“For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
It's kind of awkward looking at the screen. It reminds me of those chanced moments when you run into the last person you expect to see at the time you would never want to be found. Those individuals that know you coming and going so that words become a useless medium of communication. In a glance, more can be told and revealed than any attempt to speak.
Mayhaps it's why I refuse to keep people after a while since I feel they already know me more than I ever would. Those people repulse me more than the plague, knowing full well that I already find myself dull in most of my breathing moments and I'd rather not hear any amens.
And yet, there is an unresolved drive that I would describe closely to breathing or getting off that drives me to endure the blankness of the screen in hopes of prying some coherent thought that somehow equate to my purpose on this spinning stone set in the vastness of dead space. Purpose and meaning. A need and desire to know that I am not hear to take up meaningless visage, but to inspire hope, provoke thought and to offer another train of thought where someone bold may just follow as a child chases a stream until they realized they are lost deep in their own thought and have to rediscover their path homewards.
I can not grasp the meaning of my being at times and I often fall into chains of thought that pull me deeper inside the ramblings of free and evasive thought that seem to slip away from ones fingers as fish often do in small spaces or dreams seem to linger as sweet kisses that fade into nothingness leaving only that feeling of warmth with no flame. I can sense these days simply waking and knowing that my day will not end until I've somehow calmed an eagerness without cause and knowing that I rather remain in shadows than to convince others of my self inflicted madness as one would avoid a great horror by committing great harm without lingering memory.
In these moments detachment is easy. I've spent days such as these sitting too long in a position only to have primal calls awaken me with such fervor and reminding me of my mortal responsibilities and that man must live at least on bread when thought yield empty calories. At the moment I realize that I'm much too wordy as an ironic casting to Wordsworth meaningless banter and child like zeal to fill pages with flowery and useless language with the intention of declaring that grass is green. I'd rather be more romantic and simply sighing more knowing that the words of the Bard ripped apart in some meaningless mulch the Mumfords seem to bastardize in some action of being different in a room of mindless copycats.
I can see easily that this post is meaningless and has as much importance as a limerick to loosen a tied tongue or a drink to instill bravery in cowardly kissers. I simply empty my mind as feminine fowl would spew nourishment to begging beaks. My meaning is lost in language not found to myself or to a lover who begs to be spanked only to reveal a crying moment rather any eroticism. All moments that pass and not worthy of a second glance. Purpose lost and meaning just far enough from paradise that miles and inches have no defining difference.
And in an empty action I remain unfulfilled and confidence loosened by the unmet purpose. Was there any reason to write or did I simply need to shake off stiff limbs to continue on to some other action?
Then again, it's not you sitting in the dark wondering if I served a purpose today when I know that there is so much more to be done at this moment that time lost is not a luxury that I can afford. Mental stretches has been had and I don't see any other use than to say nothing for this long.
Unless I've said it all without us noticing.
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