Wheeling Weak Week: Day 4 of the Spectrum

67 01100111 72 01110010 65 01100101 65 01100101 6e

     I think if you wanted to visualize the spectrum differently you could, but to push me away you have to mold my slight wrong-doings into something much worse than the conceivable of a barely born baby boy, and you knew I had just gotten my wings with you once more. You comprehend what this means to me, I know this absolutely that you did at some coordinate of thigh-high travel up to my wasted period.
     The words you sloppily shoveled into my mouth are the fossil evidence of your… …and how unashamed you are to not only let it spin right round onto the records webbed with lies and onto the fatalities of our unsuspecting friends, but boldly to spread the suffering around to your children of demise. Those lying in wake cannot stand to be lucid alone & I think that’s you here, here all along.

     When you realize the worth you skipped out on—not missed out on, you frolicked away indefinitely—you then will realize you left me too far past noon for you to ever appreciate anything of my lunatic parade marching to my beat of 89 drummers, all to the rhythm of my cry.
     Shut out you were, but barring your own cell of self-worthless. I wish I had been a part of your greater plan, but there is no “I” in what constructs all of you, the Intelligently Designed. I have never been let in, have never, will never embark with a false I.D. My only chance of breaking you was spooning the tunnel to your cave, lest I had been the spider there all along. But I am not too white, not too wight for you, and now I can only fast.

     You were so much better the way you were, this regret is paramount to what I had done in part. I don’t know what to do because I can’t destroy you and now I can’t be rid of your calling! You’re frozen in space-time of one’s wormy mind—the contrasting black hole of yours.
     Someday you will look away from the fading star at the one right in front of you. In absence she is the Alpha Centauri of our infinite prism… I know we look away from the sun, but why is it so easy for us to look into the abyss? It’s staring right fucking at you, you’re the mirror of the blankest stare I’ve ever known, mein Bruder blank.

     But they didn’t have to die for us, and we were never asked to die for them.

01101110

Wheeling Weak Week: Day 3 of the Spectrum

79 01111001 65 01100101 6c 01101100 6c 01101100 6f 01101111 77

     It took me days to remember your name before I forgot it again, how all does that say about us and them in line for prayer? The impact was great and startling to my fragile being of uncertainty of the unknowns, but let’s recognize the weakness I offered up to nothing by the suggested surrendering of myself. Way to conquer the weak, and divide them among the many willing to serenity without applauding cause.
     And to or for what, pray tell, a feeling of belonging? I belong amongst the rationalists, not life pretenders sipping syrupy pamphlets of desires.

     Sure sure, it worked just for that day, let’s just discuss the results of your hypocrisy, the bigger daisy of the pictured portrait I’m painting. Smoke smoke smoke, you’re choking outside while you’re blind inside to the one white love. You drew up your demons like your idols, worshiping falsities and dancing to your downpour of shame, it’s just another pretty picture of despicable illustrations you could have burnt behind instead of left in the rain: and you called it—soma.

     A drink didn’t puncture me like a silver sliver didn’t, even so I’d have someone to drown with in the raining blood of my own. It’s not who you’d expect or speak against, no, no, I drown alone in the abyss once we fall all alone: the Lake of the Dead is mine to swallow up whole. Bucketfuls of my own lusting, I see you down there! surfing the turf of unexpected luck: thus your existence as a stable wobbling bored rider.

     I learned to swim, now how about you?

01110111

Wheeling Weak Week: Day 2 of the Spectrum

6f 01101111 72 01110010 61 01100001 6e 01101110 67 01100111 65

     I’ve got to mail you invitation for the props, the way broke into my cell with better vigilance than anyone I’ve consciously met. Reservations, second thought, judgment, lacking the prior morals of a well-groomed human being, you strode right in on my Vasch stampede very much welcomed and stomped all over the Mire with your better Bone build.
     How you never met with destruction of our disaster: I am and always will be of much, much superiority than you, I am in the world without end snickering in the ghost-smoke of your missing face through the moon-shattered grin of bruises you forgot on mine. Never forget how much I’ll (n)ever miss you.

     Just for the day we speak calmly from the fountain’s head of how little I cared of truly you, how tolerable you are to use and abuse me once more at a minimal cost you believe to be low. Dignity is the pricey item tonight, sell wisely for this buyer has been worn frequent times past.

     Forever my escape plan from the spider legs like disease, nothing stolen seriously flapping out from behind your perfect teeth as a sleight-of-hand’s offer. You showed them all right, now to cower since the day has been set behind the cannon. Oh oh inexcusable, inexquisite you.

     You are positively through and through a laughable existence of my understanding.
     Yet…
     At least your appreciation was more than what I can currently speak for, though I query: did it even matter considering the consummation of my soul after the ego’s feeding?
     Questions for a brighter day, called something, like, yellow…

01100101

Wheeling Weak Week: Day 1 of the Spectrum

72 01110010 65 01100101 64

     Grappling the impossible is irrevocable to the incomplete person: you you you you you. Shattered and tattered, you. Flapping in the wind as a white flag, you. Since the day the war began (you) and ended in a flash instant (you).

     “Rape this world, though I much prefer my luscious new garden for unbushy penetration,” he said, cultivating a synchronized grapple with an purple arrow atop. You struck out your plow with the shebang, clambered atop its peachy peaky mouth, then inaugurated the branches of innocence you didn’t deserve and belonged to no one, not! even God.
     Your leading role in this exceptional life of squandering play has been deemed VOID by your reaction to the highest matter, yet you still stride upon my world-face today.

     Residence of the pitiful decay: Crawling Avenue within inadequate cheap pine of very few sense. The thought disgruntles instinct of kin: how could I hold resent? Logically at ease. You learned to allow death not only on your doorstep, but inside your home and inside the beds of the innocent. The bugs bit bit bit away at the kinderfeld barely watered, and you cowered outside of the doors without a sound or whisper or teakettle.
     Very well! you might have been afraid, your defense is here presented for you better than your unPowerful Point. Now we are left to speculate the right task: what of their fear trying to break down the door that you kept locked shut? If you had set them free before the wings grew, the lock might have been the only thing raped. They had to look for a window to break, that might still be unbroken, or worse, unbreakable by the laws of good window-making craftsmanship.

     Admitted and found unguilty, my qualms towards you are of the selfish cause. I care of the past not more than I care of my presence. After all, I’m not the historian of the S.S. Infinitum! I love life, and mostly, my life. I do not love your attempts to infiltrate a good thing. Spewing trash here and there, the kerosene of my last nerves. I have well over four hundred, not quite five hundred, yet enough of one hundred reasons to extinguish you in my arsenal. The right might will flip you into the abysmal…

01100100

The Observant Love Song of the Future

“I’m seventeen and I’m crazy. My uncle says the two always go together. When people ask your age, he said, always say seventeen and insane. . . .” – Clarisse McClellan, Fahrenheit 451

     It’s a little frightening when I consider that in three months I will be eighteen. Did anyone else ever feel this way, or does everyone feel this way? … A child trapped in hardly a woman’s body, with what has proven to be a man by her side. There are so many things that will change and so many things that possibly could. I am at the brink of the rest of my life. … And in short, I am afraid.

Unsaved Pt. 2

We’re the byproduct of their defamation
Labeled and deemed obsolete
Tearing us apart
Abandoned and scarred
They’re blackening our distorted hearts

We are UNSAVED.

Kiln

Why do people ask me if or why 
I’m angry on the occasions I am 
as if I don’t have every right in the world 
to be a forever-burning furnace of infuriation?

Another Black Hole

     I’d like to think I’ve decided against something for the best of all possible worlds, then I’m not so sure. I won’t consider this the rest of my life unless the importance is paramount to the mountain I’ve already shoveled out of this hole I’ve dug myself into.
     What a terrible world we socialites live in, what a horrible excruciatingly painful world we socialize in. How joyous it is to be as bright as the sun capable of fighting the gravity of everything.

     Eventually I’ll give up and die without a surrendering key note or a waving white flag. It’ll be red flags and a long night, I can tell. I’ve got a big plan with my mind set, it’s just that who knows when I’ll actually give it some kinetic motion for a goal truly undesired.
     Sometimes we have to do what we must to protect ourselves before we think we must start preserving what little we’ve left uncorrupted, there’s really no one here to save ourselves. I’m sick of being the savior when it used to be all I ever dreamt. I’m not going to save you even if you let me, save your fucking self. … Self preservation—you’ve already welcomed the bomb.

     At the end of the supernova I care more about myself than any one or thing; majority is always right, am I right? I am a selfish, selfish girl proud to be the last one standing on this event horizon someday.

Romance on Celluloid

We are as sharp as 
we are in love, right?

The Offer & The Received

Rough draft written on 28 March 2010

     It’s difficult for me to trust people, especially people I instinctually feel I should—family. Undressing before a twisted grin and hours of lost darkness with my great grandfather is my youngest memory.

     At a point, three more individuals began to take turns at my body. A short time later my birth mother figured it out, on several occasions witnessing my captors leading their prisoner to Hell. All the while she said and did nothing. She picked at me for it then and calls me a liar today, yet has an immense curiosity in what all lies I have spread.

     What sick & sane person would wish to hear such horrendous lies evidently in accusation of themselves? Or perhaps, and the truth is grave-ridden here, she seeks what truths I have told that she has attempted desperately to cleverly disguise as lies so that she may better cloak the rest of what I haven’t yet told the world in invisibility. Hardly.

     Aside from trust, holding on to self-worth from my obvious (re)collection of reduction to the V is a prominent difficulty. The one I felt by a subconsciously assumed mutual instinct should care for me most, harbors a malicious desire to constantly belittle and subsequently dispatch me in finite time. She wouldn’t protect my then-virgin body of all the things she could’ve, how could I gravitationally take pride in myself without an outside force? My body has always been the prison from the very first particle of dark matter I know exists but cannot see.

     This is the inescapable womb of a black hole that has swallowed me ad infinitum. Someone’s going to have to push me out, and maybe it’s me. We don’t know what triggers labor. All I’m sure of is my inescapability of responsibility for what I hope was this unplanned pregnancy. I wish someone had protected me from the egg, because the only life I’ve ever received from you Lisa Marie Kaufmann is your mitochondria.

“The Trusting Ship” – A Poem

The Trusting Ship

28 March 2010

I feel like my problems.
Trust all dissipates as soon as I board the ship.
I don’t care enough to assess my problem before I step inside the annihilation door,
they won’t care any more than me to the core.

One again we’ve reached the attractive aesthetic.

I don’t want to share this, but I’m on obvious a kick of being vulnerable today.

This is the closest I’ll come to candle light, significantly brighter than my burning out pilot light. Here’s what you do to me: you burn me brighter than I ever have before into a collapsing supernova, eventually in my (ec)static musings I burst from gravity and spit out 2^nd generation stars if I’m grand enough. How I could be is indefinite, you’re the single grandeur view of anything here, not me. I’m just the viewer of the kaleidoscope. Every bright color is only you.

Like with many things, my throat contracts. From your supposed guilt, from the things I want to share with you but assume you don’t want to hear, from the tears I repress and suppress on a too-common basis for a magnitude of mostly irrational reasons. I paint my world with your face because you promised me we could paint the future black—but what if I don’t want it black? Maybe I like orange today, maybe I want my own Sanctum to cry (in)to. I know I’ve always hated the color orange but now it seems right, so full of life. It’s youth, it’s love and passion, it’s first times which I’ve run out of, although you cause me to pretend everything is a first when it’s not a first for me, it’s a first for me with you. Relatively, that’s my first that matters, arrogantly and in layman’s laughable terms: what I see is relative, what I do not see does not exist.

Love is before and after this in love I have fallen. I want to take you with me.

            My perception of you is so easily warped because I so badly don’t want you to stray in any way. Can you relate to how troubling this could be? Do you ever irrationally wonder if I am out flying about with flocks of men, when you know I am at home self-confined to scientists in books? Perhaps not as wild, mine aren’t either. It’s just so easily to slip into the near-convincing state of myself that you don’t want me in an array of forms. But I never doubt that you care.

            How is April almost over when this is just when our lives began? Is the end nigh or are we on the horizon—not an event’s… I digress. If there was one person I’d stand at the precipice of the ad infinitum hole with, it is you and only you; beautiful.

Liberate Te Ex Inferis

     My boyfriend is asleep or so I think, my best friend never called me back to make plans like we were going to, my father’s reading Schopenhauer in the living room, and my mother is terrorizing the city with her friends.

     Although I rarely feel so nonexistent in this world to the people that matter most, a rarity unknown is how actually alive I feel. Today my horrors visited another human being, now I know that I am not the only one who knows them by first name. I am liberated. This is what it feels like to be free.

Thursday’s Thoughts - Theme: Time

     For the past few days I have been reading Stephen Hawking’s A Briefer History of Time and it has completely captivated me. (One of the reasons why not much has been posted on COSA18 lately, still!) His beautiful explanations make the wonders of physics so easily graspable. My dad keeps joking, “So are you going to go become a physicist now instead of a sociobiologist?” In reply I say, “Why would I need to? Hawking has already answered every question I’ve ever pondered about physics!”

     As if it weren’t obvious from the title, time, specifically space-time, is the central theme of the book. It’s led me to think a bit about time, and I find it most appropriate for this week’s theme.

This Week’s Theme: Time

“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.” - Albert Einstein

“There is a time for departure even when there’s no certain place to go.” - Tennessee Williams

“There is only one you for all time. Fearlessly be yourself.” - Anthony Rapp

     The final quote by Anthony Rapp made me tear up. It’s something I “needed” to hear today.

Monday’s Excerpts – Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche

     At the precipice of breaking my solace was Nietzsche, how deeply the philosophy has become a piece of my mind is paramount to anything I’ve been enlightened by before. I am inspired by the trusted influential, and this I trust.

This Week’s Book: Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche

Part Two: The Free Spirit. Section 26.
Every superior human being will instinctively aspire after a secret citadel where he is set free from the crowd, the many, the majority, where, as its exception, he may forget the rule ‘man’ – except in the one case in which, as a man of knowledge in the great and exceptional sense, he will be impelled by an even stronger instinct to make straight for this rule. . . . (Page 57)

—————

Part Two: The Free Spirit. Section 29.
Few are made for independence – it is a privilege of the strong. And he who attempts it, having the completest right to it but without being compelled to, thereby proves that he is probably not only strong but also daring to the point of recklessness. He ventures into a labyrinth, he multiplies by a thousand the dangers which life as such already brings with it, not the smallest of which is that no one can behold how and where he goes astray, is cut off from others, and is torn to pieces limb from limb by some cave-minotaur of conscience. If such a one is destroyed, it takes places so far from the understanding of men that they neither feel it nor sympathize – and he can no longer go back! He can no longer go back even to the pity of men! – (Pages 60-61)

—————

Part Nine- What is Noble?. Section 272.
Signs of nobility: never to think of degrading our duties into duties for everybody; not to want to relinquish or share our own responsibilities; to count our privileges and the exercising of them among our duties. (Page 210)

Books finished this past week...
★★★☆☆ Island by Aldous Huxley
★★☆☆☆ Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang by Chelsea Handler
★★★☆☆ Brave New World Revisited by Aldous Huxley
★★★☆☆ Girl Coming In for a Landing by April Halprin Wayland
★☆☆☆☆ After the Death of Anna Gonzales by Terri Fields

(All title links link back to my webpages of them on Goodreads.com, a great library/reviewing/rating website for readers. Check it out, and add me as a friend if you decide to join!)

Nietzschean Love;

 

Part Four: 
Maxims and Interludes. 
Section 102.

To discovered he is loved in return ought really to disenchant the lover with the beloved. ‘What? She is so modest as to love even you? Or so stupid? Or – or –.’

Advice of the Unwarranted

     My father constantly tells me the same things in a broken record repetition as if I didn’t already know the garbage he’s recycling. It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever logically understand.

     Here I am studying some hardcore topics of biology, and he remind me that I need to be careful with my laptop directly on my bed because the lack of ventilation could cause the fan to burn up.
     I get that he’s a father and he’s looking out for me, yet in my opinion my reasoning for why it was absolutely unnecessary outweighs why it could have been. Not only has he told me this same advice in mimicking context time and time before, but I’m fairly sure that anyone studying a subject as intricate as biology—especially using a laptop for all of their notes—can piece the not-so-jigsaw puzzle together of, “Hey, I better be careful with the laptop fan being placed directly on a blanket for long periods of time.”
     My point is that I know this. I do not know biology, so studying the subject is stressful and strenuous enough without distraction, criticism, or any other form of disturbance the world’s inhabitants like to offer me.
I feel like I’m hardly given a break by people that shouldn’t even be harassing me in the first place. They portray themselves in a way as if I’m doing is never good enough for the unwelcome opinions I don’t care to even hear.

     “You need a job.”
     “You need to read more.”
     “You need to study less.”
     “You need to hang out with friends more.”
     “You need to call more and email less.”
     “You need to remind me more often you care about me.”
     “You need to be careful with your laptop on the bed.”

     As I went through the list of suggestions, I realized I can fire back every single one of them justifiably at the person that shot me with an elaborate explanation.
     Perhaps if they bothered me less, they could work on themselves more with a result of unconcern for my life, plus maybe an actual understanding of why I do the things I do.
     If you question whether the “advice” above escaped from your lips, it likely did or it likely will. Taste your own advice before you try lodging it down my throat. It goes without saying that if you do nothing, you’ll never understand someone that does everything.

My Current Work Load

     People have this misconception of me doing nothing with my time. If I shed light on them about my personal life, they’re either surprised and dumbfounded into being speechless, or critical in a variety of ways.
     To clarify for as broad a single audience I can reach: I study all day, every day. A few months ago when I realized I had the time and capabilities to study to this degree, it became my life. I don’t need a job—although I am trying to get one now, for pretty obvious reasons that exist in California until the latter part of this year—and my focus has become paramount to before after my diagnosis of ADD alongside a prescription of Vyvanse (Adderall). My constant attitude is that all knowledge unknown won’t be for long, and nothing is impossible of being held in my grasp.

     Tonight I organized my book “work load” after tidying up my room a bit, and took a picture to show my boyfriend. Before sending it I thought, instead of just sending him the photo with a detailing of what all is pictured, why not share with COSA18 and elaborate a little further than the limits that would likely have bored Jonathan anyway? So for a little proof that I’m not useless or lazy, here we go.

     On the left are the books I have already read, but have yet to completed the excerpts for. From top to bottom they are as follows:

• The Greatest Show on Earth by Richard Dawkins
• Brave New World Revisited by Aldous Huxley
• Island by Aldous Huxley
• The Imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis
• Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche
• The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawkins
• Climbing Mount Improbable by Richard Dawkins

    In the middle and on the right are books I have yet to read, but hope to within the next month and a half. The middle stack is science and non-fiction:

• A Reader’s Guide to T.S. Eliot by George Williamson
• The End of Faith by Sam Harris
• The Descent of Man by Charles Darwin
• Evolution for Everyone by David Sloan Wilson
• The Book of Animal Ignorance by John Mitchinson and John Lloyd
• A Briefer History of Time by Stephen Hawking
• Brave New Worlds by Bryan Appleyard
• Unweaving the Rainbow by Richard Dawkins

     To the right is strictly fiction:

• The 120 Days of Sodom & Other Writings by Marquis de Sade
• Jacob’s Hands: A Fable by Aldous Huxley and Christopher Isherwood
• After Many A Summer Dies the Swan by Aldous Huxley
• A Clergyman’s Daughter by George Orwell
• Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov
• The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson

And if we ever fight, always remember this:

Girl Coming In for a Landing

by April Halprin Wayland

-~-

“Big Argument with Leslie”

Arguing

Is strange.

The thing we are climbing

Becomes B R I T T L E.

One of us falls,

Then the other,

Shouting

As we drop.

Angrily

Blaming,

Loud;

Deaf.

In falling,

In the darkness,

At least there are

Words

Shouted up–

At least we are glaring

Into each other’s

Eyes

At least

We are trying

To crash into each other

As we fall.

“A Tapestry” – A Poem

     It’s been nearly five years since I’ve written a poem. I stopped writing poetry around the time I started. My trash of cutting, suicide, and of my friends’ mirroring issues dramatized and resented because their poetry was better than mine was the only thing my twelve year old chute spewed. My creative outlet was limited to stories of wolves basking in the perfection of their Utopian planet, my gift to them. My father’s gift was a shot down from its reality of worldly depression.

     My love is a poet, whether or not he knows it. He is the entire definition of amazement on page 207, his first passage only the beginning. The proof is taped into celluloid from three days before I imprisoned him months ago. His bravery was one of the first things I found attractive about his being; his tongue landscaping a minute sunny maid was not a piece of his entity no matter the arousal it sprung.
     Always asking what I love of him, maybe now he’s caught a glimmer of the diamond I see when I look at him. Man is bvt a worm; Jonathan is the single diamond in the rough dirt—to me.

     Fears diminish in his presence, the range of bathing suits on the beach to comfort with my nudity is shocking news of a victim. Sexuality is my scaliest fear, those old snakes are still slithering about my island of self-deceit. With machete in tow, he cuts them away and tosses them into the forth flowing canals leading to the Lake of the Dead.
     The arrogant slayer of all my fear, then the noble shining hero of this proud damsel in distress. What Princess doesn’t fall for the Knight, what Princess doesn’t brand him her muse? Fairy tales only work in a single way.

A Tapestry

17 April 2010

Draped in your dark clothes where my comfort exists
Covering my transparent polar bear skin.
Your grey, brown, and burgundy hues collapse into me
Colliding, politely, as a unit of bursts
Rainbows—that’s what I’m thinking.

I’m guessing this is a poem of protection: by clouds
Another one of me, floating around
In love with kisses, skin, and you
And of course
Your grey, brown, and burgundy hues.

On the Evidence of Where You Belong

     You have eyes that lead me on, so don’t ever try to forget how happy you make me because I’m not going to let you anyway. It’s comparable with how I’m not ever going to allow you to forget how much I love you, or loved you if things don’t stay put within our perfect symmetry. But they damned well should if I’m anything to be afraid of.

     I don’t announce going with my gut feeling as if it were virtuous; it’s just not. I inherently follow my instincts and if you want me to peer into the hollow to quiz my nature on what I’m feeling, I’ll decipher my glimpses right now: you are unable to escape me because my mind has completely encompassed my collective theory of you. That’s all I’ll ever need as long as you keep providing me with new evidence of how you are much more amazing than anyone I have ever met. Don’t worry; you unknowingly (mind)fuck me ’til we know it’s unsafe. Painting over the evidence is the least I can do because I know you’re not just what you say to me.

Thursday’s Thoughts - Theme: Strength

     Walking away from the final moment together in the airport, I built to be one of the hardest things I would ever have to do. Something unexplainable mingled, the predetermined pressure didn’t feel like the absolute worst I would endure as of yet. There wasn’t a Little Voice assuring me it would crush me; alone, leaving me crumbled into apprehension instead. Particularly welcomed, no, because I was facing the uncertainties of the unknown.
     After toying with the possibility of the separation only hurting a smidgen, my cockiness was getting ahead of my capabilities before I rightfully earned them, or so I feared. Quizzing my strengths, recalling Epictetus’ Art of Living with hopes of newly unearthed enlightenment previously overlooked, I thought I had found none.


     The time came sexually charged with an expression commonly the opposite of love leading to sick despair. The act wasn’t pushed so far to the brink of desperation, the ultimate loss of a completely physical connection, which I am grateful for. My decision was the healthiest one, for me at least, the one who matters most in my world.
     When the untwining occurred, unraveling stayed astray. I backed away and almost lingered upon a pregnant second while casting my sorrowful gaze back.

     However numerous the scenarios my risk could have manifested, I’m grateful for the daring glance solely with the realization it offered: I wasn’t drowning in the abyss after all.
     Slow, deep breaths would calm my physiology, indomitable will comparable to Zarathustra’s would fuel my mentality if I shoveled fast enough, which leads me to my final prideful gloat: without the lamenting years and recent endeavoring months of preparation, my biceps might not have been worked enough to handle the vast amounts of coal in such a short amount of time required to halt the ship from sinking to depths of the barely survivable sea bottom.

     I’d like to brag the ship didn’t even wobble, because it’s true to not render me immediately an arrogant asshole. I’m honest, proud, and honestly proud when I share how not a single drop of rain splattered onto my waxed deck; the beauty of the day even called for me to sail about aimlessly as opposed to docking at my island of self-deceit only to wallow on my shores of old misery.

This Week’s Theme: Strength

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” - Mahatma Gandhi

“The strongest man in the world is he who stands most alone.” - Henrik Ibsen

“Anyone can give up, it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength.” - Unknown

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