There was a time when I wrote more frequently, and that time was turbulent. Beyond the confines of the Eye was a world of indifference that stimulated me, and though it was not, by default, good, it certainly contributed towards the incoherence inside me. It was the very same incoherence that so fueled a good number of what written thought is found here. My experiences were hardly new, and they might pale in comparison beside the incarnations others have gone through. I know that much, still, I defend my confusion, my frustration, my bewilderment, my anger, my tears, and my thoughts, each experience is unique after all.
There was a method to my sanity, and insanity, then, and it persists until now: it was to write during the wee hours of the morning: past midnight in the dark before the sun, where the sinking moon and fading stars basked in their own early afterglow, one before the explosion of morning, not unlike peers or strangers or sages or fools winding down after the long night of hypnotic sights and sounds and tastes-oral and nasal-in anticipation of the end of a spell of released inhibitions and willful, and unwillful, intoxication.
It has always been a secret desire for me to lose myself completely, and be aware of it at the same time. I have yet to lose myself-my inhibitions and insecurities, especially-even coitus has not won against these banes of my existence, not yet, I hope. I have had my fair share of conflict with my inner demons, and some battles have been won, and some wars have been victorious, and foes utterly decimated, some fights are not yet over, and some require repeated attempts, but I am still fighting.
In the same vein, old anxieties are now gone, and their turbulent storms ceased, and for the first time in years, I can stake a claim over a sense of inner-calm, despite what other storms rage on around me. A cup of my sorrows has been vanquished eternally, and what is required of me now is to face the rest that remain. This sense of peace, of light-heartedness, of clarity, has taken time to get used to, but for the most part, I have acquainted myself with it.
One of the few things left to do now is to learn to draw on things other than incoherence and chaos and confusion when I write. After all, my peace deserves to be immortalized in this chronicle just as much as my struggles do. The time is quite fresh for me to start writing of lighter things, after all, the world washed after cataclysmic deluges is quite refreshing and beautiful and full of promise.