Introspection

It's been a long hiatus from blogging... Probably because I am losing my literary abilities (again).

I said "again", because, I think alot of things that happened to me, occur in a cyclical manner (an observation that has obfuscated me ever since my discovery). It's like hibernation or circadian cycles; it's all temporal, a matter of timing. I have my 'feeding' season, my 'hyper' season, my singing stimmung (like what SW refers to haaa) etc etc... Ok sounds like an insect, but I think sometimes timing is all that matters. Going with the flow usually does the trick; somehow it makes the whole process of transition from one phase to another much smoother.

However, this literary ability loss, despite the fact that it is most probably (hopefully) transient, scares me. It means my articulation is failing me, and THAT scares me - usually it leaves me pensieve and discombobulated. Then, like a cocoon (insect I know), I usually start to retreat into introspection. And I think I am recently feeling this forgotten de jevu worming its way back...

To me, introspection is akin to reorganisation, but of the intangibles. It's like reviewing and taking stock of what is happening around me, partitioning then compartmentalising. Sometimes, I feel like I am walking in a maze, trying to get out, but keep delving deeper into new spaces. Usually, there is this sweet point between sense and sensibility that I will be able to balance, that I will be at ease again. Sounds like some sort of nirvana that I am trying to achieve *roll eyes*

Finished reading a book a while ago, by an author who deals with autistics, Mark Haddon, "the curious incident of the dog in the night-time". Recommended by, none other than, my bro, who has an unusual penchant for unconventional genres. It is a strange BUT interesting, or even intriging at some points, book, writing from the point of view of an autistic teenager. Somehow, writing this entry, I felt uncannily connected to the book. Perhaps, because mostly, the autistic boy narrates (rather than describes). A form of recollection, and in many ways, introspection, albeit in a matter-of-factly and outrageously logical, unduly robotic, manner.

As you all can see, I am a wee bit convoluted and all wound up in the head now and things come out verbose and confounded, or even deranged (HUH?)...

This "5 for fighting" song sounds oddly pertinent to my current predicament: as polemical as gray, yet as clear as the blue.

Dun worry I am not going mental, or anything. I will let you know if I am.

Artist : 5 For Fighting
Song : Superman

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
I'm just out to find
The better part of me

I'm more than a bird...I'm more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
It's not easy to be me

Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I'll never see

It may sound absurd...but don't be naive
Even Heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but won't you concede
Even Heroes have the right to dream
It's not easy to be me

Up, up and away...away from me
It's all right...You can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy...or anything...

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees

I'm only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
inside of me
inside me
Yeah, inside me
inside of me
I'm only a man in a funny red sheet
I'm only a man looking for a dream
I'm only a man in a funny red sheet and its not easy, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm...
Its not easy to be me