Dear Diary?
Dear Me.
Dear Heavens.
Am I content to be discontented?
There is a pit of misery that falls so deeply no echo can escape.
The dark so saturated it rises.
I am no Van Gogh.
I am no Picasso.
Da Vincci less so.
My soul is nameless.
Cry, boy. Cry.
Not from joy.
Not from inspiration or defeat.
Release. Release. The insanity will create the clearing.
This could go on forever.
There is no bracing myself.
The tumultuous toil will turn me into a ravenous feat of insanity.
Maybe there I will be home.
Call me insane. I have called myself so.
Call me insane and my soul may no longer be nameless.

The Rise N Shine

I went on a date with a cowboy last night. Very put together and proper. Domesticated. Cute. Exciting, but lacking the crazy that I'm so familiar with. To my knowledge @ least. I've thought it before & I thought it with him, would I ever be so situated, with one person, or with even myself? He seemed very content. His relationships are very non-conflicted. And by choice. He even said that if it's going to be a conflict, it usually never comes up in conversation.

His home was meticulously littered with photographs of his family and random trinkets of his history. Makes it very nostalgic, even for a stranger. I admire him very much. He is a success in a lot of aspects.

We had coffee & everything after we woke this morning. Very white picket fence.

Altered Igo

There is no telling, it seems.  It feels like it all just happens.  The variables remain variables and we are all changing.  

It's the quiet that should be minded.  

Stillness can be a warning.  

The quiet that prey understand to be the hush of a hunter.  Stay still, and you are vulnerable.  Flee, and you are still vulnerable.   

ASTRONAUT

I've been calling this my dark period for a while.   It crossed my mind last night, when this period I last called dark, that it feels like it has only gotten darker.  Cold.  Empty.  Dead.  

The darkness can feel vastly infinite.  Like outer space.  It's bursts of exploding suns and meteorically traveling planets of rock.  

I bet there is a correlation to meditation and drugs.  The turning of one's mind into the darkness of outer space.  A darkness so vast that it is limitless.  Uncontained.

A STONE'S THROW IN ALL DIRECTIONS

How shall I admit my limitations?  Shall I catalogue the many flaws and addictions my spirit seems to battle?  

Battle?  Sometimes I feel free.  Sometimes I feel that in my flaws and addiction, I am truly human.  The words of an addict.  

It means nothing- the intelligence, divinity and capacity to be vulnerable and over come that vulnerability...  Addiction.  

I no longer question the who, where, how, what, why... am I...  I find myself lost and found.  To experience the divine,  I must perhaps fall.  If the divinity is within me, my plummet  will take me endlessly to and from my fellows and my deities.  I know nothing, and perhaps, I've got it all figured out. 

Time, humility, resurrection... will perhaps tell.  I am there and no where.  

I find that slowing down my thinking process to the pace of writing is sometimes very difficult. What’s more, seeing them displayed on a page arouses my impatient, perfectionist instinct. I want to correct the carefully chosen words. I feel the carefully chosen words give no justice to what it is I’m expressing. I want to say so much and so clearly in all the ways I know how. With the many ways to say them, with the ability, or skills and esteem that I have, I want to encompass barriers. I believe it is me fighting limitations, fighting to become universal, or one with the universe.

Aware Am I

I keep reading that to try to be aware or to try to be enlightened means that you aren't or won't. I understand this very well, I think. I have thought that in realizing that I know nothing, I know quite a lot. I mayhap even have figured it all out. Thus, I have introduced myself into electronically cataloguing this wonderment, tick tacking away at keys, for the moment, resting my free hand.