Once again the feeling of keeping a regular blog has returned to me and here I am, 2 years hence, back to dear old Againity. Even at times such as these, when the desire is at its peak, I cannot say I'm entirely motivated to indulge for there is this knowledge which seeks to restrain me. What am I to write about? More so, who is to read this? My desire merely allows me to peek over these hurdles and somehow, with the force of blind resolve, I am expected to overcome them. But that only gets me over the hill and not down into the valley where keeping a blod is almost second nature. I am still with the fog looking down.
The problem really is, what is it that can be written that hasn't been written before. What can be said that hasn't be said before? I am silent in the presence of strangers or on occassions that demand opinions. My opinions are formed but where is my motivation to present them. Most times all I can offer is agreement and at times I can counter other presented opinions but even then I am not presenting my opinions in my own ways. But what is the need for doing that? Why do people feel the need to express themselves at all times?
If by expressing myself I would not be presenting an opinion not previously presented then perhaps there is a point to it. A point that serves a purpose beyond self for certainly expressing oneself serves one to realize their freedom. But if that freedom is only limited to benefitting self then that freedom is a very small freedom, in my opinion. But just as in this case, as soon as this opinion has been presented I am likely to feel it commonly known. I am likely to feel it already explored.
Also the dictum "Whatever you can say has already been said and probably has been said better" (paraphrased) applies at all times. So my opinions come out broken hearted and are not at all pointed. They fall vaguely on the ground and get digested by it right there and there. There is no force in them, even if I make them extremely closed. They have no edge that can wound a counter-opinion. And while my opinions are of that kind so are the opinons of others. There really is nothing new to hear anymore.
In silence then, I spend majority of my time and if that is the case what is it that I can write? I can't express myself efficiently because I question the need to. Why then would I force myself to keep a blog? What could be the purpose of such an enterprise? Perhaps the only appeal for me is the fact that I have not thought about it. This here, was a spontaneous decision that sprung right before me. I grasped it and engaged myself instantly. Had I thought about like I did in the blog I might've never returned to this place.
In the whimsical movements is where I find my progress. For if I were to plan something out, to contemplate over something and if I were to analyze something I would most likely all motivation for it. This makes me wonder if I can ever fall in love? Perhaps the first moment, that first moment if unplanned would be spontaneous and therefore beautiful. It would be devoid of thought and therefore so innocent. And that innocense then would rub off on her and she would be presented to me so desirable that I would be given no breath of time to think over it and would reach for her instinctively. However, it isn't the first meeting which I dread it is the second one. For between the first and second, while the desire remains, it no longer is presented to me in a hurry. It might be planned and therefore no longer beautiful and no longer innocent. She would then be presented to me analyzed and thereby disintegrated and I'd be able to see her insides. She would be scarred and no longer desirable. I would have to recoil from her then and with regret and shame confine myself once again into a solitary hole.
She would remain desirable only if the meetings remained unplanned, as if each meeting was just a whim. That it would just fly by and I would merely have to wait for the next moment. It would keep me from analyzing because I would have nothing to go with. From the first to whenever the second might happen I could only wait and with sheer anticipation alone. And then the chance meeting would happen. The exhillaration would boil through my blood and turn my skin blue. It would put in a feverish frenzy and there she would be complete, whole, without scars and entirely beautiful as ever before.
How much can a person claim to know of another if they can't tell where that other person is? If I don't know her whereabouts and she doesn't know mine, how will we be able to claim to be in love with each other? What level of relationship would that be if all our meetings were the workings of meer chance? That she would remain beautiful entirely but "serious" relationships are hardly ever between two beautiful people.
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