Timothy

Jack's Twisted Kingdom
Ad 2:
2011-02-23 03:17:58 (UTC)

silences unbliss

I find I have nothing to say to anyone lately. the few pandering
remarks erstwhile and meandering through the air, bouncing off the
cushions say little of my mood, and less of the torrent of turmoil and
calm lingering at oft dissonant intervals. a moment of calm. a moment
of torridness. they come, they ebb, they flow, they crash and fade
into view disappearing just as quickly. chaotic as they are, I don't
feel my age, I never have, I'm either too old, or too young, too
mature, or not mature enough. I don't feel as I aught to.

so I'm here. cost me much, emotionally, financially, physically even,
not sure what the cost on my spiritual side is, nor do I think of it
much, not sure if my spiritual side even thinks of me, too distant to
matter in great deal to the rest of the whole I think. stability is
fleeting at best, I worry, I do not worry, I hesitate, I react, this
survival instinct, the gypsy lifestyle battered into my psyche has
left it's scars in its wake. things will come as they will.

the sun is out, has been for days, I think this is what I what I like
about the east, there's so little of it out west, where for all it's
lack of snow and cold, the sun shines not often enough for me, and I
prefer it black, not quite pitch at night, with nothing but the moon
to guide me, ambient like the music I enjoy so much. but during the
day? I prefer the rays of the sun glistening off the snow or dew fresh
grass. there's a certain calmness to it all now.

further east, and a little south, I can imagine myself there, but I
wont go there, not for lack of desire, but for lack of confidence in
anything else I do. what I want, what I need, I think I'll walk away,
saddened, perhaps, but realism, that dark companion who saunters along
with me where ever I tread links its arm in mine pulling me ever
forward to somewhere. I dare not hope to dream of such serenity in the
arms of a muse such as the one I want. I burn for none, I did, but the
quenching of flames has burned from me all desire for fantasy and
cloudfilled dreams. ever onwards I plow forward.

I don't see a future, I see present, multiplicity, rampant
indulgences, and here, me with nothing to do, show for anything, I
feel lost as I ever was. there was nothing for me there, there is
nothing for me here, I wonder then when there will be something
somewhere. I keep wandering, this gypsy lifestyle, nomadic, it's
lonely existence I lead, and not one I relish. I can feel the pull of
the beast within, he hungers for excitement, strange how he's been
silent, more often now than ever, but sometimes, sometimes he pulls at
my heartstrings, and I wish to indulge him, I love letting go, I revel
in it, although, I know I can't continue. reality is a harsh mistress.


Ad:0
Try a new drinks recipe site