It's the longest day of the year. Summer solstice. I'm out of ideas. There weren't any, for a start. I'm ready to write. Techniques, limitations, practices. I've got them. What is lacking is topics. Things I care about. Stuff that needs to get written. Material that can be shared in these pages. The 'just write' crap is easy. Simple. It's gotten me nowhere. I know why. Unclear motivation. Unknown topics. "Do art" is nonsense. "Speak your language" is comical. "Just write" is ok to start. After six months, it's tired.
Where now? Unclear.
Tonight's goal is a drink. A recent friend's giving company. A nice bar perhaps. Longest day demands celebration. There's no desire to speak much. Listen, relax and live. Meditate. Why must we keep churning, keep running. Must be okay sitting down, meditating. That's the goal. To be one with self.
A snake, a worm, of an emotion in the heart, lies deep within. Fear, confusion, uncertainty perhaps. Of unclear origin. Isn't song-listened away. Can't shake it by eating. Silly me. Need to nurse it. Treat it like a baby. Send it away.
What causes me fear? Why must I run from life? Silly, silly me.
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