Well, I'm sitting here grooving to my music after a night of video gaming and I can't help but notice the total calm and peace that is engrossing my whole being at this particular moment. In time, it will pass, and the moment will be forgotten to hands of the fallen while new moments take it's place. Yet, here and now, I can't help but know that the moment will last forever and will always be. It will remain exactly how it is, for all eternity, and nothing can change it. How many moments can you count in your day? Can you count them on one hand? Or will you need to wear sandals today? My moment will travel forever into the depths of time and soar across the endless elemental planes, never to be touched again. Never is such a strong word. Maybe...maybe one day, someone exactly my age, who looks like me, sounds like me, acts like me, thinks like me, and feels like me, will be listening to the same songs, after staying up all night playing the same game, will think the thoughts of their predecessor and experience the same moment. The moment will have a rebirth. Life is just moments strung together in no particular order. If you don't understand them, just blame the person who came before you. It's not your fault that you can't understand someone else's moment. Maybe someday, you'll be blamed. Blamed for your moment. One can only hope.
Why can't I write? What is this block that plagues me now? Why can't I open up my mind and allow the universe and all its glory and wonder to sift through my brain, ridding this mortal coil of simple surface thoughts, and bringing out the deep emotional responses that I find myself longing for? I feel as if I lack the deep emotional experiences required tocreate soul wrenching and mind shattering works. My brain throbs with mediocrity and disgust with myself.The creativity is gone from me. As I have lost my innocence to the path of maturity, so have I lost the cursed open-mindedness that plagues the minority.Oh what a damnable life the unsullied lead. How long can I hold on? How long will it take for the sickness to seep from these bones, leaving the bleached and baren? This blessing of maturity is great indeed. The abundance of blessings overflow from my cup and fill others, allowing those to fill more yet. A twisted weave is wrought and culled and filed and stored and unleashed upon the unsuspecting world of insight, enrapturing the innatentive nature of this worl and distancing the conscious from the not. Forever live the free.