... frustrated? Yes.

at last when i find someone to whom i feel i can pour out my soul to, i stop shock at the words i utter.
they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble. Yes, within us there is joy, fulfillment, a strong sense of connection and companionship. But the loneliness of the soul in which i have once felt has long been sunked into an appalling self-consciousness which is horrible and overpowering.

such is that i long to think more deeply,
to write better,
to draw better,
to feel better,
to live better,
to love better,
and to translate my thoughts into words verbally, better.

01:48 ·

the day when i stopped, looked up and pointed out the beauty of the piece of white against the blue sky to you, you did not look up for only a mere second before casually continuing your walk down.

you stood there with me for as long as i did, and loved the world for what it was/is.

and that's when i knew.

01:38 ·

I... I... I... I... I... I... I...I.

Being conditioned as a child to the lovely never-never land of magic, of fairy queens and virginal maidens, of little princes and their rose bushes, of poignant bears and Eyore-ish donkeys, of life personalized as the Queens love it, of the magic wands, and the faultless illustrations - the beautiful dark-haired child winging through the midnight star-path, of the hobbit and dwarves, gold belted with blue and purple hoods, drinking ale and singing of dragons in the valley----

To go from this, to the world of grown up reality.
To feel the tender skin of babies thicken.
To become aware of exams, submissions (the very words as unlovely as the sound of chalk shrilling on the blackboard)
bread and butter,
marriage, sex, compatibility, war, economics, politics, death and self.

What a pathetic blighting of the beauty and reality of childhood.
Not to be (as much as I sound) sentimental, but why the hell are we conditioned and placed into the smooth strawberry and cream fairy godmother world, Alice-In-Wonderland fable, Mother-Goose tales, only to be broken on the nail as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with an awfully dull responsibility in life?

to be aware that one must compete, and yet know that wealth and beauty will never be within reach of one's realm.
to learn that one can never learn anything valid for truth, only momentary and pathetic transitory sayings that apply to one in one's moment, one's locality, and sadly enough, to one's present state of mind.
to despise money, which is a farce, mere piece of rotten smelling paper, and to hate what one has to do for it, and yet at the same time long to have it in order to be free from the slavery of the lump.

to know and remember the nasty little bold ends of conversations and sentences angled at you;
made to strangle you on the invisible noose of insinuation.

00:47 ·