VISCOUS SERENITY

…It all began with a little bit of an overboard eruption of anger and frustration germinating from years of controlled tolerance in a world of constant perils.

I sat by the computer one evening after a tiring day at work just idly perusing my documents for anything of interest in a therapeutic sort of way. In the background was the sound of this almost angel-demonic banshee-like voice of a “succubus” with a really sonorous feel to it. It almost sounded like the soundtrack to a horror flick and felt almost same considering the cold and near-dark ambiance the room carried at the time. In an instance I began to see my life play before my eyes in total exactness. Why was I feeling so low? Who or what was really responsible when it came down to it? So many questions; insufficient answers were all the compensation I got for them all. That’s when I decided to write a book about my personal experience in this world of viscous serenity…
Sometime in 2008

29/01/2010; 6:09AM
Almost two years later, I stumble on this incomplete script I attempted to write in my darkest moments of melancholy. And I wonder why I never saw it to completion. Not even a complete page of manuscript! In the last year that passed me by, my mind has been very active, pondering on this and that, shoving experiences, words and deeds in a special place where I could easily scoop from the wealth accumulated and build a fine story…but alas! When the time to write was at hand, I scooped and scooped but all I recovered was the emptiness of an archive once inundated with issues but now void, not by absence of those issues but rather by a clutter of even more compounding issues that makes a mess of everything, words that don’t make more sense than a baby talking gibberish. So I wrote this instead, in an attempt to forgive myself for the forgetfulness, the nonchalance, loss of creativity…not for your entertainment as you thought! But then again I wonder the real reason I never did continue with my manuscript. In the first place, it was inspired by my troubles. Then maybe I should be thankful I never did, for my troubles lost me in inspiration, which is a good thing, no?

So maybe I should never complain when I lose my inspiration to write, for I might have lost some gloom alongside. What a beautiful irony!