- in the name of Allah -



Sometimes being me is like being a tuning fork, tapping silently, softly against anything and everything and seeing if any matter in existence has a sympathetic frequency. Just that the older I get, the farther it all seems to get away from me. Most don't have the care or patience to understand, even want to understand things, the way I might find the most joy in. With good reason, life goes by nearly the speed of light and such things take up time they'd rather spend on something more applicable, more profitable, more worthwhile. In the dawn of this new age of men, I've long felt a relic of bygone eras, ironically coupled with other vast reasons for the general out-of-placeness I've know nearly all my time living. So what does one born in the wrong century, the wrong millennia, do? After a point the heart and soul shut off externalities, almost like it's all white noise, fluff taking up ear space. Such a place is almost like being in outer space, beyond ice cold, nearly 0 kelvin where everything in between neurons starts to freeze too. Not particularly exciting, but definitely more problematic when the goal held needs so much vigilance, tending to. Alas that this road I need to make through has me crossing the path I hate to reach the point I love. What else could make it worth it I imagine, the saltiness and sheer scale of irony is truly amazing, breathtaking, palpable like a heartbeat. But that's what it is, the undercurrent of the road I have to walk to reach where I want to reach. To swallow the agony of distance, of not knowing both the state either of us are in and if my bones stay cohesive long enough to make over the bridge, this is part of how the picture of my destination, surrounded by all the things one dislikes, shapes out to be. No matter how often things tend to freeze, I'll just try to slip and slide my way across the rink and find you a pair of skates while I'm at it, iA.