Day Six of my Imprisonment:
Time seems to move so slowly here. And with the days lasting so long, I, regrettably, bear more thoughts than ever. This hurricane of words and images does nothing else but plunge excitedly into the darkest trenches of my mind. There, the details, cascades of situations and currents of emotions ram into each other with their brute-forcing maneuvers and all-too-tiresome feints.
Quite frankly, the whole whirlpool urges me to scream, but I fear that is all the breath I have remaining.
Instead, an alternative.
Suffering cognizance and idyllic musings are not the only accompaniment of the mentality time. Coherent organization eventually acts as nothing less than some glorious savior, pattering above all the surface tension, before finally sauntering down as it pleases.
Perhaps it is time to stop being so afraid of deep water. These things that threaten to drown me, I already know.
I am going to die.
I am not the first.
Organization is such a terrible, woeful thing. And only because it is nothing more than a tool used to confront the subliminal. Because, the transcription of those black contemplations pave the way to face yourself, and that is so much worse.
Men weren't meant to be real with others, least of all themselves. To be intimately aware of one's own limitations, one's weaknesses and frailties, anxieties and failures, is to be god.
Which I am everything but. And foremost, I respect these faults enough to know as little about them as I possibly can. Which is why I cannot bring myself to elaborate on the aforementioned points just yet. Already penning such beckons a crushing nostalgia for the shadowed crevices from which the bits were formerly fished. I suddenly dearly miss the deeps.