podeamreprieve
Yes, it has been a long time, and yes I have been neglecting this. It’s hard to fall back on the rather sly I’m-too-cool-and-busy-to-have-time-to-write excuse of being too caught up with life, for life seems to be passing me by.
Being too young and too old all at the same times seems to be a rather flaccid joke played by gods too bored with the chess-game manipulation of life; if The Life of Meâ„¢ were a game, it’ll be one of those; you know, with alcohol and naughty doodles in red markers and not a trace of lucidity involved.
How’s that for teen angst?
–
It is good to be free of certain shackles, to grow and see and wonder what it is that one can do. If life were worth living, is it worth examining? Rushing for meetings between meetings before meetings after meetings, I can’t help but very sedately reflect that all this had bloody hell be worth it.
–
I’ve started running again, I’ve missed running, the thumpathumpathumpa of feet thumping on cement, in the middle of the night when you’re the only one running in the midst of prisons and camps where you’re the only one running with the amazing freedom one feels when you’re the only one running where you’re the only one running, and there’s nothing to distract you from you, other than you.
I haven’t truly realised how little I’ve thought in the past months, little thoughts or big thoughts. I worry I can’t think anymore, and that’s worrying, for all I have to redeem myself is the think.
If I were a poet or an artist or an artiste – the e makes all the difference, trust me – it wouldn’t matter, for aesthetics shields cognisance. But if the prose won’t flow, and dribble words as does the mind dribble thoughts, the ugly have no reason to exist.
You know what, I really am too busy with life to write about it. My main preoccupation is wondering where it went.
« Buddha Call. | small Talk. »