Losing My Way

With the end of January upon me, I resolve to quit missing days making some kind of noise. Even if it is similiar to a man on a desert island orating to the bugs and trees, it still must be done, if only for practice at putting thoughts together and to let off steam, of which I have plenty. The blog has been useful for the little snippets of creative work I've thrown in there, from little scraps to full songs, and the one I wrote the day I got in touch with the internet suicide hotline I value very highly. Still, the ruins I call life have to be put in some kind of order, and I need to find some kind of direction so I don't just keep wandering around aimlessly. I have considered getting in touch with people from my past, but I doubt it would do me good; is that just shame on my part, or some kind of realization no one ever cared about me? Perhaps it's a mixture of the two, but I don't reach out to anyone new who might think I could be something big. I still have ambit

From the ashes grow the sweetest fruit/ so it's good I went down in flames./ That wonderful taste in my mouth/ I owe to the disaster of my life//

The feast day left blood in the street, and a horrible stench filled the air. Only two people walked through the town, where thousands should have been.

Horror galore/ trouble by the score/ only pain for me/ endless ecstasy//

I hate to write about politics, but it finally occurs to me why I hate the two major parties: both are full of crybabies. There is no other way to describe them, and I find their conduct to be deplorable. The vigor of our early Republic, as reprehensible as the excesses of the time were, has been lost, replaced by a shallow pseudo-intellectual belief that everything is so rotten only a total wrecking of the edifice of liberty can suffice. I hate them both, with a passion that sets me aflame. The media, long suspect, has degraded to blatant propaganda that even the Soviet Union would be ashamed of, and the calibre of our leadership is laughable, as can be seen by how tinhorn dictators around the world have lost any respect for America, doing whatever they wish without any fear whatsoever. Any greatness America possesses now is despite the pygmies in charge, not because of their feeble efforts, and it's a good thing gridlock exists in Congress, because that is the one thing that pr

I can't believe I didn't publish my last entry for two days after I finished it. The world is wearing me out, it seems, but it's no big deal, except that I went so long before even noticing my error. If I was diligent in my creative work, then I'd have caught it the next day, not 3 days later. So I'll just have to do my blog more often, as simple and frustrating as that sounds. Right now, I am writing as Yuja Wang is playing Schumann's Piano Concerto. It is letting me watch her in a tiny screen on the corner of my phone while I work, which I quite enjoy. Lately, not having a book or magazine to read, I have been watching a lot of short documentaries, especially The History Guy. Tonight I learned about Ernest Bullard, the first black fighter pilot in World War One, in an episode called The Black Swallow of Death. He had moved from the USA to France and when the war broke out he joined a unit in the French army called the swallows of death, and earned two o

The light within shines brightly now/ the light no one sees but me/ for if others could they would be amazed/ at the wonders I contain// Once the truth is revealed/ the world would be ashamed/ but I would be merciful/ Sweet words would be mixed/ with the endless screams/ from the pain that won't let go// I have come to save you all/ to cleanse and to purge/ to blind you with the light/ and deafening with sweet words//