I am struggling. I want to create something of beauty but am not giving myself the time to. I rush from one place to the next then back to the other without ever getting any satisfaction from any of it. I drink too much coffee. It makes me nervous. I come home from work and drink beer, which makes me lethargic. I awake from a night of restless sleep and drink more coffee. This goes on and on without visible end. I am trapped in a T.S. Eliot poem.
The flower above was once more than what remains here. One glance at it and it can be sensed. It is on its way out. All beauty is loss. It has given off its best richness, the signs of decay have begun to show. Time is a trap, the ultimate paradox. The more we gain the less we have.
I sit and write this on a short break from work; the need to escape, to get outside my responsibilities, even for a moment, to have some place of solace, away from the maddened world. To try and make some sense out of what I have become. One glance and it can be sensed.
