October 24 - 30
I awake in
the middle of the night to the sound of my clock, unable to return to slumber
as I fixate on the monotonous, boring ticking.
Boring, boring into my head, despite all the whisperings of midnight,
the only thing I hear. Having no intent
of its own, it frightens me with the reminder of things done and not done. A feverish onslaught of thought stirs, and I
turn to fantasy as a distraction.
Conjurations of dragons and long roads and fame and old friends sweep me
back into the hushed multitude of sleep.
As a
situation becomes dull, repetitious, and unappealing, my mind wanders
afar. Who is so different from
this? How should I let this affect my
writing? Should I subject my audience to
variations of my routine in confined circumstances? Should I exaggerate some drama or boast philosophical
musings? If my description each post is
to be novel, I shall have to become increasingly subtle in elaboration. As important as objectivity is in
investigation, I am willing to sacrifice accuracy in this account in favor of
interest.
I raise the
question of representativeness. While I
enjoy diplomacy and mediation, in no way do I wish to be a politician. Certainly, I am not fond of being told to
hold my tongue. And there lies a
conflict; wanting to be fully expressive, yet also respectful. To want to be part of a larger whole whilst
retaining individual character is a curious dilemma. It is
uncouth to express frustration of my surrounding situation, and subversively
pretentious to do so of my own person.
Perhaps if I deprecate myself enough, I will be thought humble. If I criticize myself, I might be wise.
All of this
to say that I lack the righteous fortitude of marble and limestone that so many
others seem to espouse. I am
unsure. It is implied that I should find
assurance in worldly happenings; that if I keep good enough records
understanding will unfold before me. Yet
I find that it is impractical to develop a full comprehension based on my
personal empiricism. Unfortunately, I also
find that many of my communications have been muddled, due in no small part to
my own doubt. How true is the
presumption that conviction assures achievement?
I wish I
had more to tell about what I have been doing here. I could glorify playing with algae and
chicken shit. That approach could get
old, quick. I do a little day by day and
see incremental differences. Nothing I
am doing is difficult or revolutionary, but it wasn’t being done before I
arrived, so at least I am a minor conduit for improvement. The days are largely the same within the
fences of Christianville. On a couple of
occasions I have been allowed to venture off of the campus. It is always a delight to ascend the hills
towards the heart of the country, even if it is only for less than a full
hour. The freedom to go where I please
is sorely missing, as are other, lesser freedoms. Small sacrifices are to be expected in this
kind of work, right?
No, dear
reader, I am no paragon of resolution.
Perhaps you can relate to the feeling of unknowing. I am not taking any of it overly seriously,
however – simply put, I’m still in pursuit of consistency while entertaining a
comfort of imagination.
Don’t break a leaf
it’s much too fragile
and could have been of value
Don’t breathe too much
you’ll waste the air
a thing so very dear
Don’t look upon
a still lake, perfect
lest your gaze disturb it
Do naught ever
let all happen
and you might be forgiven
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| The worms are drying! The worms are drying! |
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