2004-05-28

The Evils

Life is mundane when you sit in the solitary confines of your soul and hear the clock tick back and forth--so painful, how every minute and second are the exact same.

There was a glorious morning outside today with the warm air that likes to wrap around you suddenly. The sunlight isn't too harsh--soft, and being able to kiss each end of the earth. The greens are green, and the pavement is cool after the being cloaked by the night--this is true happiness,true perfection. I have never sat to admire such things before, nor have I ever looked out the window during this time of the morning.

I wanted to make some tea, but I decided against it, perhaps being much too lethargic to make even the simplest of movement. This lethargy is welcomed, and while it is physical lethargy, it is not emotional--for that, I am grateful.

I believe that the feeling that I

have been lacking in order to write is

coming back to me. It's something quite indescribable, because it feels like a hunger reaching out from the very depths of your soul. I feel inadequate, yet, when I am able to express myself with my words, that is the only time that I feel valuable as anything. Sometimes I get the urge to take every single line that I have thus far written in my novel, and just throw it away--make it disappear. Oftentimes I am tempted to start a new one because I can't throw every single life memory away and I simply cannot start a new life. A fresh sheet of paper gives you the opportunity to start something new, whereas nature simply won't allow it. What is this thing which we call progression? It continues despite our most vile mistakes, and despite the pain that it may sometimes cause, it will always proceed. Life certainly is strange, and the question--the omnipresent question is the following: why am I do dissatisfied?

Pathos that resembles torrential rains. Deep gray clouds with hues of black that hang oppressively over the landscape--that is how my heart feels sometimes. I am trying to view life in a much different manner, but this feeling of self-pity, self-dissappointment, self-hate, will always persist deep within me. It is sadness, folly, and confusion at the highest and worse levels. Yet I still fail to understand why I am like this when there are so many reasons why I should smile. I think of those reasons, and for a very brief moment, all worries disperse, yet, there is always something that comes back to haunt me. I will always find a reason to clothe myself in that velvety melancholy. Someone wrote me a poem, and hopefully this person will not mind my putting it here, but I believe that it is appropriate.

"All the evils in this world surround

All the evils are a king with a crown

All the evils are gone when you're around

All the evils disperse at your heart's pound"

If only that were truly so--the evils laugh at me and won't disperse.

aeka at 12:57 p.m.