Journal of Miscellany
Concerning the developements of Jacob in this strange and unpredictable world.
Half a year zipped by.  Small changes, but nothing significant. 
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I can see some improvements, but not much else.  It's not totally useless, is it now?

But there's certainly a whole lot of ground to cover next year.
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I've entered 2012 without much fanfare, but the pressure is still there.  I keep failing myself.  I've hit the lowest point of my life, and climbed out of it changed indefinitely.  I've lied to myself, and even betrayed myself!

Words cannot express how hurt I am.

Year after year after year, with no ending in sight.  No easy solution, no clear way out.  Me?  I keep doubting myself every step of the way.  I hesitate too much.  I freeze up when big things start coming, much to my detriment.

If I my problems can be plainly visualized, it would be something like this:

I'm at the bottom of a deep pit, deep enough that I can't climb out.  There are chains binding me from every direction, so I can't really move every way I want.  Add a mountain or two on my shoulders for every year that went by.

But, really now.

I can't save myself.

I desire freedom, but it is always out of my reach.

Sigh, I'll give myself 10 more years.

I'll fight with everything I have, and if I still can't get out, I'll figure something out.

But heh, I am such a useless piece of trash.
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I've been dragging myself along so far, and and for so long that I've lost sense of who I was and what I wanted in life. 

I know now that I'm just a very faint shadow of my past self.

I want to put myself back together, but there's just too many pieces scattered around, and I'm so tired.

And that feeling of tiredness.  I don't really know when it began, or when it'll stop, but I think it's turning heavy, and I can feel it getting bigger and bigger.  Like a mountain, perhaps.  A mountain no one can see, and I'm shouldering it.

An architect told me that I should complete something, or do something that will give me a sense of relief or contentment.  A very simple answer, but the execution itself is hard.  The flesh is weak.

The mind itself is a mystery.

It wanders off to a lot of places and sees a lot of things it shouldn't have.

I feel numb.
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Counter Flay
Artwork not connected whatsoever with work of fiction.

There was once one who drank from the air and ate from the flowing water, standing as a blackened cenotaph for all to see.

"Whatever dreams he envisioned, half filled portions would rise up and get swallowed up by the roaring winds, while parched dregs of what remained, not unlike cheap burned up glass, would crash down onto the earth with dull thuds, setting unkindly, causing vaporous smoke to rise up and choke the lower crusts of its confabulated and baked out surface."

One night, they called him wrong, and lured him out onto an empty field.

Softly he began, "It is high night when all wrongs are heavy, a great time for everyone to lie and die. Pray confound me if you do, but why?"

"He called me a liar and a fiend, but I am neither!" The leech friend complained.

"Ho, so you say, but what of me a falsity turned real? The truth you say, and with you no liar?" the leech thought.

"I cannot lie, and I certainly did not."

"I fed myself from my mind's eye, and my mouth tasted red sweetness."

The host concurred to both. Nodded to the other.

Beauty, beauty for all of you, haggardly niggards, regardless of how real it is.

"I want..." but, looking down at his feet, he could not continue.

The sterile earth, he knows, would have never lied to him in the first place.


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Virtue depicted is not related to the fairy tale at all.

Some time later, they were woken up by a leech friend.

Apparently, the leech friend also saw fit to take the liberty of transporting their bodies onto an open field.

"By hand, I am fiend, but I can also be a very gentle and special friend." quoth the leech friend, saving the leech from the redundancy of speech.

"Mayhaps I've waited long, and then some, but what else is there?"  The hosts' eyes blinked and roved and carved about, but he can't see some.

The leech friend walked around, the leech crawled circles.

"I hope soon there be flowers at the very least," the host thought quietly.

"Growth, growth, take time and take heart.  Should be around, should be aground!" raved the leech friend.

"Soon, soon, you mean? You fiend?  You friend fiend!"  the leech thought aloud.

"I am friend, they called me fiend, and I am leech friend, but no leech is a friend of mine," said the leech friend calmly.

Then all three turned silent.

The open field was wide enough, bare enough, and airy enough.  But one or three alive can still suffocate on abundance.


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Pictured, Anisakis simplex, no relation to fairy tale.

I believe I believe when there was a time called once upon a time, a leech looked up to his host and said, "you are very sick, and yet I am still with you, feeding off your blood. Won't you ever get mad?"

The host looked down, perceiving the leech that clung tightly down under, gave it a smile that can only appear on one beyond weariness and care.

There was a moment of meandering silence at the effect of such a contact, but

"Ahm, I see." The leech answered back redundantly, and continued to feed.

Sometime later, when the leech got full it fell off the host and wriggled a bit on the ground. The host, who was sitting still all this while, remained so.

Understanding each other, neither of them spoke anymore.


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