They say everything begins with a question. That it is the consequence of our curious disposition. And yet for all we seek we are not willing to acknowledge our own private confessions. These we hold back with gritted teeth and camouflage with daily soundbites of trivial things. Ours is no longer a listening mind. In this way we fail our true natures. Fear that perhaps we are mediocre creatures after all propels our aimless locomotion, yet only slight impressions bear witness to our passing. Fear that nothing is immanent impels us to create certainty from fiction and identity from falsehood. But we are not stardust, we are not beings of light or divine resonance. We are barely awake.
TAGS: writing
- July 2005
- August 2005
- November 2005
- December 2005
- January 2006
- May 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- August 2006
- September 2006
- October 2006
- November 2006
- January 2007
- May 2007
- June 2007
- April 2008
- May 2008
- June 2008
- July 2008
- November 2008
- December 2008
- February 2009
- March 2009
- April 2009
- May 2009
- June 2009
- July 2009
- August 2009
- January 2010
- December 2010
- January 2011
- July 2011
- September 2011
- May 2012
- October 2013
- Current Posts
RSS Feed
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 License.
Original layout design by Pannasmontata. Modifications by Laissez Les Bons Temps Rouler.
