What is really interesting me at the moment is how we progress from little children to adults - how do we garner understanding? I keep doubting that people understand what I mean - how can they? they haven't experience life as I have. And yet, the correlations that exist between feeling, the expression, the phrases, so often echoe my deep heart's feelings, so I suppose they do understand. How are we all so similar and yet so different? I am not toying with the idea that anything I feel hasn't been expressed before - the stuck record exists perpetually. It is just that we are so separate, so different, yet strangely so the same. It confounds me!
I suppose we are all sheep, and learn by watching others - we are all mimics and copycats, taking snapshots of things we see, compiling them to make us into creatures of existence. Maybe this jigsaw flexibility is what allows us to accept another life to live in close proximity to us - we adopt them on as a fragment of ourselves - we become a little bit of them, and they become a little bit of us. Its an effort to complete the compilation, perhaps. Yet, when that all falls apart, and the spheres move apart, the jigsaw as it was has to come undone, and be remade again. This time it wont be the same as it was before.
Perhaps my distrust of others' understanding comes from losing the connection, falling short, and being broken up, without realising why, or seeing it coming. It just happens. So now I question who is on the same plane and who isn't... I was so used to just relying on that one person to get me - I wasn't worried about the others. Now I over explain everything, and pause to see if that glimmer flickers in the eyes. Its a temporary side-effect I'm sure!
Saturday, 21 January 2012
Friday, 20 January 2012
Minor continuation
I came up with a good one - its bad enough having bronchitis, but to also have the breath sucked out of you is just too much.
I am a sad wretch! (I am also laughing).
I am a sad wretch! (I am also laughing).
Thursday, 19 January 2012
And so it goes... again.
Seems like a stuck record really, but perhaps this time the melody will change and skip to the next track. Maybe this is just the eye of the storm, but I feel strangely calm, and strangely OK, bronchitis and break-up aside, of course.
Funny how I am only ever inspired to write when change precipitates. Perhaps change wouldn't need to come if I wrote more. But delving into the 'its' and 'buts' is hindering. I wonder how many cliches I can attach to these experiences. Cliches annoy me because they are so useful and hence overused, and hence are cliches. Almost circular, no?! I am not going to try to insert more into this post, because the second you try and think of them, the vanish like a thin mist in your mind.
To be alone again might not be so bad. Freedom of thought could return, and my wandering eye can be let loose once more, to wander, wonder and imagine. The air has been sucked out of my lungs though - a sucker-punch for sure (though again, bronchitis doesn't help, I was wheezy to begin with). I just wish I had seen it coming. But who sees the thief in the night, except for the cat?
My cat saw it. She bit him when he came over. I blurted out 'I love you!', and then hoped he understood it was aimed at her, not at him, although it was aimed at him too.
I wish I had anger to cling to, like a raft in this swirling water, or hatred, or something. Instead, I have antibiotics and a loss of appetite, the inability to cry and the desperate desire to go for a run. It helps that the messages for the past few days have been 'Do not be afraid', 'I will fight for you', and 'I keep my promises.' (one of which is that I will have an exciting life). So this is probably the reason for my serenity and sanity.
I count about 7 cliches, ignoring the overwhelming sense that this whole post is a cliche, having been written three times before, albeit, each time slightly different.
Funny how I am only ever inspired to write when change precipitates. Perhaps change wouldn't need to come if I wrote more. But delving into the 'its' and 'buts' is hindering. I wonder how many cliches I can attach to these experiences. Cliches annoy me because they are so useful and hence overused, and hence are cliches. Almost circular, no?! I am not going to try to insert more into this post, because the second you try and think of them, the vanish like a thin mist in your mind.
To be alone again might not be so bad. Freedom of thought could return, and my wandering eye can be let loose once more, to wander, wonder and imagine. The air has been sucked out of my lungs though - a sucker-punch for sure (though again, bronchitis doesn't help, I was wheezy to begin with). I just wish I had seen it coming. But who sees the thief in the night, except for the cat?
My cat saw it. She bit him when he came over. I blurted out 'I love you!', and then hoped he understood it was aimed at her, not at him, although it was aimed at him too.
I wish I had anger to cling to, like a raft in this swirling water, or hatred, or something. Instead, I have antibiotics and a loss of appetite, the inability to cry and the desperate desire to go for a run. It helps that the messages for the past few days have been 'Do not be afraid', 'I will fight for you', and 'I keep my promises.' (one of which is that I will have an exciting life). So this is probably the reason for my serenity and sanity.
I count about 7 cliches, ignoring the overwhelming sense that this whole post is a cliche, having been written three times before, albeit, each time slightly different.
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