Today is a heavy one. It’s home time and I am at my desk ambivalent. My ting says she wants to talk after this. A friends shinding tonight to celebrate with people who aren’t there, or else aren’t there for long. What kind life be this?
I’ve come a long way. With the substances especially. But to speak of the aims of this, I know not how to measure the gains. It is that age-old with yourself, about yourself and outside yourself deliberation all over again. Wow, a reference within a reference. I’m astounded.
Do squirrels and other earth drillers truly want to need the light, anyway? If it is warm in a known cave then why against all good comfort would you leave that embrace?
It’s mad. Maybe life has become work, work has become life and somewhere in that transition I could begin to get lost without ever noticing that for who you were you are now an imitation. But are shadows not extensions? Are shells not important? Maybe when their contents are lost to the niceities of security. That rhymed. High Score.
Who knows? Maybe we’ll talk tomorrow.
Sounds like a song to me.
I have begun listening a lot to music. What is always looked passed and over is the part which is not shiniest or shiny at all. Yet what is a cake without a buttered base? What is a tequila shot without the lemon? What is Kapana without th… yeah, you get it.
A chair is a chair but a harmony is not a song if it’s only unison. Now you’ll understand the genius of the first sentence.
The usual ying yang light dark fire water shit I know you know I know but my meaning is that it is the mundane that holds up the extraordinary. The seemingly inconsequential bassline, background harmony or pause that pushes or pulls a song. So it is with life. And trampolines.
The hésitation, the fraction of a second in which you are already in the air but have default to setting and are mid recanting from your commitment is what leads to death. Or, less dramatically, injury.
The confidence and eagerness and unjadedness is also naturally touched by that process so that the next hill has more moles filling it towards the sky.
Its is clear. Living is pain and it is death, both of which are nothing which is the same as cowering by doing nothing and being everything. Nothing is nothing, but there are two of them.
The one which you already know and the other which might dare you to break your neck with the indemnity of gaining something new in an uninevitably sequence of delusion. Hectic.
It’s 02:06 but that doesn’t really mean anything.
It was a harrowing night. I was caught completely unawares, and never again want to be in that position again.
That could easily have been the end, and it could have easily been an escape too. Save for always putting things off, I could have saved myself.
No one came, no one is coming.
Why could’ve? That I already know very well.
I’m going to draw a better picture.
Have you read that story about the two wolves that going into separate rooms which both have mirrors. One wolf comes out happy, focused and content with the content of the den. The other wolf comes out snarling and angry. Easy enough to understand. What of the pup born of these two wolves?
The serious danger of knowing you can recover from anything, of knowing you’ll never stop going forward and doing all you can is that you will still manage to slow yourself down. Some times to a standstill so that you fall over for non movement and then have to crawl out of it and into a gallop.
Perhaps what I had better done is to walk. Get my balance and walk faster as I do. I am finding more and more that it is the little things that build a brick. It is the brick that raises walls.
I am going to hold up the sky.
I was asked this provoking question yesterday. It was in reference to this specific month yet it applies to everything, as do all things to all life. What interested me about it is that it is quite apart from what are your goals for this month. Somehow thinking about it as an intention seems more tangible and not nearly as much as a half committal as I might have imagined it to be.
Eventually, thoughts becomes words, words become actions, actio… You get the point. Where better to start than with your intentions, then?
- I want and intend on more solitude with myself.
- I want and intend on explaining myself less.
- I want and intend to say “no” more.
- I want and intend to betray my friends more so I can be true to myself.
- I want and intend to be at peace.
- I intend to be proud of myself.
There are some of them. They say writing things down makes them more real, and I am settled that it does not matter if it is in ink or megabytes.
How strange that a single writ should have a repetition of titles? Actually, not strange at all.
I am here, at the beginning, again, a new beginning in something old. I have succeeded on the initial endevour in some part, and failed at other times. That is not the reason for starting afresh.
I must renew my resolve because, like that old adage by dear old colonialist, motivation is like a shower. And yet I am challenging myself to more this time around because I want it to be innate and somewhat unprompted so as to achieve full autonomy.
I want to go far and wide, to walk with God and drink deeply from the cup of life so that I can quench my existence, that I may satisfy my purpose without ending up bloated in the belly from excess. I’ve gotta pee.
Whew, how can write so lucidly in that weird voice which sometimes rings in my head? Hahaha. It’s incredible, but true still. So there, take that other worldly paragraph and mean it.
Today has been interesting, between juggling occupation and sharing revelations already known with a friend of a friend. I needs see the light and keep some for myself. Now, it is time to go home, to spare my energy and talk with my soul, to smile when I am happy and not when I am uncomfortable.
It’s time to be myself again, in another way.
I love you T.
I nearly began this by typing “we” as the first word. Have I truly shrivelled out of myself, and away into the world with its comfort of others, the safety of a group? The mundane and routine exercise of the clique. Have I taken to heart the phrasing of the letters I write every day? Have I turned that sweet solitude from solace to foe?
It is extremely disconcerting to have to make certain decisions about the future. I am finding myself torn between me and several people. But what is the use of it if skin cannot be shed to reveal what is beneath the surface? Why should I live a life which displeases my sensibilities and does not expand the my talent and ware it out for use?
I owe many people many things, perhaps. I owe myself more than that, and I owe myself myself which is much more than even that.
I shall not cower from difficult decisions, and I shall not cower in front of opinions.
I am I.