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is it winter?

March 15, 2004

today i came across something that ken wrote. and it spoke directly to something inside of me and i just sat there with stinging eyes unable to articulate why this was so powerful at that exact moment.

"why so fucking inept? why is the canvas so huge and the brush so small? is it every winter? is it winter? the whole world is but a tiny step away and doesn't care. nor should they. why should anyone bother. why decipher the cryptic heiroglyphs if there is no meaning? why must there be meaning? does the destination make the trip worthwhile? is there really such a thing as a destination?

i'm not sure if it's my biorhythm or what, but i been pressed for a while again. it feels familiar, but i have yet to make any sense of it, or to find a way around. seems like a trip down and up every time. i just wish i knew when. i just wish i could dart around. am i just making a big thing of nothing, or nothing of a big thing? where was i? i need to pick up where i left off.

why so many questions?

and it all seems to drag along with me. slogging through the marshes. finding our way out in the darkness, trusting that the sun will eventually come. the light will break the night. the stars reliably point the way - but how i long for the sun."

and i couldn't explain it to him either. i could only say "thank you." but it's something like...

when you have tasted that feeling you are never really rid of it. it comes alive and takes up residence somewhere inside you behind your sternum and it is always looking for others like it. and when it finds one it throws back its head and it howls a noiseless screaming that rattles your teeth. because what it wants most is to know that there are more and more and more who get it, who see it, and it wants to connect, it draws energy from the connecting. and then it is quiet for a time because it is stunned and drunk with the knowledge, it is absorbing. absorbed.

it is sorrow and it is beautiful and creative and intensely alive. it is difficult and heavy and sometimes i want to turn my hate towards it and destroy it and tear and pulp it. but i think without it life would be so much paler. and i wouldn't know how to look at a me absent that piece.