Breaking Ties

It's nice to be freed from the bindings of love. Once you have tasted it, the memory is more than enough. It is better to be flying solo than pander to the whims of the duo, especially if the other half does not speak your language. I realized that even love is a play on the stage. And it is the curtain's call, without my knowing at first.

I am Xavier Harker through and through. JWA does not exist anymore. At least not to me.

The Pledge

I pledge, to treat myself better, to indulge in the bacchanalia, to be drunk in the pleasures of the mind, to cater to the whims of the flesh, to forget what was the past, to look forward to the future, and to sleep in the pouring rain.

The End of a Dream

This is the finality of things, the end of that year long, or rather less than a year long dream which some might call love or relationship. The closure is rather vague but the purpose is very real indeed. The end to everything I know and love. Much as I hate to admit, there are still remnants of that emotion. Now, it is the clear-up phase. Life still has to go on. At least if life ends, I am answerable to no one. I am alone once more, as the void closes up on me again. The Postmodern is back. The barrier is complete.

Amnesia

It's times like this, when you spend too much time by yourself, that this neverending struggle between wanting human company and alone by yourself, is renewed. It's times like this when you wish you have self-induced amnesia, and you forget the bad times along with the good.

What is it like to forget all your friends and family, and your world becomes more private than ever, simply because there is no one to share your memory with. Maybe it will get lonelier, but maybe you forget about being lonely too.

Never Be the Same Again

You are the one who taught me.

You are the one who taught me that these are most natural.

You are the one who taught me how to love, how not to love and everything that comes with that illusion.

You taught me what is real and the flip side of it.

You taught me to control my superstitions and master my fate.

You taught me how to fight like I never did before. And I started fighting you too.

You showed me what I was like, unwittingly, and you exposed fully the hidden Harker in me

And I will never be the same again. Never ever again.

Don't call my Name, I just want a Cigarette

The battle scars bear witness to the wars waged on emotional fronts. Love is dead under the fires of Practicality and the necessity of War. My heart is the battlescape with criss-crossed battle hardened scars laid over scars, drenched in the futility of tears that barely wet the dry leathery organ, I have no need for love anymore. The only thing I want for Christmas is to heal my physical self. Let the emotional scars remain, for this is my Glory.

The branded words on my heart. Unspoken, yet clearly there.

The Impending Lull

It is going to be Christmas all too soon. The word is ready as I am about to launch a full-scale offensive on the physical front, to clear up my face and my body. My vision awaits. The blog is not at its deathbed, it appears, as I jumpstart the dying chortles of the beaten self. The mind has been battered but the awakening bides its time. All in good time. All in good time.

Let's not be too hasty in our judgment. I am after all, Xavier Harker.