mephausto

it's time to sit and write, spend some time with my fingers dialing in for my mind, one more escape from lap after lap of living.

then again my brain creates a break, taking away any imagery just as fast as i can muster it. should this be a 'writer's block' situation, or is it rather the complications of a stress laden mind?

i find that in the mirror i resemble more of a shell than a whole, a easter bunny still in it's wrappings, slightly smudged and still sort of appealing in its chocolate construction, but disappointingly hollow on the inside, passed over for those more filled, solid, whole. passed over even by myself, no longer steadfast and true but questioning and low in thoughts directed towards myself. it's not so much that i don't think i can achieve, that i can get away from this situation, from these doldrums and land back on my feet, but that i have not yet, that i still suffer, stuck and dryly bleeding from the toll throwing myself away in the name of passion, in the name of bringing joy, bringing happiness.

passion. ha. the idea becomes idiotic after a while, as passion cannot be sustained when it is set up improperly, when it is miscommunicated, when it is not connected on the same level. happiness, joy... what do they even appear as? vaporous entities on magazine covers, secret demons within pills and powders, living beneath the screen as whatever digital display smiles our way. they have liittle to do with enduring living aside from the rare motivator inherent with new prospects.

life is only a matter of contentment with the enduring undercurrent of eventual sadness. letting go is an everyday process, and with as much practice as i have, removing myself from a bad situation is tough on my socio-psycho-physiological being. this is the point where i say i need help, that i cannot do it alone, that while i need time to myself i need time with you, with friends, with others, outside of myself and outside of my walls. i am powerless over myself, in the end, and do not wish to go back to the relationships i have left in the past. yet i fall, am destined to fall again and again, in the name of passion and joy.

i once read a tale of when annie lennox was singing sweet dreams amidst sobs. i can imagine how that feels... and to me, that is joy--the release of sadness.

but i was saying that time and again i fall for the same old practices, the same old wants and admirations from others, left to wallow in some grand illusion perpetrated by both minds infatuated with infatuation, filled with lust and devoid of patience.

patience i foster, patience i try to live by, and patience is what goes before i do. should i not live by my own pace, can i not live with my flow of time, then things become off balance and i must either adjust comfortably or fail.

in the end i will survive, i will abide, i will make it through the dark periods to find balance again. i must keep moving; my faith in my own footsteps will see me through.

in the end, i will sleep, dark and fantastic.

in the end, life will continue, with or without my involvment.