Life is being a bitch right now. It is teasing me with wit. It is allowing me a silver tongue. But it is hindering my physical being from feeling the reward or gains from such skills.

The seasons change, the fall scents burn in glass next to me, the wind blows through my railroad apartment, room to room, allowing it to stay fresh. The crisp voices of celtic instruments pearce the crisp air. But I sit stagnant, in mind.

The irony of a stagnant mind, with wit in spurts like that of a man’s orgasm, extremely exciting but often short lived and tiring afterwards. Alas, these feelings have given me back my “brain to finger” ability to spew my stream of consciousness again. Why can’t my writing do what it does for others. Why can’t it answer me, make me clear? It is only a reflection for me in years to come. I cannot send an email of links, I cannot read a diatribe of moments, I can only spew my own day, unable to understand it tomorrow. Do you have to feel stuck or lost to truly write? Can you only truly express if you see a world that perhaps is a little too clear, but you are stuck in the fog? I can see you, I can feel you, but I don’t think I can allow myself to feel and see me. Or maybe I just see, but the feels, oh those feels, they fuck me, and they fuck me hard.

I am a physical person who needs sunlight to look at creases in lips and curvatures of eyes to what’s being said. The problem is, I see those happy moments, and I, being impatient, do not know how to properly step to the next day. I pace and grow restless. I want that want on both ends, but enough of a chase where you don’t overstay the kind gesture to watch the puppydog love on weekends. I want there to be a yearn, but a yearn to learn more, not love more. I have enough love for those who I will give it to eventually. I am in no rush to love, I am however in a fast sprint to finding out how to give it, without feeling cheated. I want there to be an inquisition for knowledge.

I did realize some interesting shit yesterday about where I am at. I am a layered mother fucker and I honestly don’t know what layer is going to show when at the moment. I could be romantic, or introverted, outgoing, or horny. It’s weird too because usually I control my personality more but it seems life is at one of those autumn like changes again and I don’t actually know which onion peel is gonna fuck with me on a given day. I do know however by chance run into those who seem open to that and I think that momentarily freaks me out. I think anyone who can see me even if it was just that days me freaks me out. It is what I with all my body, absolutely will dive head over heals to finally get, but whenever I see it in the slightest it feels like a knife to the anxiety, subconscious, self conscious gut. Not all the time but at first. It takes away control. Which while not consciously wanting it all, subconsciously letting go is a vulnerable sense. I know when the first kiss is right, when the timing is proper, but right now my logic and action are two different beings. They literally are far enough away to have a proper duel. Even then, I find people who are OK with that as well. So what does it do? Makes me, already floating in space only attached to George Clooney’s shitty performance, feel very alone, even though all other signs point to a hand to hold other than his untethered one.

I on the same note realize not everyone likes the open first date. They prefer fast and quick. A dinner is often too much. And a drink is often too selfish. I don’t blame them. I can see the benefits of both. But this autumn day allowed for the perfect cinematic backdrop. Yet still, brain, you wanted more? You still want more? What the hell else do you want? A goddamn notarized letter of acceptance? Wasn’t the smile after a kiss enough? Wasn’t the perk up in the corner of her eyes enough when you met her in a glance?

Autumn changes and so do I. Call it a midlife crisis or a month of fucked momentum,. Oddly, I am extremely clear on my my passions, my drive, and I know my love. Eventually when I make those combine as I did once before, the clouds of fog will hopefully clear a bit. I do feel as though I may need a bit of assistance here now at this moment. I do feel as though I am more needy than I normally am, or maybe the feeling of need is compounded by my own need for myself. The need to hear a compliment about my passions and know you I can make it work versus being dumbfounded by the idea that it means very little than a boasted ego. This isn’t above love, this is about passion, ambition, drive, callings. I have accomplished many missions, yet I still yearn to explore past the universe’s edges. To that of compliments over calamity, I found a great comfort and effort given to me, I had not seen in a long time.

It will become clear eventually. Today, tomorrow, a year. I don’t care really as long as I don’t waste each day in a falsity of who I am today. So please forgive me for breaking the three text limit rule, please forgive me for not having my shit 100% together, forgive me for having multiple personality disorder on any given day at the moment. Because I promise, if in time, what it is, grows.. well eventually I will know the answer to the rubix cube in my brain, I will get the colors lined up. It will look like a Jackson Pollock. But it will make sense to me and because we will understand regardless of good bad ugly it will be beautiful to both. And that is where I will give love. Not today, not tomorrow, but in time. Time filled with that search for a soul, mine, yours, those around, and the ones past.

But like I say and say again, I know nothing of you, I am not the puppy attached to your hip, I am only an impatient boy, yelling, Mom.. mommy. momma.. Mom! Just to get the residual approval of a “Hello”.

An analysis of everything yet nothing at all.