No Rest for the Wicked

The only thing,
more than anything in the world
that I wish for
is for evening to descend,
to let me get my eternal rest
For life is a burdensome woe
And all the happiness merely
a distraction to the untold sorrows
Yet I linger
Each painful step
Craving for sleep
Craving for peace
Every breath a fight
I have nothing to live for
Let it end
Let it end
Let me rest

Stirs

I saw the changes he has had and it stirs my blood, my dispassionate soul into a motion, into the desire for more changes in myself. I must not reside in that stagnancy and rot to the high heavens. Change must be initiated and materialize. I am the Changer. Have I changed today?

Voice of Duty

I have failed in my duty two times in a week. No matter how much I do, it won't absolve me of the guilt that attaches willy-nilly to my grovelling self. I am paid to do my duty, yet I have failed. In samurai terms, it necessitates a harakiri, and I should have perished in the waters that I have loved for so long, or something else to that effect.

Yet, I am a biathlete now. Elation would have filled me if not for that sense of dread and self-whipping guilt that eats into my soul every minute until an act of compensation of time and effort vindicates me. It really seems sorrow and fitness do go hand in hand for Xavier Harker. What could I do to redeem my soul, except to mark this as a lesson of obligation towards duty above fun. I am born to suffer above anything else.

Happiness is just an incidental effect, suffering and sorrow a norm, a default. It is my duty to submit to that rule until the day I cease to be. Let the voice of duty reign. Let the fateful day arrive quickly. I shall submit.

Penance

It is not a career. It is penance. As he is so fond of reminding me, it is karma accrued from my past life, and I am now suffering for it. It is just a matter of how much more suffering that I have to bear and grin until something gives way, physical or otherwise. It is so much easier when your life is riddled with less obstacles, but yet again, as he reminds me, it tests my mettle for all it's worth, but to what purpose, I may ask. When will I lay my weary self in the seas of oblivion, when I feel the full thirty years weighing on my shoulders?

What am I fighting for every day? In a run, at least, I know I have a goal. But in life, it defeats me.

Disturbances

I detest it when work interferes with my personal life, when all has been planned and there appears a kink out of nowhere. And I know that the fight continues, as I exert my Will in the harsh realities and trying to establish a foothold in the slippery whims of powers that try to control me. It is but a matter of establishing dominion over them instead. I will have my cake and eat it. I will study, and I will exercise, and goddamn it if I may be disrupted again.