A Blog-Post of Disquiet · 9:02pm Feb 1st, 2015
To begin, I will seldom be on FimFic for a while yet: school is a gnawing annoyance; I have also been taking care of my grandma while she recovers from a car accident that she was in this past December; my parents are insisting I get a job, additionally, so my muse of long meditative contemplation's victuals may or may not now be tossed out the window to feed the crows when that time comes. All things in time.
Necessarily, considering notifications are completely wiped after one week no matter what, I probably won't have any idea who's been talking to me or not.
I've been depressed. This is such a normal thing in these modern days, I shrink at giving the feelings their proper attention; for others I give my care and concern; though concerning myself, I being myself, I can hardly call the feelings worrisome or singular enough to expound upon, they being, perhaps, nothing more than my inherited genes of depression which run through my family, this chemical imbalance, that I have usually staved by means of creative output, but as certain as one grows up, that output has lessened in the small life things I must and will must attend. If ever I rest myself to the soil of the Earth by my own ascension, it would be by starvation by lack of self-cultivation and my inevitable awareness of my life for shambles, and/or overwhelming pits of isolation in my soul. Justification for suicide is almost always vague, and so would be mine: so many small things, like a mountain of sand to crush me and anon transfigure me into a black mess.
More often I've found myself to the point of tears over things I take for sudden flashes of wistfulness--those happy, golden moments all too soon pass by. Some of the most ordinary things are the most important and impressing, while the most extraordinary things are the most meaningless and forgetful. What do I mean by this? Who has not, with warm tears, recalled some little moment in one's past, say playing a game with friends, or something someone close to you said, what ever it was in that moment that seemed so ordinary you had never thought about it before then, and yet suddenly this moment shines before you like the moon in a pond; and as in the small pond the entire vast moon and stars seem to be contained, so too do all the melancholies and nostolgias of that time or person seem contained within this small remembrance; and, ere a while soaking yourself in this quite reverie, you soon see first one then two then slowly more, as gazing upon a vast painting, things a new and your perceptions change: you soon, in quite, see the infinite in this ordinary: the strokes in the painting. To truly paint this profound feeling would take more than a thousand and one words. These moments can happen even before the quiet majesty of nature.
Compare: the world's affairs--the governing forces of human, momentary interchange, and the struggle for gain. All the world's life struggles and has struggled for survival, but to make this fact a deity and follow it to the end of one's days is to clench one's fist throughout all of life, until Death will open your hand: through Death's door, not a one has ever taken a single thing, and no one ever will: we all leave everthing at the door. The miracles of science and and horrors of war are ne but passing shadows of what lies at their hearts; the authority of people belongs no more to those we perceive to hold it than a blade of grass; authority, power, value of money is no more than perception. In our extraordinary modern life, all the fleeting things we hold so a part of our comfortable living, are hardly more than perception: an illusion of thought. An illusion so complete, I don't think we can now go back. The bridge is burned, and the gates are closed. We, as a species, have, most all of us, accepted the gift of the Trojan Horse which is exulted, and will anon burst with death without-discretion when night falls wilst we slumber calmly, perceiving all to be as it should.
It pains my heart my labors--my stories--which I've treated more as practice literature than something for idle entertainment, will yet longer remain abandoned.
So you're taking a break from the site then?
2762876 Reluctantly, yus
2769598
aww.
Unfortunately I didn't really get to talk to you all that much lately.
2769666 I knows
Well, I am gunna try to get on for at least a few minutes at least once a week (what for reason of that notification purge shizz).
So, how have you been, my friend? How's writing been going? School?
2787759 ye man
dem midterms.
2787774 Dem skoolz