1428: The Arthropod

I haven't written here in a long time. Sorry.
I guess if we were being technical,
We would say 'A lot has happened.'
It doesn't really feel like it, though.

The only appropriate blog topic seems to be

1. you
I mean, I was talking to you a couple entries ago. Has this gotten worse? here is the best way to describe it. Do you remember physics? They told us that speed and velocity were two (technically) different things. One of them is a vector and the other is a scalar? Or in other words, speed is only a number & velocity has a direction coupled with that number. I am sure you remember this. '65 MPH' is a speed, '65 MPH North' is a velocity. I guess it is pretty futile to express how I Really feel about you. Because how I Really feel about you is a velocity. That direction keeps changing. All we really know is, these feelings are traveling at high speed. Whatever I feel about you, I feel it at 205 MPH. Sometimes I am going east and sometime I am going west, or what I mean is, bud, I basically hate you more intensely than I have hated anyone (despite that it seems I really love you).

'love you'
such ambiguous amoebas of words.

No, I don't think I 'love you' as per the definition of . . . I don't know. Madison Avenue? or Tinseltown. I'll tell you why not. Don't get all excited now, you idiot. The point is, minds go too fast and in a few months they have already changed and become unrecognizable. I am actually surprisingly willing to say that I am 'in love' with a mind I once knew, only is that your mind now? Well of course not, you idiot. This should be gone by now. This is not a song that will ever have its last note, unless I write it myself. There is no way to pick up these horrible puzzle pieces. when will this stop? I am reminded of the famous line in history

'Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest'

Except that you are not a priest. Substitute the word 'person.' Mind, friend. Enemy. Woman. This is my fault, isn't it. When I was eighteen, I basically wrote myself a dramatic adventure in iambic pentameter (that is, came up with a story to put the final chapter on a story that I needed to end). You know what the problem is? I am not really like that any longer. I don't think I have the willingness to observe all my surroundings, to write it all down, analyze it, philosophize about it, maybe I was like that once but now the energy is all gone. And yet do you not think, Stinky, that I need to put a final chapter on this tornado?

Yes. It sounds easily done. a sentence I tell myself every day?
only it is harder than that. Well, dum-dum. That is really all I care to say.
Maybe I will get back into the blogging swing.