I don’t even remember what or how I used to write. I guess I had a deep need to express. I can’t do it anymore. I sit down to try to write and nothing comes out. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be saying. It isn’t that I can’t, but I find my words trite and repetitive. And I don’t have that urge to prove myself anymore. Certainly I was trying to express something to Adam…but these days I truly need nothing. It’s an absurd and almost limiting feeling. Without desire, what do we have? I seem to have everything I ever wanted…and now it means nothing. I feel lost and aimless within this feeling of satiation. I’m still baffled at this societal desire for “happiness” or “transcendence”…because…past transcendence the world gets empty. If the world is a flat goal, what do I do once I achieve it? I want poetry, meaning, desire. I’ve got this huge bundle of pure joy but no more poetry. I wish I could honestly express to the world how beautiful their menial, small terrors and frustrations are. Maybe it’s just context, maybe everyone really does want the kind of joy that bubbles inside of my veins…I just want us all to beg for MORE. More than a word. More than a state of being. I don’t have thoughts anymore…I have air in my body and I feel the twists of trees instead of bones. I will never, ever be able to express what it is I experience. Even if I try to poetically describe it…the fullness of it is so just beyond my grasp. Doesn’t anyone else want this? The just-beyond? Don’t we want our lives to be magic? I’m sorry, I can’t come inside anymore…I’m lost to the magic of the wind. No one can find me anymore, I’m a thousand different infinities at once. We ALL are. 

What shade of May are you?


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