Whatever

Prologue: Intro to a normal life.

My intensions are not clear, as they are never that way. This feels too me, what is  a way that i can write but yet still be different than myself? Does a way even exist? or must i always be me? Questions that wonder within my mind... they are perennial. So constant! I cant take it. Sometimes there is so much i wish to do; so much i wish to write. My eyes are heavy with unrest because i always have these constant pulses of thought and inquiry. Is there a way to bring an end to it all? SO many questions leading to further questions. Peace and stillness, even emptiness but not hollowness. 

Loneliness, what to do about you? You drive me insane. On the edge, i feel, i am standing alone. Sharp calling out to anyone near and able to give me what i need. Company. I feel pathetic and powerless. I seek out and constantly search for that one thing,  but can i find it? No. I can not. Im fooled by myself, by myself. My own self is working against me unknowingly. Here come the questions again. What am i looking for if not what i thought? Why must i fell so lonely and in turn pathetic? This is torture or punishment from something divine! Then again no, because no such thing exists; but if so then does that mean i cause this on myself for myself because of myself?  I hate myself.

This is such a mindless rant fueled by nothingness. Who knew nothing can be such a powerful fuel. But then again everything here has been backed up. No flow but an explosion of my mind onto a screen of pixelated letters expressing what seems to be what i feel. Even if it is just explaining the expression.

I guess for 2014 this is a good start.