Putting off the things...
I need to stop not writing because I like the way things look. And I need to stop not brooding because I like the way things appear. And I need to stop pretending because I like the way things could be.
It's time to wake up and put dreams off for now.
It's time to get up and put the morning off no longer. Time to become alive - to remember that I'm living. Time to put off forgetting to remember that I'm still existing.
Sigh. Sometimes, life isn't fair.
Sometimes, memories occur, come back that we don't want to have to admit were real. Sometimes, dreams become nightmares in our waking lives - and we don't want to really say that its true. We don't want to admit to it. We don't want to really have to say that we're awake - that this is life....
that our dreams aren't coming true.
Sigh. This is senseless brooding. This is meandering thought and stringed together things. This is thinking and feeling - things we don't really want to reveal. This is pointless pander, worthless wonder, and useless thought. It is of no purpose, no higher good, and serves no real aim.
It is non-selective, and does not even sound elegant. It is drivel and blather. It is what Beckett would write about, but in worse words than he would have writ it. It is aimless gander toward nothing in particular. And in fact, I cannot handle any more.
And thus, this is the end--->here.
-RK
It's time to wake up and put dreams off for now.
It's time to get up and put the morning off no longer. Time to become alive - to remember that I'm living. Time to put off forgetting to remember that I'm still existing.
Sigh. Sometimes, life isn't fair.
Sometimes, memories occur, come back that we don't want to have to admit were real. Sometimes, dreams become nightmares in our waking lives - and we don't want to really say that its true. We don't want to admit to it. We don't want to really have to say that we're awake - that this is life....
that our dreams aren't coming true.
Sigh. This is senseless brooding. This is meandering thought and stringed together things. This is thinking and feeling - things we don't really want to reveal. This is pointless pander, worthless wonder, and useless thought. It is of no purpose, no higher good, and serves no real aim.
It is non-selective, and does not even sound elegant. It is drivel and blather. It is what Beckett would write about, but in worse words than he would have writ it. It is aimless gander toward nothing in particular. And in fact, I cannot handle any more.
And thus, this is the end--->here.
-RK
2 Thought(s):
Dreams? What dreams? ;)
Dreams of candy-land, dreams of life. Dreams of hoping, and stinging of lights.
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