The Thing in the Ice

Posted in Uncategorized on May 16, 2016 by iamimman

cardart_SOI_Thing-in-the-Ice

When will I ever learn that these are not for me – that my heart should no longer seek, that my skin should no longer want for warmth, that only the Scythe awaits the dark harvest in the end. This life, briefly passing like flashes of light in this dismal solitude, is what remains to keep the company of one such as I.

But you… you are the blazing inferno. Your heat have burnt through my crystalline wall of ice. You have made me remember what it feels to have the sun on my face again, to truly smile again, to pierce through the cracks in this film of agnostic disconnect I sustain. You have forced me to be a part and not apart.

But what of it then, when this joy is merely a shadow that turns to dread – as it is only when I am separate that I remain sane, controlled. Should I remember, should I feel – then these chains that hold back the monster within will break, and I would cease to be no more than an aberration of twisted chaos and torment, of pain and unbounded anguish.

For I am; I am the horror that claws in the corners of men’s minds, in the places they dare not wander. I am the silent anger in the ceaseless wind. I am the tide of spite that consumes and hungers. I am the echo in the void beneath the calm of this surface. Where your flame flickers then fades, I remain.

 

Let me drown in the sea of my secret sorrows, cradled in the darkness by the frozen depths forgotten.

I am the thing in the ice. Leave me be.

4R.

Hour 72

Posted in Uncategorized on August 18, 2015 by iamimman

 

“Do you have any family problems? Relationship problems?”

“No. None of those. Work… maybe.”

She asked me, lightly – this young company doctor. She couldn’t be older than me, probably fresh out of residency. She scribbled something on a pad. It’s an allergy medication that also makes you drowsy, she said.

Okay, I said. I thanked her. I left.

 

Work. Maybe. I’m not so sure anymore. I’ve been through a lot worse. I’ve been to Hell and back, and I’ve slept in the face of it all. I’ve never been worried about work. This time it was different, somehow, like an itch at the back of my mind that I couldn’t scratch. I couldn’t place where it was or what it was. All I knew was that I couldn’t sleep.

It’s hour 72. The meds aren’t working. Music isn’t working. Nothing is. It’s been like this for three nights. Has it been three nights? It seems like yesterday. Today. Last week. When did I last sleep? I don’t know. I can’t remember what sleep feels like.

I seem to be losing concept of time. All I can do is count. The numbers don’t mean anything anymore. They are just that – numbers. I lie in the darkness; my body resting, but never rested. It feels like Time is moving too quickly, and yet I am stuck – frozen in this moment. Faces have become blurs, and I am now navigating a world where darkness and light flicker in and out of existence.

My mind has never been more alive, caught in an infinite loop, watching the night pass but not feeling the time. What is it? What is wrong? I scream at myself in the darkness. I need to sleep. I need to sleep. But I don’t know what’s wrong. Something is broken, but I don’t know what it is, and I can’t fix the problem, until I know what it is.

This is what it feels like – like debugging code where all the inputs are right, but the output continues to be wrong, it is always wrong – and I don’t know which line is throwing me off – and it’s frustrating not knowing because I can’t reconfigure things to be right again. And I can’t run a trace, and I keep going over and over the code, and over and over the logic, and everything is in place, and yet the error is there, like some glitch in the underlying compiler of reality. I alter my input, but the output is still wrong. Or is it my code? Is it a configuration issue? A bug in the OS? What is throwing me off? I don’t know. If only I had the source code to my brain.

I am past tired. I have entered a limbo state, between being and not being – like a dream simulation that is running in real life. It feels more like a purgatory. What needs purging? I don’t know. It feels like my mind is on overdrive. It feels like it refuses to rest, even when there are no inputs, it just keeps trying to analyze, compute, calculate. I want it to stop, but I am no longer in control.

The internet says I should write it out. That it might help. So this is what I’m doing. Is it helping? I don’t know. My fingers are typing – letters are appearing on my screen, words are forming, and they cohere. I think they cohere. But I am here, and not here. It feels like I’m dreaming, but I am writing this, am I not? And I am reading what I wrote, but I don’t recall typing the words that have appeared behind the blinking light of this cursor.

I like this feeling. Of not having to sleep. But a part of my brain tells me I can’t like it. That eventually the part of me that is physical will break. I can feel it. I am overtaxing something, and I’m scared I’ll break my body. Scared? Well, not really. Maybe dread. I dread being sick. Again. I keep thinking of my video card. It died a week ago. Am I mourning for my video card? I can’t be. That’s fucking stupid.

But my mind won’t let me stop processing. It feels like I’ve been staring at this page for hours. But now I look at the clock and it tells me 58 minutes have passed. And there are now more than ten paragraphs of gibberish on my screen.

It’s almost dawn. The worst part is dawn. I hate dawn. It means I have failed to sleep again. And then the neighbor’s dog will start yapping again until at least 9am, and then I really won’t be able to sleep for real. For real? I don’t know. I love dogs, but I want to shoot that bastard. It’s illogical. It’s not the dog’s fault that my neighbor is a moron. I forgot to buy ear plugs again. I don’t ever want to think about shooting that dog. What.

I want to go to the office right now and work. And also not. I just miss coding. Like real coding. Like that feeling of breaking through the barrier and making something beautiful. These past few days have been shit days. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me. I don’t know.

None of this feels real. Nobody ever really gets insomnia. This crap only happens as a bad plot mechanic on TV. Except when it does happen. Then it’s real.

Of Loneliness and New Horizons

Posted in Uncategorized on July 14, 2015 by iamimman

 

There is something so exquisitely beautiful and inert about Loneliness. It is, perhaps, the only emotion that requires nothing else to be present. It exists, simply for what it is. It is not like Love nor Lust that seeks another. It is not like Joy nor Jealousy, predicated on circumstance, on state of being, on a confluence of factors that result from an unknown equation of fate and chance. It is not like Surprise or Sorrow, Envy or Excitement, Disgust and Desire – each merely a crest or trough in the sea of our lifetimes, discovered from the moment we are violently birthed crying out into this world, experienced until the very last vestiges of the dying light forcefully removes our awareness from the flow of time until which, we exist, teetering on the edge of understanding, realizing only in death that all meaning is abstract, upon whence we return to being nothing more than motes of earth and air.

This is the reason why loneliness is the only emotion that truly defines us. It exists so that we can be apart. It is the affirmation of a singular unique consciousness, the sense of being different in a world that – while becoming increasingly connected – is driving us further apart, a dissonant echo reverberating across the thundering noise of conformity. It is the underlying awareness that one can never be truly the same as another, the bittersweet knowledge that even when we are gone none will ever be like us.

We sometimes forget that we are all the loneliest of people. Most of us have clouded our skies with smoke and our eyes with indifference from the light of distant stars just so we can forget that our whole existence, our race, our history, the very essence of who we are is ephemeral in contrast to the uncountable billions of years that span the lifetime of our universe. We bury ourselves in the petty affairs of government and politics, of race, color, and variations in genetic configuration because we fear acknowledging how truly insignificant we are. We have drawn borders on our maps and in our minds in the struggle to make sense, to give ourselves an illusion of purpose and worth. We war over religion and belief because we live in the constant fear and panic that this is all there is to life. This. This moment – these very few years circling around our measly G-type star, hardly a speck in the infinite vastness of time, and that we have to be right – we need to be right – because if we are not then what would have been the point of it all.

 

This is the legacy of our race, a shared concordant experience of loneliness across the breadth of human history. It is the misery that tears us apart, and binds us together. It is the most understated evolutionary advantage of our species – that we have become so lonely, even though there are billions of us we can hardly breathe, yet  we ache to reach out to the darkest emptiness and void of space to know if we are truly alone.

 

In a few hours, the New Horizons space probe will reach its closest approach to the most well-known most distant celestial body in our neighborhood – the dwarf planet Pluto. For most, the news of this will be buried under political rants, videos of kittens and puppies, selfies, groufies, and the other transient inanities of our daily lives that keep us blissfully ignorant and sane against the backdrop of the terrifying expanse of a cosmos we can’t even begin to fully comprehend. Most of us will continue on with our day, absorbed in our microscopic concerns, oblivious to the fact that a man-made object no bigger than a cabinet has travelled hundreds of thousands of kilometers over the past nine years to the edge of our solar system, carrying some instruments, the ashes of a long dead man, and the loneliness of the only known sentient race into the fringes of the unknown.

In the end, if we manage to survive as a species, I hope for our sake that we get the answers we have sought for so long and maybe – just maybe – we will one day discover we aren’t the only lonely beings in this universe.

Boracay

Posted in Uncategorized on April 5, 2015 by iamimman

 

i am standing on the shore, making sure the surf ends just a few inches from my toes. i don’t want my feet to get wet. black saturday has come and gone, and it is now the first hour of easter sunday.

there was a lunar eclipse earlier this evening. it wasn’t anything special. people looked up, briefly, and they went back to walking. laughing. talking. now, a few hours later, the moon shines full above the sky, its radiance glimmering across the waves, dancing to the steady rhythm and the far off lights of stars and fishing boats.

it has almost been a month.

the moon has parted the clouds, creating a faint white halo around it. surrounded by darkness, i have never felt more at peace. the only thing i’m missing is the warmth of your hand in mine.

some day it will be a different face, a different iteration of you, but tonight i whisper your name in the wind. tonight, i think of you as i lie on the cool sand, gazing at the undulating trees above me. tonight, your smile still eclipses my thoughts.

the air is cold. the light of the moon spirals across the black sky. my own eclipse will pass, eventually. still, it is a damn beautiful night to have a broken heart.

Matabungcay

Posted in Uncategorized on March 29, 2015 by iamimman

 

here i live in the emptiest of spaces, in the silence that follows questions with no answers. it is here i always return – a night beneath old stars, where there is only me and the infinite solitude of the sky; once alone, once again meek, yet again fleeing.

 

the fires burn no more, there is nothing but the waves invisible crashing on the shore. it beats with my heart – persistent, endless. they have stolen my dreams, turning slumber to shade that forever eludes. when shall i escape from this boundless prison? the wind bears witness, but it will not answer the questions i ask; it is as mute as the smoke dancing from the embers of this cigarette.

 

clinging to my skin, they drown me in the abyss of your indifference. i am torn limb from limb until nothing is left, save the tears that no longer flow from the crevices of these eyes. even those have run out, the memory of your face withered away by the ages. nothing renewed. all is fading, so quickly now i grasp merely with words time that had slipped beyond awareness.

 

and so ends the day, like the thousands before it – a soul with a question, an answer withheld. i continue to wait. this is the endless torment, a drop of sorrow sailing in midst of the sea, a moment lost before it had the chance to begin.

Day 8

Posted in Uncategorized on March 15, 2015 by iamimman

 

 

I thought I had forgotten how loneliness felt like. I have always been alone, and this was something I had resigned myself to. It was not until you arrived that evening and sat in front of me, and you smiled, that I was reminded of the void I had carefully ignored for so long.

In an instant, I knew what our life could have been. You were the person I had always dreamed of, the one I would always wait for. Even before them, the ones who came after you. I can never explain it, but you had always been perfect to me, from the first time I saw you brooding in class a lifetime ago, to that moment you passed through the glass doors of that fast food years later.

This would have played differently had I just asked a few years earlier, then that night would not have been the first time we would have met in more than 8 years. In this imaginary alternate reality, this would be us, meeting again like we often would. It would not be awkward because we would have spent almost every day with each other. You would smile, and I would smile, and we would talk about our day like old lovers often do, and I would have that look – that sheer joy of being the happiest guy in the whole world just because you were with me.

 

I don’t know what to tell you anymore. I don’t even know what to tell myself. There has to be a point where I have to stop feeling like this, because I can’t be right. It can’t be right. You belong to someone else, and who am I to impose? Who am I? I am just some random guy from your past.

I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since you came back into my life. I lie awake at night half-dreaming, half-wishing you were beside me. I want to tell you how beautiful the stars are tonight. How, maybe, in some other life, in some other plane of existence, we would be together, and our other selves would be looking up at the same sky at that very moment. Happy. Content.

 

I have so many songs I want to share with you, because I want you to know who I am, how my heart beats, how my mind works. I want to show you desperately that I am the guy you should have fallen in love with, but I know I am vying for a heart that has room for no other.

And so, I console myself with sad songs. Cute pictures of puppies. Stories of dead people. Flights of fancy. I pretend that I’m okay, that we’re okay, but the world still feels dead. That I have been living a lie all along, that I need someone like you to share this life with me, because in that brief moment our skin were mere inches apart, I’ve never felt more alive.

 

Maybe this is my problem. I don’t know. All I have on my side are these confusing deluge of words and emotions, breaking down the barrier of my resolve day by day. If I could cry an ocean of "I’m so sorry", I would. I am so sorry because you don’t need this drama in your life. I am so sorry because I can’t control my emotions when I think about you. I am so sorry.

I don’t know what this all means, why on that night when I felt so bad about losing to a video game I felt compelled to ask you that question. I am trying to find sense in this chaos, and it is so difficult. It doesn’t seem fair when I have liked you from afar for so long, and fate has always dangled the things I couldn’t have in front of my face, but it has just never given me a break.

I want us to be friends, even just only as friends, because God knows there’re very few other people I would want to keep in my life, but I don’t know how in my current state. Every sound from my mouth is a hidden question of what could have been, every word from my fingers turn into a plea for a little more time with you.

 

I have always been second to everyone. I am so tired of being nice, of always putting others’ feelings before me, but I don’t know any other way. In a few days, a few weeks, a few months, these feelings will eventually pass, not because I want to, but because I have no choice. I need to survive without breaking down to every fucking sad song I hear. I need to not drift off in the middle of meetings because I remember your voice. I need to learn to wrap myself again in the illusion of happiness, of normalcy, despite that gnawing regret knowing my life would have been so much more vibrant if I woke each day with my head on your chest.

But allow me this moment of grief… of holding on, before letting go. This moment to write it all down, not for the sake of remembering how I feel about you, but at as a reminder that despite whatever bullshit I would later on let myself believe, I am still human, and I can still feel so strongly, so deeply, so profoundly for someone else. For you.

I did not expect to fall this hard. My deepest, sincerest, apologies. Moushiwake gozaimasen, sensei.

The Trigger

Posted in Uncategorized on March 5, 2015 by iamimman

 

It was strange how desperately he clung to life, when the trigger, pulled so easily, would have been swifter than standing here on the edge. He was waiting – for what I didn’t know – waiting to fall; waiting for the soothing breath of wind; waiting for, perhaps, salvation.

Still, the rivers of his sorrow had long dried, the oceans of despair had turned to endless drought; these fucking cliché metaphors had burned in the bitter heat of the indifferent sun. This was who he was now: stone without wings, veins without blood, ash without fire.

Pull the trigger – I, the coward, implored. Your soul no longer sings, your heart no longer beats, and your eyes have gone blind though you still stare at me in broad daylight. Just like you used to… just like you used to.

 

Days before he had begged me to tie him, here on this precipice, to wait to turn, to wait for death – I didn’t understand why. It would have been easier to pull the trigger.

He cried for days as I sat at his feet. I would wake from slumber damp with the dew of rise as I watched the water, his life, slowly drain from his eyes. He never slept.

On the last day, in the darkest star-filled hours before dawn he raved, now a lunatic – starving, screaming, half demon, half something else. His skin black and burning, but I could hardly see through my tears. He had demanded that I show no pity, but at that moment I no longer remembered. I had fought for so long to be strong, but my own resolve had wavered while his had turned to madness. I lit the fire.

 

Our world was dying. Not with the bang of war and destruction, but with the whimper of disease. Mysterious. Incurable. Ravenously infectious, and perfectly fatal. We had climbed this mountain, away from the incessant wailing of alarms in the cities, away from rising and ebbing of cries by those who have lost others to the insanity. We had escaped the chaos that preceded the dawn of endless silence, never to return.

 

I watched his lifeless corpse burn.

 

Three days later I stood on the precipice, holding the case with a trigger marked with my name – a last desperate act of mercy from the vestiges of a crumbling government. I was turning, it was only a matter of time. I opened the case and pulled out the device.

 

That was when I saw the note he left, tucked beneath the trigger, and I finally understood why he chose to wait.

 

Every day with you is a gift – it said, simply.

 

I bid farewell to the sun, and pulled the trigger.

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