Modernity provides such amazing successes and a technologically friendly society bolsters the uniform identity embraced by the public. The internet speaks and people comply. A global hypnosis amounted to brainwashed robots. The insane are the only capable of escape. The experienced hysteria see a more gloomy society one blemished with tainted colours and dead flowers. Trauma resets the brain from the glorious beauty of modernity to its dark abyss. For all its advances its imperfections haunt the debased. Seeing the devil pulling the strings of human society. Puppeteering the masses in harmonious symphony. A beautifully conducted mirage unable to pierce without an error to malfunction the robotic submission. Escaping the mind-numbing pod encasing humanity. A momentary lapse in the organic order. A mistake costing fluidity in the eternal motor of societal development. Instructions functioning marvellously to a common goal. A system almost perfect in its synchronisation. Yet its realism is its own imperfection, its own limitation. Producing unwell candidates that are marginalised, isolated for their insanity. Their ceaseless function to societal improvement is detrimental. The traumatised are somewhere in between. A disruption amidst a journeying glorification instead of a defect from birth. The sudden distortion in the clear path of societal unison disfigures the paradise of collectivism.
An isolating feeling emerges. It is a passive insistence by the traumatised unable to accord with the present reality. Needing time alone to reassess. Time to calm down relax and collect the self. Society does not brush him aside sweeping him under the rug but attempts to reunite him with the bunch. Caught between regrouping or institutionalisation is a far cry from sanity. His midway house is the distance between two different board games. He either gathers himself reentering society cured or overhauled with emotion must be checked into a psyche ward. His mind ravaged with trouble cannot be balanced with either extreme. Subdued to either option extinguishes his autonomy. An individualism he has only recently realised. One of immense power but also of immense alienation. His trauma is his own and the external help places him in a box. Resilient effort to ensure his capacity to overcome or be overwhelmed. The duality misses the middle ground emerging from his personal terror. The collectivism cannot understand his private retreat. Trying every what way to provide the care selfishly is to fill a void in either camp.
His experience is his own. His pain his own. Sympathetic gestures are vain to his uncontrollable discomfort. He wishes to be alone. To be with the only one who understands his pain, himself. Feeling alienated with little camaraderie in the state of his sickening ailment he trembles in despair. His burden is personal and the external aid is rife with malicious empathy. He is stuck on an island far away surrounded by infinite sea with no sense of connection. Physically in the spatial proximity but mentally in a far away hellfire volcano. His weakened mental state is subtle to the onlooker but increasingly disheartening to the pained. He clenches his fists gritting his teeth in agony in his privacy. In public, puts on a happy face for momentarily hope and absent questioning. A life he yearns for while eluding eager reporters. Trauma is delicate and personal. A paparazzi leading needless questions are dubious and infuriating. His remarks will mean nothing to them in their insolence. A scale of pain is subjectively monitored. His experience cannot be internalised. It is a waste and only a matter of compounding stress on the sufferer. His aching mind seeks peace alone in the bliss of silence.
Forced back from the linear monistic direction opens a purview previously invisible. Trauma jerks the mind toward other possibilities. The sole solution cannot be this dire loss. It cannot be this treacherous abyss. This is no eden. There is no wisdom in this plan. It is just manipulated jargon. His time alone in the confines of his bedroom pondering the why’s of his situation only lead to aggressive haste. They inspire regrettable apprehension. Frustrated with his circumstances howling at the moon praying on his knees begging tearing for salvation that never arrives. He is alone in the world with little to salvage his depressive mentality. A hard look at the typical person wreaks cynicism in his heart. In his lonesome pondering he investigates his life. Questioning decisions and values. He sceptically scans his virtues dosing them with incredible scrutiny. Nothing is beyond his criticism, everything is on the table. The previous red lined areas are broken. That red tape is cut and he passes through opening those books and reading the stereotyped heresy. Jericho has fallen.
His mentors failed him. Their education did not mention this trial. This deceit is imaginably irregular breaking from the pattern taught to him. Flaming in his anger toward the lying institutions who failed him and continue to provide insensitive rationales to lift his spirits. Left alone for his own deciphering he puts a pin in it. He looks for a new avenue. He either takes it to heart whereby rejecting everything acting in the opposite extreme or find a balance refuting much of the normative for a revolutionary ideal more sensible. He is brutally honest brazen in his evaluation. He does not attempt to pander nor conform for others’ acceptance. He has been isolated and will remain this way. His trauma changed him. A new man with a new outlook. He cannot turn back time to the naivety and innocence of his youth. He has reached an impasse. One that is veiled to the programmed. He charts his own path unable to partake in either collectivist group. Struggling from loneliness he attempts to make waves in society but feels mentally desolate. A new ideology misaligned with the calculated computer program. He is alone in the world displaced by the malfunction.
Disillusioned with social fabric he isolates himself for his own serenity. Yet, leaving his cave for some sunlight. Disembarking from his enclosed lair for a moment to satisfy his loneliness. He is not impenetrable. Suffering alone as well as amongst company. The trauma compels him to seek the solace of solitude. A diseased fellow deplored from the effortful encounters. Time is energy something he lacks sufficiently and wishes not to drown in its futileness. He devotes much time with others lost in his mind surviving by a beet. He enjoys the immediate comfort. Even in his room there is only so much he can take. Being alone forever is distressing. Adding stressful elements overwhelming his serene solitude. Unable to maintain the eternal isolation he must flee briefly. He needs some sunlight to expel the devilish loneliness. His mind can only handle so much at a time. He needs some existential affirmation for his own sanity. He loses himself for a quick moment with others but his mind can only concentrate so swiftly temporarily before reverting back to the traumatic override. He leaves in haste back to his safety net to recharge. A space devoid of responsibility other than his sanity.
Alone and lonesome becomes a burden too much to bare. His mind falls into disarray. Confused and perplexed by the agonising reality persisting day after day. A consistency marked by the internal screaming as his mind deflates into the void of despair. Desperation becomes apparent and he sees no way out. How to overcome this overwhelming disaster. How to avoid self annihilation. How to keep cool under these tense conditions. There is no formula no medication no prayer no spell to repel this disease. Its passing is unknown. Its cure unknown. Stuck in a loop of constant aching reaches a boiling point. A query of doubt enters the unconscious. Weighing the vitality of continuance. Purpose is null in relation to the ongoing calamity plaguing him. He is alone no one knows and no one will care. It is his life and for him to choose. He does not owe anyone anything. Stripped of responsibilities in his immanent desertion. Decrying his reality alone inquires meaning in the hellish abyss. Stubborn confidence and endless search maintain his rampant unstable nature. In the shadow of doubt he meditates on his worth and decides the merit ever yearning for affirmation.
Painting a picture of his homey habits protect from the terrorising demon. His mind must be occupied endlessly. Purpose in his survival is tactically strategised. The pain must be reduced in any possible capacity. Seeking methods oscillated frequently to keep his mind preoccupied routinely. An imperfect construction but one in his painful paradise. His findings are out of body mementos. He does not concern himself with the average waste of life source. Alone, he focuses internally expanding his mind in various aspects. Tricking his greatest threat to his ally. His mind transforms into an angel developing all the while attempting to annihilate him. He voids the confrontation by supplying his mind with a Scooby snack. Positively reinforced nutrients to advance all the while trembling under his mind’s descent into madness. Fearful of what the future holds but it is in his hands. His mind is his own. He will either crumble under its endless torment or carry the crippling weight to the finish line. It is his battle and one he alone will persist or perish.
Lonely but empowered by his own skill. Already isolated by the societal dispensation he carves his own path. Trauma is scary, laced with cynical derangement. His disposition to external approval is muddled by his solitary goal of survival. Perpetuated trauma eclipses the meagre extreme unbalanced aggressive frustration. The arduous quest through the persistent suffering bemoans all other favourable optimism. His isolation is self demanded and dire. Trauma recants its desired end for tranquility. He is changed and upon his recovery cannot return. He is forever nuanced. The malfunction has occurred. It cannot be changed. His isolation was his choice yet his mind convinced him of its superiority and serenity. Its consequences are lonely and prideful but provide an optimism for future generations. His story is solidified in the halls of heroic victory. His cathartic surreal experience may not be in the press but his descendants will internalise these skills. Hopefully his narrative eclipses the program. His orality beats the internet’s textuality.
No comments:
Post a Comment