Sometimes you come to a point where things don't really interest you the way they used to. Is it a sign of depression? Or is it simply the reaction one has when abruptly smacked into a wall of realization and then regain consciousness? Maybe the sudden blankness is due to the sudden concern that the life that one had known previously was the dream, the nightmare, the false reality.
When you wake from the illusion -- the things that used to keep you diverted no longer seem to do the trick. They were -- you suspect -- temporary distractions. They were the pauses that keep you preoccupied for just a moment, a sudden colorful patch in the woven tapestry of life. You were fooled and thought you had the right of it. You knew what the picture that was being created looked like.
Or did you?
I can not explain this strange inertia. I do not clamor to draw, to write. Instead I read. I drive. I look around, and try to find something to fill the pauses.
The absurdity of life began to make itself clear a year ago. In my heart, I'm still angry about the way the universe plays its game.
Why cut people off in the midst of realizing their dreams? Why let others never realize them?
I sit, spinning ellipses, waiting and hoping for the turning point -- where questions clarify themselves into answers.
I wait for meaning... or maybe for more illusions.