The pain of a forgotten idea!

The failure to jot down the gist of a poem that will now never be…

A subtlety that will have to remain vague until ‘catharticized’ by another addict of articulation…

But, then again, if I hadn’t forgotten it, I wouldn’t have articulated the pain of forgetting, which is also a universal experience worthy of articulation.

And so it goes – death giving birth to new possibilities…

Yes, I am obsessed with the light inherent in everything. The darkness and the pain are too obvious to warrant constant articulation. This sets me on a constant quest for joy and birth. A quest for optimism.

Does that make me an optimist? Or perhaps a….. I don’t even want to say the word!

What the fuck was that idea? Its death already gave birth to a new idea. Now it can harmlessly be reborn!

What the hell was it?!