Late-Night

I haven't written in stream-of-consciousness for a while, so I made a point to. This was the result... any guesses as to what I've been reading?


***


Precipitously jump down the last four steps of the adjacent stairway, free falling for what seems like minutes, lasting only seconds, landing on the ground with a bolt; a free form exposition of energy gone awry, abandonment, full-scale flight from a paroxysm of things best described as ineluctably jejune, if only by the scantily clad intellectuals; wearing their posh little hats. But what do they know of satisfying the soul? Challenge them to race beyond themselves, flying down the footbridge, arms flung abreast in an emphatic embrace, wind buffeting at the extremities, and ask them if they've ever felt that before. Vicariously of course, but really? Give them facility to see the sinecure of their currently espoused lives - rather a mental Gastarbeiter than a permanently contributing member of active society. Transcendentalize if you must. Metamorphose - you know the phrasing; exacerbate the fact that living a sedentary existence gives plenty of time to imbue the mind with the thoughts of others, but what of those thoughts if they're left to ferment without ever giving one the chance to drink the spirits of our souls. Sure the accumulation of knowledge is instrumental to the development of our own personal faculties, but without the concerted effort to enact that knowledge, it becomes little more than hoarding, the stuffing away of brilliance in the hope that it accrues interest. Ironically enough, the only payoff is posthumous - when someone stumbles across the journaled account of all these "useless" words and can't breathe after seeing what it contains. Mountainous volumes of genuine passion - because that's all that can ever be asked of anyone; that they uninhibitedly dedicate themselves to a passionate existence, in whatever circumstances that may entail - left to rot because some self-conscious mind lacked the foresight to see itself. Paling in comparison never sounded so morbid - the only paleness is that of the lifeless figure which used to embody these leaves, yet it didn't have to end that way. Living in the moment, those moments of vision become magnetic semi-conductors, speeding us along at breakneck speeds, but only if we keep jumping to them, holding out our hands in repeatedly desperate attempts to seize one more shred of that ever elusive Genius.

Inches away from the well of the infinitely magnanimous....