The reason

Everything changes into the same.

People and places forgetting their names.

Once upon a time, there was a reason

Now it is a season

Of my Life.

 

There is a reason why I am writing, though it eludes me now. I want to express something, though I can’t name it. I can’t see it. I can’t touch it. I can only feel it… they say to feel your words. I do. Yet I can not write.

 

It isn’t writing block. I can write. I just don’t want to. I used to dream that my words mattered… I would write for people… those who wanted to read… even if was just me. Throw my words into the horizon and let them be found… like a guiding star… I would write because I thought that someone needed to hear my thoughts… I would write because I thought that one day someone might need them… yet now… I don’t even want them…

 

I do yet I don’t… I don’t because I failed them… as I failed myself… I need my words, yet I turn away… again and again and again.

 

There is a reason why I am writing… it is because I need to. I will write again… I need to be patient and focus on why

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It’s come down to this… I’m tired of the constant facade. The smiles and handshakes… the pleasantries and false securities… I don’t mind them terribly, but I’m tired of them. I am who I am, and I’m not a bad person. I do what I  do and give my all to all. I take care of others when all fail me, and I don’t care… I just want to be left alone. Leave me be.

Why must people judge and watch? I don’t care what others do. I have too many things to worry about. I don’t care what other people say. I have too much to listen to in my own mind…

There have been a lot of changes in my world, some for the better and some for the worse… yet the worst I can say is that I’m tired. I know I should count my blessings and it sickens me how I often I am using “I’ and “me” in this rant… but alas… it is but a rant…

Tomorrow will be today and I shall continue to tire, until I finally give in to my surroundings. Let us hope I keep myself, for I have lost parts of me that I miss terribly.

 

Until we meet again,

Enreal

 

 

 

 

Mush

What do I want to write about?  This seems to be the issue of the moment. I have been sitting here working on five different essays… all revolving around a similar point. A point which I fail to see…Intelligence, Judgement, Worth, Purpose and Meaning. While all the issues are large and complex… I find myself going back and forth between them.  One thought comes to mind, then lapses… finding it seemingly hard to make a point for argument, a point of reason or any point at all… Mush…

I sit here, coffee in hand,  listening to the rythm of the background music (aka elevator music), watching the locals enter the coffee shop, I drift… to and fro in the mush… my words, people, seemingly unrelated movements, seemingly unconnected realities… what makes these thoughts evolve… what makes this essay take shape?

Couples young and old lazily conversing… The father out for an early dinner with his daughter, individuals wrapped in thought, the employees seemingly busy behind the counter are as detached from their work as I am from mine… 

Then there are the technologies practically attatched to the bodies of so many… distractions.  Some sit and do as I do, write (or try to)… some listen to their music, some sit and watch their computers… some sit and read… some simply eat and stare off into their universe. Interesting to see so many different realities… so many connections made with little or no awareness of myself. I sit and write about my surroundings, about all the strangers I do not know… and yet I do know them in my world… I imagine their lives from their actions, from their behaviors and from my thoughts, my imagination…  observing is what makes these situations real in my world. For how else can I experience it without imagining it…  seemingly unrelated movements, seemingly unconnected realities… are connected for my mind. Here in my universe all the randomness makes sense, all the chaos is explained to my curious mind…

Mush…

I wonder what point I am trying to make… perhaps sometimes there is no point at all… perhaps sometimes  we must simply observe and imagine… perhaps the unrelated and unconnected are not and we simply fail to see

Or perhaps it is just mush…