What is the point of them? It? Whatever. I don't know how to move in this place. Without knocking over so many vases and expensive things that scream when you get close to them - even if they don't break apart as you pass. Will I succumb to their desires, and reduce myself to a fine dust mote of a being to pass by them without friction? This will cause my death as a human being, and the ultimate compromise to the Other as to my own identity, whatever that is. This amalgamation of ideas and attitudes. There is another way and I must resolve myself to engage in it soon or else I risk losing my chance this time around. And what a golden chance it is. I must not let this slip from my grasp, life has given me an extremely ripe opportunity.
I am tired but I have energy. I am awake. Sleep has not overtaken me yet. I am still fighting the tiredness, which might mean I have some work to do before I can rest properly, before I can relax properly. I might need to do this work, I might not. These are just actions to appease certain attitudes and ideas I have inside me anyway. None of it really matters at all. They are just my own internal structures that place these requirements upon my soul, which has its own innate qualities that don't always align with the establishment, both inside and outside. The soul must be allowed to grow in its direction and watched carefully to learn from it.
I don't know what I'm writing anymore, it's just a load of bollocks isn't it. Whose benefit am I doing it for? My own? The writing practice is good, I can use it and it is a desirable thing that can be used in a good way for myself and for others too. But what of my motivations, out of what place am I acting this out from? The effect is cathartic, I had a stone in my shoe, and I wanted it out. It has come out in the form of words on a screen, of a linear, simply-followable internal discourse. It might appear that I am attempting to organize my emotions, which are irrational, into rational, logical and understandable things, so they can be filed away and be predictable. The left brain wanting to understand the right. The logical trying to understand the illogical, the intuitive. Perhaps the bridging of these two separate minds is the key to understanding oneself, the repartee between the two may be drawing a bridge ever closer to the meeting of the two points in common union and permanent understanding, and permanent knowledge of oneself and one's own mysteries - and perhaps, the mysteries of the universe, too.
But I don't know.
