𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙱𝚕𝚞𝚎

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʟғᴡᴀʏ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ғᴏʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ

[john-blue]

In a constant crescendo of thoughts you are my denouement.

You’ve become the berries sprouting from the compost of my muddy mind.

In the same way most people long to record their subconscious projections during sleep, I often wonder what the melodies of my waking mind might sound like.

In my imagination, it would be centrally percussive. Similar to the cadence of a skateboard rolling over the cracks in a sidewalk or the rough jagged surface of old asphalt. A constant grinding interrupted by large thumps of “I should_____”!

“But you don’t, but you won’t, cause you aren’t, and you can’t “

THUMP “I should____”!

My thoughts probably resemble a German death metal band most of the time. However, when I imagine the light brown of her normally sad eyes, shifting into a smiling bright hazel…

Silence.

When I allow the most recent memory of her presence to replace endless shrieks of self loathing, the jazzy trumpets leak through the static.

Like radio fuzz blaring through speakers as you sift through stations in search for the perfect song, my thoughts land at a destination. Her serenity speaks, and it sounds like music.

[john-blue]

Listen chat,

I’m new to this 3rd decade of earth tenancy, but LEMME TELL YA, the first 2 were child’s play.

[john-blue]

It started when passion no longer seemed overbearingly controlling. It felt like being abandoned by all sense of spontaneity, but in reality, it was maturing (in its most basic forms). I was feeling the natural consequence of making lots and lots of mistakes. All those mistakes pile up, and you find yourself too mentally exhausted to recover from those same bad choices. It’s funny to look back on certain eras of life with a sense of dissociation, like, who was that guy? Why did he associate with these traits that no longer serve me?

Idk

Maybe I’m just getting used to this cacoon, when all my life I’ve been a caterpillar. My chrysalis for the metamorphically handicapped.

There’s no reward in the goals I’ve had, but there aren’t any other prospects in place. Possibly, “Purgatory” is the proper parable to my predicament. I force myself to sleep most nights. In the mornings, when I wake up I have no memory of any dreams.

We’re all here and gone, in a flash. The more time you’ve had, the less you have. It makes sense when you think about it.

[john-blue]

Listen chat,

I’m new to this 3rd decade of earth tenancy, but LEMME TELL YA, the first 2 were child’s play.

[john-blue]

I blame Disney,

In 2001, I’d curl up cross legged on the carpet, with a notebook in hand, a half-broken mechanical pencil/chewed up pen in the other, and a vhs of Aladdin straight out of the old plastic book-shaped box. Then I would glance over both shoulders to ensure none of my older brothers were within earshot to verbally harass me, pop the movie into the Toshiba TV/VHS combo unit, press my nose to CRT waves, and dream.

As soon as someone began singing, I’d grab my writing utensil and notebook to jot down the first line from the song. After, I’d hurry to pause the movie, rewind if it went to far, and resume from the next line of the song. This proceeded until I had all the lyrics of every song from Aladdin, so I could sing along. It’s funny, looking back I got most of the lyrics wrong, and the wrong version is still how I remember the songs today.

I think at this period of time my family had “Dial-up” internet, so one could only access the internet through the phones landlines. Which would render the phone line busy, so us kids needed explicit permission to use it. I’d get around 1 hour each week to print out as many lyrics as I could find, but in those days, not every song ever created had its lyrical contents online, the internet was still fertile grounds. So most of the songs I wanted to sing, I’d have to use my own methods of acquiring lyrics.

We were also stuck in the era, where children’s entertainment only consisted of heterosexual romance. It was inescapable. As far as I could remember, all I wanted was to find “someone” who would show me a whole new world. Nowadays I feel blessed to watch Moana with my boys, or frozen, and show them the importance of relationships starts with friends and family. Only then can it be expanded upon, to share your adult life with another.

I tell this story because I think I’m romantically troubled. I compulsively obsess over this idea of being in love. I obsess over falling for someone when I meet them, I obsess over being with them when I’m with them, and I obsess over losing them when it’s gone. I don’t ever leave one of these phases until the next one presents itself. I’m in a constant loop of self avoidance by seeking external validation. If a balloon broke tether, I’d find myself unable to look away, untill I was certain that balloon had floated out of sight. Even then, I’d have trouble convincing myself it was out of sight and not infinitely getting smaller, but still barely visible. The balloon obviously representing the fleeting feeling of infatuation. My nose, pressed to the CRT waves of “Love”

It’s also the IDEA of love being misrepresented that causes the crippling, trickling, effect of long lasting damage through acting on these fantasies. My life is a picturesque case of what could happen when in pursuit of connection for connections sake. Love is a foundational root of existence in which we need to survive. It’s the heart of humanity, and our morality. It’s something we can barely describe with words or pictures, though we’ll be damned if the endless trails to recreate it isn’t absolute beauty. Love is the most powerful force and like any form of power, it can be used to inflict lots of damage.

Now I find myself reluctant to cling to my obsessive phases. Flickering, their lights will never be snuffed. This hopeless longing-saves me from solitude, in a way It’s comforting. The notion that there is someone out there just for me. Love that you don’t have to ask for. I want so badly to cast away all hope, for what hurts more than hope? But without it, I mean, without hope, life wouldn’t be able to exist in its own imbalance of eternal decay. I wouldn’t be able to exist in my own imbalance. So I love. I fall in love, I love, and I let love pass, knowing one day it will stay, and last. I place that love into my boys and myself. This little fragment of a family became the sun that my world orbits. I want them to know that love is not what you see in Aladdin, it’s what you see every morning when you wake up, and every night before you sleep. Love is in the prayers we raise, and the promises we keep. Love led me to my children, and my children led me to love. But still. . .

I fend off the obsession, compulsively

[john-blue]

I figured it out

“I’m mourning what never existed”

-John Blue

[john-blue]

Delusionally hopeful

I recently stumbled upon the concept of pain/suffering and communication, and the closeness of their relationship. In my head, the theory that we created Language to communicate pain to each other almost seems naturally plausible. Our tendencies as animals are primal. Im remembering what Iliet Faber said in a poem,

“[pain is] a primordial language that is the condition for the possibility of both experience and language”

As if we aren’t really processing an experience until we have some form of pain to attatch it to. The way traumatic experiences are always dwelled in negatively, even though the reason we remember is because of how foundational the lesson was. Now trauma can be locked away cognitively, but the nature of what your body has learned or inherited - the physical trauma, remains. Because again, we’re primal beings, all of our sciences and sociological progressions are only a fraction more advanced than our planet cohabitants. We can only see and think through our meat-lenses.

Imagine you’re in need of help, without anyway to communicate what is wrong. If you have a broken arm for instance, the physical damage is obvious. But when pain becomes less visually perceptive, how can you communicate the danger you’re in to your surrounding environment? Youd need to come up with a pretty complex language system.

Now there’s all sorts of reasons for communication but the need to obsolve pain - survival - seems like a pretty fundamental necessity for advanced linguistics.

All these paragraphs of thoughts occur to me in a split second. Then I’m left with hours of

“So why can’t I communicate how I’m feeling?”

I’m asked almost 100 times a day (in the service industry) “how are you?” And it’s always the same answer. But it’s never the truth. Truth is I have no idea how to convey the current state of my being in reference to the reality I exist in. Maybe I’m happy. Maybe I’m heartbroken. Maybe contentment is all around me, never out of reach. Maybe a cigarette is closer. Maybe I’m aware of my current experience, able to relate to my previous ones. Maybe I’m floating towards a backwards mirror.

I do know I’m delusional.

There’s no proof of any of my beliefs and it can be frightening. Ive been taunting existence instead of befriending it. Trying to understand it instead of accepting it. Like any relationship, I could be more tender with path that’s in front of me, the footsteps I’ve left, and the choice I have to make now.

“How are you?”

I’m delusionally hopeful, I guess

-John Blue

[freshmoviequotes]

Freud's Last Session (2023)

[john-blue]

SEHNSUCHT

Sort of calls me to notice the elusiveness of meaning. Unattainable purpose.

If there is one soulmate for every person, and you meet 10,000 people in life, you’ve had a 0.000125% chance of meeting your soulmate. 100,000 random encounters later and your odds increase to 0.00125%. Given there are about 8 billion people on the planet. Poetic love is an ostentatious miracle. We get it.

Ok so, given those odds how do I know I’ve found my purpose? The meaning of my life? I’ve lived where I am now, for longer than the house I grew up in, and I could possibly spend more of my life in some other place, so where is my home? How could I be homesick for a place ive never been?

It’s hard to explain this feeling.

In English

Language is so beautiful because it gives me a lense in which to understand myself.

We should be creating new words for existing emotions every year. I wonder what kind of effect it would have on human communication. I don’t even think we’ve grazed the surface of all the feelings that exist from ever moment and experience that has existed.

[john-blue]

Today,

Thoughts echoed a little longer

Feelings didn’t fleet.

The room rotated around me with the earth.

Paralyzed in yearning

[john-blue]

“I dance to the frequency of her name spoken aloud”

-John Blue

[thoughtkick]

“Nothing changes until something moves.”

— Albert Einstein

[john-blue]

I can overcome traumatic experiences and relationships with relentless efficiency. If only i could run from myself in parallel speed. No amount of habit intellect recovered from Charles Duhigg or James Clear could kickstart the alternator of my internal motivation. I’ve clawed at the ankles of pattern reversal for my entire adult life. Nothing but disdain for the child I was. “Why did I act so foolishly? Why was the importance of discipline and responsibility so unattractive to me? How did I fall into such bad habits?”

The first time I fell in love was in 8th grade. It was with substance abuse. My main interests primarily consisted of impressing my friends, so I used multiple avenues to acquire attention. Comedy was a winner, but raw impulsivity always dawned the proper reaction to get me hooked. I remember stealing some weed from my eldest brother, and bringing it to school to show off to my friends on the playground in grade 6. Soon after we would be sneaking out of our parents homes to try smoking together for the first time. It felt like absolute freedom.

I also fell in love (with a person) for the first time roughly the same year. I’d consider this girl and I to be an item for about a year or so from 8th grade to freshman year (2008-2009). This would prepare me for my first heartbreak. Upon learning my girlfriend would be moving away to attend a boarding school the following year, I had completely broken down. I stopped going to school, I stopped showing up to hockey practices, and I began tripping my way through life, on the precipice of throwing everything away, literally. On weekly regularity I would hike up to the top of a cliff and scarf down a couple grams of psylicibin. I was 14 years old completely altering my developing brain chemistry in hopes to escape the responsibility of life and confronting the emotions it brings. Developing into a pattern, counter productive to problem solving that I would later recognize, which brings me to my point.

“Wherever you go, there you are”

I’ve ran from people, from experiences, from places, but I’ve always run back to the same place. This artificial escape of an altered mind. If I could only associate the unhealthy peices of me, as external toxicity. Invaluable relationships are tossed to the wayside without second thought, but what do I do with my own invaluable qualities?

I want to quit smoking, the way I quit loving her.

I want to quit feeling sorry for myself, the way I quit high school.

I want to quit feeling sad, the way I quit feeling hopeful.

I want to take every poisonous trait within me, and dilute it to nothing. I want to place the man I’ve been, on the pedestal of people who hurt me, and I’ll roll that bridge in a swisher and light it on fire. . .

Fuck tobacco. Fuck weed. Im so sorry to that little boy who couldn’t handle reality. But you’ve gotta go.

The truth is blue

-John

[john-blue]

It was just another brick for the mansion.

I’ve stored a safe inside that house labeled: Events that never happened.

[john-blue]

What I’ve learned from the leaves,

We associate the life of trees with color. When the colors fade, the greyscale branches cracking through the air resemble a bloodless corpse, drained of its flush. It would be easy to mistake a leafless stump as a “dead tree,” but inside, it’s soul is in hibernation. The cyclical design, natural order of preservation, is the definition of survival and perseverance. We shed, to grow new life.

There’s the more obvious biological display of molting or ecdysis, that also suits this analogy. Crustaceans and snakes alike, shedding their outer layer to promote physical growth. Now humans shedding a layer of skin is an exponentially more frightful refference, so we stuck with leaves to fit a more poetic representation. I do believe humans need to shed, In the same way we witness slowly gradient burnt oranges and bronzes sprawl across the mountainside, enveloping the green like wildfire.

We need to shed internally. All the things that brought us life in the previous seasons, will not survive the cold front. The longer we cling to fleeting motivations, the more lifeless we’ll become. We have to find new inspiration around every corner of life. Each emotion we feel, is like a branch reaching towards the sun. Excitement, worry, relief, exhaustion, are all extensions of our being, grazing the world around us. Emotions aren’t meant to linger through seasons. Like leaves, we grow them, display them, and shed them, to make room for more. Allow your emotions to dry, and drop to the ground. There’s no use clinging to dead leaves.

I’m so grateful to the Fall.

The truth is blue

-John

[john-blue]

Dear reader,

I think we’re all trying to be ok.

Some mornings there’s a staleness to the air. Almost as if before my eyes even open, I can taste a bitterness, like an omen for the following 24 hours. It could be a beautiful cloudless day-bright with birds chirping- the sun at its peak, but that lingering stagnation permeates the climate and fills me with grey. When the scream of my alarm invades a dream before I can cover my naked subconscious, and my first thought of the day “please, not this again.”

I’ve noticed that it’s almost impossible to recover from my first choice of the day being utter surrender. Begging my own mind for mercy. Defending myself with mantras against a tidal wave of self doubt. “It’s gonna be a good day” “I GET to wake up, I GET to work, I’m BLESSED to breathe” - I grip gratitude like a pistol, aimed directly at my thoughts.

I imagine my daily choices like the branches of a sprouting tree covered by the shade of surrounding foliage. Desperately reaching for sunlight, but unable to find it lost in the shade. I keep reaching, knowing one day, a branch will touch sunlight, and send the warmth down to my roots. But every morning, I receive darkness when others wake to the sun.

Does anyone else feel like this the first minute of the day?

[john-blue]

I blame Disney,

In 2001, I’d curl up cross legged on the carpet, with a notebook in hand, a half-broken mechanical pencil/chewed up pen in the other, and a vhs of Aladdin straight out of the old plastic book-shaped box. Then I would glance over both shoulders to ensure none of my older brothers were within earshot to verbally harass me, pop the movie into the Toshiba TV/VHS combo unit, press my nose to CRT waves, and dream.

As soon as someone began singing, I’d grab my writing utensil and notebook to jot down the first line from the song. After, I’d hurry to pause the movie, rewind if it went to far, and resume from the next line of the song. This proceeded until I had all the lyrics of every song from Aladdin, so I could sing along. It’s funny, looking back I got most of the lyrics wrong, and the wrong version is still how I remember the songs today.

I think at this period of time my family had “Dial-up” internet, so one could only access the internet through the phones landlines. Which would render the phone line busy, so us kids needed explicit permission to use it. I’d get around 1 hour each week to print out as many lyrics as I could find, but in those days, not every song ever created had its lyrical contents online, the internet was still fertile grounds. So most of the songs I wanted to sing, I’d have to use my own methods of acquiring lyrics.

We were also stuck in the era, where children’s entertainment only consisted of heterosexual romance. It was inescapable. As far as I could remember, all I wanted was to find “someone” who would show me a whole new world. Nowadays I feel blessed to watch Moana with my boys, or frozen, and show them the importance of relationships starts with friends and family. Only then can it be expanded upon, to share your adult life with another.

I tell this story because I think I’m romantically troubled. I compulsively obsess over this idea of being in love. I obsess over falling for someone when I meet them, I obsess over being with them when I’m with them, and I obsess over losing them when it’s gone. I don’t ever leave one of these phases until the next one presents itself. I’m in a constant loop of self avoidance by seeking external validation. If a balloon broke tether, I’d find myself unable to look away, untill I was certain that balloon had floated out of sight. Even then, I’d have trouble convincing myself it was out of sight and not infinitely getting smaller, but still barely visible. The balloon obviously representing the fleeting feeling of infatuation. My nose, pressed to the CRT waves of “Love”

It’s also the IDEA of love being misrepresented that causes the crippling, trickling, effect of long lasting damage through acting on these fantasies. My life is a picturesque case of what could happen when in pursuit of connection for connections sake. Love is a foundational root of existence in which we need to survive. It’s the heart of humanity, and our morality. It’s something we can barely describe with words or pictures, though we’ll be damned if the endless trails to recreate it isn’t absolute beauty. Love is the most powerful force and like any form of power, it can be used to inflict lots of damage.

Now I find myself reluctant to cling to my obsessive phases. Flickering, their lights will never be snuffed. This hopeless longing-saves me from solitude, in a way It’s comforting. The notion that there is someone out there just for me. Love that you don’t have to ask for. I want so badly to cast away all hope, for what hurts more than hope? But without it, I mean, without hope, life wouldn’t be able to exist in its own imbalance of eternal decay. I wouldn’t be able to exist in my own imbalance. So I love. I fall in love, I love, and I let love pass, knowing one day it will stay, and last. I place that love into my boys and myself. This little fragment of a family became the sun that my world orbits. I want them to know that love is not what you see in Aladdin, it’s what you see every morning when you wake up, and every night before you sleep. Love is in the prayers we raise, and the promises we keep. Love led me to my children, and my children led me to love. But still. . .

I fend off the obsession, compulsively

[john-blue]

"ɪɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴀʟᴍ ᴄʜʀʏsᴀʟɪs ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ɪ ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍ; ᴍʏ ᴅɪᴍᴘʟᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴀᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪɢᴍ∙

ɪ ᴠᴏᴍɪᴛ∙"

[john-blue]

Wtf??

[divineedarkness]

no matter how hard you try, some people will always remain poems, and willingly or unwillingly you'll always end up being the poet.

[john-blue]

I’ve met a poem that wrote itself.