watching my hands move in the water, the fireflies in the yard at twilight making it my personal fairyland, the way i feel after i see intense struggle for things that make idealistic sense, the hopelessness i feel after everyday i spend working on something i don't believe in, the thought of not knowing where i'm headed in life, the uselessness of pure thought and it's ideology, t he way the world seems to be slipping from my grasp of things, the way my mind feels like its being molded and unmolded and abuzz with activity akin to a fire and a feeling of wonderment at where all that energy goes, a sense of futility as a knife cuts my life away in years, the feeling of foreboding that strikes me down before i do something drastic, the listlessness of the nights, the restlessness of humid afternoons, the choice of lust and love, the breath of adventure upon me and the handcuffs of futility, the indesicion of friends, the uncertainty of care, the joy of sarcasm - these are a few of my garden variety contemplations.
