A Journal of Sorts
"oh, how I wish that they would last moments of peace that just slip through me so fast just when I think that they are gonna stay everything inside me just starts fading away" ~ Blink 182 ~ that feeling of rushing, having to get somewhere, pushes creativity into the great elsewhere... stumbling through life these days, I wonder what I'm doing... going to work each night, sitting around at the keyboard or in from of the TV each day, catching up on sleep at odd hours and falling further behind my hopes and dreams and desires for this life... I just don't get it... there's chocolate on my keys and no one to share the joke with me... missing music, there's a key... but more, missing someone to inspire and share music and words in the physical life... it is too easy to find strangrs on the internet (as it was in snail mail) to inspire imagination and creativity through fantasy... my mind is easy that way... my heart even easier... and yet, the keyboard is plastic, the screen glass (or some polymer stuff), the words two dimensional representations of abstract thoughts and feelings and dreams... missing most may be the touch of a dream coming true... when I want a muse, I can find one even bring her into my world but when I want a friend to hold my hand eyes that tell me they understand breath that proves someone else is alive these things don't arrive but somehow this dream survives maybe it because I don't understand humanity and I don't want to be part of the cruel lies loneliness doesn't overcome all the self-destruction I see for conformity, there's just not a good enough prize lost in fading memories will I fade away too? waiting to hear what you say waiting to see what you do maybe it because I don't understand dishonesty and I don't want to be part of the pretense hunger does not blind me to the game's great folly the victory comes at too great an expense lost in aging memories will I grow old too? waiting to feel something real again waiting to hear from you when I want a muse, I can find one even bring her into my world but when I want a friend to hold my hand eyes that tell me they understand breath that proves someone else is alive these things don't arrive but somehow this dream survives sometimes it seems I am lost in my dreams maybe I don't want to be found but what I want most can not be seen and it does not make a sound when will you come around? when will you come around? when will you come around? when will you come around? lost in dying memories one day I'll die too waiting to share it all again waiting for you |
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