get ready kids.
I've crossed that line. Between reality and what lies inside the gray matter. I'm delving into the worst parts of my being and the deepest caverns of my soul. I suppose it's time. I need to be more careful of what I wish for. My world is magnified again. I won't make the same mistakes I made in the past so fear not. I'm in it for the long haul. There will be no "E" brake this time. No jumping off early.
The words are slippery between my fingers and my hands can't keep up with a pen. I find myself here. Laura, you're the only one who reads this damn thing so I consider it writing to myself. Don't feel you need to comment on the 5,000 posts I'll probably make in the next few days. Just ignore the rambling lunatic.
I feel pressure. Like an infection it throbs and aches until the only logical thing to do is to amputate. But how do you amputate thought? By writing. Singing. Making. My intention is to capture this. Not to hold it up for examination. But simply to have a reference. It will be my road map. The first time, I didn't have a map. I went blindly along the road with one headlight. Too fast. I panicked and pulled the razor. This time I want to follow it the whole way. No escaping. No amputation.
How can you differentiate between love and hate. I say I hate. I think I hate. Frustration and anger boil inside of me until I am consumed by the steam and am left gasping for air. But is it anger that boils? Or is it passion? I've heard it said that love and hate are not opposites. That they are, in fact, much the same. Maybe in truth, all opposites are. I can't tell anymore. Once you take a microscope to it, it loses all truth. It's a different perspective here. Not clearer, just bigger. Without one, there isn't another. The darker the night, the brighter the day. I hope this night is cold and hard and consumed in black. I've been living in gray.
The words are slippery between my fingers and my hands can't keep up with a pen. I find myself here. Laura, you're the only one who reads this damn thing so I consider it writing to myself. Don't feel you need to comment on the 5,000 posts I'll probably make in the next few days. Just ignore the rambling lunatic.
I feel pressure. Like an infection it throbs and aches until the only logical thing to do is to amputate. But how do you amputate thought? By writing. Singing. Making. My intention is to capture this. Not to hold it up for examination. But simply to have a reference. It will be my road map. The first time, I didn't have a map. I went blindly along the road with one headlight. Too fast. I panicked and pulled the razor. This time I want to follow it the whole way. No escaping. No amputation.
How can you differentiate between love and hate. I say I hate. I think I hate. Frustration and anger boil inside of me until I am consumed by the steam and am left gasping for air. But is it anger that boils? Or is it passion? I've heard it said that love and hate are not opposites. That they are, in fact, much the same. Maybe in truth, all opposites are. I can't tell anymore. Once you take a microscope to it, it loses all truth. It's a different perspective here. Not clearer, just bigger. Without one, there isn't another. The darker the night, the brighter the day. I hope this night is cold and hard and consumed in black. I've been living in gray.