Closure of Confessions of Someone Almost 18 / The Komarovian

     I feel like I’ve been gone so long, yet in reality it’s only been a few weeks. A bit has changed, not much and everything all at once, encompassing my all as I favor to say with high frequency. The tension mounted and nearly destroyed me—and yet, I lived—fleeting the precipice of the Lake of the Dead once more; dear Raziel, we are worthy.

     Confessed out & self-proclaimed as nothing and all of everything. Predictably the pilot light flickered out with a whisper lacking a proper recognition when probably due. Unapologetically, “I wanted to kill the most amazing person in the world, then I realized suicide was a crime.”


     One last thing remains before we pick up and move on: thank you.

The Succeeding Works of
Alexis Komarov Voltaire

http://www.komarovian.com/

30 Days to an Almost End - Day 15

An inspiring quote

July 6th-8th 2010
A. Voltaire

     Of all that is written I love only what a man has written with his blood. Write with blood, and you will experience that blood is spirit.
     It is not easily possible to understand the blood of another: I hate reading idlers. Whoever knows the read will henceforth do nothing for the reader. Another century of readers—and the spirit itself will sink.
. . .
     Whoever writes in blood and aphorisms does not want to be read but to be learned by heart. In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak: but for that one must have long legs. Aphorisms should be peaks—and those who are addressed, tall and lofty. The air thin and pure, danger near, and the spirit full of gay sarcasm: these go well together. I want to have goblins around me, for I am courageous. Courage that puts ghosts to flight creates goblins for itself: courage wants to laugh.
     I no longer feel as you do: this cloud which I see beneath me, this blackness and gravity at which I laugh—this is your thundercloud.
     You look up when you feel the need for elevation. And I look down because I am elevated. Who among you can laugh and be elevated at the same time? Whoever climbs the highest mountains laughs at all tragic plays and tragic seriousness.
     Brave, unconcerned, mocking, violent—thus wisdom wants us: she is a woman and always loves only a warrior.
     You say to me, “Life is hard to bear.” But why would you have your pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening? Life is hard to bear; but do not act so tenderly! We are all of us fair beasts of burden, male and female asses. What do we have in common with the rosebud, which trembles because a drop of dew lies on it?
     True, we love life, but because we are used to living but because we are used to loving. There is always some madness in love. But there is always some reason in madness.
. . .
     I have learned to walk: ever since, I let myself run. I have learned to fly: ever since, I do not want to be pushed before moving along.
     Now I am light, now I fly, now I see myself beneath myself, now a god dances through me.

     Thus spoke Zarathustra.

30 Days to an Almost End series list

30 Days to an Almost End - Day 11

This week in detail

     I don’t remember my week in detail. I couldn’t tell you what I did last Sunday, I honestly do not recall. Instead I’ll tell you some details about my week that I can remember.

• Finally, I changed my last name on Facebook to Voltaire.
• At some point, I ate two or three or maybe even four McFlurries. All M&M. I’ve never had another flavor, and may never.





• I worked out a lot. This morning I went for my first morning bike ride, around 6:45 AM. It felt wonderful, I want to do it again.
• I watched a lot of movies this week. Cabaret, Copycat, Blue Velvet, The Lovely Bones… I think I’m missing one, too. One movie I didn’t see this week was Eclipse.





• I’ve read quite a few books this past week too. Plato’s Republic, Dante’s Inferno, Lois Lowry’s Gathering Blue and Messenger, Justin Halpern’s Sh*t My Dad Says. Now I’m reading Nabakov’s Pnin.





• I got a new Miley & Max skirt today, as well as a really cool wifebeater. It’s too big on me, but it was the only one I saw. I couldn’t pass it up.

     And that’s my week, the bits I can remember.

30 Days to an Almost End series list

Thursday's Thoughts - Theme: Ancestors

     Someday, it’s likely I will change my last name to detach from the family I was born into by “chance.” So few that the name belongs to have offered me help that I hardly see how I should keep it. For what genuine honor does any Mullino deserve outside of my father, who supports the idea of a name change?

     I had a conversation with my mother yesterday who proposed that it might be selfish to change my last name. But why? Is it still not my name, although a name someone placed on my head? Who deserves any credit for anything of my social existence, aside from me? If someone gives me something and I take it, that’s not selfishness. And quite frankly, it hasn’t happened too often among my ancestors.

This Week's Theme: Ancestors

“Do well and you will have no need for ancestors.” - Voltaire

“Every king springs from a race of slaves, and every slave had kings among his ancestors.” - Plato

“Some people are your relatives but others are your ancestors, and you choose the ones you want to have as ancestors. You create yourself out of those values.” - Ralph Ellison

The Lakeview Theory

    It seems I had it right (write) from the relative start of this page. Lingering on 1e rests “Ground Zero,” and in case you forgot let me refresh the Pensieve: “The greatest position of control would be using past abusings for my heART.”

    Unkillable; this is me, thus I spoke. Are we not all but less illustriously wordy Zarathustras? I receive the highest honor today and forever always after, although it’s my fault for always ripping it from myself. The possibility of triumph rears its head today.

    I can do this because I can do anything. “The descent had destroyed me, and yet, I lived.” Ravenously I shall return, divine and avenging myself, my committing to revenge upon my “brothers” of equal capability and political opportunity. This handicap has made me more.

    By crippling by venom wings you still-birthed a new five star that I will transfigure to the six letters of my name, and! I am not half-price or on sale. My only clearance is the destruction of my demons, doppelgänging as the ironic dichotomy as the death of you. I will gaze at you—no! I will glare at you, O abyss, for now you shall fear me. The greatest entity to ever live, cloaked in reds of the cosmos. I am Goldilocks today and forever after always, I am man becoming the Übermensch one playful skip of a knitted knot at a time. I shall make the Hiltons hang their heads in shame, I will clutter my Monopoly world with black future paint.

    And now, I’d like to take you with me.

My Worth of Love & Credibility

     I wrote something last night that was entirely word-painting, -mapping, -etc... I’m not even sure what to call it, but it's a downpour of my “heart.” If anything is to wholly represent my current skill of word-painting and what I can do when creatively stricken by an unhealthy overabundance of conscience; let the following be my flying white flag.

     This is a true step towards what I want to become. I can’t get much more vulnerable than this, without cutting myself open.

Written in three intervals between the hours of 2 and 3 AM, the morning of March 1st, 2010.

Part One
    It could be said that because I’m constantly asking myself in a disgusted tone, “What the hell are you doing with yourself that’s worth anything, Alexis?” that I’m on the right track to becoming something worthy of breathing.
    No matter how what goals I meet or how loved I feel, the same question tumbles in my mind on a constant rotation of rationally assumed skewed axis. I feel sub par to what I envision I could accomplish if I just pushed myself marginally harder, and I feel unloved to the utmost degree, at certain times because I reject it. This doesn’t come from ignorance, I believe, although it very well could and might. Though, from my selfish perspective, it’s coming from the flip sides of what it means to ignore.
    Admittedly, I’m ignoring my accomplishments and ignoring what love I do receive. We accept the love we think we deserve, perhaps the two intertwine and exists as an explanation for why I feel so unworthy and unloved. It sort of makes sense, in an Alexis-going-insane-and-terrified-of-abandonment-without-a-future kind of way.

    I know I’m trying to be superwoman because I’m walking on my finely wrung tightrope. I’m not sure what to do other than be scared as hell for what might happen next. I could be annihilated, devastatingly so on my own accord. It’s just terrifying trying to keep my eyes open to the darkness with my ever-existing blind spots.

Part Two
    My drive has reached its exit, my GPS has landed, my lighter has been extinguished. My  borrowed Nabokovianism has flickered out.

    I’ve reached the point of lacking sight of purpose in writing by means of releasing the floods of emotion welled up behind my drying dams. No matter what there’s going to be a “Fuck you” scrawled on my stones, and no one’s got the time to rub them out. More importantly, no matter what I do tonight, I will sleep eventually. Maybe not tonight, maybe not even tomorrow, but eventually.
    I will wake up and it will be “okay,” relatively speaking in the sense of I will still be breathing.
    Thankfully, the world doesn't regard on whether or not I deserve to.

Part Three
    If I’m resentful of writing, why do I feel like I’m going to explode at any moment with a rainbow of metaphors?
    “What am I truly upset with?”; that's the question I should be asking myself right now. Am I bothered by my mental core, or my personified sea of red? If the latter, I’m letting it affect my psyche. It’s tearing me down and clogging my skin. I risked getting cut further open from my willing slit. Initially I meant it, presently I still love you.

    I’m scared of showing people I hurt myself over them, I’m afraid they'll assume they know what's best for me and then abandon me. I’m terrified of being left. Why does everyone believe they know what's best for me? I wonder what makes my judgment so mute.

Tittle Hearts for Bigger Hearts

      I was just watching The Cosby Show and Theo was talking to his dad Dr. Huxtable about a note a girl passed him in class. Theo liked the girl, so he convinced himself that the tittle she dotted her "I" with was a heart. Dr. Huxtable pointed out that it was only a heart if you looked at it long enough. It fits perfectly in the theory that if you want to see something, you will.

     Dr. Huxtable's statement was meant to point out that the tittle was actually just a circle. With humor-filled thoughts I wondered, who draws circles for tittles? I considered the few that have large, loopy handwriting must be the main offenders of this crime. The extra time it would take to draw circles for tittles—as carelessly as they might be scribbled— it just seems like pre-meditated time wasted that could be spent doing something else.

     Personally, I think it's cute when people draw hearts instead of circles or the common dot for tittles. Within movies and conversation it's often ridiculed because people are conditioned to believe that it's immature. What makes it immature? Is expressing love immature? It sounds like another instilled idea of society. The only connection I see is that younger girls draw more tittle hearts than adult women, but the reason why has been aforesaid. I'll clearly express it again, society is convinced to believe that they should feel "bad" for drawing hearts.

     I've done a variety of things with the way I write my name over the course of my literate life. One I significantly remember is that around my thirteenth birthday, I was obsessed with circling the "A" in my name to make it the symbol of anarchy. It's jocular now, my current opinion on anarchy is that it is completely absurd, a prominent sign of weakness, an excuse to selfishly do whatever you wish, and a cop-out for being a decent basic law following human being. I was only twelve-thirteen though, I didn't even possess a child's strength grasp on the concept of anarchy, so I let myself get away with that act of ignorance. At least it gives my parents a cute story to share with their grandkids.

     As if this weren't an obvious lead-up, I have decided I am going to strive to draw hearts for the tittle in my name. If I remember the concept for the rare times I write upon physical paper, I'll draw hearts in the place of every tittle. I do not see immaturity in showing, expressing, and spreading love in the simplest of ways.

So I Googled myself..

     Today I decided to Google myself out of curiosity to how many results would be listed. To my surprise, it was 379. Not bad, considering if I were to Google a friend of mine, with an equally unique last name, they would more than likely have a considerable amount less than I do. Granted, if you Google a common name you'll get thousand of results. I don't personally know many people with really unique names, so it's kind of difficult to tell for sure.

     Here's an example of how unique my last name is- I Googled my dad's name (just first and last, not even his middle) and pulled up his page on WhitePages.com which claims he is the only person in the United States with his exact name. Pretty cool in my opinion, I'm going to list myself after I write this.

      Another interesting tidbit, when I just Google "Mullino"-my last name-I am the 7th person listed out of over 40,000 results. I think that's pretty damn cool, even if I wish I was 1st, haha. (There's an actor in extended my family, I believe he occupies most, if not all, of the first six results.)