A Note

Five years and nine days ago, I started this blog in order to access my inner child. This inner child, of course, I believed to be a bastard of Lord Byron himself. I thought, through public scrutiny (which, thankfully, dithered down to almost nothing) would force me to expend words, to weave them in webs connecting haphazardly the three and a half sides of my head. Of course time has been witness to my spectacular failure in rousing myself to the inspiration of words. Time has seen me run, stop, stand, stumble and eventually lay prone in my quest for literary discovery.

Life has blurred past me in the last five years; testament to a laziness of will which has delivered me to a rather uninspired present. A present, where I merely soldier on. Living by the day. I have felt the cobwebs of my brain hold back trains of thought; those express locomotives carrying the seeds of poetry. It has been a constant nagging, ungraspably frustrating experience. One, I continue to live even as I type this.

Five years and nine days, I have intermittently forced myself to write, to scribble, to put down words for the sake of words on this blog. I continue to suffer from a lack of patience; from a cowardly impulse to run away from all that is good (for me and the world).

On this unevenly numbered anniversary though, I promise patience. Nothing else. No grandiose plans of writing, no promises of words finding residence on this blog. Merely patience.