Work went well today, my first day. Not a whole lot I wanna say about it; I think I should make it a general policy to try and write from a deeper place within instead of small little details around an office that can just bore the hell out of people. The challenge then, is not to become worn down, to know what you wanna say… you don’t bore yourself, so you don’t bore others, you don’t write boring things. It is a challenge. The days all mesh together. What day is it?
I now have a different type of free time. Less, but more meaningful or concentrated, appreciated, compact, sometimes sleepy. I continue to dig into comic books and am reading the novels Brave New World and Dune (Book One). My own stories, however, remain quiet in me, besides a few poems I might kick out on stage.
A man, a woman, starts to watch the time pass and what it does to the body. He starts sympathizing with other 50-60 year-old men around him. She is removed from the silver screen and forgotten by 35.
Questions. What will become of our society? Will we eventually give in and become addicted? What’s our direction? Is it God? Is it hope? Is it consistently applied intelligence? What gets us through? Will a storm come and stomp us flat like so many others? How many more crappy movies will be shot into the vein? Will you fall in love with more than one person? This is more worrisome than the sun burning out, or comets.
Questions but no answers. Answers all relative. Waiting around for the answers.
You can write any damned thing. I am a selective reader with limited time and may not even be able to get around to all the classics before my time is up. A car could come screaming out of nowhere and mow me down before I get to finish Brothers Karamazov again. Bollocks.