What a tragedy, to see beauty.  To know it, and be near it always, but never able to create it.  Never able to pluck a strand of sheer brilliance from the soul of the world, and craft it into diamond.  For such things to be outside your reach, to pass golden works on your travels, but never able to stand on the side of the road and create a masterpiece.

What a tragedy it is, to know the language of beauty.  To hear its words and poems of love, unmoved and pure after travel though the ocean of time and space.  In knowing these things, and the ease with which they reach your soul, but never for the life of you being able to pick up beauty's pen and infuse notes with unfiltered power.

This tragedy is not mine, for hope still resides here.  Creation is not beyond my skills, but it shall push them to the limit.  I make no promises, but simply feel that one day i shall look down to see Beauty's pen grace my hand.

I am, to say the least, horribly confused.  As i glance to my sides, and throw one over my shoulder, i am blinded on all sides by change. 

As it always has, change in my surroundings begets a self-examination of myself, and how to react to this change.  Though it has happened before, i sense a conundrum of a different magnitude.

In past years...In past times, I have known myself.  My world was anything but it, but i felt that even in a world of swirling chaos, i would have had rock solid foundation, and sense of self.  However, as of late, i feel myself striding on vapor.

These are all things i have said before, in one form or another.  Forget the way i usually write things on here, because its not helping me now.  I see, hear, and feel change, and when i feel it i resist it. Instinctively, i just say no and i back away.  Is it a hold over, from when i knew myself so well that i trusted my initial reactions to the core?  Because the second i put up that resistance, i question whether its the right thing to do. 

And when i question that, i question myself.  And maybe this is deeper than i need to go, but what im' realizing is that i need a sense of self.  I need to know who i am.  I need morals and ideals that are so truly mine that i can stick to them no matter what the situation, and they will always guide me out of it.

Of course, i haven't found them yet, and perhaps i never will, but in my so called never ending quest for them, i was making progress.  Now i haven't the faintest idea.  The core of the problem is that i feel like i'm resisting the inevitable, and to be honest a part of me jumps at that thought, keeping my honor at the price of my life, or something representative of it.

That was one of my ideals, in some strange way, that maybe was more fit for the movies than life.  When i began to question that, things fell apart in my head.

If you keep your honor and your constitutions, stand fast against the winds of change, where does it get you?  This isn't a rhetorical question, i want an answer.  If you've actually read this far, leave an answer in your comment. 

If you follow the visualization out, the sands of time bury me and i turn into dust, ages away in time and space from everyone else who rides with change, not against it.

Okay, i'm going to wrap this up.  there was i time when i felt that even though i didn't know everything, i knew myself fairly well, and that would get me through quite alot.  So, from then on, i applied my morals, that i had made mine, to almost every situation, and they worked for me.

The problem is, recently, they dont work.  I stick to them, sure, cause its what i got.  Its all i got at the moment.  But every time i do, i question whether its the right thing.  And while this may seem like i shouldn't worry about it, i do.  Because knowing myself was a good feeling.  And it let me do many things that i never would have done otherwise, and i think i need it back.  This is no time to be confused.

If you've read all of this, i thank you profusely.  This is one of the longest entries i've ever written, but i think it will come ot be one of the most important.

When all your principles and sacrifice mean nothing
When your struggles get you nowhere

When your standing fast
Against the winds of change

And you realize

Your friends have long since been gone
You're just a rock in the wind
And you're standing alone
Just a rock in the Wind
(repeat)

I will still be here
Loving every inch of you
And i don't know why

I must be delusional
but i don't mind.

You know, regardless of how true it is, its a peacful thought.  That even though we may not see eye to eye, we're on the same boat more or less.  And that on some level, we sorta, kinda, maybe understand each other.  Simplicity loves it that way.

I just spontaneously sang a song about a 7-fingered man.  I must say it was catchy.  It started with "A 7-fingered man, sitting on a can" and ended with "lets get it on", but there was stuff in between.

Do you know what i did before that?  I walked around and thought about stuff, and i decided i should write a xanga entry about my thoughts, cause i thought they were kinda interesting.

But before i could sign in.  I thought a man with 7 fingers on his left hand. Shit, i gave away the second verse. whatever.

Does that strike you as weird?  The few blogs i read today were about turmoil and a bit of strife, and a good deal of emotion.  I mean sure, i have all those things, and they're not bad to write about, i just. i dunno. Everytime i think about, i just decide that life is really freaking weird.  Not like its this wonderful thing of connection, or its just out to get you and its all misery and loneliness.  It is all those things, and everything in between.

But for all the moments that you can classify as connection or misery, there are about four hundred that just make no sense what so ever.  Its like your mind is saying, hey you, remember this, i think its important.  And you, being the nut that you are, answer back, saying hey mind, why is this important.

And those two dudes with bad british accents that live in your head say wow, we don't bloody fucking know do we?  And you say hey...thats kinda weird.

The debate rages on up there in your noggin, you know, some voice will go, hey its love! and then someone else says you there, yeah you, shut the hell up.  why aren't you writing your notes down?  And about 7 other random folk tell you to draw something.

This usually ends when you put them back in whatever mental box they came out of, and attempt to focus on so-called reality, with a lingering sense of wonder and longing.

Its a very nice feeling when you start writing something you know is gonna be stupid and it morphs into something weird, but pretty cool.