The epicentre

The beginning is now the end for this…

I am writing cause I don’t know what else to do, I am caught in a hail storm, a frenzy, and I suppose this is the time man is no longer in control, but merely in need to act, no matter what…

I feel that, I get when Eminem said he had no other option but to rap. Im obviously more privileged, but even people in castles can feel like their walls are falling when things go bad. I don’t know how I feel qualified, but then again, how much does that stop me. The need to feel qualified, qualified to who? To you? To some checklist, who’s voice is it saying that I am not qualified enough to do this. That I have to feel off doing this. I feel this feeling in other parts of my life. The same voice that stops me from writing is the same voice that stops me from loving. What a…nightmare? A self fulfilling prophecy of…What?

Im awe struck by life lately. I cry easily suddenly, this have never happened to me. I can get enthralled by the most basic of moments, like watching tv, or getting a spider out of my bathroom. I feel like I find some of those hollywood film moments, when the music slows and the two actors finally create the perfect moment, I get that feeling now, but in day to day life moments. They can be preceded by the most trifal of moments or comments, how strange that the most sacred feelings can be followed by such human acts and feelings, like hunger, nervousness, or fear of not having anything to say. Oh well, maybe this writing will be like that. A collage of random acts of words, followed by minute (is it really spelled minute?) acts of profound feelings. That sounds like I’m tooting my own horn, but fuck it, I wish more people would toot their own horn.

So what is this, is this just chapter by chapter of a vague book with no beginning or end?
I feel like thats what blogging is, a book that never ends or begins, just perpetually in the middle with no story in sight, just the day to day stories we create in life. Last night was the story of haloween, and of meeting new people, and how that story of one day, can feel so encapsulating, like watching a movie, and not even knowing any other world exists…

Well blog, lets be friends. Lets talk about nothing in particular, have no agenda, and just be together until we no longer have anything to offer each other. Who knows, maybe all the lessons will come after we are separated…

So ya, im not here to motivate you, to inspire you, to teach you, or to effect you, I’m here to show you one more side of Adam. Adam can be depressed, irrational, fidgety, have a temper, and be irritating, so prepare yourself. But for me, the reason I do this is simply to express. If someone expresses themselves in a way I admire, great, ill enjoy the flavour of the soup we call soul. And I read Humans of New York a lot, and its inspiration, but sometimes depressing. Sometimes it my inspiration comes at that cost of someone else’s tragedy, or struggle. Am I blessed for this? I suppose? Perhaps in his shoes, he feels blessed, simply to just be alive. How crazy the food chain of inspiration is. How we are feeding on the person below us. We all feel like we can’t bear not having the newest shoes, until we meet the man with no feat.

Oh food chain, perhaps right now I am on an emotional food chain. Maybe this heart break I feel after a breakup is plankton to the real world emotional dramas of death, of struggling to feed a family, of have a meaningful life. Perhaps one day I will climb to the emotional food chain, and be the blue whale on my death bed, unable to be overshadowed now by any other emotion, other then the inevitable. Will this day arise, perhaps I will die in a car accident, and see that life as an emotional plankton encapsulated everything I needed. A place to come from, and a place to go to. Perhaps it is too much to ask to simply live until old age, and probably not a deal we would like to make. For old age would probably only be meaningful if the struggle to it taught us the value of life. Imagining getting to the point where life is being taken from you, and not knowing what to feel. Even now, in day to day life, I don’t know what to feel. What a daunting task to imagine ourselves at that day. Hello my friends, welcome to the Adam who vents.

Who weeps at times.

Who whispers so no one hears.

Thats me, and maybe thats you at times. But perhaps I’m the island in the middle of nowhere, and a few people may find salvation if they are emotional stranded and some how arrive here. Perhaps that physical manifestation of safety is no different then mine. For I have fucked off with no map or agenda and somehow found here. And you can say I had a map, but to get that map I suppose I was bare at one moment, and I arrived to this place from some where far far away.

Lol, I feel like Steven Hawking, cause I don’t even understand what I’m writing sometimes. I don’t understand his stuff is what I mean, its like algebra to me.

Maybe there is a side of me I can only express on the paper, and perhaps I have sought this in all my past relationships and jobs, to find this…

How strange the relationship to myself becomes when I am my own care taker and care needed. How strange I have the sensation for expressing, and then the means to fulfill that myself. How strange the completeness of the self, and yet, how strange I still seek completeness. I still love feeling like an animal, and then acting that impulse just to realize its not even satisfying me anymore. Thats very vague, but I guess thats all I got to say on it right now.

Im astonished cause the way I write is far different lately from what I read. Lately I read much more direct writing, with a clear intention and goal, and as of this moment, my writing feels like a water fall, just gushing with everything, as oppose to a zen garden – deliberate, catered, and planned. Maybe this is how I will evolve, letting all the weeds grow and then slowly trim, and see if I like the garden of wisdom I build, or maybe ill build a garden I don’t even enjoy, and destroy it, even if others are following and commenting on it. How strange our ability to destroy what works, how fearful mother earth may do the same. I write now maybe out of fear, fear a day may not come where I can, and I can thank god (not god but the expression) that I can release. Cause we all have a checklist that never ends of things we need to do before we can die happily. And each time we check something off, we discover two more things we need to do. Hence when life feels, overwhelming. But, we learn, we breathe, we make our mistakes, we forgive, and we get forgiven. These core feelings tend to be the last true emotions on earth. Everything comes and goes, and starts with a different emotion, but almost all peace in the world comes from these emotions listed above. A lot of loops in my life have closed because of these, and a lot of courage has been gained, by not spending that courage on things that didn’t matter to me. Then again, I’m a sucker for learning the hard way, perhaps that is youth, I may never know. I suspect it is, and for that reason, I am really inspired by older people lately. And I’m blown away when I think the world is twisted, and a younger person doesn’t. Thank you for breaking my paradigm. Perhaps unhappiness is simply labelling. For to the man who is happy, to the man who has gone through more then you, the only difference is there is something you judge as bad, that he judges as ok, and that is the difference. And the difference is that small, that it can make us cry its so simple. We feel like fucking children, realizing we just overcomplicated life and happiness. We feel like children, when we finally feel good, and then two hours later feel like crap. We feel like children, when we cry and don’t know why. We feel like children when we feel we just can’t handle the adult world. We feel like children when were drinking, and like grandpas when were hungover. We feel like children when life gives us what we want, and like failures when we have to work so hard simply to just meet our needs. How paralyzing reality can feel at times. How pathetic we can make ourselves feel. How puny (spelled right?) and poetic life can be. How privileged, and poor we can feel. All life has been a duality, and the moment we got the furthest was the moment we endured the most pain. And every struggle we become a butter fly, and every moment a butter fly is born, a caterpillar is born – ready to find himself in the struggle of living. Maybe the world will never make sense, and maybe the beauty is seeing how senseless life can feel, how confused we can make ourselves, how crazy we can make reality. But we do like all before us who expressed and lived life. We have our coffees, do our yoga, meditate, and breathe, and know we will wake up tomorrow, and maybe wisdom starts, when the simple acts of something else so simple begin. So I may go watch tv right now, and think about nothing, a realize this is how my body digests all this, for if I were to sit here for much longer, id dig myself so deep into a hole, id just feel lost and confused. And the day things started falling into line was the day I failed every test on organization. So lets write, and celebrate the fact that every beginning is a celebration, and every end is a ceremony. Good day, and good luck!

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