Coming and crying...

Love is blind, they say; but sex ... sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of writers. Yet, as he finally lets himself loose and experiences every mistake he denied himself, he realises that in fact, a person's sexual choice is the result and sum of their fundamental convictions. What a person finds sexually attractive is a reflection on their entire philosophy of life. The people we sleep with are a valuation of ourselves. Because no matter what corruption we're taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which we cannot perform for any motive but our own enjoyment - an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exultation, only on the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces us to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and accept our real ego as our standard of value. We will always be attracted to the person who reflects our deepest vision of ourselves, the person whose surrender permits them to experience - or to fake - a sense of self-esteem. Sex is our response to our highest values - and can be nothing else.

It's time to be his plus one...

Rage against the machine...

When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back. A single moment, a flash within time, is more than enough time for us to decide whether or not to accept our destiny. Because the only way that we can live, is if we grow, and the only way that we can grow is if we change, and the only way that we can change is if we learn, and the only way we can learn is if we are exposed, and the only way that we can become exposed is if we throw ourselves out into the open. So do it. Throw yourself. I dare you,

Show me yours, I'll show you mine...

What you doing with my head?

I may let you go ahead,

but you gotta do it right, right, right.

Show me that you'll make us spin

if I let you try again.

Turn the lights down,

see there's no rewind now,

let's cross the line -

just do it right.

My mind is like a symphony...

Things are moving and changing so fast, I hardly have time to keep up with my thoughts. New people thrust through my life, and leave imprints I fought hard to shield myself from. There is no denying that I am once again in limbo. Sailing through the harsh waters of this tempest we call life, and trying my darnest to navigate the storm with as much grace and dignity as I can muster. But then again, perhaps my obsession with weaving the perfect story is in fact holding me back from writing it? Maybe I need to consciously make a mistake. Maybe I just need to burn the rule book, and see where I end up. Maybe.

To run with the wolf was to run in the shadows, the dark ray of life, survival and instinct. A fierceness that was both proud and lonely, a tearing, a howling, a hunger and thirst. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst. A strength that would die fighting, kicking, screaming, that wouldn't stop until the last breath had been wrung from its body. The will to take one's place in the world. To say: "I am here." To say: "I am." So he laid on his back in his blankets and looked out where the quarter-moon lay cocked over the heel of the mountains, that seemed to be rising up into the darkness above the world and dragging all the stars away. He lay a long time listening to the others breathing in their sleep while he contemplated the wildness about him, the wildness within.

Dancing to a different song...

The old that is weak shall wither...

When he said goodbye, he didn't really mean it. It was just something that felt right in that moment in time. Something that made him feel like he was taking a step forward - towards something new, something better. Now as he sits here, being enveloped by his inherent loneliness, he tries to pick up the pen, and continue where he left off. But the pen doesn't move, and a sharp pain flashes through his brain. "What the fuck?" He whispers to himself, as he realises that his past addictions might have taken a greater toll than he thought. Something is wrong. It's as if a part of his brain is no longer there. That one special piece that allowed him to shape thoughts into words, words into paragraphs, and paragraphs into stories - ones that might have only made sense to him, but made sense nonetheless. Something is wrong. Something significant.

A part of him just passed away...

All I need, all I've ever needed

is the courage and patience 

to let life unfold as it will.

I will not relent.

I will not relent for sure.

Wreck me, won't you please...

You’re a shooting star I see,

a vision of ecstasy.

When you hold me, I’m alive -

we’re like diamonds in the sky.

I knew that we’d become one right away,

at first sight I felt the energy of sun rays,

I saw the life inside your eyes:

we’re beautiful like diamonds in the sky.

On the run...

I think I missed my opportunity, and now I feel as if I'd been robbed. I always knew the dreams I conjured in my head about my most recent endeavour were far too idealistic to come true. I'm not sure why I hoped that at least a small part of them would materialise into something tangible. Something real. But as I let it slowly sink in that I will probably never see the ocean from thirty thousand feet above, so far up that you can't make out the waves or any boats, so that the ocean is a great and endless monolith; I can slowly come to accept that imagining it, is still the second best thing, because if I was able to conjure it in my fantasises, that means I could remember it later on. Even though I'll never actually see or experience it, I realised that the voracious ambition of humans is never sated by dreams coming true, because there is always the thought that everything might be done better and again.

His moment of fractured time...

I will not rush in. I will not push through head first. Instead I will take in a deep breath, accept that while I may be alone, I am never lonely, and .... simply wait. I won't complain or question my decisions. I will let life come as it may, in whatever form, in whatever way, at the speed it dictates for itself. I shall do so, because we have forgotten much. How to struggle, how to rise to dizzy heights and sink to unparalleled depths. We no longer aspire to anything. Even the finer shades of despair are lost to us. We've ceased to be runners. For it is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved, but by reflection, force of character, and judgement. So ... here I stand before you, proud to say that I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way.

I promise I won't relent...

I'm starting to think there may be something wrong with me. I know these trivialities shouldn't have an impact on my confidence or self-respect, but I am only human, and as of recently, one navigating uncharted territory, so I guess I am a bit more fragile. I wonder why these opportunities are even presented to me in the first place, if they are taken away without just cause or explanation. Is there something more I am supposed to learn or does the simplest reason ring the most true? As always, I lack the willpower and grace to let circumstances unfold as they will - all the while hoping that the barrage of disappointment doesn't take took great a toll and that one day perhaps, I will understand why.

He thought he had done his best, but after a little reflection he determined to whether the storm - for adversity is a good school. He resolved to be patient - to command his feelings and take what came. He formed his life day by day, taking as its materials the emptiness and panic as well as the rushes, like fever, of contentment. He has came beyond the fear of solitude. He will not sink, because he now knows that the adventure of life is to learn. The purpose of life is to grow. The nature of life is to change. The challenge of life is to overcome. The essence of life is to care. The opportunity of like is to serve. The secret of life is to dare. The spice of life is to befriend. The beauty of life is to give.

Open fields and trailer homes...

Renewed shall be blade that was broken...

I look at all these country roads,

and open fields and trailer homes,

and think of all the days that i have left.

I wonder how I spend each one,

think of all the things I've done.

Well I havent managed yet,

but I will be here as long as it will take.

 I will love myself and never need a break,

 I know others who tried,  but in the end they went.

I promise I won't relent.

All that is gold does not glitter...

He is awfully greedy; he wants everything from life. He wants to be a weak boy and to be a strong man, to have many friends, laughter and love and to have loneliness, misery, to know defeat; to work much and write good books, to travel and live stories never told; to be selfish and to be a beacon of light in the lives of others. You see, it is difficult to get all which he wants. And then when he does not succeed he gets mad with anger. He is free in his wildness, he is a wanderer, a drop of free water. He knows nothing of borders and cares nothing for rules or customs. He is not afraid of time or its passing, for time isn’t something to fight against. His life flows clean, with passion, like fresh water trying to find it's way back home.

Just a little bit scandalous...