The hidden spin of the ball. The lasting memory of a note. Wind floating along a cheekbone.
The hum of the electrical wires, connecting towns with cities with nature.
I’m looking for inspiration, a part of existence so unlike anything else. A feeling, but more than that. A directive to action. A call to arms and hands and fingers holding pens. A call for eyes to be drawn, and drawing.
Oh how I long to be on that childhood ocean of my waking dreams, able to feel the movement of the waves whenever I close my eyes. Having a ‘place’ to ‘go to’.
I have devolved, I feel. Have devolved into a consumer, looking for a new entertainment-fix. Too rarely closing my eyes to find the inspiration I have picked up. I have no doubt that I pick up more inspiration these days, but I fail to do anything with it.
I neglect my writing.
I neglect my thinking as I pace through weeks and months.
I promise myself ‘tomorrow will be different’. But I know tomorrow doesn’t come for another week. Two weeks.
Summer will once again toast my cheeks, will once again inspire me to go out and feel the sting of the grass, listen to the rattling of the leaves, taste the sweet fruits growing beneath the Golden Sun.
Once again taste lips, because what else is there for lips to taste but other lips tasting back. A most egoistical sharing where survival is equal to collision. Where orbits are broken and new galaxies form. Where matter becomes energy, heard half a world away in the hum of electrical wires.
We can be known unnamed.
There’s this idea of a balancing of energy in my mind. It has been there for as far as I can think; some notion that there’s an alignment of energy in the universe, so that whenever I use more energy, someone else has to use less. I used to use it as a bad excuse for not getting a job, because my sister had three or four jobs. There was hardly energy left for me to also have a job. I’m not sure I’ve ever really believed in this idea – more used it as a talking point, a way to get out of things or to make others feel better. But now I seem to have been hit by a more fundamental versions of this idea in my real everyday life. Since the new semester has started, I have been absolutely on top of things, being as prepared as it gets for every lecture, doing the small extra exercises, all in all being a student’s student. But it has derived me of my energy for the thing I like doing best: writing poetry, writing fiction, writing blog posts, even. My head has been so empty come the close of day, after putting all my energy into my studies. My brain has been completely philosofried. So, naturally, I have to start cheating myself. I need to find a way to believe that I have unlimited energy reserves at my disposal, ’cause I don’t want to be less prepared for my lectures, but I also really don’t want to forget all about writing the things that I want to write.
I could write you a letter. But I don’t have your address. That might be fun. I haven’t written you one in ages. I always think about doing it for your birthday, but I had enough sense to not do it while you were with your boyfriend. Now you’re not. Now I might. It’s always great to have someone to write to. That’s what really gets me going.
I don’t have too much else to say, I’m afraid. I’m really happy about being back to philosophy, but as I said, it drains me of my energy. And I spent altogether too much time making lunch today. I did make a great chili con carne though. And I listened to Frank Ocean’s new album for the first time. Seems like a wonderful lovemaking-album. I think I’ll just go to bed now. Sunday tomorrow. I don’t have any plans. The weather is going to be frickin hot. I’ll start off by reading a text for the coming week. Then I’ll do something of artistic importance. Be that see someone or go somewhere. I don’t know. I’ll do great. Tomorrow will make me a better person.