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Taken from Nowhere

By James Liu

© 2000 James Liu. All rights reserved.



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“Hi. My name is James. And I’m going to have a great day today.”

I looked away from the mirror with approbation of who I was. I walked out

of my room completely content with how perfect it was. Not a mote of

squalor could be detected by our cognitive senses. Like most preeminent

people, I only know part of the whole. Maybe it’s because I’m not there,

not caring, or just to preoccupied with my own exacting life. Or at least

this is what I lead people to believe, people like me. I look forward to my

school day each day. Enough of this pretense.


Chapter 1

I have reunited with the walls that I’ve grown up with. It encloses me as

a jail but the simple nostalgia of which memories I’ve given to this room

relieve what stresses may have become of my day. I don’t expect to be a

precursor for the world or for anyone to exalt my existence. I’m not a one

of a kind human being who’s so unique and ineffable. I don’t try to be

someone who’s life is so sad that you want to reach your hand out to pick me

up. And I’m not one who wants your pity to depend on. I live my life

chaotically, I’m constantly indignant to the monolithic world around me and

constantly too indolent to care.


Resting on my bed, I close my eyes and curl up under the thick munificent

comforter blankets. I wonder, how many days will go on end where I walk in

my mundane life and fall asleep morosely. Each day my moribund life grows

older and I digress from the motif of life. I suppose I am one to conspire

with the complicity of questioning life's reasons. What is life, a cliché

that we are all cognizantly unable to answer. Cogent reasons have lead us

to settle for pseudo-tenets. Life shows no clemency, yet we compare life to

being in it’s purest form in the embodiment of nature. Nature shows no

clemency, it runs its cycles with or without you. You dare not ask for

nature to appease its ways for the likes of a human, because you know that

it will not grant such a savory delight to your apprehensive life. Which

brings us back to the main idea, is life the pain we are coerced to go

through. When we are coalesced to suffer as one, does that bring mankind

closer together to share what life holds or does it circumvent us further

into fighting one another.


Life is not coherent, and yet the colloquial statements displayed by a

child holds a more compelling meaning than an aphorism said by the worlds

oldest man. When someone with so little known use of his cognitive

abilities can show us only two expressions, happiness and sadness, then

those are the two we must base what life is on. They have only two ways to

show their evanescent feelings in the purest form, they know nothing, but

still they have a predilection to what they know and want. This shows the

innate abilities that come with the young, not the old who have been

callused and shaped by the society that binds us. Still I sense an inert

force that doesn’t want me to explore these areas that even the select

esoteric tried to decide upon while along the lines of being profane.

I toss in my bed. I roll over and look at my clock shaded by papers of

long past. I squint my eyes to understand what it has been commanded to do,

be a subject to my room, in which I, it’s master hold it’s knowledge. It’s

time suggests 1:44 a.m. but I know time doesn’t exist, just like what our

lives are supposed to mean. I feel a burning within my eyes, I blink them,

and again, but they no longer have the robust ability to explore such a

room. I stop moving my unresting body, I tried to envelope my body with

stagnation, only to fail as my physical body could be controlled, but my

mental, never. It is an old static room, one where it has drained even my

own life and developed one of it’s own. It has it’s own personality, yet

always shall it be staunch and steadfast to me.


With such a profound life, I feel my words have been corrupted already by

the society that condemns those who live in it to the extent of becoming

prodigal in its ways to ascertain it’s goals of submissiveness. Though those

who live in it, condone such a society for it’s flawless resolute of

producing such able citizens. Again we are brought back to why children are

the victims of society’s rigorous ability to coerce you into following

their spurious morals. If they can enter a child's mind before they have the

ability and freedom of their life, then it would be contaminated, raped by

society and the imprints are forever. Still what is life, and how could

such a life give life to those imprisoned to such bondage without

understanding the consequences of doings so.


Do we base now, what we call life, on happiness or sadness, or is life the

experience that comes with growing old. If we base it on sadness, do look

for sadness further in order to achieve our lives? Sadness if absorbed into

our systems would only bring turmoil into our lives, so if it brings

emotional instability to our lives, then our life has to be defined as

something other. Sorrow and morose can be seen in our experiences with

life. Experiences, an aged may argue is what makes life coherent, each

discrete experience is connected and thus pronounces what life is.

I must with all sympathy, once again preclude this form of definition to

travel by societies will. I have a predilection, an affinity by the natural

world, to claim that life is what we know through happiness and bliss. A

euphoric feeling holds what we base everything else in the world upon, it

defines what we feel, what we love, what the meaning of life has become to

you, and you alone.


As such a thought permeates through the social blockade which shelters my

mind, I sudden shiver with a realization that I would neither squander nor

profuse to the world which I know. I revere such a prodigious thought to a

height that even pondering such a thought could be disrespectful to what the

meaning it encompasses. How is it possible for something so true, to be in

a form so powerful, that it not allows you to think of it without feeling an

energy flow through you that takes the right of life away from your hands

and into it’s.


There was no way I could sleep this night. I couldn’t find my pristine

peace of mind to calm my soul down enough to allow sleep. It had already

clasped my soul in it’s iron hands, my mind was lost and until I find the

answer I had no map. I had to digress further into this revelation, or this



Chapter 2

Tossing again back and forth in my bed, I couldn’t go on with the

insecurity of unknowing the time. I glanced to see 3:23 a.m. I felt like

something was forcing me to understand what I couldn’t. It needed me to, it

was pressuring this information into my mind at a time where I could not

comprehend it or allow it further entrance and all I wanted was a period of

respite. How can such a thought expect me to allege this ambiguous and

desultory volition of what life is supposed to mean. Is my mind telling me

what life is, or is life burgeoning the truth in order to give a polemic

stance on what it should be.


Indifference was not an option, was I to believe that happiness to be the

erudite understanding of how to forever now perceive life. Is there a

precedent for me to follow and study, or is this precipitate vision to

furtively reveal itself and become a precept to spawn the broach of further

the engenderment of the aesthetic life we must lead. The silently

vociferous screams in my mind were in a vitriolic battle over the pertinent

topic. Yet I could not forbear the thoughts that entered and I became a

culprit when I fomented to forgo my own sleep deprivation to understand the

didactic energy that pushed my mind to understand life.

I threw at it, my best pernicious rebuttals while trying not to transgress

beyond what it allowed. Happiness is a state of mind, which is effected by

the milieu microcosm that we are surrounded with and live inside of. To be

happy can be receiving a lollipop, a pat on the back, or to be given love.

Which one is the true happiness in which life is based upon, where life can

bond and create our hopes and memories. I wish to cry out, to call someone

who wasn’t their, in hopes that when I tell them this ineffable

understanding that they will comply and know what I say. I need a fraternal

bond to another being in order to also take in what this means, before I

come frenetic and end up with those who believe they can live without

restraint, but only to be restrained. Although it is I, who must understand

this, before I can even begin to assist others in such a truth. Is my mind

telling me what I know, or is their some force that is constantly straining

my already indigent mind with the capability of understanding something that

shouldn’t be allowed. I need an outlet, like the river, the lake, it can

only attain so much before some of it must be transferred to another source

to help it hold it’s maximum, without destroying the land it rests on.

Happiness in a pure form, happiness in a superficial form, or is happiness

only happiness no matter what caliber it is felt at. I cry out, into

oblivion and the ubiquity of this universe for some ability to founder at

this new found realization, but to be as of a philanthropist, for is love

not a form of happiness? If I could love what is so plentiful, and believe

in something which holds the power of tyranny. Then won’t I find the zenith

of life and live it?


I cannot figure a better way for what happiness truly means, it’s not an

emotion as we’ve mistaken it to be. It is of a higher value, it is the

ethereal definition, the building blocks of what our lives are composed of.

It is the source that compels us to live our life, for the search for

happiness and to attain it allows us to become more human. Being happy

allows for us to bring meaning, a meaning which composes the orchestra of

life that we portray. Even though sadness my scar our lives indefinitely,

it is happiness which allows us to grow, life grows, and it grows, and

beyond death happiness allows life to grow still.


My eyes close, and I sleep.



“Hi. My names is James. I like strawberries, they make me happy.”

I looked away from the mirror, took a bite, and I was happy.

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