Monday, December 13, 2004

meaning-hole

It has been a labyrinth, writing what's going on with myself, these last few weeks. I open up a page on which to write a blog entry, and my heart fades away and leaves nothing left to write. And jibberish about nothing fills the screen for a few minutes, deleted and filled with new and no more meaningful jibberish, until I cannot fake it anymore and put the project away, the content of my mind left unsaid. And this leaves me with a sick feeling after a few days. I suppose it could be stage fright or ambarrasment, or it could be that things are so confusing that they are forming no stories clear enough for telling. Or it could be that the stories are so new, that the emotions in them are speaking louder than events, and a logical procession of bits of information just don't come out; don't feel at home yet to be flung to the virtual winds, and so come out as haywired convoluted chaos. I cannot explain the feeling in my stomach, in my sides, in the center of my ribs below my chest, that burns and feels heavy although hollow, and that will not go away, and that seems to compel my eyes to water as I feel it, and seems to dizzy my head and drag my brow down with them, to wherever they go. I cannot explain either what is giving me this feeling, or what could be the sequence of events which have led me to feel this way, these last few weeks. I suppose the list of events could form a road as long as memory backwards into time, and include as many different things as I have ever experienced in my days... But like a wound it has spread, is now effecting my lower back; this feeling of pointlessness, of meaninglessness, of purposelessness, of lack of a reason, any reason, for existance.

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