Eternal Orchastera

The sound of the universe is something that greatly interests me, it’s a concept we have come to simplify with semantic wording yet is so very expensive that we cannot fully perceive it. I want to talk about emotion and it’s presence in the human condition, in life’s condition. As star children made from elements bore in the heart of collapsing stars at the beginning of the universe it surprises me that we don’t think about emotion on a grand scheme but rather as a singular experience ‘owned’ by each of us. I see it as an echo, a resonance from a million different experiences that drive us- instinct and emotion seem to be walking hand in hand the longer we dive into the spiral column of existence as ‘life’.

Think about emotion in it’s purest form, a director from deep within, a director that makes you realise certain events and actions have a premeditated set of instructions that already lay within your head. This intricate web that passes down a cocktail of thoughts and feelings can be construed as humanity, morality or simply just a side effect of life itself. We, as star children, recognise this. Once the pieces fall together you come to the realisation of life, it’s a single breath, a moment, it doesn’t last long but its existence is beautiful and pure. These moments do not just happen on a great precipice, not just on a mountain post-scaled, or an achievement feated. It can happen at any moment, walking along a dull street, a small gust of wind enters your throat and all of a sudden you find yourself breathing in that moment of purity, forgetting the comedic troubles of existence for a moment and feeling as if you can fly, explode, expand and just exist without pressure or persecution.

We are still so young, how can anyone understand the complexity of existence when stars take billions of years to mature, we only exist for a flicker of that expensive light. So how do we as momentary breaths of humans try to attain this knowledge, this understanding beyond our very existence? Intangible learning that is passed down through each generation in the form of emotion, that little ‘feeling’ in your head is the result of millennia understandings and experiences. This is the driving force of life, it’s the driving force of existence. Without this, we are truly alone and that is inconceivable. How can we, a self-proclaimed mastermind species not think of the possible routes of out existence? That is what is truly intangible, that empty coffin deserves obsolete semantics. if these moments are a bite-size revelation towards understanding then we are more connected that possibly comprehensible, an enormous zooid, a meta-organism that contains all the beauty of the universe.

These small moments that allow us to feel like we understand, even if just for a second, even if quickly fleeting and dying, they are the music of the universe and us, the orchestra.

I am Aran. I am Lewis. We are star children.

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Neutrality

A long stretch of pain and anguish has just come to a less than likely end, that’s right- I’ve finished undergraduate university. It’s been an insanely draining three years with audaciously treacherous occasions and chaotically good outcomes. Let’s refresh as to what’s happened in the past three years. I moved into a brick and brimstone shit hole called ‘Castle Irwell’ in my first year and met what I thought were like minded, kind people. As the year progressed, I realised that the world was in fact still brimming with dickheads and tried to trust those close to me as much as possible. However; as year two swiftly came about- I was greeted with a situation I was not prepared for. I fell in love with the worst human being to ever exist in my life. He used me up, drained me dry and left my psyche for dead in the gutter, but I kept going (with some help from my friend Zoloft)- The obstacles he erected were unimaginable and fighting my way through them absolutely obliviated my coping mechanisms. This left me vulnerable to previously avoidable issues. The way he hugged me, held me when he fell asleep in my bed and the way he came to me when he thought I could help but, in reality, it was all a trap, a farce that engulfed me and ripped me apart until I was remoulded into an emotional punching bag for him.

Thankfully, this eventually came to a bitter end- though it involved me losing the ability to trust human beings as a whole and I was left fractured and broken- it ended. I was then greeted by my third year, this year, a year of stability and safety from all of this; these breaths of normality allowed me to attain my bearings with people, friends, family. However, the boy reared his ugly head once in a while as well- in events ranging from calling a ‘Fat Faggot’ in the street to telling my close friends I am a waste of space and will never amount to anything, to fucking a (now ex) close friend and getting her pregnant. This boy just could not reason with himself to not act like the world’s most valiant asshole.

But, fabled followers, fear not; as of today I never have to see his emotionally disfigured face again, never have to hear his bated breaths of sodomy and selective xenophobia. Never again do I have to feel the chains of his presence in my life, on this day, I am free. I have found someone else to love, someone else to care for; me. I am worth so much and I never realised it- I am a being of beauty and bashfulness and I am me. I have many new friends who are close to my heart, from a like-minded lesbian, a mentally complex millennial of the interwebs, an old friend who’s reintroduction has soothed my pains to a very unlikely kind brutish boy with good intentions. No, this is not a PSA on falling into the ‘wrong crowd’ it’s an appreciation for all that I hold close. These squishy meat sacks are wonderful, they make me feel human, they make me feel like I can grow and live and breathe. Also, I met a boy- he’s strong and kind and I love the way he holds me when we kiss. I think he likes me a lot too but I’m not sure, past echoes almost ruined what this became but I’m determined to not let apprehension stand in the way of progress anymore.

I am Aran, I am weird. I am gay. I am a scientist.

And I love life.

Potted.

After a long day of audios tasks, we find ourselves in the depths of this off-point student bar that seems to culminate the attraction of a traditional bar and the modernisation of an international university. But in this sad culmination of lecture skipping students and teachers too tired to carry on lies us, the degenerate beauty queens and renegade male youth. 
You can’t sit with us.

Success Of The Saved.

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Today I want to talk about how we perceive success, because it’s becoming quickly apparent that it isn’t a mutually shared feeling and differs between individuals. I started University only seven days ago and it’s been a roller-coaster of feelings already, from the depths of my darkest depressive episodes to the highs of brand new socialising with brand new people, it should be a loved and honourable experience but instead the events of my life leading up to this are playing heavily on my mind, all the nights my mother made me feel worthless, the day my father left because of her, the sense of homelessness I felt for a long time afterwards, I was always in search of a new home rather than just a house. These events have become a part of me and I don’t know how to rid myself of them, I envy those who can simple ‘leave the past behind’, though I doubt they actually do, the anxiety of a previous life coming to bite you on the ass is a real and formidable fear.

But since being in this magical place of Manchester I’ve witnessed fights, drug taking and the kindest people I’ve ever met (and that’s only in my shared house). My issue resides in my room, the moment I spend any time in here all of the past memories of terror and fear creep out from under my head and drill themselves into my head, ready to reek havoc through out the long nights and husky mornings. What I want from this is at least an inkling of how to get over the things that have happened to me, my body is only now processing them as I believe I’ve spent the last three years in a shell of my former self, trying to protect the core aspects of my personality and sanity and that I was in a sense just surviving, now however, with the opportunity to prosper my mind and body have rejected it, almost like a heroin addict when they switch to methadone. Which I understand is quite a statement but it’s just the one that has a literal feel to the metaphorical situation.

So when will things look up? Next week when I get my teeth into Zoology undergrad? Or ever? I honestly don’t know. What I can say is that I’m not giving up, my body can repulse and convulse if it feels the need to do so, I will make the most of my time in this place, this place where dreams are made and come true, this place where people come to better themselves, this place where teacher and student are more equal then ever before. This is a safe place, far away from the issues and confines of my old home but unfortunately I will just have to learn to live with the throbbing scars left by them because I’ve yet to find a way to resolve them.

This has been another depressing instalment on Aran The Entomologists blog, hope you’ve enjoyed it and that you never feel the same way. I’ll keep you updated as this new adventure powers on.

Maternity.

Isn’t funny, maternity? It’s this invisible thing that is supposed to keep a mother and child connected, but in my experience it is just that, invisible. It’s non-existent. In the many years that i’ve watched my mother destroy herself there have been a few occasions that have really stuck out, this night was one of them, another would be the time I held her bedroom door closed from the outside for 3 straight hours, because she had a large knife and was jabbing it towards me and my father. But that is preferable compared to what has just unfolded. Tonight was the last night I saw the women in my home as my mother. She sits there day in and day out, drinking, slurring and swearing. She’s driven my father out of the country and broken my spirit. She is solely responsible for my trifector of mental disease and the damaged person I am today, all the tears, all the cuts, all the pain. She is responsible. I wouldn’t be able to publicly announce this unless what just happened, happened.

Tonight, Monday 8th September 2014 7:28pm, marks the night I lost my mother, though she isn’t dead, she may as well be. We came to such a calm agreement that once I move to Uni in 5 days we will cease what’s left of our relationship. This is one of those time where everything doesn’t seem quite real, but the pain was very real, crying didn’t convey the emotions that had torn through me like a hot blade, cutting my wrist didn’t show the true slashes that disfigured blade of a women left on me, scars don’t highlight the true damage left by her sharp and relentless abuse. But they do say that i’m broken, I struggled with that word because I didn’t want to believe it. But, low and behold, I am. And unfortunately no manner of kings men can ever put me back together. So if this is last I write of my mother, remember this, I am, who I am, because she never loved me, never cared for me, never wanted me. I have truly become my mothers son.

Insta-crazy.

Everyone goes on and on about instinct but the reality is, we’ve lost it. We have no instinct, we are a shitty species consumed by our own greed and consumerism driven lives. Look at my life. It’s been one big dick train after another, and all it’s ever done is wear me down. People have a habit of romanticising every bloody aspect of society down to someone just smoking a cigarette on a street corner. “I bet he’s troubled with love”, “they’re the embodiment of our youth!” And the ever present “Oh my goodness, they’re so deep! This is so Instagram worthy!”

I’m so sick of people doing this. The truth is, he’s just smoking a fucking cigarette on a street corner, there isn’t much deeper meaning that. And even if there was, it’s not our place to know or speculate. If I was ‘deeply’ smoking a cigarette on a dark street corner, I wouldn’t want some random person knowing i’m struggling with my own mental health or to make the assumption that it’s ‘cool’ or ‘deep’. They sure as shit wouldn’t be thinking that if they were in my position.

If instinct was really still around they would know not to romanticise this bollocks and just get on with their own lives, and If I really needed it, i’d ask for a lighter. But at the end of the day, they aren’t my friends so what gives them the right to speculate or ask about my well being, what could they really do. Nothing. They could do nothing.

This is why instinct is dead, it would be a different story if it wasn’t. I may not have even begun writing this is if it wasn’t.

Macabre Poem.

Demons in the walls,
Demons in the halls,
Demons in my mind,
Demons, you will find.

I am consumed by dark,
No dog will bark,
What happens when it rises?
I don’t like surprises.

Popping the question.

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No. I’m not getting married. Shockingly the various male suiters haven’t plucked up the bollocks to marry me. Instead, I want to talk about that simple question “Are you ok?” It’s such a good question, and i’m so sick of it being me question to ask. Just once, once I would like someone to know me well enough to ask me it, ask me it when I really needed, no prompting; just knowing when to ask.

You get an awful sense of loneliness when people fail to meet the most basic of expectations, I know it’s bigoted to say I ‘expect’ people to be a certain way, but when it comes to my friends, I at least want them to know me. I don’t feel like that’s too much to ask. Otherwise i’m left in this scenario again and again, alone and empty, with no one to voice my anguish too. I feel so alone, so very, uncontrollably, alone. And faced with the awkward paradigm of edging someone into asking you feels like cheating. It feels like you’re cheating at friendship. Curse this modern age, if only they could see my face, how I see theirs when they are left in this position. They’d come running. Instead they must read me from my lack of replies and mildly blunt responses. My friends, if you’re reading this, i’m not ok, i’m not alright and I could really use those beautiful three words, “are you ok?”.

Lost oppression.

This may be a vulgar comparison to my current situation but here goes. I have finished my A levels, three years, copious amounts of stress and just a hint of idiot teacher malarkey. Now it’s over, I have absolutely no idea how to occupy my time. I thought once it was over it would be this huge spiritual weight lifted from my mind, but instead i’m left feeling even worse. Now I wanted to use some statistics to back up my comparison, mental stress in our current education system has been recorded as the same mental strain as mental patients in the ’50s. Please bare in mind that it was during this time electroshock therapy was being used to ‘cure’ homosexuality, so I know this is outlandish to say the least, but what did the mental patients do with freedom? I would genuinely like to know, if i’m sharing the same mental strain as them, surly I can take a page out of their book to help myself recover from it. What did the do, how did they adjust, were they always out of sync? These are the same questions i’ve been asking my self for the past five days.

So, to test my little theory, the usual first step is to spend time in a safe environment, me home is a good option for that one, and once there, interact! Interact with everyone, your mum, your dad, your neighbours cat, everyone. This should put you back into the routine of ‘normality’. Eventually you’ll be left in a state of choice, you are then completely ready to choose what to do next. I just hope I make the right choice, oppression by way of education never let you choose ‘wrong’.

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