It almost had me, this pressing weight,
To dig up something old and cryptic,
And forego this opportunity to create.
But in the pleasant smell of nostalgic,
I found that new life does still await,
Piercing bright through layered lethargic.
Until these pressures do abate,
I’ll serve them frenzied, and energetic.
Still, teach me the meaning of ‘never too late’.
I finally worked out a site kink that was bugging the heck out of me since the other day when I returned as a prodigal son to this dusty niche of mine that I left so many moons ago. Now that it’s fixed, there’s no need for you to know any more than that I fixed it. And that I’m terribly persnickety about little presentation details.
Now, the real first paragraph to this entry.
My dear friends, there is so much I wish to tell you. Almost daily do my cognitive wanderings stumble across some minor revelation or pretty collection of words that I consider worthy of being scribbled down or punched into a memo on my cell phone for later extraction and expansion (or, failing that, dissection). It seems that the best thoughts always come when I’m in the absolute worst place to record them, such as the shower or running along the river listening to my iPod.
As the patterns of creation would have it, when I do get around to writing, whether it be here or in my TextEdit journal or, gasp, a Facebook note, it seems I just cannot muster up the same creative reverie. This reality irks me to no end. I don’t consider it to be insurmountable. I’ve just been too lazy to devote myself to regular writing sessions that would loosen my fingers, mind, and the gates upon that lofty fortress called Inspiration. I also haven’t been reading enough – so there you have it, I’ve been on a steady diet of junk and I haven’t been exercising. It’s no wonder the fortress is barred, walled, moated, and gated – I’ve chained its gates myself.
These obstacles shall not be demolished within a night, but I shall set to work tonight, turning fully around immediately after tying the knot to tearing it apart, to break these chains, to splay these gates aside, to swim the moat (for there are no bridges on the way back to finding one’s soul – they were all burned on the way out), to scale these formidable walls, and finally, to tear away the solid bars.
“My name is Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you.”
I will be great one day. There are nights when I cannot sleep for excitement over what the future holds. “League of Extraordinary Gentlemen”,”Be all you can be”; these and others like them, though I hardly know whence they came, await my fulfilling them.
But I’ve gone too far without proper disclaim; some may have already thrown this, in whatever form it has taken, down in disgust. You must, must, absolutely must understand that these are lines from my inner dialogue, which takes a considerably different form from outward conversations. It would be ridiculous to have the same sort of interaction with ourselves that we have with other individuals. Similarly, what we say to ourselves can rarely be reproduced outwardly for the intake of others.
The conversations between the past me, the present me, and the somewhat taciturn future me are indeed a strange thing to delineate verbally. To put a simple cap on further nonsensical rambling, let me just say that there are things I’ve promised myself that I shall not hold back, or hold back from. That much I know, as well as just how difficult it will be to get there.
Speaking of the past me, we’ve had a reconciliation as of late. I always thought I disliked him until I returned to this, yes, blog, recently (I’d fear that you might take that statement narcissistically, but I suspect I’ve already trespassed leaps and bounds beyond any such threshold). I enjoyed reading my old posts. I get a kick out of my humor. Yes, I do, which may be lame to the world, but it secures my survival should I ever be sentenced to solitary confinement. On an island or in a jail cell, that far outweighs worldly repute.
I realized that my chief offense was not verbosity, however much of an offense this may be, it was silence; not silence due to meditation, but silence caused by distraction and intellectual inactivity. The cosmos that ruled my soul in times of true production was swept aside by clamor – chaos that shut down the cogs of whispered expression.
So here I am, fueled by desperation, determined to reinvigorate the discussion between me, myself, and I, and not they, the now and fleeting, but they, the ancients.
And of course, this, as always, is my raw brainstorming and the makings of eventual source material for my letter to the world – nothing new, but ever so important, for “every grand question has to be argued afresh in every generation.”
Yours truly,
-Brad
Inspiration's Waiting Room 