this post contains absolutely no thoughtful prose or ideas. don’t expect it from me right now, please. i’ve forced my fingers to the keyboard to write that — my mind is completely closed off and empty. i try and try to read but the words do not enter my mind. i don’t know how to fix myself. i hate how the pile of unfinished books builds and builds but i think i have no other option but to thrust the current ones to the side. if i cannot read then i absolutely cannot write. for me the practice of language must always go both ways, of consumption and creation. my body is weighed down with itself and my mind has been consumed by a horribly dense fog.
at least i have somehow managed to find new ways of being inspired where i live. i continue to discover bits of charm in the same old places; they open up to me more— especially as within these next couple of months i approach the time where i will be able to explore all of the charmingly odd dive bars. i think i am surrounded by a lot of people who are opening up to the world in new ways and allowing the world to open up to them, and so it makes it a lot easier for me. in the past i had a difficult time understanding how people could stand to live in a place that doesn’t have things to explore in the same way a city does, how they could stand the idea of the same old thing for their entire foreseeable futures; but i’m starting to see that although it’s small i still somehow haven’t seen it all… and that nothing ever really stays the same anyway.
as for my dreams, they are now just that; just dreams. so separate from me, from my reality, from my physical state. i try to ignore them as they fade away so that i don’t feel the pain of the space left behind. i’m still not convinced they won’t come true; i think it just might be in different ways than i’ve wanted or anticipated. but it might be enough, maybe. i’ll have to see. i’m twenty and shouldn’t get ahead of myself. my worst fear is that i won’t end up being able to see either way how things turn out. but that’s my worst fear and it sits very deep and dark within myself and so for the moment i ignore it too.
friends, tell me a book i should start reading that will break through the fog in my mind and keep me engaged. something cheesy and entirely plot-heavy with bad prose unfortunately won’t do the trick, i know myself well enough to know that, but i’m also unsure if at the moment i’ll be able to handle something completely dense and philosophical, if my eyes won’t just skim above the words instead of sinking within them. some middle ground maybe?