_____Posted: November 18, 2008
My day today consisted of an inexplicable urge to write haiku.
I’ve gone the past few days feeling oddly empty, as if something was missing from the deeper recesses of my mind. It was construed as me being a grump by an old friend. The truth is, and it is the truth, I haven’t had any sort of mind-boggling, earth-shattering thoughts lately, nothing that can be mulled over, that can be elaborated on, pontificated to the point where re-reading it after writing just makes it make less sense, if that makes any sense.
I’ve been a narcoleptic insomniac, sleeping.
I’ve been listening more, attuning myself to my surroundings and the people within.
I’ve pretty much neglected any sort of real responsibility.
Oddly, I’m alright with that; and I have no idea why. This point of time I have found myself in has been described as one of the most pivotal times of my life, and this is when I choose to retreat to a loneliness-tinged cocoon. It won’t be long ’til I’m a full on misanthrope.
So my earth-shattering thoughts have been reduced to earth-tremoring, that can be explained in no more than 140 characters, or perhaps, 17 syllables, arranged in a pattern of 5-7-5.