Blogging has been at an all time low this year, thus far.
Playing with Self-Proclaimed Narcissist was a spectacular experience, though I must say I walked away from that night a bit wounded and confused, as well as raw and aware.
Paradoxical, but it all happened.
Sore pride, disheartened attitude;
Enlightened mind, growing spirit.
The working world brings about responsibilities I have grown accustomed to leaving behind.
As a result I am flashing between fits of frustration, complaint, and self-pity, then strength, endurance, and self-sustainability.
I finished reading Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis.
All that was imposed brought intense introspection and a good amount of inspiration.
Coinciding with my newly revitalized love for literature, Martha and I have been getting into comic books: she for the first time, I for the first since middle school.
Nostalgia, the Sega Genesis has come out of the box, reigniting my attraction to a particular timbre of music and interactive art.
Seeing Social Distortion live for the first time since 2006 or '07 brought upon insightful reflection and emotional outpouring (and an indefinitely length-ed charlie horse in my leg.)
School work has increased in volume and demand for my effort, which further repulses me from the pointless high school classroom.
This further leads me to ponder: For what reason am I to go to college? Where does my financial future lie? Music or monotony?
Physically, I've fluctuated from unending energy to a depression seeping, manifested in muscles, most felt upon awaking.
Pages of writing have been produced within my mind, or at least the ambition to see them in fruited splendor.
Though sadly, the Innocent Unfortunate Planet remains raped and her suicide in vain;
I see different shades of me from the mirrors on the street to sleep, yet no understanding shall my faces meet.
Songs, unborn, unsung, my seed, washed away.
Maybe it's all a waste of time.
My soul belongs to the Lord, despite dissent in the heart.
The speed of my beating breast reverberates in the requested silence, long since spoiled in the brain of the bent.
God, your tears no longer soak but rather steam and singe my skin.
How close am I to Hell?
Why, when I read Revelation to I feel the fire of fury over the fire of love?
There is no path where I tread; merely the arbitrary inkling or imagining of one.
I've done all of this to myself.
But I see hope, it will come, I will be free.
That is not how I feel, but what I know.