MessyMissy's Place Yet another attempt at sanity
Browsing all posts in: My bad writing

Creation

September 10

Slowly moving through the rhythm of sound.  That sliding, pounding that loops in my head. Then the sharp pain as I focus to much.  It splits my head wide, a cleaver like instance and then it’s gone. I lean back my head in the chair thinking that might help, but all it does is make me remember the other pain in my neck.  Life’s little lessons about a sedentary job.  I should get up and move but the code is flowing from my mind, in a swirling mass.  If I stop now it’ll be gone, like a wispy stream of fog in the morning sun, and the end will be that much further away. There is a magical space in my mind that opens up and spills forth a litany of statements.  That creating, magical space where there is an instant translator from human to machine.  It’s an unconscious slip into that space, never conscious. Almost dream like, sometimes it seems to be a total take over.  The flow from the brain, to the hands, to the screen. Flowing and twisting the syntax.  Not even caring that I don’t usually know how to type.  It seems to have embedded that ability in itself not relying on my body’s so called skill.

There is in clean code a simplicity, a beauty.  An almost erotic excitement in the creation. Pushing further towards what can be done, never mind if it should or shouldn’t be, just that it might be.  It serves a purpose that creation.  It proves to ones self that the spark hasn’t died in some form that’s been created over and over and over, or some other mundane thing.  These minor miracles are meat to help people, the complex creation an ode to the singular thought that perhaps if this person were to posses the ability to do this one thing easier, better, faster, then perhaps then they too might feel the joy of the day.  There is always that hope.

Should it be otherwise, then it begins.  The dark slid to the bottom of the creative ramp.  The feelings of despair, uselessness.  Ugly feelings and thoughts into a infinite loop of disgust and unhappiness. Those points at which there is a block whether mental or otherwise, which cause you to dry up.  The external triggers become dulled with time, thoughtlessness and carelessness of external events may slice open the early wounds and send down torrents of self doubt and leave the raw pain of inadequacy and disaffection.

The brilliance of self creation and the darkness of self destruction.

brain pain

August 12

my brain is mushy

coherent thought escapes me

pain behind my eyes

struggle on

May 19

slowly closing
the night’s sweet embrace slipping away
ever clawing reality fighting for life
drown it in the oblivion
make it sleep, never to wake

spiral

February 20

slowly tumbling thoughts
round and round, stop they will not
struggle in my head

my brain is pudding

January 13

sticky sweet gooey
not an edible canape
fog over tv snow

blah

January 8

sleeping restless night

cold snowy morning fun time

innocuous work

something I just found again

December 24

Silence enters
Magic unfurling
Glittering pale
What matters surrounds them
What casts them out
They care not for the utterances of others
Their peace
Their solace
Within them
The magic surrounds them
Filling the with life’s light
Movement no longer a torment
They come together
Flesh to flesh
Slowly building passion
What more to want
What more to desire
Everything exists in what they have

sleep eluding…

November 12

fleeting glimpse of my eyelids

sinking off to oblivion

another thought

eyes open, staring

stillness and rest surround me yet are lost.

slow the ticking thoughts

November 11

moving
shaping
living

is it all about being

hate
anger
despair

remind me why I care

overwhelmed
exhausted
numb

To all my vices I succumb

huh

November 5

moving slowly, silk hair flowing over skin

luxurious feelings

power, control, fulfillment

how they play in the mind

revealing wants, desires

rolling your tongue to speak

can i hear myself from this lofty perch

i fear myself lost at times

i find myself others

where does it all come from

will it stop

So strange this short fleeting life