ike_sprite

     Boredom, she is a cruel tease. Why must she taunt me with all the things I'd rather be doing?!  As I sit here, in science,  I realize that insomnia has unclogged my drain of creative writing, ( Although it doesn't do much for my use of words) Goodness. How can Jake go through this exhaustion on a regular basis? This is a mild form of torture that she cannot help but go through. Is seems fate is also a cruel temptress. What must it feel like to lay, ready for rest, but not having the ability to drift off. Torture... Torture! TORTURE! Yes, torture. At least I have the ability to rest, even though I may choose not to sometimes. Pity. Strange thing, isn't it. Some people refuse to accept it, while others thrive on it. I don't particularly enjoy receiving pity. Giving it on the other hand. I cannot understand depression. It is fascinating, but it cannot be explained to me in a way that I can fully grasp. Maybe it is for the best. Maybe, understanding depression would cause me to sink into depression, even though I know that is not how it works. I have not slept for the past two days as part of a "social experiment" which has left me very tired. Because of this, I am going to end this random mess.





                                  Farewell for now;

                                                                                              ike_sprite

         Just as my last entry, so long ago it was, I have decided to barrage your senses with thoughts that may not have meaning. I have realized that literature doesn't need meaning. It is self expression, "a release". I don't really care if people enjoy reading this for I am writing for the calm that comes with this. I have been filled with ever increasing restlessness over my slipping grades. I do not understand why I allow myself to procrastinate so efficiently. Aha ha. That is one of my favorite oxymoron's. So, back to the expression. I have had quite a blocked up ability to write recently. I don't know what it was, but I quite missed the feel of the smooth keyboard on my rough fingertips. I don't believe that this post will be very long, as I am still experiencing some creative blockage. I wonder if plumbers ever experience this? Though this may seem random and unnecessary, it was my tired and pathetic attempt at a pun. *Sigh*. I wish I was able to use the confusing art of sarcasm. Today in class, a chocolatier and I had a fairly long run of constant sarcasm. Now, a sequence of Haikus. 


 Such a steady calm,
Why must it end so soon?
It disappoints me.

I wish it would last.
I need more calm day to day.
Life is full of stress.

It is never fair.
Why can't life be easy?
I often wonder.

Unanswerable.
Oh, if only someone knew.
Wouldn't it be grand!

The endless chatter.
Wonder where she gets it from?
Not my small sister.

She could not be mine.
I am constantly quiet.
Isn't that right, Jake.

Oh, you know it's true.
Don't try to deny it, Jake.
Silent as a mouse.

I'm getting bored now.
I think i'll finish up now.
Farewell 'till next time.






        ike_sprite

    As I sit here, I imagine the senses that swirl throughout my consciousness. I feel the warmth, of the loosely knitted touque. I feel the hours of time and effort put into a meaningful gesture. I feel the sensation of love that has been bestowed upon me. I cannot help but imagine the less fortunate and how they would need such an item for warmth, not humor. I feel the guilt, but gratefulness, that I have what I do. As I sit here, I imagine the words of how  "birthdays are self indulgence" and wonder how obnoxiously self centered I have been on the 12th of December. I question the "true" meaning of Christmas as overly marketable songs play off my foolishness. As I sit here, I now feel quite self-conscious, thinking of how you will judge my thoughts, my use of diction, or even the arrangement of my words. I have been very inspired, yet doubtful, by many very accomplishes authors. I worry, "Am I sincerely talented with words?". I think now that I should have written a story, with a purpose. I think of the many conversations of stories that just, drag on. I try to avoid that position of meaningless, even though as I write, I know this is. Meaning, for me, is difficult to randomly generate. It must come from within. But, alas, I have not been entirely accustomed to sharing personal trials with possibly, complete strangers. I now feel a slight drifting off. As though I am not truely here, writing, but in an exhausted dream. A dream that feels remarkably relieving. I feel as though a weight has been lifted off my shoulders just by writing my immediate thoughts. It is relaxing. Ahhhh......  I have not felt such a calm in too long. I now come back to my immediate thoughts. I feel excitment, to see the ones that make me smile in the day. I feel comforted by the smooth tunes of one artist, Sam Roberts, and wonder what he would write about. Would it be a song? Or a haiku possibly? Maybe even some dark poetry. I feel an eerie understanding to the lyrics he cantillates so truthfully. I now wonder who will read this... this thought. What will they think? Will their opinion be of how I tried, but failed, to write something with depth? I hope not. I think of what I would do if I did not succede. Not in general, but to succede in by future career (orthodontistry). Or should I go with my heart and do what I love even if it means I may not lead an extravagent life (photography)? Artistic expression has always intrieged me. I admire those who are able to share thier deepest emotions in a visually, vocally, or scripturaly stunning way. I now feel an anxiousness to post this entry, as I am also quite hungry. So now I prepare my closing statement... Um...  Oh well.


      Farewell:
                            ike_sprite


 Ps. I have enjoyed this random splurging of words. :D

I'm new to this site.
I don't quite know how it works.
This is for you, Jake.