Tag: Life

  • Reflections

    I’m 40 now. That’s supposed to mean something, isn’t it? Strangely though, it doesn’t. Nothing changed when I turned 40. Everything that was a struggle or a joy at 39, continues to be a struggle or a joy at 40. Seems I was right to despise birthdays then. All it does is raise unrealistic expectations about impending changes in your life, so that you’re prompted to look at others in order to measure your worth. Some would suggest that it’s an innocent but meaningful milestone. I would suggest that if you need a birthday to review your life, then you’re sadly distracted by what’s not important.

    Wish I had something positive, passionately inspiring and uplifting to write about. A marble-hearted soul showed me the truth of my own insignificance in my little world recently. Just made my world that much smaller. This is not as cathartic as I need it to be. Probably because a few days ago I typed out a note to my dearest marble-heart acknowledging my insignificance, and resolved to read that same note every single day for as long as I need to, so that I never lose sight of that reality and dare to venture out in search of a life again.

    I’ve got a publisher apparently interested in looking at more of my work, but I can barely string together a coherent post. My book has taken a back seat for almost a year now. In moments of disappointment and dejection I deleted some really good writing which I obviously regret. I’ve had the urge to delete the rest of it recently as well, including shutting down my blog, Facebook account, and Twitter account. Retract completely from the social scene, albeit a digital one, and become a digital hermit. But in the pursuit of my marble heart, I isolated myself from many around me for good reason as well.

    I feel like a wasted 25 year old. Seems we all get distracted by bullshit during the course of life. Some more than others. Seems I’m incapable of writing a meaningful post tonight. Will probably delete it in the morning, but until then, and with a heavy heart at the thought of my recently lost beloved, I’ll throw in the towel for now. Peace. How I wish I had some…

  • Integrity is dead. Self-preservation killed it.

    Cynically Jaded

  • Living a delusion will never alter my reality.

    Cynically Jaded

  • Sealed in a Bottle

    dailydigressions:

    I wish that I could

    encapsulate the remnants

    of all our faded memories.

    Perhaps, keep them in

    a tiny glass bottle

    and pop the lid every 

    once in a while

    To breathe you in;

    to remember that

    the good old days

    were not mere fantasies

    that I cooked up

    inside my muddled brain.

    To convince myself

    that once upon a time

    you existed in this life

    and that love was a reality.

  • missingthejackandtheace:

    Ron Hicks, Take Me Away, 47½ X 37½ in. framed

  • Life…

    If folk lore would be believed, my life is only about to begin. But like someone once said, if life only begins at 40, then what is it that ends at 39? Is it the mid life crisis that ends everything meaningful that happened before and starts a new chapter of middle aged youth, or is there more to it than a jaded mind might be able to grasp?

  • Only an old man appreciates the value of youth
    Only a person afflicted with calamity can truly appreciate being free of troubles
    Only the sick appreciate health
    Only the dead appreciate life

    Islamic wisdom

  • The joy of fear

    Heaven forbid we should live a romantic life. It is possible you know. To live a romantic life and still remain functional and practical about all life’s challenges. But it’s easier to fit in with the jaded crowds than to be true to ourselves, because the risk of failure is too great a source for potential embarrassment. POTENTIAL embarrassment. But the reality of the joy that we’ll experience if we lived romantically now will forever escape us because of our fear of embracing what we desire, lest it be stripped away from us in an untimely fashion. 

    We set ourselves up for heartache and failure, all the while pretending to be comforted by our superficial success in worldly endeavours, ensuring that not another living soul will ever see the romantic fool in us for fear of being mocked or ridiculed for that which is closest to our hearts. So fear drives us to suppress the romance, and embellish the facade so that it becomes the reality of our existence, when in fact it’s the reality of our deception.