A Journal of Sorts
. o O ( of course I should be sleeping ) O o .
as within any science to obtain the essense the proper method is repeat and clarify isn't that always the way to make soup? some soup, I suppose... but some soups are milky cloudy globs of who knows what... in any case, this is not chicken soup for the soul all the time, so the carify method might not always be preferable... maybe sometimes we don't want to know what those globs are... oh yeah, and the space between... . o O ( time strolling by... or is that me? ) O o . there is a challenge in the air... a powerful wind blowing from the roots of the tree through the branches, due north, though it comes from the east... sometimes I wonder if I have wasted most of this life... giving up material wealth has trapped me in place, physically, taken the means to travel and expand connections and meet others... but the games that money demands are more repulsive than the attractions of this world... my sanctuary remains intact and unsold... though lonely at times... again, alas, lament... crossing over the oceans of memory is not easy these days (grumt), so the words flow slowly and drag me down into the abyss where pain resides... nobody really cares, for nobody really knows... truth clarifiies... . o O ( why would anybody want to be depressed? ) O o . we are all, here... I go there to restore my faith in my ability to survive any challenge and rise above any obstacle, anything... some call it depression, I call it a vacation from optimism... in this world, optimism might seem lighter at first glance, but it is a much heavier labor in the long run... depression is where I go when I want to give into laziness... calm... and where I heal... . o O ( but the waters are churning ) O o . were I to be optimistic at the moment, I would tell you that I have fallen in love again... from a distance, as usual, but still wih power and potential well within range of anything's possible... even relocation... with enough faith and hope that I shall reach out and risk the rejection... maybe tomorrow... . o O ( how ironic, though may the date be inappropriate ) O o . you don't really want to know me unless you ask for more, for there are not enough pieces of me to really know me here... beyond the complexion... there is still enough to drive you away should you wish to be driven and sort through the mediocre and intentionally dazed... the confused need not apply, unless you are mostly faking it for popular consumption... the tabloids are merciless because they are based on money and the material world, a representative effect of the philosophy I reject... and yet, I seek higher interest rates, ethereally, for my offering is as yet unsurpassed... believe it, leave it, or do as you wish... is there ever enough time? |
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