The Office of One Callee McBorder
Thursday, January 10, 2008
9:14PM - Pondering...
I've had such mood swings lately, I don't even know what to make of each day, anymore. I can be the happiest dog in the morning, and go to bed depressed and sorry. I can wake up in fear of the night before, and end the day wishing I had more nights like the one I'd just had. And now it's at the point where I can't expect anything- my actions come at random, and once they're gone, I sit and hope for the best, and if I don't get such, then I hold on in the anticipation that one of those happier nights is on its way.
But that aside, here I sit, contemplating various things, and I suppose I'll write a few down just to get them out of my head... well, not really out, but at least down so that I can stare at them individually herein rather than have them build up and jumble together in my muddled mind. >_<
-Am I a fool for not doing as I please, or am I a fool for doing it?
-Are my fancies my downfall, or is my downfall my fancy?
-Do we love because we can, or because we must?
-Does holding happy memories make me stronger, or weaker?
And life goes on....
Saturday, June 2, 2007
10:39PM - Ah, and so I muse.
I'd considered sticking this in my other journal, but decided better of it, as it's a more thoughtful post than a personal one.
There is a forest enveloped in mist through which we all must trek. Not one of us may escape it. None. Some may look for shortcuts about the outside, while others carve their own paths through the trees. Of these paths, many are weaving and uncertain, while others still come to dead ends. And within this mist we seek the company of others to help us through, as though the combined ideals of the two shall overcome that which has destroyed so many others. However, we fail to see that in taking another with us, they may share in our own downfall, and us in theirs.
But this is not another aimless post on the idea of "love" or the possible negative traits thereof. Rather this is meant to make one muse over the general foggy forest itself. Why do we struggle through it, and for what purport? What lay beyond the next patch of trees? How are we to know that there may be a golden field ahead, or simply more trees? And how are we to know where we are in the collection itself as a whole? That is, without a sense of direction in the mist, we may find ourselves one of the many whose path trails aimlessly about, without knowing so.
And while most are willing to try and get away from this wooded prison of sorts, there are those that find they know not what to make of it. It is too hard; there is too much to take in, too little that can be understood; and after all, if we don't know what's coming next, what purpose have we to struggle onward to something possibly worse than what we have now? How easily we forget that so many others share these woods with us, and they, too, know not from whence they come or whence they go. And so we help one another bit by bit as we go along, in an overall attempt to free not only ourselves, but others in the process. But still there are those who seek only to try and save themselves, and will not allow others the liberty of suggestion. Yet it is they without the will to concede who are all too quick to bring complaint against their own stance in the end. You may get yourself to the next tree, but the next ten then become your concern.
There is a forest enveloped in mist through which we all must trek. Not one of us may escape it. None.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
For what purpose do we love? Is it that we need to feel, or feel to be needed? Do we so willingly give in to the temptations promised us through the observation of others that we find our very soul and being to be an expendable matter of which we can easily share and reuse if necessary? Do not we see the negative conclusions to such an entwinement all about us? Or do we rather prefer only to see the good, and simply ignore the bad in lieu of a heartfelt belief and hope that ours may not succumb to such a foul demise?
He who loves has but the simple road, for his is a relation of heart. But he who loves unconditionally must forevermore wallow in the knowledge that his love is far beyond what any could demand. That his very being is worth the eternal happiness of the centre of his affection is his own downfall as much as it is his uplifting force. His life is driven by a desire to please; but yet if he pleases not, is it the fault of he himself, or that of the rejecting subject matter? And if he should be so inclined as to become devoid of any other contact but that which he loves, even especially at the request or demand of the latter, is such truly a love at all? For they that require the sole attention of their significant other are surely nary secure enough within the justification of their bond to understand that outside relationships are no more a threat against them than a sparrow to a hawk.
But again the underlying ideal must come into question, especially with this stated individual- for what purpose do we love? If we are to be bound beyond the constraints of time, of space, of material and metaphorical wealth, then what is there that truly draws us still to hold fast to that which we hope never to lose above all else? All the greatest treasures of the world are worth sacrifice in the face of this emotion, but yet for some this very emotion requires such treasures for its foundation. Without an order as dictated by those involved, there can be no balance to the interpersonal ideals the coupled may feel are required. However, it is impossible to balance a scale when one individual calls themselves the matter as a whole, and the other does not deny it to them. A tree grows not without water, a child grows not without care, and a love thrives not without consent. Love is but a word; the emotion it represents is much more, but only if it is permitted to be such.
The purpose for which we love? That is nary anything to be explained nor understood. A muse for the ages is all it can be, and even as such there will never be an answer. A meaningful answer is just as elusive, as something so sinister yet so sought after may serve to have no purpose in the end but those that we give it ourselves. The heart that finds content in its own self-torture is still a heart contented, nonetheless. The heart that finds contempt in the words the mind generates for it is forever in doubt of the annals of our own individual fancies. It is without end, as love is without beginning. There can be no tracing when one begins to love, and equally there can be no idea of when one shall end. For is not the broken heart still simply the shards of a former whole made solely for such an emotion? No, better yet- does not the mended heart see fit to question why it loved any at all from the very start?
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Not to say that this entry will have anything in the least to do with Christmas or the like.
First off, I do apologize to the three of you who actually read this stuff (or at least have me listed as a "friend") for not updating more. There's quite a bit I'd like to include in here. I do believe it's at the point now where I'll have to make a note of it when I think of it, and post it in here when I have the time. Otherwise such ideals are lost to the ages, of course.
Regardless, I can at least leave you with this, which you are most free to respond to in whatever fashion you see fit. 'Tis always lovely to hear from the thinking lot of you:
To cast the first stone nary the aggressor makes, just as to cast the second nary a fool it takes.
Saturday, November 5, 2005
10:59PM - A bit about conversation
More-so online conversation, though I do suppose that the following question could apply to discussion between parties in any form or another, in the end.
Regardless, after having this happen to me a few times, I do wonder... if you accost someone, are you not then responsible, more-so than the other party, to make conversation? That is to say, you cannot IM someone, and then expect them to give you a few sentences of text while you respond with statements such as "yeah", "lol", or "omfg im bord".
Mind, it's nary as though I don't fancy making conversation, even with those who do happen to come to me first. But to put it in perspective, here's a transcript of someone I "talked" to earlier this evening, for reference:
Me: *Nods* 'Evenin'.
And that was the conversation. They said nothing else. *Muses* Do tell me if I'm wrong, but I nary found myself at fault for not continuing the discussion. *Shrugs*
Sunday, September 25, 2005
4:28PM - A chance for you to know.
I've decided to try something different for a while. I'll give different topics per week, and you can ask me anything you want relating to the matter at hand, and I'll do my best to answer you as I see fit.
This week's topic would be something basic- my writing. Any song, any poem, etc. that I've ever done, you can feel free to ask about. You can ask anything about the literature you wish, and ask any number of questions relating to any number of writings. In the end, so long as I wrote it, I'll answer it. This bit of questioning will end on Friday the 30th. To look through my poems, there's always this place, and a few other things spread about, including my miniscule webpage.
So feel free to ask away... I've got nothing else to do to waste your life away, regardless. ^^
Thursday, August 11, 2005
4:51PM - Threats... on yourself.
Normally, I would ask that you excuse me if this entry seemed a bit... painfully direct. But then I remembered- that's what this journal's for. Also not that I'm actually not angry while typing any of these entries (unless otherwise stated)... I just have to get these thoughts out, and if it sounds like anger, then it's of your own mind, considering the fact that all you can see here are technically just words.
Going through a website recently, I was reminded of something which can really put your mind int oa downward spiral. I've seen this happen in different forms at different places for the past few years, and finally I've decided to ask what the hell it's all about. Anyone who's ever done the following, or considered it, please feel free to enlighten me as to the overwhemlimg logic you used to decide upon such an "action".
What is it I'm talking about? I'm talking about those whiny-ass people out there who all-of-the-sudden decide that the whole world is against them, they've tried "everything", and in the end the only real option they have left is to kill themselves. Or, at least, to threaten to do so, anyways. Now mind, I'm not aiming this at the people who use their own death as an excuse to get someone to love them or some B.S. like that. We're talking people who just "give up" and decide it's just not worth it anymore to take one more breath because life is so unbearable. Here's my 10-4 on that:
First off, I'm gonna have to agree with 2 on this part- if you say you're going to do it, DO it. Don't sit on your whiny hopeless ass and talk about doing it for a week or two, then magically decide everything's better once you've milked the last drop of sorrow or pity from the herds of brown-nosing infedels wallowing at your feet. Too many times I've sat and listened to someone, either on a message board, IM, or even in person, ramble for days about how they have no meaning left, and how it's all over... "goodbye, farewell... I can't go on... boo-hoo." Screw that. Do it, or don't say it at all.
Secondly, while I'm nary apt to judge the lives of others, nor the level of comfort they may be experiencing as compared to myself at any given moment, I will say this much: there are people out there who have much worse problems than some of these people assume theirs to be. I find that the majority of the time it's someone complaining that their parents or boyfriend/girlfriend are evil, don't love them, etc, etc. I apologize for my blunt ideal, here, but if your life's entire balance depends on these one or two figures, then I think that you deserve the death you bring to yourself. If you're so unstable that by losing the love or trust of one or two people you feel your entire future is worth sacrifice, then my salutes to you, I'll see you in hell. I realize these people can mean a lot, but that train of thought makes about as much sense as saying you'll never be able to finish writing a book because you lost the first page. Life goes on, there can be substitutes. They may never be as good as the original, but I think anything is better than nothing, don't you?
Of small notation is another group of people, whom we all know a member of, where those included therein seem to think that life is always out to get them. They whine and moan that things never go right, nothing's looking up, everyone hates them... all that trash. Look here, son- if that were the case, and everything/everyone were out to destroy you, one would think they'd have succeeded by now. Apparently, if you're still alive and well, something's gone right. So long as you can breathe, see straight, and don't have to walk around with an IV in your arm 24/7 feeding you minerals to keep your sorry ass alive, then I think we've found that the problem is not life, but you.
There are people out there who struggle for life every day, sitting in a hospital somewhere, or those who have no money, no home, and no family, and somehow they go on. If you think that everything is against you, allow me to remind you that you share this earth with billions of other people. Toss aome Pink Floyd on the record player, pop some Prozac, and watch the butterflies, man.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
12:15AM - *Tips his hat*
Welcome, friends and foe alike. Anything you'd like to know about this journal, or its purpose, can be found on my user info page.
Aside from all that, it's rather late... or early, actually... so I shan't be doing too much else in here for now. I'll be working at getting some sort of user picture up and going, as well as topping off my colour scheme n' the like. Until then, make yourselves comfortable.