As carried on a breeze the writer clambers unsteadily into his old mountain sleigh, pondering his relevance dubious and place in the world, so truth in mortuaries fill; one could forgive a man for curious philosophy, especially when little in his arsenal is left but an obituary practiced to learn, and know forwhy to understand it.
An artful neglect leaves he in leagues detached, thinking not on all old woe, for necessity’s leg hath him beyond such tarnished logic of disintegrated thought. Hence he comes however to riddles share, as soft spoken vocabulary misses its mark, to say that in days long these, where false entertainment in computer games are not, life seems both limited and suspended, too canny in mind to tongue my roof of anxieties, yet incapably disciplined to suggest a becalmed behavior stay.
Reading My Future In Tarot Cards
Some days back when the negative and jasper were with me, and with a nimble night drinking, our tarots were read. Mine, like many curious convictions unveiled, made sense. Received by a hanging man and other cards’ demeanor, it painted an issue narrating an uncertainly threaded three months, of life suspended, a steely mental grope with its pattern of strain causing thoughtless holes in my determination.
Much has changed since past struggles brought me here, but basic principles remain the same. So this is the root of suspension, of my limited behavior, and of why my presence has been stripped to its barest fundamentals.
The Imposition Of Financial Limitations
As pointlessly gripping this passage was, and as dependable the tarots painted me as, there is some significance to why the writer meads, which basically was to identify the limitations and suspension present in my life.
Money greets me tomorrow, which already strictly adheres to a budget. My most outstanding current bills are a labored credit card and my telephone bill, which moved mum to buy a personal mobile phone today, since my brother was admitted to a mental hospital and mum in her nuisance ways wants to more or less interfere.
Months ago my priority over debts allowed me some luxuries purchased, but now its long line forges a short thread, as collectors and principle hang over my head. I wanted to have fun, buy clothes, a more respectable pair of shoes and to buy a phone amongst other things, but it seems, like said, my life by means financial is limited at the moment. So as duty on my bills fluctuate, so doth suspension too.
Two More Weeks Of Work For The Dole
Anyway, tomorrow is another day to catch up at work, with only its two weeks left before a cavity new presents itself. Being employed must my parting method be from such dogged two curs, to pay my debts and not be so limited in spending. Thus, so desired is a sense of accomplishment away from these memoirs, a way to redeem my practical faith and confidence therein.
I never wish to however die in these memoirs, as they are my blood, my ancient history. So with days as revenue barren, whistling no resource until a sense of its duty carries me through those doors, we on that note part, bearing short written terms, yet with my rustled mind at ease now.
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.
