"Gray light, new day leaks through the window."
Feet on the desk and head on my chair, it must be two...or maybe four in the morning again. The shades are down and my roommate is snoring. What does it matter anyway? There are no stars. Even if there were, would that improve my vegetative lack of inspiration? Do you ever spend too much time alone? ...regular people, regular ideas, regular art, regular scenery, regular food, regular randomness? Do you ever wear out your own welcome? This is my life and it's ending one day at a time. The more I think the more I know – yes, I've had more than enough of my self.
Always laboring, frames, details, and maps. I've built turrets of philosophy and banners of creativity...castles and kingdoms...and all of these. Like a dog, I chase my tail; like a cat, I play my own games. I am forever lost within my self.
This must change. This is not about me...I've done with tragic songs of self pity. No longer will I be satisfied with simple irregularity. Returning now, I will seek the source of the irregular...the source of everything. Without God, I am "not a beautiful and unique snowflake." I am "the same decaying organic matter as everyone else...part of the same compost pile." Individuality, it seems, is a very common attribute of..trash.
Today, this new day...I will seek the infinite. I will seek God.
