Nostalgia is my favorite drug.
It’s funny how time and experience transforms us. I used to be a damn good writer. Now I barely pass for a native English speaker. I used to keep this document going on my computer called “Dailies”. The 250ish words a day that freed my soul from the melodrama and confusion of late adolescence. It’s incredible now when I look back at these “Dailies” – I have hundreds of pages of them – and how eloquent I was about my confusion or my appreciation of my youth or even my juvenile angst. I look at my life and my thoughts now and think they are infinitly more simple and probably far more exciting and yet I can barely find the words to express them most of the time…Pity.
Nevertheless, in dedication to my lost eloquence and the sheer passing of time…a worthwhile excerpt (below) and a link to the inexhaustible but unfortunately hopeless side-ambition of my life, Luc Poignet.
08.08.05
There is this point in life when you realize it’s a waste to not enjoy it. There is this fleeting moment during which you feel with every square centimeter of your body, every ounce of your soul, the passing time. Every little hair on your arm stands up and bows down like the ever-ending moment is an ephemeral God gracing it with presence but punishing it with impermanence. Life is cherished in the moments that take your breath away. You lose your breath and you don’t ever want to breathe again. Every breathe you take after that one gulp of blissful reality leaves you longing to reclaim the exhalations of the past, the tastes of then, the is that’s constantly suffocated by was.
