|
“Life is a dream. ‘Tis waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life,” Virginia Woolf 
0 Comments
 A Sampling from my journals since
the first of the year.
#JournalBits  I'm a bit crestfallen today. I went to enroll for summer semester classes hoping for two and was only able to make my schedule work for one.
So Cultural Anthropology it is. Which is cool because that one I really wanted. Losing out was Introduction to Literature, Introduction to International Relations, Meteorology, Fundamentals of Music and lastly, Urban Politics and Policy. i did two classes last semester on the shortened schedule and i felt two in the spring semester would be easier. I will get over it. Maybe... #CulturalAnthropology #SpringSemester There are times I have been exhausted, or frustrated, or both and have contemplated collecting all my pens and pads and sitting them aside and just stopping this thing called writing. It has some years happened that I reach such a point two or three times. But I never have. I can’t tell you what has stopped this process from proceeding to the box point, but it is probably something in my internal system that ultimately throws up a block.
People have spoken of writing in the context of breathing. They can’t live without it. Maybe there is an internal mode that throws up a stop sign when I get in this kind situation and will simply not allow me to shut down. So, I thought this would be a good point in time to list a few reasons that I have to write as I move into the new year. So, here is my list:
#WhyIwrite If this day should be longer, I would have to ask it to wait until you came back into the picture. Such absence is far more than empty. It is more than the sum of zero. It is beneath the standards for minimal nutritional value. It lacks the substance for meaningful existence.
MAW #todaysthought  RANDOM THOUGHTS -- The time is set and the day is long and the work is piled and the will is shallow. The writing on the wall says the words of the prophets were plagiarized. People do care. People pay attention to the most minute details and find the discrepancies. Only the interpretation is what mean anything to them. The factors are encased in a magnificent array of cautionary tales. On cannot separate the abundance of hope from the dreadful reality that exists inside a sponge. The chemistry, the physical manifestation of atoms altering one another are just too much. I am sad tonight. I will be sad tomorrow. I have been sad before and yet I am helpless to abate it. I cannot explain what I cannot explain no matter how many times is is asked and in what new way. Call it a disease if you must. Call it a curse. Call it at supper time to come and eat. I lack the capacity not not. carry two burdens. It is not easy. It is not what I asked for. But it is real. The conventional wisdom is contrary to that. The truth is a note spike that assailed my hand with the last memo that said I'm sorry. It is useless to pretend. I have pretended and the truth is heads and the coin lands on heads most of the time. I am not a Fulbright scholar. I can tell you that the head of a pin is no place for dreams. I can tell you that people are all deserving of liberty, though far too few have it. I wrangle here with a heart beat and a feeling that. I am missing something. Maybe you have it. Maybe you don't. I can't be certain but my time is up. #Freewrite |
AuthorMichael Allyn Wells - notes & musings Archives
December 2022
|
RSS Feed
(c) Michael Allyn Wells - 2017