How can it be that I’m left silent? How can it be that there are no words for the moment? Sometimes silence is preferable, but other times, it’s the forum.
My false affected style, and a desire to simply spill upon the page. To be more chaotic, and more thorough and methodical – to take on a frenzied experimentation. Writing in some small corner of the internet – a page that no one comes to at any rate. Declaring victory for myself at the outset and seeking to enter into the hallowed halls of…
To speak authentically, to pay heed to the tragedy of life… of course, everyone already does that anyways, at least when the words are uttered in public and the words are mundane and prosaic. To speak and write – writing that requires so little revision.
I wonder if I’ve grown old, if I’ve become fixed. I turn over the same familiar words, the same themes come to me – over the same familiar ground. I’ve seen it before, I’ve heard it before, it doesn’t appear new.
To write for no one, to write for no one – what hypocrisy on the world wide web. But an outlet for my thoughts. I don’t want an audience, yet I want to be heard. I don’t want an audience, yet I want to be admired and recognized. I don’t know… I want to be valued… but I can’t find my own words, only the words of others.
My style drops off, everything is half finished, and the whole piece becomes like some tired lament. Misbegotten adventures. I’ve been languishing in some intellectual torpor. I’ve stood at a distance from life, enervated, desiring only rest. So I’ve sheltered myself away, taken on a new image, a new armour, and kept myself veiled.