Here are some scratches on a piece of paper I found that I wrote in the dark days:

"Sleepless nights and unaccomplished days. Is inertia enough? How long can we keep this up? Something slumbers in the desert, it shifts dunes of sand in it's sleep. I dream and I create but the lives I weave are transparent, they've yet to flesh themselves into existence. Each place I call home is more taxed then the last. At this rate I'll be paying for every breath in a matter of months. It's dark in my corner. Too dark to remember what I've learned. I unlearn each day. Empty then fill. There's a cloud over this place, invisible to the naked eye. The cloud houses something awful, something with long tentacle-like arms with oppressive strength. The tentacles shoot out from the sky and press on your chest, just atop the sternum. The pressing hold that pins you in your place. And keeps you there. Don't struggle, accept mediocrity and the inevitable routine of a short, droll existence. What a strange time to be a part of. No one seems to care enough to better the times, the lives, the world."

I don't remember what was going on when I wrote this but I can still feel the remnants of that force. It is very clear here that I am talking about the world of my immediate surroundings. These feelings are what spurred my decision to leave California and I know now that I made the right choice. "I once was lost but now I'm found."

Labels: feelings, rantings, ravings