Thoughts From the Shore

There's so many things I've wanted to say. Just in the past twenty minutes. But they've ran through my head so fast like so many distilled thoughts come and gone. There's so many things I've wanted to say over the past two years but I didn't even know what they were. Asleep. Asleep, perhaps. Perhaps washed away into some egotistical bliss of not knowing. Not knowing what the fuck was coming or going. Going or gone. It feels like I'm finally waking up again. Being reborn into solidarity. I'm waking up to the thirst that I once had, I once relished. For these recent years have been full up on a blissful satiating liquid that one should at least once know, but never live on for a sustained period of time. I actually want to live again. To fuck again. To drink again. To achieve again. To change things again. To steal again. To be again. I'm one month in, and the point is serving it's purpose again.

I had much more I wanted to say, and I've said none of it. Well, maybe just one point. I'm trying to remember the finer points of what spurred this diatribe, but I've forgotten them. Hine may be the reason, as in Hine, the fine Cognac I'm currently drinking, which is making me type using the motions of conducting a symphony whilst listening to my Ipod at full blast, and consequently receiving a decent headache. But hey, at least it's a little bit fun. Fun is something nice to drag out of this whole sabbatical I've dedicated myself to for the current time. I felt like I needed to get away from it all for awhile, and I did. After a month of it, I now feel that the tide waters of my mind are starting to flow back and I can see the difference. And it's not bad. Not bad for now, maybe not bad forever. No, but really, not bad for now. Beacause I will leave, I will return.

I can see the trappings. The trappings are everywhere, they're everywhere you go, and sometimes they'll follow you as well. Even though you thought you left them a continent away. Beyond those, there's the new ones, waiting for you as though you'd never left, just waiting for your return, expecting you not to leave agaain, although you always will. You will. It's in you, in your character, it's just who the fuck you are. You can't change the core of who you are, not at twenty-six, going on twenty-seven. Sure you can change ideas and little things about yourself; but the base of what makes you up, it's just too fucking late, try that shit when you're ten, no later.

Seems like a nice interlude here. Going back soon. Over this. Out of this. I do miss those simpler times, when I was just wasting time with a variable. But what splendid time it was to waste.