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... where my muse goes for 2023 ... |
| ... here is where my muse goes for 2023 ... |
| These days, I find myself writing in almost any location with any tools, though my preference lies with a pen and paper. Writing in unfamiliar territory has always been a source of trepidation for me. There are myriad reasons, but the majority of them are intertwined with my inherent indolence. For me, the simplicity of a pen and paper suffices to transcribe my thoughts. The act of putting them down requires no additional steps or tools; there is no need for this or that, or the upgrading of one for the other. The burden of accommodating extraneous items is too cumbersome for me. With a pen in hand, a blank sheet of paper, and a mind brimming with words and imagination, one can unleash a torrent of unfettered expression. Writing is a solitary pursuit that requires no assistance from others. I find that an excess of tools can often impede my progress. Writing, for me, is a means of exploring the unknown depths of the human soul. It is a way to delve into the complexities of the human experience and uncover the hidden truths that lie beneath the surface. To alter or manipulate the words of another is to rob them of their unique voice and perspective and to diminish the power and beauty of their work. As a writer, I believe that our words are sacred and that they have the power to transform the world around us. If the tools were necessary, I would not hesitate to acquire them. Beyond that, they are simply a nuisance, hovering around me incessantly. Writing, for me, is a pure and simple expression of my being. It flows naturally, like the thoughts that arise within me and take shape as words on the page. |
| I possess the ability to inscribe nearly anything with the aid of any object, and my mind wandered to the concept of tomato ketchup. They possess an inherent versatility that seamlessly complements any dish I endeavour to prepare. To be perfectly candid, I must confess that I would caution anyone who dares partake of my culinary creations to do so at their own peril. However, it never fails to amaze me how often my guests, long before they have even sampled a morsel of my cooking, inquire, "Pray tell, where might I find the ketchup?" And on occasion, it would manifest as, "As a culinary artist, how come you do not possess any ketchup?" or "Which kitchen in the world doesn't have ketchup?" It's a question that has been on my mind for quite some time. The ubiquitous condiment seems to have infiltrated every corner of the globe, from the bustling streets of Tokyo to the quiet countryside of Norway. And yet, despite its popularity, I can't help but wonder if there's something more to this crimson sauce than meets the eye. Perhaps it holds some deeper meaning, some hidden significance that we have yet to uncover. They don't dislike the flavour of my food, yet it is ridiculous to assume such things before even tasting it. As a writer, I find that I require certain condiments, such as ketchup, to add flavour and depth to my prose and musings. It's akin to preemptively informing them, without the need for inquiry, "Behold, the ketchup." "Oh, OK!" Now, let us proceed and savour the remainder. |
| Sometimes in life, there is no rational justification for taking a particular action. I gazed upon my diminutive feet as they nestled into a pair of oversized shoes. I did it without any particular reason. Stepping into his shoes, I found myself pondering how I would traverse the path he had taken. The shoes were disproportionately large for my feet, yet I attempted to walk in them nonetheless. I took a few steps in its midst, only to stumble and collapse onto the earth. I found myself once more, dusted off my knees, and attempted to stride forward in those cumbersome shoes time and time again. Before I realised it, he approached me and hoisted me by my armpits with his sizable palms, and I sensed as though I was soaring higher and higher, far above the ground. I gazed up at him, and he whispered to me, "Fear not, my son." "Someday, you shall tread upon your own path." Today, I find myself here to take a stroll, yearning for his presence once more to accompany me on this walk. |
| Sometimes, my eyes deceive me, and the world becomes a hazy, indistinguishable blur. It was there. I cannot escape the feeling that it is present, lingering just beyond my reach. An intangible force that eludes my grasp, yet I sense its existence with every fibre of my being. It is there, always there, a constant presence in my life that I cannot ignore or deny. I pondered the situation for a moment, considering the various outcomes that could arise from intervening. Ultimately, I decided it would be best to simply leave it be. I averted my gaze, and there it materialised before my eyes. In the shadows, I waited for myself to become myself. I found myself sandwiched between those words. Lost in my own world, I slowly came back to life once more. I was myself. I found myself in that present moment. |
| I found myself standing in a dimly lit hallway, surrounded by towering bookshelves that stretched endlessly before me. Each one was filled to the brim with books, their spines neatly aligned and waiting to be explored. Above me, the towering structures stretched towards infinity, piercing the boundless expanse of the night sky. A ceilingless void, adorned with a myriad of twinkling lights, which I can only surmise to be the distant stars. The brightness of their radiance allowed me to perceive the world that enveloped me. The towering bookshelves stood erect, forming a narrow passageway that allowed for a solitary figure to wander through. To my left and right, the shelves stretched endlessly, row upon row, as far as my eyes could perceive. I found myself in a place unknown, with no recollection of how I arrived. Suddenly, a small girl materialised before me, emerging from the labyrinth of bookshelves. She clutched a voluminous tome, nearly as large as her diminutive frame. She hummed a melody and sang to herself, repeating the phrase "I possess an excess of books" like a faulty vinyl record spinning for an audience of one. She gave me a warm smile and then swiftly darted towards me, passing right through my body. I did not turn around to witness her departure, for I deemed it unnecessary to comprehend. A distance of several shelves separated me from an elderly gentleman. He deftly balanced a stack of books in his left hand, tossing them one by one onto the already overflowing shelves. I must confess that I am baffled as to how he was able to find the necessary space to seamlessly integrate those books amidst the already brimming volumes on the shelves. I found myself bewildered by his actions. Each instance a tome entered his possession, he would exclaim with fervour to his inner self, "Yes!" He emitted a sense of contentment with his current activity. Neither the young girl nor the elderly gentleman appeared to be disturbed by my existence in this space. I summoned the necessary fortitude to turn around and ascertain the whereabouts of the young girl. I searched high and low, but she remained elusive, like a fleeting dream that disappears upon waking. The portal from which I arrived has vanished without a trace. As I gazed ahead, an endless expanse of bookshelves stretched out before me, each one brimming with volumes upon volumes of written words. I found myself curiously detached from the events unfolding around me. It is only natural to feel a certain sense of expectation in a place like this. It is simply what it is. I sauntered towards the closest bookcase and delicately extracted a tome. Like a ritualistic act, I opened the book and turned to its initial page, my eyes scanning the very first sentence. It is said that we all mature with time. I gave it a smile and thought, "We don’t grow up. Our perspectives only change as we navigate through the labyrinth of life." We simply continue to age. I shut the tome and returned it to its original resting place. I turned my head to the left and then to the right, examining my surroundings. The path I walked was flanked by an infinite number of books, arranged neatly on shelves that seemed to stretch on forever. For me, the journey ahead stretches out like an endless road, travelling through the unknown. And yet, it is not the destination that calls to me, but the journey itself. I placed my foot forward, and from that moment onward, until this very instant. |
| The world was a strange and mysterious place, full of unexpected twists and turns. I found myself lost in its vastness, searching for meaning in the chaos. But no matter how hard I tried, the answers always seemed just out of reach. It was as if the universe was playing a game with me, teasing me with glimpses of truth before snatching them away again. And yet, despite it all, I couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder and awe at the sheer complexity of it all. For better or for worse, this was the world I had been born into, and I was determined to make the most of it. It was a thought that held no particular weight, yet it echoed with the same resonance as all my other musings. A thought, no matter how fleeting, holds significance and deserves proper recognition. I find solace in the fact that my mind is functioning well enough to put my thoughts into words. |
| I stepped into the living room of our house and saw my mother seated there, staring at the still image on the screen of the television box we had. She has the ability to shock me on a regular basis. It was really late, and I needed to put in some more hours in order to finish everything for tonight. They are not the same as the ones that were spotted the prior week. I got up and walked over to the television, where I turned it off. "It's getting late in the night. Permit me to assist you in getting ready for bed." I picked her up from where she was sitting on the two-seat sofa and carried her to the top of the stairs leading to her bedroom. Put her down and gently pull her in so that she is comfortable. She did not utter a single word the entire time. Even before this, she had always engaged in that behaviour. She is as mute as a tombstone and shows no signs of life. From the time I was a child growing up with her until the present day, she has never shown any warmth or interest in me. I hoped she would. "Good night." And I departed, leaving her to lie in peace. |
| The day seems sunny and bright. Not a cloud in sight. Here's everything I write; it just seems right. |
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