Up at the crack of dawn to do my due diligence and be as healthy as humanly possible, kinda makes writing at this hour a little less compelling. Maybe it’d be best to start blogging earlier in the day. There is a dream of mine to have every minute accounted for – which I have been able to do to a certain extent for the past sixish months, but let’s just just recognize that I do (am doing) what I love, and I love to do it, and even if it is rubbish, it is time well spent.
There are a couple of approaches for how to blog. Yes, there is the Dear Diary method, which can be very intriguing to many readers. Many people want to hear about all of the deep dark secrets a person is willing to purge on the internet. It is a kick! Although I have all kinds of realizations and revelations of my personal relationships, still to this day – but of which I have determined to try my best to just “kinda” keep private (unless asked by said persons). And my own exasperations, flaws, indiscretions, and shadows which may be explored here if I get bored enough. However, if I am to not explore my past relationships nor complaints, what the hell else is there left to write about?
Is it love? Is it still that four letter word that is all there is to life? I think the most interesting revelation I have had as of late is that I just am not really in love with the world right now. Everything I’ve ever made or done has come from such a place of love for so long, but now, ya know, I sing a song, or write a story, but feel like stimulus without an origin or receiver. I think the Goddess exists. Oh yeah, God, the three letter word. And don’t forget the five letter word Peace. I am God, Love, Peace. 1 2 3 4 5
I, can direct my love into a vessel, and the whole world can tell you that is wrong, but at some point, it starts to feel vague. It isn’t necessarily bland but it is detached. Maybe I am meant to just be a meaningless expression. Absurd. It doesn’t feel like the passionate overwhelming affair that it always was. I’m not empty. I’m not unhappy either. I’m not a lot of things I think I am. But for so long everything was directed to someone, something, it all had a person or God-like conversation I was trying to give my life and art and emotion to, but, today and maybe this happens to a lot of people when they are twenty-five, I’m relieved to sing for no sentiment.
Ben Bonkoske 