It's been a busy time; but, then again, I'm not sure most blogs are quite as active as mine has been thus far. Last month in particular has now become the lowpoint of activity on Wastelnd - shifting focuses, experiments, and so on are to blame.
It's 7:13 as I write this, early in the PM's AM. I'm very groggy from a quasi-nap I was previously lost in; zoned out to a coma like state to a drearily Lo Fi instrumental playlist.
I think if I had to rewrite A Warm Welcome, my description of myself would be wildly different. That anecdote in and of itself fits who I feel I now am; An existential cloud floating above, distant and impossible to grasp. For better or for worse.
But, as it stands, I've never been more happy to have a warmth in my throat, a tinge to my sight, and a gust in my mind. I've regained myself. This beautiful feeling; last accompanied by splitting headaches and a horribly expansive aching; has regained it's staticy, golden glow. Like the national anthem stuttering through a bog of distortion, echoing into the black of night.
I don't try to find a solution. If there is one, I'd rather not have it. This lonely prison of my all-too aware self has some riches in the dust. And, frankly put - I have yet to find an endearment able to challenge the gifts which I already have. Lonely, undeniably - or perhaps, focused. Longing, although considerably prideful. A ghost on the ethereal fence at all times.
I remember once more my tired state. A passing beauty, not unlike the sins of life. I sit alone; free of mind. Free of any metallic eyeballs devouring my every slight; Free to the eyes of comradery watching closely, as always. The only life which I derive from. I don't feel much anymore besides the slogging muck of melancholy; but it's as warm a coat as I need.
Time has been flying lately, though I'm not sure why.