Words.

I haven’t written down a great deal about myself during these days, partly because of laziness … but also partly because of the fear of betraying my self-perception. This fear is justified, for one should permit a self-perception to be established definitively in writing only when it can be done with the greatest completeness, with all the incidental consequences, as well as with entire truthfulness. For if this does not happen – and in any event I am not capable of it – then what is written down will, in accordance with its own purpose and with the superior power of the established, replace what has been felt only vaguely in such a way that the real feeling will disappear while the worthlessness of what has been noted down will be recognized too late.

-Franz Kafka.

Blind eyes
open
to touch

Searching for
the “everything-ness”
of everything

Writing less
to conflate
solitude

Misplaced priorities
better realized
than overlooked

The awakened mind
pulls the body along
forcefully

Lifelong desires
rage into flames
once in a while

Quiet night:
pen scratchings.
Clock ticking.