I Don’t Really Write Anymore

I don’t really write anymore. And it isn’t because I do not enjoy what used to be of utmost pacification –well, perhaps not utmost but on some high ranking of covert pleasure, like the way altruism feels, a secret sort of open-ended type of deed that is meant to fill the ambience with a floral aroma of goodness. Of righteousness? But it never really does. I suppose it never really did. I don’t think there was a flaw ever in and of itself — it was simply never meant to be enough. 

I think at some point it is of some obligatory cognitive impetus to “smell” a goodness flying out of fingers typing or penning, but it’s a spiral that twirls downward, at least that is how it was for me, at least that is how I know it to be for all excellent writers. That was an inadvertently placed phrase implying I’m excellent (haha I don’t actually feel that way) which was quite hilariously placed. 

Ah, whatever I don’t really write anymore. I have found other things to do — perhaps I may label them as hobbies as I did the first, I have found what I had been babbling about for a few months. Blah blah and blah purpose. But God has smoothed a path for me and I am grateful. 

I suppose this is the remaining writer in me with its obnoxious convoluted circumvention wanting to say a message of a sentence in an essay. I suppose this is me saying good bye to this blog and what is in it, I suppose I can keep what’s on it running and I suppose it may not be a permanent end — although I am not too sure what is to be done to a platform unheeded. Algorithms don’t get tired I guess — so it’ll just stay. 

Bye, everyone. 

Grated, But In A Pretty Way

This is a photo of my brother and I. His backpack near mine, together I suppose, with ideal plants shaping our personalities with each other and the world. Complete on a road to remain — I love him, you know. 

It looks like he is to remain a little longer. 

But a prospect of slight assurance is coming from another end 

Perhaps crap things happen here so better things can emerge there 

It’s a lesson learned everywhere I suppose, in all tales with rising actions and climaxes. But the resolution isn’t this one 

I want to shape mine, make sure it’s perfect — I need to make sure it was composed of its purpose, all the intelligentsia and deed in tact (I pray he might be back before then) 

Otherwise I pray to meet him in a prettier place — 

My Lord is Merciful and He is Kind. He has blessed me with a girding type of kindness, enveloping, slowly embracing, thank you thank you thank you.

I didn’t think he wasn’t to return sooner, but it’s okay, it has to be okay if I am to fulfill whatever that is, everything I suppose 

No confoundedness. No anxiety. Thank you thank you for the perfect cuts, the bad blood oozes out, it’s not too coagulated, thinning as it leaves the body

The earth shrinks and slows its revolutions

Then it’ll be black and there will be honor

There will be all the honor.