too busy to breathe

Why do we need to make our lives so complicated that we turn out to be too busy to breathe? We live to breathe and we breathe to live don't we/ Even so the people of the city seem to enjoy this suffocating game of ecstasy. The pleasure of sadism is what seems to keep the city going. Torturing others to do more work and straining our muscles to an extent where the weaklings are to fall out of the order down into the pit. That is why our people are so out to find and use a way that will send them up with less effort. A method that will make things so much simpler like fraud, bribery or the lottery. So we think each person looms their ills into the society but in fact the society is just one big web made by itself and still in the making. And now it is growing in a way so that people cannot but break the law to break free from the choking obligations.

When it feels like your running alone

In life it is sometimes more difficult to keep your own pace, especially when it exceeds others. You need to look around and attach your self to those that can pull you a bit back and slow your pace. Of course it isn't so easy trotting in a pace far slower than your own but at least you do not have to feel you legs burning from running at full speed. Sometimes, the binds that keep me back snap, as coworkers behind me find it hard to follow, I fail to lead and run alone. That is when I feel the most lonely. When I thought I was running a marathon and suddenly nobody is near.

fear

I think that in some sense I am afraid to write about unhappiness. Maybe I fear the depth of my unhappiness or I'm just not fond of the concept at all. Of course I do admit that nobody can be truly happy throughout their whole life and happiness is not in the continuum but in the pursuit and the moments. Yet I still seem to struggle in making my character look unhappy or fall into misfortune. In fact, it is funny how Most people find strength to live from other people's misfortune, sadly, including my self as well. So here we are talking of hope through failures, happiness through unhappiness, fortune through misfortune. Why can't we just talk about it itself? Is it just impossible?

Some random phrases and ideas that came to mind

What if everything slipped through my fingers and all I could grasp was your hand?

What if Time was used as the narrator of a story?
Would he be happy? probably not.
They think they can conquer or already have conquered me.
Slice me as if I were a piece of pie.
They worship me, with little round pans with tiny needles strapped around their wrists like hand cuffs.
Monuments are placed here and there. I am supposed to spin between twelve figures.
It hilarious to see how they think they can materialize me with mere metal, glass and wood.

He lies under the starlit sky

He lies under the star-lit sky. The stars seem to call out to him like sirens. Come, come, come to me June. Come here and stay with me. They seem to whisper. He gasps at the sight of the milky sky, shimmering with light. Light that reminds the boy of a girl, named Sue. He decides to call her.
Hello?
Hey, how are you, it's me June.
Oh hi! Fine, how have you been doing?
Well, I'm in Junnam now, on a fieldtrip at work. Chilling under this korean pavillion a wondumak after a few sabals, bowls of makgullee. Great, I'm doing great.
Youre like a real younger sister to me
I don't know why I always speak of the future and wishes when I@m with you instead of those mundane every day topics.

No I will not do that.

There may be a couple of things I will not do,
I will not sacrifice my life for others, I will not do things that end up in lowering my self-esteem, I will not bite off more than I can chew, I will not do what is against my will, all of these things that I say I will not do is mentioned because they are what I have been doing.

writing and unhappiness

  I just noticed that, probably, nobody writes when they are happy because they are simply busy being so satisfied with themselves. As for me also, writing and reading is more easily done when I am less content with my life. It may sound funny for me to say that I actually try to find moments when I feel unhappy enough to get into writing. Feeling discontent must bring forth a hunger for words. We gulp them up until we feel full, burp and vomit them out until we feel empty. In this way, writing feels very similar to digestion. The pencil protrudes its sharpened tooth to naw across the pages, it eats away the paper with silent slicing sounds while leaving a track of black lead behind.

  Thus the pencil can be defined as an essential animal to be bred in writing. My pencil is now much like a sheep. It wanders out while taking chunks of grass here and there, leaving tracks everywhere, anywhere it wants. However, it has not yet truely seen or gone beyond the invisible fence, beyond being merely herded. My drawing has certainly surpassed this cultivated limit. The lines are free and fluent. That may be why I feel an urge to roam out as far as drawing with my writing as well. It will probably take a period of time where my only means of expression would be writing, which I expect will be a very sad period. In the meantime, I think I will stay content in the fields of glory and happiness, graze in the sun for a while. I believe these enjoyable times will pass and my unhappiness will, someday again, take my pencil across the territories.