Chronicles
How this Works
On this page you’ll find my blog posts. These stories are hardly ever based on real life events, but rather a part of my journey toward a million words. As for the prompts you might be looking for, I’m afraid I’ll need to redirect you.
Faith
‘I understand your perspective,’ I reply, ‘but if I may ask a few questions?’ She nods. ‘Is time real? Is math? Is there any way to definitively prove your brain is real without cutting open your head and having a look for myself? I think faith is real. And I’m sure you subscribe to Descartes, “cogito ergo sum,” I think therefore I am. Faith is belief and belief is merely persistent thought. So, why then is one faith less realistic than another? Less understandable?’
Ambition: Stress
I am required to make constant progress. Maybe it’s because of the things haunting me or maybe it’s because there are a few screws tightened too much in my brain. But the pressure is immense. If I am not doing something productive, I break down.
Which would be fine, except that always doing something, always working, it all causes a physical and mental exhaustion that’s almost worse than the breakdown.
Do I choose my ambition because it makes me proud, or to avoid being left alone with my own thoughts? Why do I do this to myself?
Chaos and Opportunity
I can hardly remember the events leading to this. I remember coming to uncovering their secrets. I remember becoming obsessed with it: my research. I was taking something to help me focus. Or maybe, I took it to keep myself awake. Either way, I failed to consider the long-term effects. The world lost its depth. Colours blended into one another, and I struggled to find the meaning behind them. I think people must have become concerned with my behaviour toward it all. They came to me. Which is when it gets blurry, like my mind did from existence.
I snapped back to myself weeks later. They told me I had a mental breakdown, that I hurt people and was being sent to a psychiatric hospital.
It’s where I am now. Strapped to a rigid bed, laying my head on pillows that feel hollow. All of it’s externally uncomfortable. But I doubt my comfort is anyone’s main concern at the moment. Including my own.
I am thinking of the colours. I never much liked them. Now, when I look upon them, they melt and fade. And it reminds me that my mind is still broken. And it reminds me of my nurse. She has promised to help me.
he sees the colours too. It frightens me. The prospect of it all. But what great venture isn’t first met with fear?
Lust and Love
I was reading a story the other day. This girl was yelling curses at the world, complaining because she has lit fires and swung bats in the quest for love. She burns those who come close to her so they will burn for her, and she beats them on the chest so their heart will pound in her presence. And when they shy away form her touch, she cries to the sky above and the ground below for tearing this love away.
But this was never love. Love doesn’t begin in violence. Love is the kiss on your brow, and the brush of fingers on your cheek. Love is falling asleep on the couch and waking up in your bed. Love is steady and patient and giving.
Love is like a river. It does not push or pull, it simply flows. And if love is a river then lust is a wave; powerful, threatening, crashing over you. It twists your stomach and makes your heart beat faster.
Do not search for a river by making waves. Do not search for waves by swimming in the river. And do not reject either in search of the other.
Loneliness or Freedom
I wake up each day of my own accord. Make the bed the way I like it, eat the food I bought and prepared for myself. I use the hot water which never runs out to wash the stink of a good night’s rest from my body. I change into the clothes I like waring and douse myself in a few sprays of the cologne I like smelling. I drive my car to the university I attend and spend my time studying the subjects that interest me.
Most days I am free to do what I like. Everything I do is because of a choice I make. I never need to think about sharing with someone or making room for them in my life.
But sometimes I do anyway.
Senses and Senseless
My skin feels so warm, like I’ve been sitting in the sun all day.
Images are blurring together. Her lips, the rays of light breaking through my shades, the black of her hair. I cannot remember when I see them or in which order.
Her perfume is sitting in the air, waiting for me to consume it. And I do. Readily. Part of it safe and invigorating, another part rich. My mouth waters at the thought of it. And they mix with the tinge of sweat wafting between our bodies. Normally, something unpleasant, but on her, I almost drool.
Sweet fruits still linger on her tongue, left there from a dessert we shared. And they dance from hers to mine.
The bed squeaks as we struggle to stay still. A hum comes from the TV we’re too distracted to turn off. And rain spills across the roof, beating its hard surface. None of it means anything to me. These sounds all so insignificant compared her voice. The soft moans that I twist from her lips. The heavy breathing that rings in my head, begging me for more.
A Heavy Head
My head feels heavier than it did yesterday. I can feel the muscles at the base of my neck burn as they strain against the weight.
Each breath I take is shallow, only filling my lungs enough to keep me conscious. The sound of it, so low and rhythmic, is soothing, in a way. I could listen forever. And I must.
The light hurts my eyes. Like microscopic knives just barely piercing the skin. Every blink is a short reprieve. A blessed return to darkness.
And there is something else. A steady flow of warm water falling in slow motion. It starts at the top of my skull and washes over me, creeping through my hair, sticking to my skin. Every so often a drop falls from the edge of my brow, falling slowly to the ground.
My head bounces lightly as the weight of every drop is lifted.
The Sea
And suddenly I saw them everywhere I went. There’s so much beauty gone unrecognised by the world.
Some time ago I sat atop the dunes on the western shore, watching the waves crash. The ones a few steps from me and the ones it would take a drowning to reach. And I would marvel. Their power is incredible. Not in the way that makes them destructive, although I’m sure they can kill showl they want to; no, they are powerful in their infinite push and pull. In the way they are forced to recede only to come crashing back.
And I pondered to myself the magnificence of the sea.
And now, suddenly, I see the waves crash everywhere I go. In the heart of a young girl. Behind the eyes of an old man.
Beautiful.
Eyes
People say the eyes are like a window to the soul. To make art is to bare the soul.
An artist bares their soul in art. Each stroke of a brush is a reflection of being, each note is an expression of self, and each word is a call to the universe.
People say the eyes are like a window to the soul. It follows then, that an artful representation of the eyes is soulful beyond comprehension.
Monster
From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe.
A monster is not the reefs on which you crash your ship. But the lighthouse that warns you of them
Choice
People think they direct their lives one way or another. But what was the last decision you made that wasn’t a choice given to you by a system put in place years before?
Reverse Psychology
The desire that fills me can be sated too easily. I like to be touched. When someone’s hand brushes my own, or a hug is held a breath too long, it makes me crave the small intimate moments of simple connection.
But the craving scares me. I will shy away from a hand as it comes close to my own, because it will mean too much to me. What can I do when I lover over something so easy.
To Love
I have known people who love one another very deeply. But they don’t treat one another with love.
Some people reject love. Detest the very idea of it. Perhaps they’re afraid of hurting, or maybe they dislike the desire to do more for someone else than they would do for themselves.
These people choose instead to hate. Even with so much love in their heart. The hate is stronger.
Reading
When you read, I can see the story play behind your eyes, and hear another world in your voice.
There’s a magic in you that sings to me. And it pulses through me with too much force. So much power, you have.
I find myself entranced, addicted, obsessed.
2024
When rules are created fairly and followed diligently, it builds a system of order and righteousness.
This system serves all equally, and so should be desired by all and respected by all.
But often rules are not created fairly. Often rules are created by a specific group of people and adopted by a society too distracted to know better.
So, I tell you, if it’s between breaking the rules and doing something ridiculous, do not think twice before making the system crumble.
The Girl Who Works
I sit outside an empty coffee shop. And of course it’s empty. It’s 9:23 PM on a Saturday.
Sometimes I come to places like this, when it’s quiet because it’s also peaceful. But that isn’t why I’m writing this.
There’s a girl across the street from me. She’s in her work uniform. Her shift must have just ended. And so, she too sits alone, on the stone water fountain curved with strange patterns.
Should I talk to her? Or is it better to leave her story a mystery?
Right now she could be many things. A bartender at the tavern down the street, an employee of the hotel behind the fountain, or even a performer.
And when I break this silence between us, she can only be one thing. One person. So, is it better to dream in silence, or live in singular truth?
Fog
Oliver Harlon floats unburdened by the powerful forces of nature. He waits for his eyes to adjust, but to no avail. Oliver cannot see his own hand as he waves it in front of his face. The darkness which surrounds him is too great. It creeps under his skin, spreading like a thin veil of fog. It’s cold which doesn’t help dissuade the goosebumps forming along the surface of his skin. What is this place? He asks himself. But of course, there is no answer he must not find.
Deep Friendship; Philia
I think it’s very difficult to find a true friend. Friendship requires trust and mutual interest and availability. But to find all of these things in one person is harder than it seems.
Mutual interest is easy if you are open to trying new things, But it’s difficult if you have no time.
Availability is easy if you’re open to doing nothing. But nothing is almost never interesting.
Trust is easy if you have nothing to hide. But secretes aren’t always yours to tell.
Selfless Love; Agape
Selfless love is love that is extended to all people regardless of how well you know them. Today I think this love is very lacking. We are afraid to show love because rejection is much more common. With advancements in communication, how could it not be? And when we get used to rejection, we stop trying.
But if I only show love so I might be appreciated, my love is not selfless.
When love is coming from you, you still feel it all the same. So, I suggest falling in love. With everything.
Playful Love; Ludus
I think you’re funny, You could say such trivial things and I still find myself laughing. No. You don’t even need to say anything. Even your smile is contagious. It’s so bright. My heart sings upon seeing it. And I wish I had the courage to kiss you when it gets quiet, so I could taste that smile on my lips.
Self-love; Philautia
There are four conditions of a healthy body.
Exercise: not just of the arms and legs, but of the mind and heart, ensures I have a strong body. One that can withstand adversity.
Sustenance: consumption of enough food and drink, taking into account nutrients, and the things I should avoid, gives me the energy to do as much as I like throughout the day.
Rest: to give the body time to heal, not just by sleeping but by taking breaks between particularly tiring events, provides the space for growth.
Meditation: the ability to calm and focus my mind, allows me to stave off stress.
By practicing these four conditions, I show others that I Love myself.
Parental Love; Storge
I don’t hear my father tell me he loves me very often. In fact, I think he will only say it when he thinks he has to; but even still I have never thought the love was lacking.
Growing up whenever I showed interest in something, he would always show his support in some way. Even trivial things like the food I enjoyed.
Every now and then he would buy something new from the store just to try it. I remember he bought a box of cookies one time. I told him I liked them, and the next week there must have been ten boxes in the pantry.
This is how my father shows love.
Sexual Love; Eros
My heart doesn’t beat blood anymore. It beats sparks that swirl around my veins and pulse throughout my body. Her touch makes the pressure worse. I feel stronger and weaker at the same time, like I could lift her with one hand and still break between her fingers.
My breathing is heavy when she is near enough that I can smell her. It isn’t a scent that fills my lungs, but crashes against the inside of my head. And it sings with notes so beautiful, I find my body being pulled toward her when I hear it.
She has me under her spell, and I’ll gladly dance to its rhythm.
Longstanding Love; Pragma
She has known me for too long. She can read me like I’m a page from one of her books. By my breath she knows when I’m upset, by my walk she knows when I’m tired, by my eyes she knows that I lover her. So much she knows, and it only makes her more beautiful.
Truth, You, and Shallow
The truth is no argument at all before a stubborn fool.
You are the object of my desires and the subject of my inspiration. Your beauty spurs my dreams and your words still my heart.
Sometimes the shallows aren’t the worst place to be; you won’t find a shark where the waves crash against the sand.
Repressed Fears
When I was little, the monsters I was most afraid of did not care for people. They would act as if people were ntohing more than toys to be played with and broken.
My fears drove me to be nice. I would try to please everyone. Until it became obvious I was doing them a disservice. Some would become dependent, others resentful, and few satisfied.
Now I am confused and treat people differently. I do not treat them the way I should, with practiced manners and perfect civility. Sometimes I treat myself nicely before I do others, and I do not care for how they feel when I do.
Does this make me a monster or is this what it means to be a person?
Opposites
You might say, ‘the opposite of empty is full,’ but what if something is overflowing. Then you might say, ‘the opposite of empty is overflowing,’ but what if something cannot overflow. Then, ‘what is the opposite of empty?’ you might ask.
The opposite of empty is simply, not empty.
Darkness Beyond God
When you were born God called out to the darkness beyond his power, searching for something greater than himself.
For he knew that your beauty was more than he alone could create.
