Pragmatic

Writers block is a pretty serious problem I would say, ranking up there with death, taxes, and the third thing. It is amazing that one can have a nice, clean slate with which to address everything they feel is of pertinence, only to be confronted with the inability to. And, worst of all, this inability is undeniably self imposed. So, then, one finds one's self sitting in front of an immaculate precipice of language and unwilling to peer over. Perhaps one's thoughts are not worth documenting. Maybe the existing vocabulary cannot encompass the full gamut of what so desperately needs to be expressed. I have found this fear is easiest over come in a way like so many others. Don't think about the consequences of an action until the consequences have already followed. At least it takes the guess work out of things.

If you awoke one fine, albeit noisy, Sunday morning, and the events that transpired in the most recent evening passed and those of the dreams even more immediate are blended together into a melange of truth and fiction, and you did not know which of those the good events were a part of, would you insist so heavily still on getting up?

Just like these, a hundred unfinished thoughts. A thousand unaccompanied rhymes. Enough under developed strokes of brilliance to drown the mind in a satiating flood of words, images, and simple strings of syllables that at sometime had seemed to spout so smoothly. Theses that could change a world, arguments that could a alter a mind, and poems that could reach a soul. Or, even worse, expressing in a personal way those raw emotions that refuse to stay contained in a place taken over by memories that weren't compatible. These glorious words and sentences wrangled by fear and kept pent up away from the pens that would free them.

Convolution

I awoke this morning with a startling bolt of energy, surprising myself, knowing well that I had only had about four hours of sleep. I suppose it comes naturally with knowing you have eight minutes to get to class. As I headed down the stairs, I was struck with a most awesome sight. With the time change over, the sun has started rising later than just a week ago, and at this time it was something to behold. It was a sort of deep azure, with the sparse clouds a deep color that can only be described as that of rage fading to that of nothing. And as I walked down those steps, the world closed back in around me. From the third floor, the sky was limitless, its beauty untamed and expansive. By the time my feet were back on the ground, and my imagination similarly floored, the heavenly canopy was contained by impending and malicious buildings to the only the area above me. By the time I reached my class, the sky wasn't worth looking at. Civilization had taken it over. Nor were my thoughts worth thinking. Memories were occupying a country where they are not welcome.

With the sky gone, and its pleasing distractive property exhausted, there was nothing left to see, and so my mind's eye turned inward. And it is here that the antithesis of the morning sky resides. Where the pure cyan of that lofty expanse held nothing but promise and possibility, my thoughts have none. They seem content on sedation, and they focus on what could change, but won't. Day dreaming about events long since passed, or inane contingencies of days too soon approaching, leave the head exhausted. And it is in the exhaustion that relief finally comes, for a self-contemplating soul needs a break from what it has become. A chance to just gaze at the sky.

Distrust

One of biggest problems is that I out right don't trust people. And I'm not talking about trusting people to catch me when I fall backwards...or forwards. It is simply that I don't trust people in day to day senarios.

For example, I was talking to a friend the other day, about I forget what, and happened to say "I read somewhere that..." And I just find myself thinking, "You? Read? Who are you trying to fool...", and then spend the rest of the time they talk trying to figure out what I think this person would have been reading. Of course, I'm not listening to them talk anymore, so when they finish I have to look around at whoever else was listening to see what kind of reaction I should have. Of course, I don't even trust the reactions of others and end up laughing about my friend's dog dying. And all of a sudden, I'm the one who no one trusts.