Synaptic Thought

He glanced at the box disdainfully, his eyes lingering on it as it sat in the corner of the room. The box was nothing new, it had sat in the position it was in for several weeks now. For those weeks it had brought a bevy of emotions from him, ranging from anguish to sympathy. He simultaneously hated the box and loved it at the same time. He hated it because of what it stood for, but loved it because of who it stood for. The box was a representation of the last few years of his life, and the symbolism was completely derailing to his life. continue reading…

Hey you,

It seems to have been ages since we last talked. I’m sure that it really hasn’t been, if I were in a more spry mood I would actually count the days, but I am not sure it is something I have the will to do. Odd how that works, arduous days seeming to last forever, while the most precious of moments go by as fast as raindrops. It seems rather unfair that humanity is cursed with this false perception of time, but I guess it is something we have to live with.

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One of the interesting facets of life is the way everything seems to change. I don’t think there is really one thing in my life that I can ever say I rely on as a constant. Nothing is guaranteed in any of our lives. Tomorrow you make wake up and your car won’t start, or you may get a check in the mail, or a bill, or you may not wake up at all. I think this ever changing process of life can be fascinating.

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I’m sitting outside on the balcony to my hotel room in Atlanta. I am staying at the Renaissance Concourse, which is right next to the airport. There is an access road between me and one of the Delta parking lots. I’ve been sitting here for about thirty minutes now, just enjoying the comings and goings of the planes. I’m sure if I lived here and had to deal with it on a day to day basis I would get tired of something like this very quickly. I think I am just enjoying the change of pace.

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So I’ve seriously begun writing, or at least attempting to. I’ve been doing it in my spare time for about two hours a night, though the past few I’ve just been too distracted to really get anything done. It’s strange, the first night words just seemed to slip from my fingers onto the keyboard. The next night, however, I just completely lost focus on the story. I’m not sure what the reason behind it was, I guess sometimes the creative flow just isn’t doing its thing.

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…opened his eyes and rolled over to look at the alarm. It had not gone off, but he had awakened for some reason. He fought with himself in the early morning, struggling to figure out what had changed that awoke him from his slumber. It was the silence, the room was deathly quiet, but that was not the silence that had awoken him. He felt the emptiness inside himself where there once flourished an overwhelming happiness, and knew that the change had been internal. continue reading…

I am finding there is something about me that is very resistant to the truth. I just don’t believe things sometimes and I end up being stubborn about it. It has to be a very annoying trait to those I deal with on a regular basis. I’m not sure why I have developed a staunch disdain for giving up, but it is there and really kicking right now. A part of me knows that it is more than pointless to try, but I have to. continue reading…

I have a theory about telling someone that you love them. It may not exactly be true, but I think it holds true in most of the cases I have been in. Simply put, telling someone you love them is a bad idea. continue reading…

Describe to me your doubts, and I will paint a picture of reassurance. Give me your words and let me show you the way I see the world through your eyes. You will see beauty unimaginable, the kind that strikes your heart so swiftly that a painful aching accompanies the awe that must surely descend. You will see the vivid flashes of memory that show you to me each time I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. You will look upon the face of the world and see not the things that others see, the drab and dull reality that they must exist in without the sight of you to inspire color. continue reading…

It’s 2:30 in the morning and I cannot sleep. Simply put there is just too much going on in my mind. I have this problem all the time, it seems that when I lay down I just can’t go to sleep. The worst part is this is such good inspiration for writing, but I’m so unfocused that I can’t write a descent sentence. I think that is more frustrating to me than not being able to sleep. I have a very vivid scene in my mind, and no way to give it life with my words. I think this mirrors the frustrations I face during the day as well. Sometimes I let my mind get in the way of things, always thinking too much about stuff, over thinking things, dwelling on stuff.

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