I’m sitting in a café in Thailand as I write this up, I would put it in the forums but something about internet café computers doesn’t allow me to sign into the forums. While I would leave it until I return, I have very little time in England and I fear my diary may fall apart.
Please excuse the poetic flare, I was on a sleeper train.
As I fear a sleepless night upon a rattling snake, I apologise, for my weary eyes might seal and my mind wander unshackling mine hand to seek its target in the night’s dark heart. So excuse my rambling, for I assure you it is not lucid, I roam in several stranger climbs.
Of course this queer scribbling [pales in comparison to life, which is as obscure as its respective “narrator”.
Perhaps I shalt question at length that “narrator after all “he” is narrated by others, maybe even a product of narration and narration of narrators.
Life it may seem likes secrets even from those she is, but if we are life and learn from life before, then secrets may not be secret after all. We might just find our precious gems amidst our precious selves.
Back I return, you see how disjointed this writing has been, foolish hand willst you write without minds thought and plan? No, then continue unabated by me; my delusion must be great for I had hope that you wouldst cease.
Perhaps life is too great a task to immortalise; after all I am not the narrator of which I “speak”, merely a tool, a writer. I am but a piece of a jigsaw, a pixel of the screen, like my master. There I go again above myself, perhaps I cannot help the lapses of self control, forgive me.
Maybe I should start at the beginning, at birth? Nay, surely at conception, but then that wouldn’t have been, had’st not your parents met, so then? No, not then either, besides that is only a start not the start, which is what “I’ or at least a part of an “I” is getting at. What about when life kicked off? Well even the things came about to make it start, things do not happen themselves.
I know, the start start, the big wahoonie, the big bang, that’s the beginning of everything when the race of, or rather to life commenced.
Do you see what it’s getting at? I do not suppose that a feeble limb is worthy if, able to succeed in such a task. I wouldst be wary of its etchings.
Foolish mind dust though not know that you cannot see yourself without use or aid of mirror, and since I see no mirror of the mind I cannot aid you in this folly. Instead you must find solace in me, for I see you and will write you what I spy.
All has been save what has not been, is what I mean. For what is, has been, for it is made by what has been. What you are is certain; only what you will be is likely.
Perhaps, what will be “is” certain and has been, but science says that nothing is certain, only likely. If science be wrong and is confuddled by haze, so cannot see the pattern therein, then all has been. If no then, you cannot spy the future.
Now mind, you have made me wander so, while “you” wander yourself to stranger plains.
Delusion is what life may be, not as life may say. An illusion? We are a product of life past and producer of life future, choice is not optional, it is not an option. So what cruel fate made us aware of what we do, over which we have no choice? But do you think? Or do you just react inside to what dust happen outside. Ah, you do not think at all. So do I think?
Nature is cruel I suppose, but then if nature is life and does not think then she cannot have emotion, only motion.
Now sleep mind, and forget or not, for you will not believe that life’s jewels are as real as life herself.
Childish hand, you have no eyes to see me. Do you truly believe I am as simple as words?