I know that it's been a while, and I'm truly contrite.
That over with, I'm feeling so completely fucking inspired tonight. I feel great. Ecstasy.
Anyway, I'm writing. I just wrote a poem, so I think that I will write a poem here as well. It has to be relevant, so I'll write it about Women/girls/females.
Girls are sharp. They slice at your awareness like knives. You always have to remember that they're there, otherwise you cut yourself.
Females are soft, like a memory of something that hasn't happened yet. They move and they are, but you can never be sure what it is that they're up to. Sometimes you just wonder if it wouldn't just be better to join a priesthood where you're supposed to stay... mmm, what's the word... Ah, celibate, and move to Afghanistan.
Women are the keepers of the fate of mankind. They are the symbols of male inspiration. The embodiments of love and the power to go forward into the future.
Perhaps.
Anyway, my inspiration hasn't run dry yet, so here's another on a completely different topic.
Darkness, Ignorance, it scratches at the doors of one's mind.
Always is it trying to find foothold, searching for a thought to bind.
These ideas, these pictures, of things long past or yet to follow...
They break the way for entrance to a land where is ground is less fallow.
One cannot allow dark to break through the barrier of inspiration.
For when it invades, this fear stops these beautiful half-winged thoughts from reaching completion.
I know, sometimes, which direction to take.
I often must guess which choice to make.
Sometimes I'm just blindly casting about, searching for something to blithely catch to and hold to, pulling myself out.
But to sit in the dark infinite, never moving, always brooding, is madness of the mind, which must be cleansed from it.
So I fight the dark and keep it at bay, hold back the night and wait for the day.
I'm only inspired at night, it seems. This is unfortunate, as it often means that I must refrain from the base enticements of sleep. I love the dark.
I'm looking forwards to next year, when I can just work, then read, do things in whole rather than as parts. I have so many things that I can aspire to, but to having to deal with school detracts from this.
I love it, school, because I can take it, use it, and essentially throw back the refuse, but I now realize that even that is draining, it saps my strength to fend of the useless tripe.
I love my life, my thoughts, my dreams. I had a dream this afternoon, as I took a nap. When I dream, I always remember the knowledge that I know that I'm dreaming being part of the dream, so I dream of something, yet dream that I know that that something is a dream as well. It's interesting.
I dreamt, of what I can remember of the dream, of driving an automobile. Well, perhaps first my father was driving it, and my brother and I were riding. In any case, somehow from where I was sitting in the passenger's side, I took hold of the wheel. Then I was driving the vehicle, and I was quite good at it.
The only problem was, the pedals were still in someone else's control, my [younger] brother's, and I remember that he wasn't very good at responding to my directions with respect to when to push which pedal when.
Next, there was this steep dirt road, a near vertical drop with only a minimal incline. I careen/fall down it, wildly maneuvering the car to keep it going straight. The car is being destroyed around us as the front gradually acquires dents and is being smashed out of shape each time we bounce off of the ground in another arc, but we are untouched by the destruction because I am keeping the car very steadily facing one direction somehow.
The car has come to a rest, and clouds of brown dust are billowing up from around it as we all exit the car. I say something.
I woke, bleary and feeling out of sorts, from my nap. I look at the clock, and it's exactly the right time that I have to go to my mother's house and help out with dinner. I always manage to wake on time for appointments, whether it's school in the morning or dinner at night. It's as if I'm so very aware of clocks and time that I count the seconds in my sleep.
My dreams are all reoccurring ones. If I have a dream once, I seem to have it again and again. This dream, too, is one of those, and I get that feeling of Deja Vu that I achieve with all of these dreams.
Even in waking, I still have Deja Vu realities. I sense something about what I am doing that means that I have done it before exactly as I do now, perhaps down to the very feeling that I have done it before. I love these occurrences. They give me a feeling of time, that time is not a line, going ever onwards, nor a circle, infinitely repeating, but a spiral, where things revolve and come around again, but while they are the same, they are different as well.
I love time, my life, existence. At this point, I love everything.