Write On

I may not have much to say, or I may have nothing to say at all. Sometimes I feel I have nothing of worth to say. Sometimes I feel as though given enough time and effort, something will always surface. But even if they were to surface, sometimes I may or may not want to hear my own thoughts. And even when it comes to facing my own thoughts, upon hearing them, sometimes I may or may not want to let them out. And even if I were to let them out, sometimes I may or may not want them to be heard. And even if I were to let them be heard, sometimes I may or may not want to be my friends, but rather strangers. And even if I wanted my thoughts to be heard by my friends, sometimes I may or may not want myself to be judged upon them. Sometimes I may want to be accountable for what I say and take counterpart in a dialogue, or sometimes I may just want the wind to carry-on the wings of my words and just seemingly dissipate them in the ears of whomever and in effect comparably lightening the weight of my thoughts and mind. And even more, if my thoughts were to be heard by whomever, sometimes I may or may not want them to be remembered. And even if they were to be remembered, sometimes I may or may not want them to be altered through time in memory. Perhaps, they could be fixed, perhaps not. Hopefully, it's possible to remain as-is. But even if the original context and meanings of my thoughts were to be changed, sometimes I may or may not care at that point.

Sometimes I want to actively facilitate and be able to take hold and control the entire realm of my thoughts, or sometimes I want to just let it run free. I may or may not have much to say, but I always know whether I wish I had something to say or wanted to remain silent. Whatever it is, this or that, I just write on. Because at least that much is predictable. At least, in that much I have a choice and I can remain consistent. It's the action itself I think which gives weight and makes things more concrete. I figure if I were in middle of an ocean, in a storm, there's no point trying to calm the waves or still the weather. Rather I'd want to invest my time and energy in building a solid anchor. Panic gets in the way of that, of course. Sometimes I wish I had the power to control all things around me, my thoughts included. And perhaps, I can sometimes. But other times I can't. So I keep on writing, on and on and on. Sometimes my hand gets tired, or sometimes my thoughts burnout on itself, or both. And sometimes I may or may not take much sympathy. But even if I were to take sympathy, it's highly unlikely that I'll stop writing. So no pondering about that at least.

Disconnect. Reload. Revolution.

I'm an avalanche. As an avalanche, I will cease to exist upon my completion of momentum, when my inertia has died. I do not choose what's underneath me or what lies ahead but with force I can overcome them. I may halt upon reaching the bottom of the mountain's valley or long before then by the obstacles that exist to oppose me. Whatever the case, the end is inevitable and each day brings me closer to it. Upon that day, I'll cease to be an avalanche and become inanimate, just snow. Nobody knows exactly when but that won't matter. Each day I'll exact my fiercest prowess as if to claim that today's not the day. That as long as I live it's never going to be today.