Chrisonomicon

Tuesday, February 4, 2003

Days like this bring clarity with the cold, the sun greeting me without its usually warm hands and the wind sleeping behind the mountains, fists curled loosely by its face. Despite clear skies and brisk winter air, all I can do is look down as my steps fall between sporadic patches of snow and raise clouds of dust from the parched ground, for sometimes clarity only makes you aware of other problems and in the end you’re left again in the blizzards of obscurity.

(Although I write to save bits and random scraps from my life, I have noticed this site turning into more of an outlet for my ego. It’s making me rather sick of myself, sick of listening to myself talk, sick of hearing the words typed and retyped in my head until they reach a raw intensity that blazes out of my fingers and onto the page and the writing doesn’t stop there. Ideas sear themselves in circular patterns on the walls of my mind, spiraling, repeating until I release them, only then given relief in the form of another smoldering, echoing whisper. )

Sometimes, I ask myself how problems would change when ego is removed from the picture.