Don't crack the monkey for he might awake.
With wide, crawling eyes he may see this game.
There are these oceans of holes in the sky,
it his doom, his dreaded, demonised demise.
There are the cracks on the walls of rocks,
who soldiered for eons upon as breaks for wolves.
Caricatured, captured and created crazy,
earnest in their undesired holy
the monkeys are in their own, messy, massacred arms tonight.
Don't whack the monkey for he might choke.
May give-in, to the thousand peels of strokes,
minute observations might surrender his heathing sighs.

He may never wake-up, from the glorious ecstasy he may find.
But the agony accompanies the golden moon
there over his dome, it rises like a bell
and within the turmoil in the distance,
as that vision of gore passes by his dear self
he encloses his mind, his arms
in the dear nectar of the ephemeral night
beneath the carpet of dreams perpetrated by sheer delight
and upon the bosom of a mother who is unholy tonight,
he shall rest for the end is nowhere near in sight.

And life... life would never be the same again.
It will never be the same again.
It will always be what it is.
And this viscousness will remain within.
No more tells and nothing more.
Mere words flying in the wind, beating down trees
And them rolling along the empty roads
leaving behind no marks, no names.
In all heavens glory,
the the empty visages of time,
there will remain just this very mine
Who am I to speak of again?
Where are these tears to roll off again?
Where can there be nothing more?
In all the absurdities drained tonight,
subsumed in some famous dream this night,
all we are, and all you are, my love
are the existential screams calling out
deep from within caves, and hidden cellars.
Do you feel this warmth?
Where the barrels are rolling
into some sort of ground
there are then just these moments
trickling down the sides of cheeks
burning their histories into your skin.
Amidst the fathoms of thorny sides,
thrickets and trumpets beat thy hearts,
very well into the solemn nights
cry out into howls of the wolves
that there is this flesh that abounds,
that is burning in some hot fireground
That it has within its confines some virtues
that it must feel as though it is engrande but now.

What is my state of affairs? I have never been in love. I might have come close to what others might define as love but I wouldn't define it in that way. Even at that degree I was at an extreme, an extreme that I could not allow myself to cross. I have contemplated the several what-ifs regarding that moment here and I've stated them as though they happened but my thoughts here betray me today. Not that I am in the mood of denying them or that I can deny them, my understanding of them has become deeper. What I have described in these pages is a deep, affectionate friendship - a friendship that I have never experienced and doubt if I will ever experience.
But as I try to remember the actual time, I can recall moments of significant uncertainty. Maybe because I didn't know what it was and I wasn't sure of what to expect and how or how much. Most probably that is the reason for all sorts of anxiety, uncertainty and insecurity associated with that situation. But after recognizing through several years of understanding what it was I can safely state that the relationship was nowhere close to be called love.
I am not a creature of love or for love. The word irritates me. I find it bogus. There is care and love is merely a synonym and nothing more. Others tend to add things to the word love but they could just as well add it to care. And care I choose because it comes forward without any illusions or mysterious connotations. It is bare and simple, a proper fact. A fact of life. Illusions belong to the mind. And so I do not try to re-define love, I maintain the worldly descriptions of it and I take it as that before I distill it to its essence - care.
Care for me is still different from love, as it is for the world but in terms of value I believe that care ought to be valued incredibly more than love for love thought meaningful in the world is entirely bogus in reality.
And what I experienced was a sense of care. Care isn't stronger than love, it doesn't even make a movement in the same direction as love for it is entirely distinct from it - in the same way that one might consider God the essence of Man but God and Man can't be said to be the same thing. In fact, God and Man are as distinct as two things can be. However, their intimate relationship is the basis for some people's world. Similarly, care is distinct from expression of love even though it remains the essence of love. Love is built upon care so much that love is fictionalized and detached from reality. Care remains, at all times, grounded.

There is a sense in which I do not deserve sleep. Memories trouble me. Embarrassment in front of invisible strangers is what upsets me the most. Why haven't I grown up? What is wrong with me?

There really is nothing too fascinating about marriage. In fact, the entire tradition appears to be out of its time. It denies the progress or rather the recent changes which have resulted in modern thought. Thorough individuation of the individual has rendered the concept of sharing one's decisions with others meaningless. Traditions such as marriage are carried out as if in the motion and not necessarily because one finds something substantial in them. Individuation presents a reality which brings focus on the internal thoughts and makes them substantially valid. These internal thoughts then dictate that as long as they are validated then all necessities stop right there. Any other action for the sake of demonstrating the thought is unnecessary. And that which is unnecessary is lacking in substance, which in turn is lacking in meaning and purpose. Marriage falls under that category since internal thoughts sufficiently establish the union of two individuals. Thoughts alone are enough to demonstrate that the individuals share some belief allowing them to think of each other as an "us" rather than two separate MEs. The tradition of marriage does nothing besides this. Since individuation doesn't recognize the necessity of sharing unnecessary things with others or doing things for others, marriage is entirely rendered meaningless.

...and what am I going to accomplish by getting married? Where will that lead me? As if the demand for responsibilities itself wasn't questioned. Once questioned how can I leave the inquiry without a satisfactory conclusion? There is no way to answer it respectfully by experiencing it, it has to be an entirely rational conclusion. And thus far what is revealed is that certain relationships are accepted while others are undeniable. Those undeniable cannot be accepted and those accepted cannot become undeniable. That which is undeniable is necessary in the strictest sense of the word - that it is a constituting requirement. What does it constitute? Undeniability of this relationship forms the being itself primarily and then it proceeds to draw a picture of the world around it. It does not, by any means, complete the picture of the world but it does draw the immediate world around the person with significant, undeniable clarity. The significance of the clarity is that it corelates the being to this world undeniably. What is drawn here, clearly, is understood to be related to the being undeniably. This reciprocity cannot be questioned on any other grounds except for the establishment of the being's individuality through abstraction.
Accepted are those relationships that can be denied through and through. Acceptability does not draw itself around the being. Rather, it is the being who draws a line between itself and the object of its relationship. The object of this relationship has to be something towards which a line can be drawn, intellectually. There is no possibility of exacting any change upon this object in reality. The line forms a mental connection and never a physical connection. How can it? The being will always be removed from the immediate, significant circle that probably surrounds the object just as one that surrounds it. The two surroundings are extremely unique and at the same un-ignorable. There really is no possibility of jumping over these walls, not even intellectually. Only through the process of abstraction can the being be isolated but abstraction is not a complete representation of the being. Besides, the being, by itself, can only form relationships with itself and therefore such an abstraction cannot yield the kind of relationship that could reach over the wall. The being, by itself, even when abstracted, is in an entirely undeniable relationship with itself. This is out of necessity. This necessity exhausts all possibility of choice and therefore disqualifies all possibilities of engaging in acceptable relationships.
Moreover, abstraction of being basically abstracts the being from its world. Removal of the world actually removes all possibilities of choice. It is when the being is present in accidental relationships that are undeniable but not in the strictest sense of the word, necessary, that the drawing around the being by undeniability begins to become porous (vague). However, accidentals largely maintain their undeniability but it becomes possible here to extract certain relationships out of the being's world and one could leave voids here at ease. It would not affect the constitutional basis of the being's world as long as the being has not fully exercised any real choice. Beyond the spatio-temporal defining characteristic, there really is no major defining characteristic to establish an accidental relationship.
So when choice finally enters, in friendship, one has already acknowledged that these relationships are the most vague. In fact, these relationships are not draw by undeniability at all for they are entirely deniable. These are draw, far away from itself, by the being itself. Perhaps as an effort to mimic the picture drawn by undeniability. Acceptable relationships are deniable and therefore unnecessary. They do not complete the being's picture. Even in love, the completion is never done. Love remains undeniable and yet the most acceptable relationship. So acceptable that it appears undeniable. Love opens the doorway between the marriage of the undeniable and acceptable. That marriage can only yield an undeniable. For every being has to be a being prior to choosing or being chosen. To be is to be undeniable by everything that precedes it. By being it is in an undeniable relationship with itself and the world around it, immediately. It can then begin to choose. If the being born from the marriage was acceptable then the being would never be born. To be acceptable is to be able to choose and be chosen. To choose is to utilize one's free will, freedom. Freedom is a concept that is constituted by the being's free will and the responsibilities that a will might bring forth. The primary mode of choosing is to choose that which brings about the least responsibilities. To choose anything would bring at least one more responsibility than choosing one's own self to not be. If by choosing to not be, one becomes a non-being then one would've exercised some version of freedom that is removed from all responsibilities. If ever then, were the marriage to yield an acceptable then it would immediately choose to not be thereby forfeiting victory to undeniablity. And undeniability would undoubtedly bring forth necessity with it.

People live this way, you see. These lives are lived and lost. If there is a truth to be had it is taken away with them and there is only the casual shift of time. There are no measurements and no markings - there is a passing and that is all.
Who am I and what is my specificity? I melt away as a drop into an ocean of existence and I am forgotten. Everything that makes me is forgotten and my uniqueness is unrecognisable. Without my boundaries that can define me I am the I alone of existence and not a being in myself. Those boundaries are there because of a solitary I and when that I loses its meanings, those boundaries have no ground upon which to make their mark. They are wiped out.
Standing in their place is the endless sand of existence. Is that the truth? Is that my revelation? Everything that is it encompasses, it takes in and makes it it. Then there is nothing. Without it, there is nothing. With it there is only it.
Then this life is only it. Then this suffering and these specific problems are it. And I am it. Consumed already, because I am.
Then far away in the realm of inconsequentiality is my name and my judgments of myself. Far away in the distance. Those animals of the deep sea, those whales and those seals, they are far away too. That air and my dreams are far away. The beginning of this universe is far away. So removed and untrue, so infinite and corrupt. Existence must be finite. But then my whims are far away.

Now I am a case. Some registered experiment but I am content for these strange eyes which observe me possess a much more acute sight than me. They will cure me and I will be in contemplative despair.
My connection with my existence I will never be able to severe and so I will never be able to be the exuberance I once was and towards which I often direct my attention.

From the ugly emerges a new rough with sunshine unmatched.

In whose life
in whose game
whose death
in whose name

edit: add

I can be quite sure that this year will see more entries. I have become quite vocal about my issues and relatively there is a sense of calm. Not so much in the sense that the problems have disappeared but it weren't the many problems that sent me to despair it was the fact that I am alone. Even though I am forever in the company of people my choices in life have led me be rather solitary.
Maybe when I set out to find a comfort zone within my own self I was inevitably moving towards this utter isolation. Slowly I am expanding my comfort zone because I have realized I do not possess the power to keep my ownself contained so tightly.
Towards when I was truly happy I contemplate, I find that I was always in need of others. In their presence, the full me was visible.
My silence then did me no good in the end. The core I looked for did nothing short of burying me. In the process I lost a host of friends, the meaning of friendship and a possible love for life. In all honesty that is all that has happened. I found myself but myself alone proved a burden too heavy.

To shake hands or to kill is interference and so the two are just the same. Issue then is merely of what kind of time-traveling is being done. If I could meet my grandfather I could meet myself and if I could shake my own hand then I could also kill my own self.
But if I can interact with my own self in the way I can interact with my grandfather then it is clear, two copies are made. How the two copies are made is assumed under the assumption of time-travel.
If two copies are made then my past would be different from the self I meet and so my grandfather would not be my grand father and my self would not be my self. Hence, my interactions with my grand father would not "dissolve" me into thin air because my past is distinct from the one to whom my grand father really relates to or would relate to.
To clarify, my past would include a break - a disjunction. My time line would not be one ray, rather my past would consist of a segment and a ray. The segment would represent my time prior to time-traveling and the ray would would represent my current past, since time-travel.
But if the copies are not made, then time-travel has to be assumed possible only if it leads to some different space. One person in two different spaces at the same time but not on the same time line.

In the sense that life must have a meaning, mine is being. Which isn't much of a meaning in the common sense but in the sense that what is foundational is the core then something more foundational than being is impossible. In my view being is the beginning of me but it isn't the beginning of all of me, there is a part of me that precedes being. Being is separate from nothing therefore its foundation is something substantial as well. Probably something minute or something enormously large but it cannot be its own giver - it must take from something (that is a proposition). Whatever it takes from must precede it and it must then succeed it as well, for in the nature of how things are created that which creates imparts a part of itself into that which it created. This part is not a fragment rather a snapshot of its entirety and as DNA finds the created a part of the creator within its core.
Confusion still reigns in thought. Mind has not settled down. There is discourse limited, there is this knowledge of hurt in the vicinity.