What’s the truest part of me now? The most authentic?

Loneliness screams. I wait with bated breath for a wonderfully titled book that’ll arrive tomorrow. I think about how so much of the writing I see these days is peppered with references to technology, as it rightly must be. A million scattered thoughts – adding up to little. Where’s the focus? Should there be focus? Or is it my choice? I think it is the latter.

I hear a dear friend – one of the most sensitive and articulate people I know – say that her world is small, filled with a few friends and many books – and then I think I am okay. It’s not very commendable – this need for external validation.

Do I really live to experience my own mind? To see it take flight?

New friends and old drift in and out of my life – their egos barely visible, but floating just below the boiling surface.

I can not write coherently about anything for too long. It is a handicap I must deal with, or counter with a form all my own.

Cleave to the things, the people, the places, that make you come alive. Experience the new, but only newness that matters to you – people, ideas, never places for me.

I’m no cat; a dog any day. Light any day.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: