you run and you run to catch up with the sun,
but it's sinking

I've been listening to Deer Tick a lot lately. It's interesting how certain songs can connect with you. I sometimes I hear a song, and I wonder, where were you years ago when I needed you? But, I also wonder if I'd appreciate them as much then as I do now, being so far removed from my own past.

The funny thing about the past is that's never really that far behind you. It's strange that sometimes, the things you think should haunt you just don't anymore. But, the things that you didn't realize were so important back then are the things that do haunt you. I see her in my dreams a lot, but she's not the person you'd think it'd be. I often wonder why I seem to have dreams that are so much more vivid than what other people have. I can remember tastes and smells. I can remember minute details from my dreams. I can remember how happy I am just to be with certain people. I can remember how much I hatred I still have for people. But, they're just dreams. They're not this reality, but I like to think of them as alternate lives. I can remember so much of the history of who I am in my dreams. Sometimes, I'm not even "me" at all. I'm someone else entirely different. It makes me think of what souls. It makes me wonder what the thoughts I am thinking are made of (ending in prepositions pisses me off, but I'll do it anyway). Do thoughts have substance? I mean, I understand that they must be the electricity of neurons firing. The hormones and synapses. But, that doesn't seem like substance to me.

I guess, since it's the day after my birthday, I'm feeling sentimental. I've been told I can still go back. There is a chance. But, I'm not really interested. I'm restless. I want more than what was. I want what will be. I've learned the danger of building a future on insubstantial promises and dreams. But, I also became complacent then. I settled.

I'm not going to settle. I know this life is temporary, but I'm glad I have it now. And, I am doing exactly what I said I would be doing. For that, I am very happy. And, for the other things that I have come into contact/possession. Things are not ideal. But, everything will be alright in the end.

Is it getting better?
Is it getting worse?
Was it ever worth it?
Was it just a curse?
Is it getting better now?

Yes. No. No. Yes. Yes.

I arrived to pick up S. at her aunt's house. It was early in the morning, and as customary, S. wasn't quite ready to leave as she was frantically searching for... something. Her aunt showed me around the house a bit, while I waited, since I had never been there before. The house was situated in a typical suburban neighborhood. Trees lined the streets. You can easily imagine young kids learning to ride their bicycles in these kind of places. The kitchen was small, but instilled the sense of home. A plain floral cloth adorned the table and a few dishes remained in the sink. She asked if I would like some coffee, but I declined citing time restraints.

I went to find S. She was a flurry of commotion. Her curly hair whipped behind her as if it were an afterthought. I often wondered how one person can evenly disperse all necessary items equidistant from where you'd like them to be, but she found a way. Despite the frantic nature of the scene, it was a quality of hers that was completely endearing. Scattered, but collected. Conflicted within the allowable limits in which all women find themselves. She tossed everything into her bag, and looked at me as if this was the first time she had seen me.

The smile can't be hidden from my face. I love her. Though, not in the way lovers do, but rather in the way of allies or partners, with respect and grace. So, without complication, I had no problem telling her she looked beautiful as always, my sincerity masked by a feigned flippant demeanor. And, as customary, she thanks me while gently brushing aside the comment. The goal at hand is far more important to her. She asked me if I was ready to go, and as I didn't bother to bring more than could fit into my pockets, I indeed was. Goodbyes and good lucks were exchanged with her aunt at the doorway, and we burst into a typically warm spring morning that Saturday.

We were to catch a bus not too far up the block, and she rushed us down the sidewalk, uneven from the numerous tree roots pushing from underneath. Despite this rushing, we arrived at the stop in time to see the bright yellow of the bus as it drove down the street. S.' panic wasted no time in appearing. Even though she was prone to unnecessary amounts of worrying that she called planning, she succumbed to panic far too quickly. I was often accused of the opposite. I let S. panic for a few seconds. She was painfully cute when she was flustered. Finally, I suggested we just walk to the school, since the weather was nice, and we had plenty of time. I didn't mention that her pension for worrying is exactly why we had so much extra time. I'm sure she would realize that on her own.

And so, we walked, and we talked. She asked me if I thought we'd ever have to take another standardized test after this one. I replied that I hope not, but I'm sure by the time we graduate, they'll have thought up an infinite number of standardized tests for everyone. She gave me a polite laugh, which I appreciated. And, throughout the conversation, I realized just how much I appreciated the time we spent with each other, taking each step together. We had a habit of balancing out each other's personalities, when we were not driving each other crazy. It took no time, but we arrived at the school. I wished her good luck as she walked toward her test room. I didn't look back to see her walk through the door. I knew I'd see her again, when it was over.

I can't seem to find
Any trace of you
Through the books and pills
I've been searching through

You don't seem to exist
Anywhere but my memory
Unclear and damaged
Through this looking glass

You are a non-entity
Just a margin in the wind
No great show to call upon
Worthless from the end

I never would have thought
I always used to believe
There was something more to you
Than winter falling leaves

I can no longer count
Just how many times I've been wrong
Thought you were special
So many times I've been wrong

You are a non-entity
No great show to call upon
Worthless, can't even name
Not too much I can say

I've been damaged and bruised
My future undisclosed
Though, certainly one for ambiguity
At least my name is known

How do you sleep at night?
You should not sleep in fear
There is nothing left of you
It's as if you were never here

- Solus

Odysseus Complex

I have been reading a book called "The Lost Books of the Odyssey" by Zachary Mason. I've been enjoying it immensely, and taking my time going through it, so I can savor and relish each little tale as its own. I often times reflect on the tale of Odysseus, and what it meant to be him. Throughout the Odyssey, Odysseus is attempting to return home to his loving wife and sweet home of Ithaca. And yet, despite this overall goal, there seems to be very little immediacy in trying to get there. Instead, he pillages and plunders as many villages as he can. He fights monsters and enrages gods. And, he travels from island to island.

I almost wonder if Odysseus really wanted to return home, or rather to the home he had so many years ago. His sight is always on the future. His travel is constant. He leaves behind his crew, dead to some monster/goddess or Neptune. I understand why he is so often portrayed as a man who can never stop wandering. In Dante's Inferno, Odysseus is in hell for having attempted to travel to the ends of the earth. The Ulysses of Tennyson is very similar in this effect. But, it is throughout the Odyssey that his one goal is to return home (or that's what he'd have you believe). I guess the inherent problem in discerning Odysseus' goal is his great capacity for deception. Beyond all doubt, there is one thing Odysseus will do no matter what the price: survive. He has no real loyal friends throughout his wanderings. Any close friends he may have had all perished before the Priam's walls. His crew are simply the subjects he is lord over. While I don't doubt that Odysseus felt some affection for his comrades in arms, I don't think he would have necessarily called them a friend, and meant it. If anything, his closest "friend" throughout his life is a goddess, whose affection for him is great and unnatural. But, from the moment he leaves Troy's shores until the moment he arrives on Ithaca, Athena is unusually absent.

I describe the Odysseus Complex as the need to keep looking at the future, without keeping any real attachment to the past, as a survival mechanism. While he is stranded upon an island, he laments his wife and home, his future, as it seems there is no possible way of achieve it. In such a way, he is trapped in a present that quickly becomes his past. And, when he finally achieves his "future", most tradition holds that he once again leaves Ithaca in search of new adventure. I don't think Odysseus is looking for freedom. I think he is trying to reach the future before the present.

Is this a natural state of mind? Is it a healthy state of mind? I'm not certain. I can see many of these qualities in my own life. Having lost my future once, I seem steadfast to hold onto some ambiguous future. I have nearly completely forsaken my past. I have left behind the place of my former residence, and I foresee myself continuing to travel for some time onward. I have left behind many former friends, in what I'm sure appears to be a most callous manner. This is probably because I neither regret nor lament those decisions. Nor do I have any desire to repair those bridges burned. But, I do remember them, my comrades in arms. The ones who pulled me through a battlefield. The ones who helped me survive. I look at the good they have done me in the past, and I wonder if I am a terrible man for what I've done. The cause of their loss was not ship wreck or terrible monster, but rather lies and forgiveness denied. At the time, I did what I needed to survive, but now that I am past survival, and doing well, am I a terrible person for neither trying nor desiring to make amends? Should I not leave the past behind me? Should I not seek new experiences and allies? Should I not sail for new islands?

I wonder what thoughts filled the head of that man while he stared out across the wine-purple sea.

Survivor’s Guilt

Again and again, the cirlces expound
To start anew spiralling down
Up and over, and overcome
To begin again, once it’s done

Please don’t let me be the only one
Please don’t let me be the only one

The sparks ignite within cold ground
Now, bleeding out without sole sound
The watchtower chimes a bell of glass
The end begins, finally, at last

Please don’t let me be the only one
Please don’t let me be the only one

And I’d give everything not to be the last
For death to come before you become the past
I’d bleed a thousand souls for a hundred suns
For you to remain, once all is said and done

And, I’m not the only one

- Solus