there must be change in the air. it has to be there, waiting to be grasped. when i read something happens. i choose these books, or others recommend them, and i read them, and then i get affected a little. just a little, i notice, and it’s just a small feeling, a trickle of something that i can’t really define, adds to me, makes me want to do something.

i have trouble recalling exactly what it is unless i am forced to do so, and the harder i try and hold on, the more foggy it gets. even clearly defining things, that moment where i think i have put something pretty eloquently into words, it feels hollow. it’s not what i mean. it’s not what i was trying to say. or maybe it was, and maybe i did a little jig with words that got the general gist of the point across. but the deep recesses of my mind can only feel what a book is trying to tell, a movie is trying to portray, a piece of music is hoping to explain.

i ingest it and process it, and i just come away with my brain saying good or bad, with all the multitudes that reside in those feelings, what i don’t want to explain. i don’t have to keep it all to myself, but the explanation doesn’t help with the theme, just the interpretation, and most of the time parsing things doesn’t help make it more clear.

i live in this world of change, and it accepts me. all i can do is try and write it out occasionally, try to write some mystifying thing that i can read later and get that feeling, what i tried to put into words. and when you try to define needs and wants when you don’t really have any, it becomes a calm sea like this, explaining and achieving nothing.

stretching out to infinity, residing with the whole, full of everything you brought, with a lingering feeling that somehow, this could all make sense.