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Always listening for lost sounds, searching for lost colors, standing forever on the threshold, like one troubled with memories , and walking with a swimming stride
Visiting a new land, a new breath; this one is stale. Lacking neither beauty nor light, it is of an old bread – sharp and dry. Each tree and its season, each shadow once felt known to me- likewise the small desolation of forgotten.
The sound comes back, they say. You must listen for it. I hear nothing, can you hear me?
I call them mountains. There isn’t a name for anything except I miss you. They are freckled though, the mountains. And each curve of the land and swing of the sea, so familiar as to imply they should be permanent fixtures of the world, yet nothing is more perishable. Only the darkness is so perfect and permanent.
I feel the notice of people all around me, like the pressure of a denser medium. Now it seems that nothing I had lost or might lose, could be found here.
Can you hear me?
I wont sign this letter, it’s not really me.@4 weeks ago with 1 note
tattotiger asked: what inspires you?
Such a simple question, yet not a simple answer.
This is something I ask my self constantly. I often try to reframe the question in hopes of finding some clarity in my soul. Maybe tricking my mind would help me attain an answer full of clarity and pureness. I have yet to get a straight answer.
Alas I feel as if this question isn’t the one we should be asking, for what, is less important than what comes from it. Thus this means of being inspired is less relevant, It has always been a struggle for me to understand this life. Understanding, or trying to, why it is I have kept going this far. People, society, government, and our every-day-ways of life. I cant comprehend working forever to work forever, acting as yet another cog in the machine, for I fear if I become this, i will cease to exist all together. Maybe its this drive for another life. this understanding that maybe I don’t have to march in line with the rest of them. The idea that I am truly too mad to conform. This madness a gift. A gift I had been cursed with since an early age. I gift I couldnt even begin to comprehend. Forgive me father, for I know this gift has stemmed from you, alas you have created something stronger. As my friend henry m would say, “a day may come when this type of individual will not only find a place in the world but be honored and looked up to.’ In the end, my only hope, goal, driving force, is to, simply, find my place in this world. For i fear mankind is trapped in the most elaborate illusion of all time, happiness as we know it.@1 month ago with 1 note