All I want is a bottle of certainty
Suck it down and feel the sting
of awareness
swarming in my throat
and smothering my insides
A bit of perfect love
A hint of knowing where I'm going
And I'll do it slow
'Cause it's been so slow lately
But maybe just maybe
My life will take me
And I won't need the bottle
at all
Grip hold of my cage
And make my escape
I pray you'll stay with me
In body and mind
Dear passion, dear imagination, dear ambition, dear love...
I miss you.
At least it's beautiful outside. The clouds remind me of playful possibility.
Hrm. Listening to stuff I recorded over the past four years or so. I have thirty two MP3s on my computer that are laying around half finished. This is one of them.
Wrap me up in molten tissue and carry me to the mouth of the eclipse
There I will seethe and breathe
Sucking in nothing and believing in everything
As the moon eats space and is wrapped in night
All is perfect and motion
Freeze my heart and chip away at every part that flirts with reality
Earth is an impression left on my retina
And I melt in the illusion
I should really try to be creative on a more regular basis, even if my works may not compare with the best that's out there.
We always have a choice. The words are familiar, worn, and sometimes feel tired. Even so, their truth rings clear to those of us with privilege in our hands. I have a home, people who love me, and I feel safe. I am able to fit my life to a design of my choosing. With that comes the onus of responsibility to make something useful of this life; of this chance. The most difficult trait to acquire when you have succeeded is self-discipline. The goal is to never become complacent with your achievements and creature comforts. Once we start feeling entitled, we grow soft, bitter, and useless; retreating into ourselves and lashing out at a world that we feel owes us everything for our time on it. But contribution to life and those around us should be a daily activity. It is in the struggle that we are made. It is in finding purpose and putting our hands to good deeds that we become great.
I am trying to live a full life, and I hope I can defeat my own lethargic tendencies to make it happen. My thirst for this fullness of life must never be satiated, because once it is, there will be no more life to live. Without goals and purpose, I feel as if I'm floating out into nothing. Those times are okay once in a while, as long as I eventually find my way back.
"The cost of greatness is responsibility."
-Winston Churchill
I feel like I'm allowing myself to slip a little. Getting dumber. Harder to maintain mental sharpness in the midst of comfort. Self-motivated study is much more difficult than being given a date and topic to study something and say something intelligent and insightful about that something.
I need to be harder on myself.
A weary groan floats upon the darkness, and the amorphous voice replies.
"Why should we grant you favour? And what counsel do you seek?"
I hear a tree creak nearby. I stand, unflinching.
"I have traveled here from the South; from Moira's Cove. The people there have fallen ill to the red plague, and I have been sent by the Whisperer's Guild to seek an antidote. My master is the great Locke Shoreman. He says you knew him once, and that you are in fact indebted to him. I have come to collect what is owed him, and to retrieve the elixir which would save the lives of the Cove. I ask for nothing less than access to the healing springs located in these woods. Please...guide me to them." The final words play on desperation, as the situation dictates. The Great Tree Spirit sighs in recognition, offering little clue to his disposition. Locke's warning rings out in my mind: the Spirit is not quick to trust. I wait with tense anticipation, and receive my reply.
"I know Locke Shoreman. However, a man of his character surely would not have sent an errand boy for such an important task. Why is he not here now? It has been 7 years since our last meeting, and I feel a man of such virtue would adhere to the necessary decency between old friends to see eachother face to face after such a long absence. Knowing what I know of him, I do not believe you are sent here by Locke Shoreman. You may simply be a thief after a quick profit."
Whispers and rustling leaves stir at the Spirit's words. But I am prepared. I quickly dive my hand into my travel pouch and pull out the Vermillion Pendant.
"Though you may doubt my words, you must not doubt this. It is the Vermillion Pendant, pulled from the Vines of Vermillion, on the day Locke Shoreman last visited your realm. It was he who traveled deep into your thorny maze to retrieve this sacred artifact, which rendered your invaders mute and braindead, after they had betrayed two centuries of peace. You entrusted this power to Locke Shoreman, because you felt him to be a man of great wisdom, courage, strength, pietous moral character, and sound judgment. It is his judgment which has now placed the Pendant in my hands, so that you may know I am here on his behalf. Now, I again ask you to grant me passage to the healing springs," I implore the being that could likely have me ripped to pieces at a moment's notice. Yet, there is shrewd demand mixed with my request.
I travel under the soft moonlight and cunning creatures swaying in shadow. As I step into the woods with trepidation and curious wonder, I steel my focus and spirit. The branches reach like withered fingers crawling through the air, while enticed beasts of darkness turn their gaze to my alien figure; a stranger is in their midst. The scenery is in constant motion; a polymorphous collage of twists and angles, sketched in blacks and pale emeralds. Dim eyes appear and reappear, leaving impressions of soft light where they vanish. My heart is a cool slab of living tissue; strong enough to fortify my courage, but shaken enough to secretly writhe within. I walk forward and hear a wispy voice upon the wind.
"Who intrudes upon our sacred grounds?"
The words are more of inquiry than threat. The intonation is weary; the pronunciation, dignified. I reply with the respect instilled in me by my masters.
"I am merely a humble traveler. Dari is my name. I do not seek conflict, but counsel and perhaps to win your favour."
