Sometimes in April it rains, because it’s the season. Sometimes in May I wonder why it rains, in June and also in May. Trivialities like these seem to characterize the life that I live. In the face of wars, famine, pain and suffering I seem to falter in terms of my comprehension of things like aspiration and ambition. When the whole world needs inspiration we’re fighting for ambition. Ambition to save the world perhaps?
I have a habit of disconnected ideas. Forgive me. Sometimes I risk potential system overload. Not because I am so stressed or so tired or so unhappy or so ungrateful or so young as to not understand. Simply because so much seems to go on in my mind and I can rarely find a way to express my self. Can i express myself to myself to myself? i think so but on setting it down to paper or putting it at the mercy of any form of language it loses all its meaning. well not all but a lot of meaning especially its ocntext and import. Why then do i bother to write. to attempt this destruction of my ideas...as if they are so wonderful.
Why Sometimes in April, quite frankly only sometimes, because in reality sometimes it doesn’t. And when it doesn’t a lot of this rat race loses its meaning. I can’t find the words to express my ideas but I think the basic import I hope is for me the vicissitudes of life or better put perhaps its very apparent mutability.Nought remains but mutability i should blog on that. later.
Its only sometimes in April and then its in May and sometimes its even not at all. Why am I fighting to attain something that may turn out to be meaningless and then how do I know if to fight for anything when all seems to change so frequently. I tire from this nonsense though I have ,erely exhausted the prologue to my ranting. I have a gift. I do not make sense.
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