Epiphany at last.

Last night, I watched footage of author Ray Bradbury speaking on writing. Brilliance. That is all one can say about such a man. I was deeply touched by his advice. You must write every day, he said. This keeps you well in mind, body, and soul. I had forgotten the importance of the ultimate catharsis. He also described the trance-like state in which we float during the first waking moments we have. You are not fully awake in this state nor are you dreaming. This, he remarks, is one of the best times for creativity. But..you must hurry and write these thoughts down, or they will be lost. Thank you Mr. Bradbury.

It seems that life is nothing more than brief periods of light amid a sea of darkness. I wait around. Hoping for an epiphany. Inspiration. Motivation. A vision. It comes less and less now. A constant dullness.

Grinder 2

It is always amazing to watch as your day progressively deteriorates. Reminds me of the out-of-body experiences you hear about people having. Today was like that. I was physically standing with my own feet, doing my daily tasks, and talking very routinely. At certain points in time, however, I found myself visualizing the playing-out of my day with me watching myself. It was as if I was standing there, much like a spectator at my own game, watching my day get shittier and shittier. These situations never feel right...often surreal. It's almost like your mind just says, "I fucking quit!," and it takes a sideline seat to watch. Things can always get worse. My day is about to be over, and it hasn't gotten any worse. That is positive to say the least. My muse has forsaken me once again as I bumble around with mindless drool of the hands.

Fucking daily grind

What to say when you're not inspired? I guess these days are inevitable. Well...of course they are. It seems, however, these days are coming around more often than they used to. How to break that goddamn cycle? It's like a wheel that never stops turning. Fuck it.

$22.47

Bitter yet...exhilirating. The bumps form on the skin. Fire. The slow kind that burns past eternity's death. A welcomed sensation that finds arms open wide. A lover that satisfies like no other. Is it you who is consumed with such a transgression? The great deluge of suffering. An ever-changing reality bombarded with competition to be replaced by the next. An entire soul. Swallowed. $22.47. Lights. Camera. Bang.