It has been some time now since I last visited this "blog". I was quite surprised to see that there had been about 460 page views, although I haven't really paid any attention to "sharing" its contents and I have quite neglected writing any new posts. Not to mention the fact, that it contains personal delirious rambling in poetic form - which, I imagine, can't make it very popular...
Of course, I'm not as arrogant and air headed as to believe that all these people actually read my blog. I suppose, the vast majority of visitors stumbled into my blog quite accidentally, while "googling" for something else.
But, to the few that perhaps became interested in it, I would like to apologize for the lack of content and further posting, and to seize the opportunity to ramble some more - about the reasons of my absence this time.
You see, I suppose this blog started out as a strange combination of an imaginary friend, a diary and a message in a bottle thrown in the arms of the sea. Although it was "out there", it wasn't really expected to be found. It was also, a sort of "truth or dare" game with my self - do I dare to expose my truth, naked and flawed, to whoever might see it?
This form of writing, my rambling poems and amateur mute songs, begun for me as a dim firework (I don't know if there is such a thing as a dim firework, but it's the only way to describe it) during the - oh, so damned and fragile for everyone - adolescence. It lasted until my early after school years, when it was brutally pushed away by my "logical self" and gloriously neglected for the sake of studies, friends, lovers and wild partying.
It came back, subtly and discreetly, but with a vengeance, after a quite painful period of my life, to remind me how to awkwardly express my feelings again. How to distill the emotions from within and how to turn them from sheer blood and venom, to something more positive for me.
I still have more material than what I've posted here in my hard disk. But right now, I can't post anything. And I haven't been able to write something new for some time now.
It's weird. Ever since I remember my self, I have been feeling as my feet are roots, going deep in the ground, connecting me with reality and life around me, while my "upper self" is a cloud, travelling dreams of the day and an imaginary cosmos. I had always been "living" my emotions vividly in my soul.
But now, I don't feel anything.
I can only sense the walls of harsh reality closing down on me. Technically, I know there is a light in the end of the tunnel, but I can't actually feel the hope. Neither any desperation. I'm neither happy, nor sad. Just deeply dissatisfied with my life, a flat liner with a beating heart, kind of a paradox.
I can only see the walls, and they are bare. And so tall.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not one to complain for adversities, when life gives you lemons, you just have to make lemonade, and try to make it damn good, too. I just wish to find a way to earn a lemon and to be able to taste its sourness to the full.
To be able to honestly laugh out loud or bleed well- anything but sleeping awake in this capsule.
So, I currently cannot write or create anything. Big deal, I know, who cares, the world is seriously ill right now and I'm just whining...
But I'm just curious to know... are there any other people feeling like that? Feeling the "actual reality" around us as a suffocating thing, numbing our true senses? Restricting us to routines, mechanical reactions and plain survival? Often, nowadays, even survival is difficult...
Or am I the only one thinking like that? (In which case, a good psychiatrist is in order).
"...Major Tom to Ground Control..."
Over and out, Houston, we've got a problem, but I shall bug you no more... just baby steps for now.