Ennui

I am restless. My mind is considering a great variety of things and moving between them sporadically.

Times like this often see me at my most creative, and my most angsty too. Though this time the angst seems to have established itself as something else- a rocky frustration. Without willing cynicism to completely turn my heart into a cold solid lump, I am slightly concerned about my progressively unaffected nature. There is a great virtue lost in wisdom, and that is the sweet unadulterated naivety that forgoes experience.

Having no regular employment to occupy (or infact distract) my mind from greater awareness, I feel compelled more than ever to seek some gratifying meaning-pursue a sort of quest. I can't help but feel that a bigger something has to be unveiled, and so my subconscious has arrived at over-active questioning- and a thirsty want.

It seems to me that the majority of a country's population are working slaves to a system- encouraged only by a taste for holidays, the upkeep of a home, and a decent car. Since I abscond from these desires (but do not take any of the amenities for granted), and am happy to sleep between varietable accommodation, divide time amid an array of interesting artisans and intellectuals for the time- my eyes are very much looking forward. Though quite completely unsure when my ennui can be settled, and what kind of a situation that would imply; mind and fingers should be kept busy indefinitely.

The restlessness spurs words, creates music, and indulges in art, film and reading and is never prayed for to cease- but I cannot settle in it's waves. And sleep seems a guilty luxury.