If I were a man of few words, this would be easy as pie, but instead I spit out words because I stuff myself to the brim. My problem is as follows: I am not aware.
That's right, dear readers, I, yours truly, the man of this blog, ruler of all that is a[muse]ing, am completely utterly and hopelessly unaware of things. Progressing forward in life I shall attempt to document that of which I am not aware and hopelessly I will document my struggles to overcome this most massive of hurdles/cliffs/mountains(/planets?).
Let's commence at the beginning. My problem today is this: I am unaware of the metaphors behind great writing. I want to believe that things are as they seem, and I am fighting to read between the lines. I just love text! And I love seeing it! Unfortunately, the spaces between the lines are invisible, that point where we're supposed to be unconscious, sleeping. That third of our life of silence and blank existence. Sadly I don't often sleep all that much and I have been missing that thing called silence and sleep so I am no longer conscious of sleep and space and reading between the lines. Perhaps tonight I'll sleep. At least for a few hours. No! Seven hours! I must. (Haha, I can dream. [No, you cannot!])
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