River of Thought

My stream of thought is immense. It’s a vast flowing river. It has many tributaries, bringing with them knowledge from the Far Reaches. It is slow moving, but ever changing. It meanders to and fro, always searching for new sources, always threatening to burst its banks. My river of thought is warm and inviting, clear and refreshing. You can frolic at the water’s edge, or let yourself drift away on its gentle current and be whisked away to witness wonders beyond the scope of your Mind's Eye.

My river of thought is deep, its true depth as yet unrevealed. It is a seemingly endless torrent of contemplation, analysis, and introspection. Most dare not venture far from the surface, for the warmth and clarity that are at first so inviting soon fade to blackness and cold that pervade the soul. My river of thought is deep, much deeper than it might seem at first glance, and the depths are not to be plumbed without due care. There are things in the deep that are best left undisturbed.

Many streams are shallow. They may move quickly, but they don’t possess any significant depth. Many of these are the recipients of few tributaries, and meander very little. As a result, these streams of thought carry with them precious little nutrients. They don’t have the capacity to sustain an abundance of life. Most peter out in lakes or small ponds, never contributing to much more than the local tadpole population. Some are so lacking in substance that they run dry when things heat up, and many are so polluted and befouled by the course they take that they spread only evil thought, contaminating everything in their midst.

The final destination for my river of thought is unclear thus far. It could dry up like so many others, but I do not think this is its fate. Its thirst for knowledge is too great, and its sources too substantial for such an insignificant end. More likely it will soldier on, surviving drought and hardship, and eventually achieve that which all streams are meant to achieve; the Holy Grail of streams of thought, the Sea of Enlightenment.

Bare Knuckles

I get excited a lot. I dive right into things and do them whole assed, as if they were the very things I was meant to do. But then I get bored. Once I’ve done it a little I want to do a new thing. I need a new love, a new fancy, anything else to pique my interest. I throw it away (insert apology to every ex-girlfriend here), but it’s not because I don’t like it anymore. It’s because I love it. A long time ago, perhaps in a dream, I decided that I don’t deserve happiness, so I actively seek the things that make me happiest, and cut them out of my life. I’m a psychopath. I torture my victim. I promise him escape and then take it away. I serve him a feast, and spit in it right before his eyes. I love my captor. I trust him. I’ll do anything he asks, even though I know he hates me beyond reckoning. I’m the venomous snake who slithers through a room full of mice, jubilant that he’ll never have to hunt again, right before he bites his own tail. I’m the most self destructive person I know.

I have a new motto that I’m really excited about. It goes; “Never get excited about anything because you know you’ll only let yourself down.” I’m really going to try to stick by this one, because it’s the only motto that has ever rung so true. I do that. I get excited about lots of shit, and I always quit. I don’t do all of my favorite things; read, write, play drums, watch/play soccer. My life is like a steeplechase, except that every obstacle is a mirror that punches me in the face and tells me it hates me, and I’m always in last place. It’s a bare knuckle bout against my shadow that I have no intention of winning. I’m just waiting for myself to tap out.