Saturday, February 19, 2005
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I have a need to write.

I need to write infinitely because I don't know what will happen when all the writing and typing stops. I don't know what is happening. All i know is that i talked to my parents about something, about everything and the world stands still now, clicking away the seconds. I was to fast forward life so that I am old. I can once again appreciate the little things; the trees, the sun, the silence. Everything is right, but everything seems oh so endlessly melancholy. And in this bland desperation i look for escape in my writing. This writing that will be read by all who grace my plain little site. My little vestige of what i truely think. Well dear reader, tonight will be a grand night for visual eavesdropping, for i will write endlessly without restraint. I do not want to complain, but in my mind that is all there is. A screaming, obnoxious voice which tells me what is wrong. There is also the lesser more forced voice of reason which attempts to show me what is right. Reason wins sometimes, but when its cloak of content is lifted, the horrific voice of the unnerving wrong is there. It is there with greatness. It holds everything i want in its grasp and refuses me. I offer you my life, I tell this beast. I offer you everything i am allowed to in my present condition and embrace me. Turn off the darkness, as one clever student put it. But demonically, it resists. It taunts me once more and lets me wither away. I hold my soul up to it and scream. It is gone now, but my soul is still wilted in my hands and i crush it. I crush it until i feel the pain within me grow. And when i cannot withstand it any longer, I allow it to return to me, used and broken. That is my present condition. I am not jabbering, driven by teenage angst. Any writer with that motive cannot conceptualize the very thing which haunts him. I can. I can so very well feel myself. Behind everyday, behind society and behind conciousness. I can feel it torn and clinging. It is horrible. Yes, try to understand. But in the end, you still can only relate it to your own happiness. I will never fully understand you and you will never fully understand these words. But that is a constraint which must be dealt with for now. The blade grows ever duller as the days go by. With every sunrise a chance is gone and society mesmerizes again. They once told us we were to be great. They once told us we would topple those above us. But what then? Do we then wait to be toppled by those who will be great? The world is simple. Life to Death. "To." Everything is in the "to". If it were an "and," there would be nothing. If it were an "or" then it would be two nuances of hell. We are blessed with "to." Pointless, spontaneus, enclosed. God dwells outside, and wel look at Him and wonder, what now? God sheds a tear and laughs, such is the ironic destiny of life. Life, death, interchangible, Life begins Death. With God, Death beings Life. Without God, Death ends. End is feared but it is needed to quell it as well. Eternity is hell in a clever form. Back to now, back to "to." Pointless indeed. Nothing to show, nothing to destoy. A flicker of his vision, a blink of an eye. We are alive, we are dead. Blink again, we are free, to be trapped in freedom with Him. Tell me your problems or save your breath. Both useless. Find your love, then die with her. Do dead men love? Useless indeed. Such is the ironic tendencies of life. But alas, what is there? Refused by the devil, to be trapped by the angels, I am free. Oh, but what a cost. Life, libery, the pursuit of happiness they say. Impossible! What freedoms can come from shadows? Shadows which stay for a blink's worth of time. No exit. Bliss from ignorance is key they say. And what gurus they were. Blind yourself to see yourself. Retard yourself to understand yourself. Irony and life, interchangible. The demon will come again and ask for you. The angel will cry his desperate cry. You will smile at the heavens and hell, and for once in your life, be free.
Stephen at 12:35 AM