A Light Was Switched On

The era of The Smile left long ago. But that is not to say there is no hope.

Just because things are bumpy, just because things feel consistently downhill, is not enough to warrant complete give up. Things are not in a total free fall. Things may feel like they are steadily declining, but there is still hope.

We are not as alone as we think we are, but we may still feel it. Just because we are supposed to be happy does not mean that we are.

Just because I am not in the right place does not mean I have to stay there. We may not have the power to manipulate time, but we have the ability to take control of our geographical positions. If it is a new background, or new faces, or just an abstract freshness that you seek, then there should be little to stop you.

I need to meet new people. Excluding this refreshing weekend, I have been unable to converse in a comfortable way with others. My current hometown is not (to be terribly general) of the same mind-sight or age-set as myself and it is not a healthy feeling to be alone around others.

But enough of that.

Blogging is still perhaps a negative thing put beside a positive thing. An abused power that is meddled with in various ways. It doesn't make me any better just because I feel aware of it. I'm still adding to the pile.

For now. Let it stack.

Listen To This Gargle

There is another possibility.

We are social creatures to some extent, and it has been known that we can talk a lifetime away. Perhaps this internet is not supposed to be something sacred. What if all of this is just humanity's dumping ground?

In adding to it, we are venting our needless aspects in a hope that what we can bring about in reality is condensed and a little more concise.

Oh nonsense. That is nothing like the truth of it. It's wishful to hope that this, all of this, is to aid in some way.
Sure, there is so much goodness online, there is a haven of free information that could set your mind free in a blissful glee. But we're not all willing to wade through waist-high shit to find a single diamond. A very materialistic image, I do apologise.

I'm close to moving to another country. Maybe I have just been given too much time to think. Maybe excuses are not what's needed.

Insert a suitable closing line here.
I'm churning out nonsense for the moment. Either I will get better or I will leave.

Purge

These blogs are not good places.
Another way to make us think we have something worth saying. Another method of personal diarrhea.

I should delete this.

And all that came before.

If something special is within these pages I should keep it to myself until it is fully formed.

Letting out the mind maggots isn't benefiting anyone. Adding to the pile of inter-shit does not help matters.

You do not go around saying, "Hey, I have a blog. Check out what I say about XYZ" you should surely just talk about it in person, or through an online conversation.

Oh who knows? When we get down to the question of whether anything means anything, it's very easy to get destructive.

Writers Writing About Writing

I don't write because I have to. I can get by without it. I don't continue to write because my life would lack any true form of entertainment, of course books will exist long after my own literary excursions.

I don't feel like I am the only worthy writer, neither do I believe I'll ever be the best. The best writers are those with a burning passion trying to prove a point that screams controversy but pleads sense. Some of the best writers are yet to come, fighting not a sole injustice but a horde of non-readers. Our greatest nemesis is the idle mind.

I write to ease an erratic wandering of my mind. I do it to answer a question, the only question that plagues my mind and the only one I don't expect to conclude in my lifetime. What's behind the curtain, and what does it tell us?

There is nothing more satisfying than playing God. There is freedom and there is power.

In this world, this parallel, I can play out any doodle, any philosophic quandary. We not only pander to the improbable, we can easily achieve the impossible. Day after day we change our environment, alter our personality, suffer atrocities for the sake of curiousity.

But there is one thing, after seemingly doing everything, we expect to happen. After playing God for so long, it is surely inevitable to expect someone to expand your own insight. A creator to the creator.

What I await is the flashing inspiration felt when a square met a cube. What I truly want is to reach an understanding greater than I am supposed. That is why I write. Only by creating can we learn what it is to be more aware than that which is created.

Strangers Than Myself

I look upon strangers with a cautious curiousity, for I know them less than myself, and that self even I am bound to doubt, so for this time that passes trust is found only in sparce spots.
This doesn't mean I should leave well enough alone, this doesn't allow me to hermit myself. I am just as much a stranger to them as they are to me. And without external consideration I may cease to know of my existence in a world filled with others.

But acknowledging this, it still leads me to wonder what I should be doing, it makes me question my motives and whether I even know of motives.
What am I trying to achieve?
But there it is, the greatest fallacy to befall our society, the lie we are given too young and then start to feed ourselves. We are going to achieve something big in our lives. We could do anything.
And given that empty promise, that gives us no direction but the idea of movement, we hope aimlessly that a path will create itself.

I Present The Present

It is a promise we make to ourselves when we are young that we will achieve something.
Although some of us feel forced to go to school and to sit tests, we still internally think about what our future should hold (even if this is a variation of superhero).
The way society deems it, our present isn't as important as our future.
Children are the future, you know.
Old people are the past.
But adults, those things we think about being when we are young and dream of when we are old, those things that feature as our 'settled selves', they are the present - and who needs that?

What does it matter what we do now, as long as we are better people later on?

Yes, the sarcasm is reeking. But even with this knowledge, it cannot be helped that I am sitting in a coma and waiting to be woken.

Our contradictory nature is sometimes enough to ponder and keep us going.