Monday, June 08, 2009

Insanity's Cure: The Right Pills

He walked through the labyrinthine wooded pathways, following the soothing drips of a nearby stream. It was morning before the sun had risen and all was dark. He could feel the coldness of a world without light; he couldn't escape its frigid grasp. Some day he would walk this path with sun rays to guide him and a companion to accompany him, but today he would trudge through the forest in solitude - it was better for him that way, at least for now.
Rehabilitation


Everything was upside-down; everything was backwards. It all only made sense when reflected in a mirror. Too many times had he felt like he was to live backwards and offer no apologies to the universe he had condemned. Too many times had he left his mark on the world under false pretenses of truthfulness and revelation. Now is all he would ever know regardless of how often he pretended to understand the past and its impact on the future. He would make it up to the world somehow.
Blood rushing to the brain


She had driven him out of her life by simply being herself. When they first met, she was everything he wanted her to be and he was everything she wanted to be. As the curious romance progressed, the two found themselves engaged in verbal bouts about nothing of significance. They were so exciting apart and so very boring together. When she finally gathered the courage to actually be herself in front of him, without shame and without fear of being criticized, he lost interest. She wasn't anything he wanted her to be anymore.
The chameleon dances alone


It's the greatest game ever played, taking place on the grandest scale ever witnessed. The only people who get to play are the ones who don't know it's a game. All the others - they just sit back and regret the choices they've made. Either that, or they howl at the moon. This is the greatest game ever played, taking place on the grandest scale ever witnessed, and yet we're all so afraid to enjoy it.
Religion


Clumsy is the hand that forgets it is attached to a nervous system monitored by a brain. It shakes and shifts; it drops mugs of coffee on the floor; it sweats and has trouble shaking hands. If only it could be free of its master. If only it could fly away and never have to feel obligated to exhibit the normal traits of an average hand unaffected by nerves. Forgetful is the hand that is nervous enough to break free from its system.
Thoughtless grip

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