Satyre <$BlogRSDUrl$>

Sunday, February 08, 2004

State of Mind

There is just a void within. It asks very little. It can give nothing. Except maybe a smile. Trying to get myself together so as to think of the future, all I draw is a blank. And therefore there is no hope. Meaningless existence. Scant desire. And therefore little despair as well. The past is a gradually misting non-happening.

All that this asks for is a quiet sensitivity. And then maybe some non-vocal sensibility. However, these seem to be pipe-dreams much like all others.

Its a constant make and break of the self.


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