the coming waves of ecstasy
Sometimes I just want to post blank entries, in a "less is more" kind of way.
Tonight, however, I decided to actually use this blog to indeed create more than a what a twitter can convey. As one who has never mastered the arts of nuance or brevity, my reality is oft filtered to my vast readership via the prosaic realities in which I frequent. Yes, my life is infinitely better now that I have been humbled into suggestions and have uncovered that seemingly elusive way of life I thought was only in fairy tales.
My mind lately has been in a sort of disconnect. It seems I just can't get over how good life is now. On the other hand, I am struggling to be in any moment, past, present, or future. My mind is all over the place and I'm just not sure how to focus it. Unlike last year, I'm not worried that this is mania, and that these feelings of joy can only be mania; I'm just genuinely thrilled.
I am thrilled that my existence has transcended itself into a life. Of course, there is a problem. There is always a problem though. The problem, of course, is how can I successfully over come my past? If I can now process fear before it turns to anger and hatred and bitterness and hostility, what do I do?
Tonight, for instance, I was invited out to eat. Last week I was offered the chance to write about a concert I attended. Life is happening so fast. There have been many growing pains to accompany all this joy, of course. Perhaps I am being simplistic and overly cliched, but from April of last year until September I was basically lost in The Woods and the polemics which accompany One Beat.
In September, a new album awoke me to other possibilities. The "Romance" of music because a romance with that concept called life. It was then I realised I was miserable and not living. Again, to be beholden to symbols, true and false, I embarked on a new journey on Sunday, the 23rd of October. It's a poignant date in so many ways; I began work with a man who was celebrating a birthday that day, as well as it being the anniversary of the physical birth of a friend.
The intervening months were painful. I struggled on nearly every front, and in the process I entered an even more drastic phase of isolation. I was beleaguered by so many factors. In retrospect, of course, I can laugh at my immature ways. There are, too, the moments of sadness at squandered opportunities. I now can clearly acknowledge that in 7 1/2 years I may have destroyed more than I built, only ever building anything simply to destroy it. I'm still not sure how it is possible to create such chaos, but that doesn't matter.
The storms that raged in internally and externally have stopped. The mess is made, and since nothing else is being added, I can simply clean. It never gets any better or easier than to know that when I clean my bathroom, or when I pull weeds, the physical toil that accompanies it is a gift and has a corresponding mental or spiritual component.
Perhaps this is all bullshit. Perhaps life is meaningless. And if it is, then you're reading the wrong blog, provided the fact that you should even be reading blogs. I've done more than sworn off "Future Crimes" and begged a pardon for my sins. A few months ago I truly had no story, nothing to form me.
That is when it finally got under my skin, and it became my maker, my re-creator, my reason to live.
If this was all hokey bullshit, and you think that the above paragraphs should have been the conclusion rather than this paragraph, or perhaps you think that this should never have been written, let me know. Send me your address and I'll refund your subscription. Of course, if you did like it, I do enjoy the occasional anonymous comment, the errant email, or even a text message....and now I wish I had a conclusion.
Tonight, however, I decided to actually use this blog to indeed create more than a what a twitter can convey. As one who has never mastered the arts of nuance or brevity, my reality is oft filtered to my vast readership via the prosaic realities in which I frequent. Yes, my life is infinitely better now that I have been humbled into suggestions and have uncovered that seemingly elusive way of life I thought was only in fairy tales.
My mind lately has been in a sort of disconnect. It seems I just can't get over how good life is now. On the other hand, I am struggling to be in any moment, past, present, or future. My mind is all over the place and I'm just not sure how to focus it. Unlike last year, I'm not worried that this is mania, and that these feelings of joy can only be mania; I'm just genuinely thrilled.
I am thrilled that my existence has transcended itself into a life. Of course, there is a problem. There is always a problem though. The problem, of course, is how can I successfully over come my past? If I can now process fear before it turns to anger and hatred and bitterness and hostility, what do I do?
Tonight, for instance, I was invited out to eat. Last week I was offered the chance to write about a concert I attended. Life is happening so fast. There have been many growing pains to accompany all this joy, of course. Perhaps I am being simplistic and overly cliched, but from April of last year until September I was basically lost in The Woods and the polemics which accompany One Beat.
In September, a new album awoke me to other possibilities. The "Romance" of music because a romance with that concept called life. It was then I realised I was miserable and not living. Again, to be beholden to symbols, true and false, I embarked on a new journey on Sunday, the 23rd of October. It's a poignant date in so many ways; I began work with a man who was celebrating a birthday that day, as well as it being the anniversary of the physical birth of a friend.
The intervening months were painful. I struggled on nearly every front, and in the process I entered an even more drastic phase of isolation. I was beleaguered by so many factors. In retrospect, of course, I can laugh at my immature ways. There are, too, the moments of sadness at squandered opportunities. I now can clearly acknowledge that in 7 1/2 years I may have destroyed more than I built, only ever building anything simply to destroy it. I'm still not sure how it is possible to create such chaos, but that doesn't matter.
The storms that raged in internally and externally have stopped. The mess is made, and since nothing else is being added, I can simply clean. It never gets any better or easier than to know that when I clean my bathroom, or when I pull weeds, the physical toil that accompanies it is a gift and has a corresponding mental or spiritual component.
Perhaps this is all bullshit. Perhaps life is meaningless. And if it is, then you're reading the wrong blog, provided the fact that you should even be reading blogs. I've done more than sworn off "Future Crimes" and begged a pardon for my sins. A few months ago I truly had no story, nothing to form me.
That is when it finally got under my skin, and it became my maker, my re-creator, my reason to live.
If this was all hokey bullshit, and you think that the above paragraphs should have been the conclusion rather than this paragraph, or perhaps you think that this should never have been written, let me know. Send me your address and I'll refund your subscription. Of course, if you did like it, I do enjoy the occasional anonymous comment, the errant email, or even a text message....and now I wish I had a conclusion.