Pencil in Hand # 7

Exploring Mundane Madness in Times of Trifled Transition.

When such madness as that of the unexpected; the sour sort which tends to tease and test character; befalls upon you, the struggle bares close resemblance to resisting the insurmountable muscle of the crashing wave. One can either desperately fight with all his might a losing battle or drift his thoughts to times serene, waiting to be washed up upon the shore. As I sit with my feet apprehensively dangling over the ocean, my thoughts now morph to meditation. Meditation loosely based on exposing the falsehoods creeping in every shadows of moments past, present and to come.

What of tomorrow? I ask myself, when today holds the stench of corruption. When today already seems to be a foreshadow of what is to come. Glimmers of sham hope always bring comfort to a prevailing escape never consumed. Extracting self from a present state is a sickness yet cured. With attitudes reflecting the absurd notion that everything will be better soon, one removes any sense of reality. Consequently, engulfing all expectations of virtue into foreign intangible grounds. Bearing resemblance all too closely to the visions of the madman prophet patiently awaiting the end that will in turn thrust forth a glorious beginning.

But what of Now? A concept ravished and branching on the limits of becoming obsolete. In obliterating any responsibility owed to today, one becomes a slave to a distorted past, memories of yesterday and anticipations for future prospects more enticing and promising. This kingdom of dumb day dreaming poisons motivation and beckons procrastination.

Carpe Diem for fucks sake.

I expose this vice for having myself, all too often, wallowed in a drifting mind assuring me that with Time the resolution to any problem will surface. That through a pathetic notion of destiny, a little dwarf will glide in realms humanly inconceivable with the chief purpose of fixing my personal problems, to render right, so that I may continue to exude confidence when in fact I know nothing. This monotonous specimen is madness. Instead of losing one's mind one decides to live in it until all is reset to an acceptable reality. One then over leaps any transition; however minute, by complying to fantasy.

Through hard Times character works on its calluses. In transition, one begins to grow through acknowledged and accepted understanding.