There's something about a getting up at 5 in the morning that's just bliss. Absolutely wonderful. It's just me and my habit of procrastination that always gets in the way. But even then, Once is good enough.

Nobody's been in anyone else's shoes. We all have our own private pains. Its how we deal with them, integrate them into our shared lives that defines who we are individually. I have this frustrating feeling like everything I write has been written before, like the same perception has been explained by someone else, and so I'm just copying.

There is nothing new under the sun and Gods, only the rendition of how finely I feel it, how precisely, how keenly.

How many variations on the same can there truly be?

Untitled

What's it like to write, to really write? To start with a single word on a blank, virginal page and add to it? To watch this child, grow and mature, page after page, until at last you look before you and you've borne a work, purely from the bits and pieces in your head. What's it like to look upon this body of work and know that you created it, breathed life into it? And how do you then offer it up for the world to tear apart or elevate to godhood as it chooses?

Once I know the answers to these questions- do I dare to create? Or leave those creations inside of myself where they'll be protected and nurtured and never subject to the persecution and torment and lamentation of existence?

Do I even have time to worry about any of this?