wasted hollidays on unwanted fat

to few of my braincells the current affairs of my routines seem a tragic waste of potential.
on vaccation, it would be expected that i would indulge myself on some rather positive energy rather than handling the negative spirits of my soul
i forgot how to write
i dread of what i think
i fill my head with mush
and the platitudes that a certain russian complained are more present on my life than ever before
i have become my own nightmare, without little will to overhrow this habit
the heavy drain of a lazy heart is lingering in my soul, and even love's visit proved futile to insert an optimism in me.
i know very little of what i want
i drag myself like a homeless, but i do not dare to step outside the walls of my home.
The homeless at least has the pleasant fresh air to absorb and feel the sun on his cheek
what am I?
a shadow
a ghost
a puppet of some eerie will?

Nothing seems clear these days
There are no optimism that can save me now
and I turn to the empty publication of this blog, to once again cry out my pains
the few that stumble here, recognize this as the ordinary plea for help
but i have no idea what help I need
it is not money
it is not health
it is just an anti-depression kit
something that allows me to kick some life into me
so much is at stake
I hate myself dearly

and yet, I sell myself to the world as a great extraordinary guy
what load of crap,
One day, I will be more silent, and more modest
and maybe then some once of dignity, humility, and respect for life can run within my vains.

addendum

do I know how to love?
have I taken so many beattings that I have failed to differ between passion, love and just being smitten by someone?
I have fallen prey once again of an image
of a projection, one might say
I even confronted a self-defense mechanism of reality to shake the image down.
the image was so strong that my own mechanism of defense has gone down
I do not know nothing anymore
I feel that I die a little each and everyday

and in the end, I lose the love for myself, making it impossible to enjoy being alive
even in the golden cage, within the walls of the lettuce city, with all the promises that september might bring.
i keep missing the target
no love for me, will ultimately translate in no love for anyone else.

To thy self be true
love thyself if thyself wants to recieve the gift of love

master block

perchance to write.
i dwell so dearly to find the words.
to express a single thought in its most purest form.
instead i find my self without a thread of thought.
all is messy up in the brain.
the ideas float from synapse to synapse, but they are not able too find coordination to reach the outside.
i feel a prisoner within my own head. it is as if i wanted to think but i am thoughtless
you can see from the pointless and futile exercise that appears in front of you now.

to  make matters worse, i feel i am developing a form of dislexia
imagine that i want to refer to the present with word now and i frequently write know
or i want to go to the past of be and instead of saying was i will go to have and say has
oh sweet confusion
i am affraid that i am getting dumber
new ideas are getting harder to form
and express i do not know how
also I am losing focus
I can't read for long periods
and even these are getting shorter
my attention span is closing

i think i will have a shell outlasting my innerself
and a spark of conscience will eventually abandon me

with a masters to complete, how am i going to succeed

Irony of lazy laziness

Hello dear ones!

I am never sure who is following, but it is always good to dream that perhaps behind the screen may lie some interested eyes that savour these tales of the living.
My lack of time to write can only be described as an excuse for my own lazyness
While I write these words now, all the signs in my body tell me to stop.

This is the irony of being lazy. I am too lazy to write about it.
Its boring stuff. I know
All my past few weeks have been like that, an excuse after an other, to keep on living.
I am on automatic.
I do what I am told, what they ask me.
They tell me I am great.
But I press random switches, and they always come in the combination they expect.
I use the same solutions over and over, but they do not tire of the cliche
But I am the big cliche

Friends and love ones tell me not too worry about these things.
I should do the retreat.
My shrink has very little to say
My friends have nothing more to add
My life as it is, as the promise of some many other things.
I need that the good spirit takes over from now on.
The bad ghost has been lingering far too long.
Peter Fallon, please go.
Let the nice Peter Fallon in.

So, the dilemma now, is how to deal with my own self pitty :P
Disgusting