My Ears have left me for Dead

Losing one of your senses is like removing a lane on the forth road bridge. Everything slows down. Communication and bearing is so dependant on being able to distinguish clearly the trajectory and source of sounds around you. Moving cars for example. My hearing has developed a lowkey humming to offset some hearing loss and I'm not sure why, but it happened -after- I cleaned my ears.

This has led me to thinking that cotton buds are evil, and I must seek alternative allliance. Trouble is, I wish to go to Boots but I'm a little nervous of venturing out in this condition. People might think I'm ignoring them... but this time it'll be unintentional.

It might be fitting to go to the library today? Book reading books reading books, writing stuff. I'd want to visit more often, I always intend on doing so. Life just seems to get in the way at every step. I think that's why people stress the importance of organisation, and routine and pre-planning. While I'm too busy trying to fly, I'm winging everything else. Scraping the tree tops, remembering they're there. Only to find too late, the mountain hovering over my back. Squulnch.

I bought glue sticks. Adhesive tubes for the sticking of inspirational two dimensional portals. A black bound notebook, will become the port and vessel for metaphor. A collection of gateways to the other world. The over(UBER) world. Or should that really be worlds? I wish everything I wrote in there, ended up here and vice versa. Digital and Analogue clashing, a frightful battle waging into the new millennium...

The book is A3, it swamps my words and lets me wade between them. There's a feeling of looseness, like the words though contained, can graze in the comfortable shadows of the closed cover. But what to write about... haha morning pages, written in the afternoon.

Painting

I want to paint something that is worth painting.

Time Damming

It feels like all my time is rushing to meet a gathering force, skuttling to bar the way. Sidestepping usefulness, and piling atop one another in a bid to crush me under the stress and irony of it all. 3rd Year is almost over, but then, I feel so am I.

Everything returns into the light after the 8th of May, which stands perched upon the wall of a lighthouse, itself leaning on the edge of a cliff. I am working, I know this is so. But everything feels hazy, sluggish, and evading purpose, to point, to lead and admire.

I know I want to create, but creating the time to do so, requires my mind's co-operation. And it is playing silly buggers with procastination. Hence this journal entry.

Affirmations.

I'm going to finish these illustrations today.
I'm going to start my essay.
I'm going to publish a book.
I'm going to get a job for over the summer.
I've gone to do all these things...

Testing

1.. 2 .. 3 Testing.