The Thoughts That Keep Me Up At Night

Israel Sundseth
Israel Sundseth

There was nothing inspiring to think about, during this night, as I can’t tell between the sound of fireworks and thunder striking, slumping deeper in my chair. I talked to you until almost completely drained, intellectually, fuck even physically, about the burdens of one generations and the truths that lie ahead. For all freedoms must ponder in same thought as in existence, for all freedoms must utterly be free and equal, unshackled from the burdens of our beliefs and prejudice for all humans, not only under the societies that dwell in riches but for all. Everything else is bullshit with only one agenda, and that is to steer our minds from the only picture that speaks to us, should speak to us. If their game of freedom how ever distorted but winnable in existence is to ascend beyond the mediocrities by gaining the most one could ever in the skill one hones, for skill and the process of the same are the only tools you posses in order to attain your freedom. It is the only palpable thing for me, to grow philosophically in the pursuit of happiness and meaning or the definition of such if there is any, at least it was my pursuit and my sincerity in finding what is true and what is right beyond what is common and engraved in your routine by others before you, inserted as an idea of how you should behave or be.

It is not real.

And right about there my focus veered in the direction of meaningless and absurdity of my thoughts as the blunt made my senses more tired, or I felt giving too much of it away, when I should write about it. When we stopped I said, “I hear the rain and I can still hear the fireworks.” Lost in thoughts of swirling smoke in my miniature bizarre room myriad of ideas running through my imagination as the sound of rain is soothing my thoughts. Heavy ideas, heavy writing, and heavy liquor, another drag of smoke.
As the night wore on, it made me weary for I couldn’t stay above the task at hand, somehow the soundless night kept me the most distracted, it granted space for my own noise that was unbearable. What task? What was I doing here? Why am I doing this. This is shit, and who the fuck even wants to hear the truth about life, the sincere truth, the way we live now.

I explored the depths that eluded so easily for I could never be hungry enough to show, or to explain to the World, and in such situations I subdue to a pleasurable comfort of the words graciously written by people I knew all too well, people I never saw or shook hands with resonated with my mind better than any breathing or walking human being I have ever crossed paths with. As I rolled another one which will grant me an hour or two of razor sharp images and meditation for my mind it made me lightheaded and suspicious of my beliefs, my self-confidence was diminishing by the second. By now I was completely consumed by the notion of existence and meaningless, as I visualize everything that I am, against everything that was bestowed upon me in form of well knows options to choose from, and they were many, many by anyone’s count.

From all the options I dipped my fingers in and rippled the surface, there wasn’t any that could suffice completely, the right ambition was lacking, and I got easily bored or uninterested. It fucks up a young mind, to have a mind of perpetual curiosity and thirst for knowledge merged with drugs, alcohol and women, it can easily disenchant you from the real World, and the universal truths of endless questions of WHY. The fireworks ceased to light up the sky, and it was only the rain and petrichor as I felt more and more as a foreigner among others, foreigner in my own body as alcohol was cutting the blunt, making me restless.

There was something mystical when a man greets the sun after a long night of struggling with himself, stark naked. Right before the sun ascends from the horizon while painting the dawn in different colors I took deep drags of smoke and deep drags of air as I was utterly confident that I was more than capable of achieving everything that I can create in my mind, and I was far convinced there is no difference between the real World that we walk upon and the World I create.

Both Worlds are fine.

There is nothing and no one, there was only me on the filed of battle against a far superior enemy with cunning tricks of nihilism and derision.

And I missed you something fierce, or the idea of you by my side. I am still unable to tell the difference. Have I created the picture of you in my head or are you what I seem to think of you in the first place. It was a daunting task with my self-confidence nowhere to be found. But I missed you the most as I rested in my bed getting ready to shut down my eyes without any thought of the world and my place in it. The fears and anxieties were somehow permuting the air and grappling with your scent on my pillow that fought to keep me safe from myself. Luscious images of great sex when we were grappling with one another that last and transcend into festivals of a madman giving everything to satisfy a queen, and when we touch, we stir two bodies in one triumphant statue of love, or at least in my head it was such a sight.

It was enough, as I knew I could lose it or get more than needed into it in too short of a time, which will in the end set ablaze my eyes in madness and no sleep is then guaranteed. And there is really no sleep for the wicked and damned, damned by the light to share with others. Light that is brilliantly murmuring in those few moments that you could go, and will go like all the rest before, but you have a fair shot at achieving the perfect laughter. Or was I dreaming?

The last though in my head I can remember was a mirror in which my gray hair reflected everything about the world, about sincerity and truth, about real options and one’s struggle to be naked in order to spark a movement of nakedness in everything that we really are before our World, that long forgotten freedom’s scent.

Your scent was freedom, and my eyes are now closed. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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