The Disease That Quarrels My Thoughts
Speaking now before my evident chronology, this disease that has quarreled my thoughts and creativity is starting to be bitten. Words are becoming more freely written. I do not loathe to see this screen and novelty is becoming of my ideas, which not only surface as poetry but as literature, movie ideas, philosophy and science.
This melee I am winning against such an attack to my mind, and when it is won, I will cleanse this ravaged literature of mine.
This month had only seen four celebrated Sonnets. Them I am too weary to scrutinize, but I foresee that next month will not be a mutiny of my poetical flair but a complacency.
Hoping On The Death Of Obscurity
As we dawn upon the end of this month, I hope that my endeavor through this will be like a trip through the piping systems of space and time.
Each successive day of March I have been dying gradually, a withering upon myself. Now it is time to put to death the vain periodicals of detestable life, it is time to live up to something. Let this be the last passage of the month, the night and a conclusion of a decaying force, obscurity.
The Criminal And The Victim Play Cards
Today I did nothing since waking up at 2pm. Apart from thinking about my universal idea, watching television and having something to eat, I did nothing.
Like I noted, Simon came over. I kept him here for a couple of minutes but he soon left with my cards to play at ‘Subway’ with Keith and Shawn.
As I have written down a line for a sonnet, I shall speak here of Shawn when I say “Pity the fool that fear durst waive his crime”.
Shawn has not given up his crime to Simon by spending so much time around, him but I think him the fool for spending so much wanton time around him.
The criminal and the victim are unaware of each other, but aware of each other. Who will be the fool that will give up Shawn’s criminal secret because of fear, fear of being found out, or of anxiety? If it was anyone, I feel Keith would be the culprit.
Predicting Change In The New Month
Now as my day comes to an end I have none more to say, my job is done. This month has not ended. It has died, and I will not be taking any embers from Summer nor from this month. Nothing will be carried over.
New pities will be made, new woes, new challenges in this month to come. What will I push for I do not know. What will I call this upcoming month I am not sure of. Right now words do not come to mind as I have no clue as to how next month will fathom for me.
Right now I am in the new month and in these early hours it feels no different. However, I do predict change. I will not say that I foresee it but the vibe is there. Maybe this change with Lyssa and not talking to her will change my view of life and how I live it. Maybe I will gain confidence and finally start talking to women. But first I have to get out there to do it and I need my friends for that, sorry, acquaintances.
Jewell’s birthday is also in two days from this moment forth. Being a Friday I wonder if she will be at Chevy’s. Of a meeting I did brush upon with my Diary a month or two back, but I’m not sure that I’ll even be doing anything for this Friday night.
I really want things to change. I want things to turn around for me.
Wishfully I want to believe that poetry will find its way back into my heart, despite the charring scorn that has been ongoing for so long. Let this beshrew be cast down, let me find my word, let poetry be my whole again.
Diary Of A Mad Chaos is a daily diary written from March 1996 until today, of which individual books and book series have been created, namely “The Lost Years” an exploration of young, entwined love, the “Wubao In China (猎艳奇缘)” book series which provides an extensive comparative analysis of the cultural differences between Eastern and Western societies, and the book titled “Foreigner (华人)” an exploration of race relations in Australia.
