Jan 3, 2013: The birth of a new year comes in as a whimper of the sand of the second. The Earth continues to rotate in the night where color fades in the to a pitch black. The new year means the winter holidays are over and I'll have to go to work with a pressured resolution that I'll do better than before, not knowing that resolve is a silent act with no words.
Jan 5,2013: I read and write to they will fill my life. I slash and write words into existence. Shoes are bought as signs of my grad status, and a stack of books from George R. R. Martin come into possession after recommendation of a brother, hooked by HBO's counterpart. These do not calm my heart, when the mantle adult life comes. I hope my knowledge, skills, and readings will find a path, but I can't find one. The demand for signs of being an adult grows. I don't want to those who watch me to close their eyes and remain ever closed to doubt and shame. Yet here I am, writing, to keep my strokes sharp to a electric mirror full a silent chattering.
Jan 6, 2013: I rise as the sun shines, despite the dark gloom clouds that loom over my eyes, but the sun will always let you its day, to make me move with heat instead of cold when I sleep. The gloom is only an illusion because the light is still here until it decides to give a rest.
Jan 7, 2013: The next step of an unknown perception is never comforting, and should never be. For how your expectations be shattered if you are already in comfort? The comfort is rigid, predictable to your arbitrary natural life. If it helps you to keep a bit of anger to gently push you forward, than kick with your feet. I type this, but I don't know where to go.
Jan 8, 2013: I wake and read a page of twenty or in thirty minutes so that I someday may read a page of twenty in twenty, and that accomplishes more in the long run. I type to type more and I hope to become legend of letter keys. Still I would rather rise in a happy life rather than view in a lens of spoken dagger words.
Jan 9, 2013: The weather is getting better at least. At least I'm seeing pockets of the blue sky.
Jan 10, 2013: I sometimes wonder as I look into distance, across a hill, a lake, and slopes of a second hill, a house with mud road and distinct field. Can I see tiny stick figures of people if they come out of the house? Playing in the snow? Can I see the snow angel or snowman they make? I bet if they could see me, a young man walking across a road of cars moving at impatient speed. To them I might just be a blur or pixel not appearing even close of being a human.
Jan 11, 2013: The Friday has come and it feels to be the true Saturday. The energy of work is left to be used for fun, but when I wake up the next morning. The energy will be gone, or what's left of it will burn out completely.
Jan 12, 2013: My fingers now press the keyboard as I continue to write more and more. I now wait for work to come where I must keep pressing these keys to tell my stories, give a review, your communicate how everyone can understand when a segment of their path is lost, but this will come through the voice of technical, or blocks aiming towards inspiration. Though I will always wish to leave these keys so I can go and find all sources from the outside world.
Jan 14, 2013: Faint flakes of snow fall down from the sky for a small ten minutes. Lying to me that it would snow ten days and make all setting to become sacred and forgotten. The sounds isolate itself when it snows first day, amplifying the yearning for the land to be a sacred place. For some reason, the world becomes sacred only when snow lands.
Jan 15, 2013: They say some neighborhoods are nice places to live. Today I walk in my neighborhood, considered nice, and it appears more as an abandoned settlement. I wonder if silence is mistaken for nice.
Jan 16, 2013: Adventure comes to me as an excuse for an activity. Keeping up my spirit I say. The frost on roofs says: why don't you rest for a little longer. I don't want to, yet I do. Its the holiday break, devious cheery runt, it took all my energy when it left, and now I have none. Energy becomes an excuse motion or lack of motion. Maybe I'll lean on caffeine for now. I know everyone else does.
Jan 20, 2013: The fog flows through our neighbor streets like a flying river, burying our existence to the outside world. Many would soon leave for those who do not know what they see. Explorers pass the line of the known to discover what is forgotten or not seen. Our life within the fog brings continues, swimming as we are walking and lend out our hand to outsiders who are rewarded for poking into the unknown.
Jan 21, 2013: The pushing of typing keys sounds like construction until I read that I wrote "foghtjehngthdhfdhfthdjfhsad." Now how am I going to make sense of that? I hope you don't have an answer.
Jan 22, 2013: The days go by and I wonder what exactly am I writing about. At first the idea seems great, but as I explore, the world I just created becomes very empty and void of thought looms over. I flee back to the real, where I'm full of response of what comes next. I wonder how gods feel or what their gods feel.
Jan 24, 2013: Thumping squirrels on wooden platforms squeak and poop when a mechanical Popcorn Sentinel flies out from their tiny insulation tunnels they made in my house. With a beam of white light, the Popcorn sucks up all the squirrels.....and their poop before moving outside. It shoots them into a tree before placing a barrier placing a liquid of molten metal. It returns back to the crow nest on the top of my roof and plugs itself into the charger for tomorrow's inspection. I don't see the Popcorn and carpenters tell me I never will.
Jan 26, 2013: Memory Alter in the attic, dust and shingle dust fly up and lay all over evidence of my past. Toys I find that were never open, sealed and clean. Toys that were pulled up long ago were scattered in multiple boxes. I reassemble the mess and make sure they'll be ready to pass on to the next nerd who gollums overs a used 1995 x-wing from Kenner company. When I hold it again, I might just want to stay up in the attic and feed off the squirrels who come in my lair. Fortunately, the real world echoes below and I leave the crumbling shrine behind.
Jan 28,2013: Around the gathering radio, the Marshmallow tale of the destined children was being told. It began when a doctor was concerned with the nature of destinies anchored to all living beings. Children of young were gathered and tested of their will power. Those who first resisted eating the sugar treat in front of them were rewarded with an additional treat. The surviving contestants were seen later to do great achievements. I hear this glowing audio and wonder if the science of chaos still exists.
Jan 29,2013: Mothers gather, they probably have taken some drug to relax their nerves, I always hear that laughing. You would never hear that laugh if it was a majority of man. That laugh sounds like cheering at a party, trying to be hip, but in style. Their battle cry, "Bunco!" leads them into a feeding frenzy. I only come down to find the remains pound cake, chips, Baileys, and decaf coffee. At least they leave a pleasant aroma.
Jan 31, 2013: Days of gloom still continue. We receive no word from the sun. Our own sources of happiness dwindle at empty. I see a dozen walk with active bodies, but dead souls. Though there are those who seem happy, laughing in an odd manner, causing pain through pranks and coming out of houses with a full bag. Others smile whenever they smell of piss and act luppy. Few giggle for hours when they smell like a shunk. They smile, but I can't seem to smile when I see them.
