Writing excercise

[Taliana]

In january i was given a little red book that each day you open it and it gives u advice. On this particular day, the advice was to sit down with pen and paper and just write, without pausing to think about whaty you are writing whether it made sense or not. Heres my babble for anyone who is slightly interested..... welcome to the mind of me.
Three Page Babble, January 2002
Dont let thoughts invade your simple mind to the point of no return. Be creative and dont let drugs nor sociality stop your inner self and life long dreams be dead. Keep struggling for as long as the struggle is existent you will continue to move forward. Dont let your body stop your brain waves and actions. Body will only inhibit self choices, it will slow you down. Let the imagination guide your life, love, silence, torture, pain, beauty, all be explored in lifetime. Never forget where you came from. Family will always be there but friends wont.
Trust noone, only oneself to develop ones true being, one of a creative genious. Home may not be where the heart is, for joy is never felt in homely presence, joy is never felt in this fragile life, existence. Do not close yourself off from love, such a hard word to write down. being one who has never experienced love, again hard to write, where would one know where to find it? Is it always lurking around the corner? Have i already met the one the word portrays? So many questions, so little answers. Missing. There is definately something missing in my life. Is it someone, something, a higher purpose, a hidden life? LIfe for me is a journey to find this thing, this other half of me. Martha. Body again seems to take control, my eyes have become sleepy, for i am always sleepy, yet i sleep too much. Slowing down, I am and will and have . No drugs, no all night missions to find my other side. But what if this other side is only in my nightime world? Are they also a creature of the night as i seem to be? Words, mixing, jumbo, mumbo. No thoughts, red shows, got the blues. Sleep deprivation, oversleeping, my body i believe is sick of the torture. And i wonder why my glands be up always. NO shit sherlock, you torture yourself, its not the work of a higher purpose. Three pages of blab is quite hard to do, but i feel i want to prove i can. Create and make something of my life, even by following the little red book.
Life is full of quit for me. Ideas flow and flurry around my mind. Thoughts of giving up my nightworld and attempting to speed skate again, sing, musician, guitar, dance, act, university, promote, play, etc. Talent in each field, will power gone. Where did you go? I need you. Please, strength to achieve, achieve, excellence, at least one of these fields or in love. Whichever. I need to know. So for now, I again will sleep, and in this sleep you will come to me in a dream. I will dream about which pathway i shall take...
Martha

 

[Vaile*]

It's not too often I've placed myself within my office and thought. I arrive of a cold morning to the same place to find the same work, without giving thought to the breath of the wind outside that just walks in through my window. Content in it's curiosity, It breezes out again having gone through my paperwork, to whisper among the trees quiet nothings as they play. It's not really my concern to just look; to observe that within the sky, exists clouds as large as palaces, that are as intricately woven and warmed by a sun that paints those tones of colours we can never really see anywhere else.
So believing theres nothing much to look at doesn't allow for much else to work. Here at my desk, where there isn't much to look at, I continue to work without motivation or love for much at all. Imagine: continually pouring yourself into a public sphere to be picked at by choosers and cheaters. Presenting your output so that it can be discarded amidst the many by slight of hand. Those conjurers of tricks. Those manipulators. Those walkers of earth; spreading their characters like seed in the wind.
Then I look back and over this green plain of thoughts that don't really go anywhere. Or mean anything. This warning of the waning of souls everywhere. All to my left. All to my right. And all centered within; that warm place that was once a chest cavity.
I smile. It's like a letter, sent with love, stamped 'Void'.