The Guise of Defeat

"There is no truth. There is only perception."
 -Gustave Flaubert

A smattering of incoherent ideas and ramblings this time.

Take a moment. 

Massage your temples.

Inhale.

Sort through the garbage in your head. Rationalize what is real and what is perceived as such. The sense of defeat is only "defeat" if I allow it to be. Failure is only failure if we.. if I stop trying.

Exhale.

Mornings like these are rough. Having a crazy imagination on these days is an absolute curse. Running rampant and wild, It tears me down with the worst possible ideas and notions. Focus on just a color. Place all your thoughts so intensely on a color. Simple. Today I choose purple. The crazy scrawling ideas and sounds in my head are overwhelming; so I imagine myself taking a paint roller and slathering these messy walls with a deep purple. 

I can't let anything else matter. I just intensely focus on the movie of an imaginary me, painting. This helps "cover up" the chaotic logic and sloppy thinking that persists on the walls of my mind.

I still want to reach out to my best friend for help, but I need to figure out how to paint on my own. I'm getting better at it, but it's always easier with two people. I'm still not entirely surewhy I have to learn to paint alone. Somethings in life are a thousand times easier with an extra set of hands.

Inhale.  

It's an interesting notion. Things are never just black and white. One man's trash.. One man's defeat... Is it just a hurdle? Should I give up? Is it a lost cause? I feel like It should be classified as something but I can't stop myself from waking up every morning and trying again and again. I'm getting tired of it.

Like the coast repeatedly crashed by an unrelenting barrage of waves. I continue to erode and wear away.

Exhale.

I've been reading things I normally wouldn't read lately. Actually; I've gotten away from reading as a pastime in general the last decade. To be honest, initially, part of this effort was to win over a certain brilliant girl's affection. It's actually served as a method to really expand how I think and what I think about. Even though it takes a lot of concentration (at least for me; at least starting again) to read someone like Flaubert (as an example) it pays dividends in the end because the words and ideas are beautiful. These thoughts of other human beings are inspiring and provoking. Other human beings wrote these words- not demigods, not titans. Flawed human beings birthed this art. Squirming, squishy, alive things much like me and you.

I'm not just about spouting high-level gobbledygook, but it's enlightening to realize that there is true brilliance out there. Brilliance from other people; past, present, and future.