I have nothing to say and no reason to type. I'm starved for inspiration and I keep looking for that big meal up ahead. Maybe I order in or rummage the old cupboard. I feel like there will be this day of enlightenment where I will have enough of being this lurching machine scratching at every root and pulling up every rock to discover whats underneath. I put myself in my home plot but secretly I want to return to the arms of the rust monster. I like the way it peels my layers away exposing me, misfired wires and open gears. It gnaws on my joints and pulls at my wires.
It seems that I wish myself to not be comfortable ever. The comforts of friends and family. The comforts of home. I don't want it. I suppose I want to start my own comfort zone. One where I make the rules, I make the decisions or have a say in them. I am making steps in freeing myself of the burdens I have placed some years ago. I hope in the matter of months I can at least deal with the physical manifestations of my insecurities. My mind on the other hand is a different story all together. This I feel will take some amount of deprogramming. I must be willful I must be strong.
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