Afterthought

This is oddly interesting. It's like having a secret diary that anyone can see. (Anyone who knows my E-mail address can find this page, it would not be hard at all- were they to start looking,)

This risk keeps me interested. What if I'm found- and really, do I want to stay hidden at all? Will I leave clues for others trace to into this garden of half-formed thoughts- or hide forever in this place, make it both my Sanctuary and my Cage.

Why am I doing this? It's just talking to myself. That is all it comes down to... I suppose.

By the way, I think I lucked out on the domain name. Savagenobility is awesome.

ExIntrovert

Not long ago, I would be the guy who didn't speak to anyone- who replied only when spoken directly to- or pretended he hadn't heard the words. The kid in the corner, the guy who walked to parts of school no-one else ever went to, because he had nothing else to do.
I've always been an introvert (understatement-> Hyperintrovert), but something changed a while ago- not some kind of consuming epiphany or enlightenment, but a sense of urgency, a need for release.

Coming into the 11th grade was like emerging from the ocean. For the first time in a very long time, I felt like I had achieved something, felt comfortable in my own skin- felt invincible.
It was this, perhaps skewed, sense of self that began to melt the walls that
I had had built around me, walls that had been coagulating for a long time.
It started early. It must have started very early because it had already set itself deeply in my psyche by the time I entered first grade.
At first I was simply following the old DontOpenYourMouthJustToShowOffYourStupidity adage. Slowly and surely though- didn't talk turned into couldn't talk.

An important thing to realize is that making conversation is not as simple as it seems, there is a fine line between a funny joke and a lame one. It's all about perspective.

So anyway-

There I was- a smart, articulate sort of chap who never spoke to anyone and looked away when someone tried to make eye contact. The fact that I was too lazy to smile would not have helped either, and people mistook a lack of confidence for arrogance. It's not a nice feeling when people try to push you down when you're already one foot under.

I never did anything to sort out this misconception, what could I have done anyway? Let them think what they want. I don't need my face to be recognized.

I will not seek attention. Attention will seek Me.

For five years of primary school I had a grand total of two friends. I'm grateful to the others who remember me, because I would've done nothing to deserve it. I found it hard to make friends. Impossible, actually, because I never approached people first. I don't think it's that hard now, though- because there is always a shortage of genuine friends in the world.

Introversion/Escapism has been the dominant shaping force in my life. It's not exactly something to be proud of- but it's there. And it's funny.

The first time I was asked out on a date by a girl (granted she was probably teasing me)- what did I do? I ran. Literally. First time I danced with abovementioned girl- "I know you've always wanted to caress my skin..." (Teasing again. It was really mean...why must they do this?) I ran again. The third thing happened in the pool... *I'll censor this story at this point to keep it PG13*, suffice to say, I ended up swimming to the edge and sprinting like an escaped convict. First time a girl kissed me?- I wasn't paying attention and I didn't realize it until people told me it'd happened.
Maybe some initiative on my part could've made these situations less embarrassing/emotionally crippling.

It's not all bad though. There are some things in life you can't see if you're too busy trying to communicate. The more noise you subject yourself to- the less you feel. I managed to make friends that I really valued, and treated the term not as a tag or position of convenience.

I followed a path of my own choice for the most part. I might have been an outcast at times, but I was never a sycophant, a stray wolf or jackal- but not a creature of the herd that follows blindly. The problem with walking alone is- of course, that you are walking alone.

4 consecutive articles on the self. Secret blogging is really feeding my narcissism. The next one is gonna be on the nature of good and evil.

Silver Sky

What was boiling not too long ago has come down to a slow simmer, perhaps the best word for it is 'addiction'. It's a different feeling, and I've never been one who has experimented with feelings.

Have I regained my composure or is this simply a moment of calm in between storms?

The afternoon sky today was silver. The early morning breeze carried the sharpness of a sword of ice. I walked wearing armour around my heart, it did not help with the cold.

"Things are just beginning now", I began to think I looked up at the grey sky. The sun is a pale white behind these clouds. Beautiful. Depressing.

There is this doubt that I may try my hardest only to fail, and failure is what I fear most. From a cold, logical perspective it does not make sense, I have nothing to gain by not trying either.

I've allowed myself to be led, to chase after the carrot that was dangled in front of me as I crushed ripe apples underneath my feet.

I've been to purgatory before- but my trips have been like a dive into open water. I took a deep breath before I went in- and again when I got out.
I never tried to survive within it- merely tolerate it long enough for people to stop asking questions.

But unless I learn to breathe in sick, suffocating water, I will drown.

Enough of this obsession. The breeze is cool, not cold, and comforting. I am lying in under the open sky. Though it may not be infinite today, this curtain of silver gives me more than enough room to spread wings.
Are they real or made of wax?

Someday soon, I hope to lie sprawled on the grass and look up at an endless blue- just like the old days...

In conversation

I was walking, talking to myself- when I heard a voice reply.


"Who are you?" I asked. "You already know." It replied.
I did know.
"Do you know the answers to my questions?"
"I know them better than you do."
Then tell me- "Am I in love?"
"You already know."
Thanks, that helps.

"What do I do now?" I asked. "What do you want to do?" It asked.

"I can't... this is not the right time. If- I cannot redeem myself now, I'll carry the burden on my shoulders for the rest of my life. The burden of not trying me hardest to get a firm grip on my future. 12 years of cumulative effort, lost- just for this. "

"If you do nothing- will you regret it?"
It was an easy answer. "Yes." "So why are you in doubt?" It asked.
"What if I hate her because of this? I can't stand the thought of ever hating her."
"Then don't."
"Why... now? Can't I do it, after all of this is finished? When I'm free?"
The voice whistled. "Four months- who would wait four months?"
"I would, and much longer."
"Yes, for her- not for yourself."
I guess that was fair, I can't imagine anyone waiting for me.

"What if she rips out my bared heart-? Rends it apart and leaves it out to dry?"
It enquired further- "How do you persist- why have you lost all hope?"
I thought for a while. "Instinctively... I can tell that she does not feel for me."
"Yet that does not seem to be enough to stop you. Where is your confidence now, where is that arrogance which you wear with pride?" The voice in my head was asking me questions now.

"What can I say? No-one has ever made my heart throb like this before, ever made me smile with this kind of purity, I've never been able look past anyone else's flaws like they did not exist. No one else has ever entered my dreams. She's too good for me, and she probably knows it."
"How can you say it with such ease- when you saw the way she looked at you in your dream."

I paused. "That wasn't her. It was you. I am not so naive as to fall for any cheap imitation. You are just a dreamer trying to live through me. I am the one who must struggle to survive everyday. I am... less than nothing. All I can try to do... is help her in any way I can."

"Do you not think that you have felt her heart?"

Have I? "I cannot even distill true feelings from false ones."

"If you are incapable of doing even that- why do you insist on making her do this to you?"

"Because... if I have fallen in love with a facade... then I deserve to have my heart shattered."

Broken Masks

Sometimes I think that I am not one person.If I was, I would not be fighting with myself. Fighting for what I am and what I wish to be. There are voices that speak in my mind, they can be no-one else, and so they are me. I sense their will, I feel their weakness, sometimes I can tell when I recede into the background and they take over.

First is the Mask. He has no voice. It is merely a face for others to see, for those who would rather not see the real me. Its existence is thin, pathetic. It is fashioned, chained and tempered by laws that have no meaning other than to bind. This cold shell stops people from looking into my heart from behind their own masks. My Mask is broken though, and soon it will fall and shatter into pieces. What will happen then? I wonder.

The naïve Squire, he is an accumulation of everything that has been fed into me by a system trying to make an ideal human. He wishes to trust and see the inherent good in all people, see things in black and white instead of dwelling within the grey areas- but he is slow to react to a situation he is not accustomed to. He believes in chivalry, in justice, in truth. Every day his voice battles to be heard from underneath the Mask. With each injustice meted out to me his voice weakens. He is unwanted in a world bereft of compassion, but somehow he continues to persist.

The Avenger smiles when subject to cruelty. He desires vengeance, not justice. Compassion is not an issue for him. He manifests himself in me in the form of my everyday cynicism and pessimism- but there is a dormant darker side to him which collects pain and wishes to inflict it onto others. I wish to ease his hate, but to imbibe his unyielding spirit, focus his fierce passion.

The Dreamer knows what I want. He is a part of me that remains untainted by anything that happens around him, simply because he ignores it. His only desire is pure freedom, and he floats away from anything that would try to control him, be it life, death, ‘society’ or the very planet that tries to hold him to the ground. He is my imagination let wild, a fountain of incredible creativity and energy- but fickle and temperamental. He is unwilling, even, to slow down enough to allow me to put these thoughts into words before he jumps towards whatever catches his fancy next. He is an able entertainer, treating me to dreams of surprising complexity and depth and making my desires clear to me even as I try to look away from them. Hidden in his childlike ways, there seems to be a deeper understanding of life, however, every time I try to catch him to question him- he disappears.

The Addict, he was the obedient child once- the diligent worker. He has let himself be misled by what surrounds him. He believes that he cannot resist his addiction and so he’s given up before even trying. What remains is a hollow, deteriorated being that only searches for moments of cheap satisfaction in the face of true happiness. His curiosity has faded into the background, his stagnantion stems from self doubt.

The Survivor knows only the fear of death. His thoughts are out of the scope of good and evil, they are there only to ensure a continued existence. Unwittingly he taunts me by asking me to choose between protecting myself or those who are dear to me. The answer is simple for him- for he cares about nothing. But although he may be a part of me, I am not him. The answer is simple for me too, but implementing my decision will not be as comfortable as his.

In scattered moments of weakness I have felt within myself a cold, uncaring, depravity.
Evil.
I do not feel its line of thought working in my head, if I didn’t remember the fierce reaction it evoked in me in the past I wouldn’t think that it existed.
I do not know what it wishes, it has no emotion. Perhaps this is merely my mind’s attempt to understand evil. It is not like the others, it is not part of what I am. I hate it.
I want to find this thought and kill it. But even with this resolution, I cannot help but wonder- If I was really a ‘good’ person, I wouldn’t have to be scared of it.

And who am I then? - The one who speaks to himself in his head as he writes this.Am I one of the personas? Am I all of them? Or am I a separate creature altogether, the Thinker, who listens to these murmurings and tries to find meaning behind it all.