This has been left open, since around noon. A blank, pixelated page, haunting my every move of might and mind throughout the day. A reminder, if not a grim one, that nothing will happen until I will it into existence, no matter what struggle may subsequently ensue.

But it is moments such as these where the mettle gets its proper testing. Courage or cowardice in the face of the principles all cast out before me. The hopes and dreams and idyllic stances, worth so little when shouted loud in waves of convenience. The merit of ideas dense and lofty alike only truly prove their value when the metric of their denial or confirmation is at paramount points, be it for greater good and glory, or unavoidable catastrophe.

So, we’ll get at it, since you’ve all been waiting so patiently.

My return to this plane of consciousness upon today’s arrival was on the more abysmal side. Still feeling unrested, more in mental capacity than in body, I gazed out upon the outside world, all barren and grey, and felt something akin to a reflection. Alone, as seems to be my near perpetual custom. Point and purpose bounding about unrequited in the calcified cages of my cardiac pump and neural computer. The floor was cold upon the bare soles reacquaintance, to begin another day’s long fight with gravity and entropy. I thought of love, a feeling that faded upon the first gaze at these tired blue-green oculars I keep in my skull, all wreathed in oblong circles the color of a day-old bruise.

So, I gathered myself and marched forward, the good little metaphysical solider I can’t help but seem to be.

I was in a less that superb mood the evening last. Confirmed and admitted beyond my singular perspective. It showed on far beyond the sleeve. In my face and behavior, I was off, in an unmistakably noticed manner.

Unless, of course, you were exclusively consuming my existence when I was acting as the guitar clad bard. If you were only watching then, you might have thought the top of the world might not be the furthest position from where I was then residing.

It’s been a reoccurring thought, concerning these times between places of specified expression. While not an unfamiliar notion, the heaviness of state upon concluding a performance has been one of tones if not somber, at least subdued in comparison to the act preceding. For certain, it has something to do with how much gets put into playing these tunes, be they be wrought from within my own soul, or the interpreted creations of others from somewhere before. All the steam I can muster gets blasted burnt, aggressively though not with what one might call efficiency. Something not unlike a reoccurring suicidal march against a woefully well-equipped opposition, strangely, with the ideas of hope, folly and hopelessness serving as immense motivators. Blaze of glory, etc.

Joy brought to others at the small cost of a feeling of further emptiness within, an addictive trade-off I can never seem to get very far without. Perhaps it is all to make room for all the new that has yet to be. Or, might be, a whittling away of every layer to find what grotesque or beautiful beast resides underneath. The concept of never being able to know for sure is not absent from the constantly occurring mental experiments regularly conducted.

And yet, I still refuse submission. It is of the utmost importance that this not get negative, no matter the prerequisites that enforce the arrival here, again. But neither can it shy away from the ugly and go about feigning cheer. Especially not now, my most dreaded time of year, with all its artificial and commercial conceited pretense. Where the loneliness bellows in belligerent echo, and all the failures arrived again from the pages of personal history, invoking sadness and rage and other pitiful types of emotions, while still somehow inspiring ideas of what fresh future fuck-ups I’ve yet to engage with.

But that all sounds rather negative, doesn’t it? Look at me, all dolled up in hypocritical garb. But, anyway.

I spent an evening, not but two days ago, with a few souls who are held so dearly within my heart. After a lovely dinner, I marched my way up the four flights to the residence of a couple who never ceases to warm my soul and inspire my spirit. I poured out my current state of sentience, as our glasses filled with some of my favorite otherwise poison. We laughed unabashedly at some of the well-timed self-deprecating humor I can’t help but escape. We consumed music of the hearts and minds of others, while knocking out and around a few delightful sonic abominations of our own. All on and around streets that once, and still somehow, feel like home. Sometimes more so than the area I currently hang my hat, as it were. Not that I ever really wear them. Not with hair like this. More of a bandana fellow anyway.

But fir a few moments, here and there, I ventured out to the dying streets to take the air on my own. Unavoidably, I thought of my idiosyncratic past. Of that which is unavoidable and must be admitted. The scariest sort of thinkings, as the time gone is just that, and will never be gotten at again. And the self-confession of the state of affairs historic and yet to be. Ones that even if incorrectly, still certainly get tied into ideas of self-worth. That I’ll never be that young again, no matter how young I might still feel. And that the ideas all stunk rank with cliché, like how the one that got away seems to be certainly happier with the choice made instead of your humble narrator, even with all the wishy-washy idealism cast upon such endeavors. You know, those sorts of things.

Some might see it as a path of self-destruction, but I still have so much to give, even after all that has been cast down into the void. And upon reflection of that which has already been gotten at, and the knowledge I have of the fruitlessness of some of these donations of soul- I don’t suppose I would change much of anything. Partly, as a self-defense mechanism, being that I know that none of it could be changed anyway. But even if the impossible were to be, I would make the same bold steps in the moments made, regardless of the known outcome. It is part of who I am, and even my charity is self-serving, being that I know the sense of pride incurred when selflessness is engaged.

I read, today, that some folks at MIT predict that society is set to collapse around the year two thousand forty. And by read, I mean it was a headline on the cornucopia of click-bait nonsense of the home screen for an internet browser. Didn’t actually read the article.

And while most see such predictions of doom as a deflating action, I cannot help, even foolishly, to see it as something else. As a challenge. As a calling. As my duty to prove those nerds wrong. To show them that despite all the hurt and hate and violence of our species, that I am certain that their foresight be proven folly. Be it by my own effort and existence, if all else proves insufficient. Part of my self-diagnosed messiah complex, for sure.

But something else, as well. Something I know to be true, damn whatever pragmatism might otherwise profess. A difference must be made, by whatever means I have best at my disposal. And convinced, that even if predetermination is the state of being, then that fickle mistress fate is certain to select the poor soul currently clacking away as one of its instigators. And if the future is as in flux I believe it to be, then I have no choice but to fight against the constant tides of doom and depression. Damned be whatever my personal being insists, I hold a heavy obligation to leaving this whole mess better than what was granted upon my arrival upon this plane.  

And I know this because of the people I have seen in and outside of myself. The eyes, adored, and doomed to lose. The embrace of friends when needed. The simple words broadcast from my greatest creation, telling me my existence is as validated as hers, because they were forged in the inexplicable sorts of love that are resolutely undeniable.

I want the best, for sure. But fool though I be, idiot I am not. And while paradise might always be just beyond grasp, I know for certain that better is something we can always at least drag our sullen almost corpses towards.

I may never have so many of the things I wish for, I know this well enough by this point in life. I am prepared  to ride out this life on my own, even if it is one of the greatest fears I am capable of. I know that tomorrow, I will wake up as alone as I did today. And I know, that even with all of that, I will eventually get around to conquering the day. Even if it takes until the very end. Something not dissimilar to how this very day saw itself conducted. There is fight left within me still, and I aim to use it.

So, beware, if opposition is the stance of your choosing.