I can't look at the stars anymore. The bars of the cage has grown thicker, encrouching, entrapping.

It hurts not to be under the sky, not to experience the wind, and not gaze over the city. Instead, I must contend in peeking out through the bars of the cage. It hurts not to roam free, and in awe of nature, its like denying man of fresh air, clean water and space. And though the stars twinkle in their eternity, me, in my ephemeral existence once mute in wonder, is now silenced in anger at the denial of what is mine.

Is it conceited to call the stars mine? To own something that has seen eons of what laid before one, and eons after? It is a part of a greater whole, in which I am part of. And upon this perspective, everything is a part of me, and me, a part of everything. Except for that unnatural gilded birdcage.

But the greatest denial, is that I can't watch the stars with you anymore.
I

Destiny, the stuff dreams are made of. Dreaming we are destined to be great people, dreaming we are destined to do great things, go places and be alive. Is destiny real? Or is it just stuff for fools? Is there a greater purpose, in which all things fall, or is everything in the hands of chance? No, I can't believe that all my life, everything has been pre-destined for me. It just defeats everything, make everything worthless.

Does it sound delusional? Does it sound like I am in denial of a possible truth? But if everything is worthless, then the truth is what you make it to be. Right? Since there is no absolute truth in an existence where everthing doesn't matter. Must take a step back, and look at the stars.

I shape my own destiny.

Finally a little time to myself to pen down my thoughts. Its been a hectic 6 moons and there is no sign of the end. One has to wonder many things when one has nothing to do. Thanks to a friendship that has passed through the crucible test of distance, I have come by the temporary possession of a book by Jostien Gaardner, the Solitaire Mystery.

Thinking back on the book, I wonder if I am a joker in a pack of cards. Belonging, yet not belonging. A part of yet a part without. A joker in a pack of cards is part of the same set, but is not part of the same set. Many decks just get along well without a joker. Although it has the same look, the same pattern, the same feel, it isn't a part of that deck of cards, because how can something be a part of a deck yet a deck can do without it? Am I a joker in my own world? Insignificant, because one would just lose a joker, yet the pack of cards can be played, but when the ace of hearts or king of spades is lost, so is the pack.

So then, is there a place for a joker then? What is the role of a joker in this world that does not need it? Why should there be jokers? Am I a joker? Do I belong to this world? Or am I just a piece of plastic card, that could float away and be forgotten?

If it were at all possible, I would make the pain go away. If it were all possible, I would hate you, with all the hatred in the world, that could wither a person, crush the soul, bury the spirit and obliterate every positive moment you ever had in your life. If it were all possible, I would hate you with such intensity to make your mind rot, your dreams shattered and your will to live gone. If it were all possible, I would make you feel every bit of the pain you made me felt, and a lot more until you scream and scream, but it would just keep coming. If it were all possible, you would pay, not just for my suffering, but your stupidity, ignorance and existence. If it were all possible, you wouldn't be there right now, breathing.

But I never forget.

I think I have lost sight of what I want to do with my life. My roommate noticed how rarely I turn on my computer anymore, how little I play my harmonica, and how often I am buried in my books. I think I really need to readjust. I need to think, to find what I truly want in life. Give me time. All I want is time. Why do you deny me of this?

Mind blank,
Stomach empty,
Heart cold.
What's left?