Tempests Dance Too Quickly

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Below is a sort of diary of my time in uncomfortable individuation, an entry that might, at some point include the method with which I escaped this prison of my own design. I understand that these issues are minor when compared with the travesties occurring in the world around us, and that humans, as a collective might be an insignificant wish-wash of protoplasm on a pale blue dot ,but I see people troubled by anxiety and self doubt all around me, brothers and sisters sharing this brief light between two voids, and some of you might dig these sober thoughts. If you think I haven’t wasted 5 minutes of your life with my 2 paragraphs, please let me know, It took a bit of guts to finally post this somewhere.

Submitted: May 31, 2016

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Submitted: May 31, 2016



I wasn’t looking for anything in that underground classroom where worn out yellow foam caked the soundproof walls and trite students huddled around a stammering blond who struggled with Bunuell’s Chien Andalou and Koyaanisqatsi.  I thought about scanning the room for interesting faces, a pointless task, for at the time, grass had so aggravated my self awareness that faced with the challenge of fresh encounters I’d either become stuck in tongue-tied silence or forced to squeak out awkward, half-baked sentences.  In short, I’d never actually talk to any of these people.  Fortunately, the lecture failed to keep grips on my attention so I decided to look around the room anyway… And I wasn’t surprised to see an abundance of blank features in unmemorable dispositions, all either glued to their phones or counting the seconds to the next vodka-redbull fuelled rave in a tacky strobe-lit frat house nightclub. 

Scanning the room, a sudden spike in intensity caught my attention, an impressive coalescence of stardust in space-time, overlooked by less sensitive machinery in the room.  Attire: androgynous, Infinity in the background.


Now, I was not in the habit of granting a person so much power over myself, but Frida’s influence on my self-discovery cannot be exaggerated.  Introspection is, I believe my decisive trait, it is also the champion of my undoing.  For there is no more sacred act than self-discovery, no act more dispiriting.

My first year at college was a tapestry of flat grey, fifty shades of loneliness and anxiety.  My days divided themselves between sculpting a physique that I later realized would yield minimal satisfaction, study, and further contraction into myself.  At some point, and with the aid of a THC habit, the pull of self awareness became so powerful that I believed collapse into singularity-the ego generated gravitational field- unavoidable.  I needed to escape, to expand, to lick my wounds in the shade of something larger than myself, and this is where piercing eyes glanced into piercing eyes…


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