i had given up on my aspirations to be a great writer, to be a great artist. i had practiced both regularly, i had practiced both religiously, yet as time ebbed complication expanded and the greater joys in my life fell away to the duties i had felt i needed to serve. i lost faith and energy in my creative process i began to analyze it to the point of exhaustion. i know longer knew what i did i just knew how i did it. strange rituals seemed so close to memory, yet so far removed from normalcy. what or who was i? was i making these decisions consciously? I felt so disconnected, feel so disconnected. the man of my past, is not the man i am today. the man i am now is so far from being the boy i once was. the world is contracting at an alarming rate and i feel that for once in my life I am not alone in a vast expanse of frozen space-time. the repercussions of recognizing others is mind numbing. I read somewhere that the human brain registers isolation in the same part of brain as pain. do i finally have a chance at reaching beyond my bubble and expanding myself? or have the endorphins kicked in after 20 years of solitude? I'm moving on, I'm exploring my surroundings and looking for something new. I'm putting a new chapter in the tome, after so long a pause i hardly know what to include, yet i cant stop. i can never stop, i just have to let go, to hold on to everything i know.
