Moving to WordPress.com

I'm moving future posts on The Voiceless over to WordPress.com. Same blog name, same URL, same everything.

http://ithevoiceless.wordpress.com/

:)

Day Made.

Here, fall in love.

Now fall even more...

(:

Feel.

Majesty. Do you feel it? Do you, really? You don't feel everything as much as you really ought to.

Embrace the majesty of it all: Feel.

Poem - Before.

Before your weary eyes,
Before your very eyes,
These words fails to connect;
All falls against His might.

Before your every breath,
Before your very death,
The Truth shall shine once more,
And you shall see His light.

Before you are ready to depart,
You watch as things fall apart,
You heed what old men said,
For once, all is right.

[Abruptly Improvised] Short Story - Fade Out.

It's nine o'clock in the morning, and you wish it were ten. You are sitting silently in a class full of talking people. Your mind is buzzing with crappy poetry, but you can't stop it. It goes:

"Happy people, sappy people,
Drinking their own pee;
Chasing dogs, eating frogs,
Hating to feel free."

The class ends. You pack your things, get up, and leave. You are still silent. You walk out of class, amidst the noises of many people greeting each other and laughing, having a merry time. You are neither smiling nor frowning, but expressionless. You walk, and everything seems to fade away behind you.

You reach your next class early, sit down in the front row, and wait. You are still alone, still silent. Whispers behind you on one side, loud conversations on the other. Class begins. Class ends. You walk out.

You sit down with people whom you supposedly know. Yet, you are still silent. You greet some, give them an absent-minded smile, and then sit in silence until you leave. You have absolutely nothing to talk about with these people, and so, when around them, you feel perfectly empty. No good, no evil, nothing.

Your day ends, and you leave. You return back home, only to repeat the same process once more the next day.

(Fade out again.)

Eternalism

Eternalism is, speaking broadly, a philosophy that argues that time is just another dimension, and so everything in time has happened - past, present, and future. However, since we are in just one point in time (which is our present), we can't see other points (past or future). You can read more about eternalism right here.

The following text, from the Wikipedia link above, made me think:

"Eternalism is a major theme in Kurt Vonnegut’s novel, Slaughterhouse-Five. The Tralfamadorians, an alien species in the novel, have a four-dimensional sight and can therefore see all points in time simultaneously. They explain that since all moments exist simultaneously, everyone is always alive. The hero, Billy Pilgrim, lives his life out of sequence, which, among other things, means that his point of death occurs at a random point in his life rather than at the end of it."
I'll leave you with eternalism to think about, and music: Eternal, by Above & Beyond. Although they mainly produce trance music, this final track from their 2011 album, Group Therapy, is beautiful. It reminds me of rising suns and resting souls.

P.S. Soon, I will be sharing my favorite album art with you.

"Wish away your nightmare..."

"It very much explores the ideas of transience. It starts in one place and ends somewhere completely different." ~ Thom Yorke (Radiohead's frontman) on their 2007 album, In Rainbows.

The following piece of writing is vaguely inspired by Radiohead's song, Jigsaw Falling Into Place, from their album, In Rainbows. The main inspiration comes from the following line: "Wish away your nightmare, wish away the nightmare..."

(I'm wishing away my nightmare.)

You write your hat down in the grass, as I draw mine in the mist of your existence. A cat smiles at us eerily. We get up, walk right up to the edge of the cliff; not to jump, but to look at the sea and the lands beyond. When do we depart? We forget the questions we never asked once more. I dance with the talking trees as the flowers sing us a song of bravery and composure. You sit down and look at the world anew once more. You never see it the same way twice because it never is. We smile in the mirror of our eternal silence once more as the clouds shy away from us; as Light consumes us.

It's been a year!

I just noticed that I've been blogging for over a year now! My first post was posted on 03/01/2012, and I was just reading. I guess I haven't really changed. (People who have met me in real life might tell you that I may not be a human. In my social circles, as far as I know, I am the only one who doesn't change. As Monk would say, "It's a gift, and a curse.")

I'll leave you with this photo:

(:

Poetry Inspired by Music

On a regular day, I can't really ask for more than great music. On awesome days, I get to experience great music differently.

I've always wished to live inside a music album, and so I have tried many ways to reach that goal. One of these ways is to have a paper and a pencil with me while listening, and I have to draw and/or write anything that crosses my mind. It doesn't have to look good, but it has to be honest, so to speak. When I'm done listening, what I have is, essentially, a self-portrait of myself inside that album.

I listened to album with a friend a couple of days ago, and we we wrote (a very short story) for four minutes together. Today, we listened to another album together, and each of us we decided to write poems inspired by our own reflection on the album, and not necessarily the album itself. Here is mine:

Eyes, running down, receding to clouds;
A mother's sun and her mountain drown.
Failing water never meant to lie underground,
Smoke inspires yours trees and sound;
Shining stars, ever so slightly gleaming,
Glow worms with such delicacy seeming.

Here is the poem written by my friend:
http://dreamnotionpaintdance.wordpress.com/2013/01/20/when-no-one-is-looking/

(:

Moonlight

If beautiful agony was ever a thing, then this must be what it sounds like.

Scattered thoughts, spattering and splattering all over.

- Lonely child, only child,
Singing poems to the night,
Come inside, forget the wild,
There's no reason for fright.

- Brittle golden leaves fallen on the hardened earth, beautifully failing at keeping up with the world. Miserable failure has never seemed more elegant. The wind blows softly, steadily... the leaves weaken over time, and then finally give way to the wind. They let the wind take control as they realize that they are insignificant leaves, and that they will all die alone, but the wind remains immortal.

- (Sing a hymn to the immortal wind.)

- The wind we are feeling today is the same wind that was here thousands of years ago... the same dirt, the same planet. We think we can still outlast this. In a hundred years, none of those who are alive now will still be around, and you'd think we'd start anew, but nobody ever does.

- Not all old men are bitter.
- Not all old men are old, but not all young men are young either.

- (Sing me a song of complete misery and terrible, beautiful agony. Sing me your swan song.)

- (Sing me a song of your beauty.)

- "Shhh... only dreams now, child... only dreams now."
"I love this dream..."

Embers, ashes, and beautiful crashes.

In all honesty, I'm finding it hard to exist. I simply am, be it willingly or not. I was created and then born, and I've been trapped here for a long time. Everyday I have to deal with all kinds of things that I do not like, and they're all stopping me from being. I am only existing. I have been burdened with my brain. It is not that I am intellectually superior to anyone, but that I think differently. It's a gift, and a curse. I see, I feel, I hear, I remember, I experience. I spend a good amount of time imagining myself in the heads of other people. It is not that I am trying to judge myself, but that I am experiencing myself in a different way. It strikes me as strange that while I am experiencing everything around me, even if I'm not consciously registering it, I am being experienced by other people who are thinking of me. I am an experience; an idea, in a way. I am flawed. I am not broken, but sometimes I am more of a machine than a human. Each side of me is fighting to take control, and I am standing there in between. Soon I will be crashing and burning, falling and failing, dying... can I be reborn out of my own ashes?

The Observer Effect

"Fundamental to contemporary Quantum Theory is the notion that there is no phenomenon until it is observed. This effect is known as the 'Observer Effect'.

The implications of the 'Observer Effect' are profound because, if true, it means that before anything can manifest in the physical universe it must first be observed. Presumably observation cannot occur without the pre-existence of some sort of consciousness to do the observing. The Observer Effect clearly implies that the physical Universe is the direct result of 'consciousness'.

This notion has a striking resemblance to perennial esoteric theory which asserts that all phenomena are the result of the consciousness of a single overlighting Creative Principle or the Mind of God.

There is a delicious irony in all this. Contemporary Western scientific theory postulates that human consciousness is solely a result of the workings of a physical brain, yet if the observer effect is correct, the physical matter comprising a brain cannot come into existence until it is the subject of observation by some pre-existing consciousness."

~ Alex Paterson

True Things..?

"Why does he still believe? And why is he different from the rest of us, even though we believe in the same things?"

"Oh, my dear boy," he breathes in slowly to prepare his reply, and he says, "those who believe in anything these days are few, and their days are numbered. Most of these few still believe in true things, even if they aren't there."

"Yes, I know that. But what makes him different?"

He lets out a breathy sigh, then replies, "He believes in true things specifically because they aren't there."

A short silence ensues.

"I'm sorry, I don't quite follow?"

He opens his mouth as to speak slowly, saying, "You see, he believes that true things exist, but they're simply not here because we are not ready to receive them. When we are, they will come."

(Do you believe in true things?)

Poem - So I Disappear.

I
never
wanted or
meant to be
somebody or anybody in particular,
and so I have neither failed nor succeeded.
Who I am is not
what I am.
I am
only
illusions.

Fading
images
of times
long forgotten, abandoned,
I have been marooned, bereft of all things
good in this unreal world.
I am words
left unspoken;
unheard,
unwritten.

Normal. Normal? Normal!

I am yet to understand people's fascination with being normal... why in the world would you want to be normal? Hint: fitting in is not a viable answer. I personally know I am different from other people. Why? Because I am lonely. Always, forever, lonely... even when I'm with people. I cannot relate to other people, and so I am always alone.

Normal people share common interests most of the time. These may include books, shows, films, music, activities and/or sports, political views, etc. When two normal people meet, they usually reach a common point between the two of them, and so, after exploring that point, they become friends. If there are more common interests, then the two normal people become friends. Everything is pretty normal.

My main problem with this friendship algorithm is very simple to pinpoint: I am not normal. You see, I am not interested in politics or sports or most television shows. I spend my time with much more abstract entities... ideas. As a child, I spent a lot of my time reading alone, and so I developed a passion for the sciences. Then, I took an endeavor into the social world during my adolescence and early teens, and it failed miserably because I realized I had absolutely no social skills. Now that I am eighteen years old, I can say I have developed some social skills, but I still lack the context in which I can apply them.

I don't watch sports as a general rule, and so the most basic connection that I can develop with any other male is already off the table. I ignore most mainstream pop music, and even though I listen to lots of music, I can rarely build a connection with anyone regarding that aspect. (So far, I have only met two people who are on par with me music-wise.) I do watch some TV shows that others watch, though. They usually revolve around a character with great intellectual prowess who lacks in social skills. While I may not possess the same intelligence as the aforementioned characters, I can still relate to them. However, in my experience, TV shows don't work as a basis for friendship. Books is actually one of the viable options, because you have worlds to discuss if you meet someone who likes the same books as you. The catch here is the 'if'. Sports and activities? I have sufficient personal skills for team sports, but I can never play with a team. The only sport I really enjoy is squash, mainly because I play against one person only (or sometimes alone), and it is all quiet. Since all of my other favorite activities include me sitting down alone in my room, there's not much for me to connect on. As for films, I haven't seen some of the most famous films that everyone my age has probably seen (e.g. Lion King and Titanic), but I've still seen my share of films. My taste is different from that of others in films too. As for political views, I have none. I do not follow the news or care about what political parties are doing. For all I care, they are not real.

So, given that information, it is not hard to see why I cannot and do not communicate with other people normally. In any normal conversation that other people have, I usually don't have anything to contribute with, and so I remain silent. All of my attempts at talking fail, and thus I become a ghost in real life. My absence is as good as my presence... both go unnoticed, unfelt. I drown in my own loneliness and misery, no matter how many people are around... but I've learned to enjoy them.

You may be thinking that I have no life right now. If by life you mean a normal life, then I agree with you. My life basically revolves around music, books, films and shows, thoughts, ideas, colors, and music. I enjoy all of these things alone, and I really dislike it when I have to abandon them in order to partake in some normal activity. I enjoy being alone as long as I am not forced to remember that other people aren't, by being with lonely with other people.

Ironically enough, I am only capable of connecting with people who cannot connect normally, like me. We all share the same loneliness, and so we connect. Maybe it's all about being different...

The Dying

Have you died as of late? You should. Experience it. The Dying. It'll make you fly...

(:

Skeletons

"The dreams of better places decimate my view.
The weight of your embraces remind the world of you.
Outside the world's opposing, attempting to decree.
With allies decomposing the future that could be.

I have let the dream escape,
A sunken mass of things erased,
A list of names to leave behind,
A wound to heal that I'll create.

The message failed to translate,
The answers failing to convey,
The fiery truth and reason why the world I live in ends this way."

~ Benn Jordan (a.k.a. The Flashbulb)

Great Pumpkin Waltz

(:

Short Story - King of the Hill

An attempt at writing a short story. I started writing it long ago, abandoned it, and then completed it recently.  I am not personally satisfied by it, but then again, I am never satisfied by anything I do. Please excuse the over-cheesiness of this story.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There once was a young woman who lived on top of a hill. She lived alone, with no one around for miles and miles, and she never made a sound. The hill was green with grass all over, and, on days when your sense of reality wasn’t particularly strong, you could see a castle over the hill, and a small cottage down below.  The legend said that one cannot see the castle or the house if the young woman was on the hill. The legend also said that she was always on the hill, and so nobody went there, because they thought it was haunted.

Yet he was able to see her.

He was a young man, still in his twenties. Upon looking at him, one wouldn’t notice anything special. He was a very normal-looking fellow, but minute traces of misery could always be observed on his face… as if he were punishing himself for a sin that he was yet to commit.

On quiet evenings, he’d go for a walk outside. And, since he lived alone, all of his evenings were quiet. He was eternally silent, forever contemplating. On a cool summer night, he decided to take a walk through the night, and then sit down to watch the sun rise at the end of his walk. As a child, he had always wanted to walk towards the sun, and, perhaps, maybe even reach it someday. And so, as soon as the night drew its blanket over the world, he set out on his journey, with only his silence and humbleness to protect him. Although he couldn’t see anything, he felt the presence of many a soul that night.

He marched through the darkness, with the occasional cool breeze flying through his hair every now and then, refreshing him. A few hours later, the silence was broken by the sound of birds chirping, right along with sunrise. The sun was just peeping shyly over the horizon; rising slowly, as if it were lifting itself up with such a great effort as there ever was. Its crisp, golden rays were gently caressing the Earth’s surface, spreading the warmth and hope simultaneously, and giving rise to life.

By that time, our friend had drifted away from his small town and off every road known to man, and he found himself treading along in a beautiful green meadow. On that day, he didn’t care about the sun rising nor the darkness disappearing. He had spotted, out of the corner of his eye, a hill at one of the farther ends of the meadow, breaking the infinite horizon. Slowly, he approached that hill, interested in seeing what he would find there. If only he had known…

He saw her. For an indefinite moment of indescribable depth, they stared into each other’s eyes; lost in each other’s wonder. For a moment, they imagined the infinite possibilities they could become together. He walked towards her and sat down next to her, and they lied on their backs, staring at the open sky. They smiled at each other as they painted the endless skies. They became moons and clouds and flying things. They floated with their imaginations into each other.

Together, they built their kingdom out of light and sound. She was a princess, he was a prince. They were not related by blood, but the bond between their selves was something never before known to man… unparalleled. They built their kingdom above the hill and all around – out of light and sound. Their kingdom existed, but it wasn’t real, and so nobody could ever discover it or ruin it. They spent their days lying on the side of the hill, looking at the meadow from which he had come. With their heads touching, they continued expanding their kingdom and isolating themselves from the world. They sat there in silence, imagining what could be. They gave each other thoughts and smiles.

Not a single word was uttered between them. The holy silence was never broken. It was beautiful.

Then, one day, on an early morning, they decided to walk down the other side of the hill, towards the rising sun. They departed, holding hands.