Torsion

Philip always appeared tense, as though literally under tension, like a spring was wound from the base of his spine to the crown of his head.  His face was red and taut, inflamed at the pore, and his speech was silky and expressive.  His every muscle was at-attention, awaiting Philip's next timely demand.  Philip was statue-like, and exuded a sort of controlled pressure that might make you wonder if the room was increasing in temperature.

He was never quite sure what to make of this in himself.  This elastic and resolute determination made him feel at times like he could move mountains and raise the stars, and in other depictions, it made him feel a bottomless yearning for his own life to end.  Philip began to realize that other people are, at best, indifferent to you doing well at something.  He had enough experiences where the only thing he had left was faith in himself that he noticed he started to distance himself from other, less consistent tomes of strength; winding tighter was always the safest bet.  Certainly, he knew that even being able to conjure this compressed, hydrant-like force was a talent in and of itself, but he couldn't help feeling that this source of energy governed him as much as he tried to direct it into the world.  Some might have accused Philip of having demons, and he himself supposed that he might be a most suitable proxy for other-worldly invocation.  

Knelt over Philip's back, a massage therapist once commented, in a stilted Eastern accent, that she had never seen someone with such tense, immovable shoulders; she was not sure why Philip's back would not pop.  These sorts of incidents compounded in Philip's mind, making him question how his mercurial and leaden spirit could possibly belong in his body.  By his 20s, his sense of isolation was boundless.  

As he grew older, Philip's hermetic studies became increasingly important to him.  He recognized how potent the haze of illusion and sin was in this world, and knew he would need to look higher, should he hope to arrive at more lucid truths.  Philip enjoyed the clever allegories and parallels that were inscribed into spiritual wisdom, each day feeling a spark of light and love carrying him forward.  He tried to read a bit of everything, knowing well that pieces of disparate knowledge can come together in important and unseen ways. Everything he had learned was meant to assure him that the most fiery inferno may only exist by contrast to the purest and deepest well of spirit and life.  It emboldened Philip to know that whatever it was inside of him, it was measurable, and could be built into a system.  In any case, it was helpful to him to have even the most extreme bases covered, for fear that the depths of hell would greet him in his brightest hour, whether as ailments, insanity, or plain luck.

He was grateful to have certain skills that were valuable in the 21st century, although this was by no accident.  His father was adamant that Philip should find something that he enjoys doing that is also profitable; Philip took this to mean that he should learn how all things work on some level, if he wishes to truly engage himself in this world.  He wondered often what he would have done if he didn't find a profession that he could make a living on; this thought terrified him, because the only thing he knew how to do was make things.  

Philip was very preoccupied with computers, and he was especially gratified by the fact that everything you needed to know about computers was documented somewhere that could be accessed using a computer.  He hated asking for help; to him it was a plain admission of defeat.  If he was asked to complete a task, he dreaded the idea that he should come back without something to show for it.  Philip would run through possible scenarios in his mind where he would have to break down and ask for help, and he always dreaded if he hit a brick wall and didn't know where to look for solutions; after all, what if no one else in the world had seen this particular software error?  He was terrified that there was something he needed to know and no clear path towards it, and over time he became so good at avoiding asking for help that he himself was someone who you could ask for help about nearly anything.  He began to see arrangements of his own will staring him back in the eye, and it became obvious to Philip that this torrential, serpentine force in himself was something he could put to work.  It was something someone wanted, although he still was not sure who, or how he should be presenting it to people.

Philip was, at times, so horrified by himself that he learned how to disappear.  The simple and obvious solution, to Philip, was to speak as little as possible, really only when spoken to.  The more often he broke this rule, the more he felt like others were getting caught in the crossfire of his auspicious and negligent spirit.  He believed that only through passive and reflective meditation could one begin seeing into the true nature of all things.  He loved, especially, the idea that he could bring balance to his consciousness, and gain better insight into how he actually came across in the eyes of others and, more importantly to him, the eyes of God.