I hunger for something more. At times I feel myself overflowing with creativity, and nowhere to lean to, to tip the juices out. It all just spills on the floor around me, congealing and forgetting its true form.
I could write whole stories to my rooftop, and haiku into my pillow; but here, all you hear from me is a dream I might have had a few moments ago, rehashed and shaped into something vaguely ovoid.
Everything is always moving. This I can tell you. I have lain in bed, almost sick from the motion, as dreams, divinity and dank arcanum spilled mercilessly from their host. If you can catch these rogues, I applaud you. I only reel and spin, watching from my tenuous mortal grip, thinking, ‘there! That! I could use that!’ But, as if sensing my hauteur, that is the moment
the impression lurks onwards, ever onwards, to its next destination.
No, I tell you, we cannot hope to own creation. I suspect that only if I made myself its slave, could I exhibit any mastery.
But, that hunger. This isn’t enough, this blog. This isn’t enough for me. But it’s all I have. I’ve grown and destroyed many like this, and cleared this one at least once. I can only hold on to that personal promise to myself that things are getting clearer, each time, and that I’ve changed enough to warrant the destruction of my old public self.
A wise friend once taught me, without meaning to, that all gods were one, and that it didn’t matter what its name was.
Facts!
Borderline Personality Disorder: I suffer from it, but it mustn’t define me. The funny thing about BPD is that a major issue is overcoming our lack of self idenity. Our first reaction is usually to cling to the disorder as an identity, as it’s the first thing that comes along, before we can start to create ourselves properly.
Catholicism: Universal. Sin: To fail at living up to ones highest standard. God: A word for something we all seek, like beasts to water in the desert; sometimes blindly, sometimes desperately, sometimes with resign to eventual death.
