from the city

I flew.
I left a world of possibilities behind as the city on the edge of forever was moving further away. The delicate fantasy that once was... Was there no more. I cannot recall if I dove into it for a week, for a month, for an eternity. Something tells me that somewhere down the line I stayed there as a strayed cat that found a nest that would sooth the emptiness of  previous lonely paths.

The city showed so much promise, but like so many others, after over staying its welcoming allure, the city had no place for me. The air was too soft and the sun was too bright. The blindness was almost permanent if it was not for the heeded warnings of those who see far beyond the single nature of their own realm.

A missing link procures me. The feeling that I have been here before, down this road, but not exactly down this city. The familiar view of the clouds passing by my window remind me the unforgiving wheels of time invite me to become older, leaving new friends behind.
No fantasies are allowed in the unforgiven setting of reality. Platitudes are presumed to be the norm of the falling dreamer. Once wrapped about his thoughts of possible ways, the dreamer now awakes as a stowaway, somewhat delirious with the faint sounds of the unwilling siren.

What is it that the cities of the world seem to be populated with creatures that feed of emotion but can only dwell in logic, accept not the mere proposition that the propulsion of any dream  comes from the challenge of that the status quo and the willing to prove it wrong, hence replacing it for a review version, which allows dreams from any city to write the rule in any world.

Now, as I am about to collapse to oblivion, I am ready to surrender to the logical thought that emotional dream for the fantasy that was on this city, was sadly not to be.

And so, I carry on, yet alone, yet lonely.

But who remembers...

Seamless scream for relevance

Instagram has ranked worst for young people's mental health according to a study.
I have used rarely as a publisher and occasionally as a viewer. To this date, I think I have about 20 or so entries.
I know that I every time I go there I end up feeling bad about something and it is always related by some post or comment by someone dear  to me. The same thing happens to me with Facebook, which in turn leads me to shut down my social media accounts now and again. My friends then react demanding my return, which I guess is another way to call for attention. But I do feel that social media is somehow toxic to me and I am not sure if it is because the way I interact with it. Maybe it is normal for me to get these down moments as a member of a species that is growing more and more into vanity, and where I realize that I do not have anything to be vain about. Which poses the question are we vain out of our acceptance by others... doing whatever we can to call the attention of the beholder.
We love to be accepted, so we use these outlets as a way to carve a perspective we want others to have of us, albeit distorted as we want others to see us under a better light. And so, we go off into to our smartphones, tablets, computers and alike to push images of places visited, people interactions, foods not yet tasted, paintings barely seen, quotes overly stated, quirky and intellectual expressions of the ego, to later jerkoff on the reactions that we hope it  might produce.
Why do we do it though?
Are we really crying out for relevance?
Do we need to find the love in the empty expression of others, by means of emojis, likes, hearts, or short sentences of support?
Do we really feel more connected to each other, now that we are promptly ready to contact anyone that is available through the networks?
These are questions that surely sociologists, psychologists, and other logists out there, are dwelling, but it seems that the outcome will not matter, because we will be carrying on, just like smokers keep on appearing regardless of the warnings by the health community. We like to some extent toxic environments, but we like to desguise it with the bipolar plant to make us feel more intune with nature, but then we scream to the person that lets a dog run freely to its contentment in a park. But I diverge.

A friend said to me, that over of us lies an elite that laughs out of our childishlike behaviour as we are engaging on irrelevant questions that biased media outlets convince us of being relevant, while we are being prompt for life styles that we are lead to believe are right for us - music, film, tv, food, books, places to visit.
Really, people! There is so much noise out there and yet cannot help but contribute for the clogging of visual content over the digital airwaves.
We desire to be meaningful, to leave some footprint in the digital landscape, but our distorted sense of satisfaction comes from the recognition  out of what we leave behind. It is no wonder that all of the social media out there allows you to like or comment. We need this. "Tell me if you like this". But the more the merrier.
For the dystopian view of a senseless world where the networth of an individual is measured by likes I turn you to Black Mirror's "Nose dive".

(Blogger app just lost some of my text). I guess I should stop writting now.)