Music and Poetry Collide
Like night is to day, water is to life and air is to breathe, I am to poetry and these combined can none separate, but only care to let live. Right now I listen to some calming music, once again by Celine Dion from the newest single I bought a month or so back now.
While listening I devised a poem of four lines that needs none more to explain how love does fascinate. Well, it came to me in a sudden rush and I wrote exactly what I was thinking as I listened to the instrumental part of the fourth track, the first two bars. Repeating them bars over and over the voices in my mind wrote this latest poem and now, these voices on ere shall sing.
Four Lines and a Dream
For every day there is an equal night,
And for these stars that shine, shall shine they bright,
And tears grow tired with each passive moment,
Then I see you, and my heart cries open,
Dreaming of the Limelight
I will one day be who I want to be, with these poems, these songs, this mind and these ambitious thoughts, I will be. My day will finally come, when I get to strut my mind’s workings in the limelight of the world. These are the things I love and love doing best and for them, I am the better. So much energy, so much emotion and to waste it would be a sin.
Thus, as this song ends and my inspiration sets into the woodwork, I dream and I dream that one day they may come true. These Sonnets that I write, these lyrics that I compose, this author that I be, this inspirational bodybuilder, shall it remember me in those glorious days unforeseen and aid my mind in these days that it shall remember.
Life as a Word Processor
Now, another psychological question arises, what would life be like if I became a Word Processor. The day would begin at 6:30 a.m. where I would get ready and head to the City or wherever for an eight hour day. Finishing my height hours of typing at 5:00 p.m. I would then head home and finally arrive around 7:00 p.m. The next hour will be to eat, shower and watch some television. The next two hours will be devoted to typing in my Diary and any poetical ideas but of course, they would be scarce.
The Gym would take an extra hour or more out of my daily activities so how limited would I be mentally. Because I would be constantly rushed and I would hate typing at home as I do it all day at work my poetry and literature would suffer at home. On top of that everything else in the weekday will suffer including bodybuilding and music, my favorite pastimes. If I had my choice I wouldn’t keep my feet firmly on the ground with such a job but rather I would keep afloat with my Sonnets in hopes that one day they will give me huge recognition.
If I had my way I would stick out another year at home to supply my mind with more inspiration to write. More time to write my Sonnet, my memoirs and my literature would pay me back with great writings. A job would only slow down my progress in the arts of literature if not completely halt my progress. Poetry needs no money, only the wealth within my mind and thus, I have no barriers but plague that will on occasion set upon my mind. But even this plague works wonders and tells tales that only winter’s day can adhere and still, it is poetry of recognition.
In Praise of the Night
Night to me is more grand than day. Although the sun does glaze brightly and calms the skin there is none to match the luminescence that night’s dark brings in. Night is soft and gentle, to the eyes it is an allure and to earth’s grime it causes no such harm. If I could have my way, earth’s hours of play would be at night and all of day would be for sleep except the hours where the sun does rise and fall. Those are the most magnificent hours, where the sun does fall and harmony transcends both contrasting emotions of the sky.
Just think that at night you hold no fears of getting sunburned and the artificial lights that join the streets of the world will be enough to illuminate such calmness. Fear begs for sunlight and if it wasn’t for the fear factor, a civilization of nocturnal mankind would be evident. I cannot change the world for what I love and I cannot live my love alone. Thus, I end here my love of night with only one truth about this paragraph, I am the envy of nocturnal and in my heart I am…
Dusty Photo Albums
One more factor before I begin my normal crucifixion of these pages. That factor being I haven’t looked in my photo albums for a very long time now. That thought only dawned on me today after Lyssa went through the two albums and all the letters in my folder on Sunday night and I hadn’t for at least three or more months. Momentous are those photos of an age with Lyssa but for truth, the novelty has worn off just as Lyssa has after our break up.
Looking upon the photos or thinking of them would pretty much leave a blank expression on my face. Those are times of the past and like Jewell I would tend not to go back to them and reminisce. The photos now do nothing for me and when I look upon them I look upon mixed memories, some good, some bad and some unreasonable.
It’s not just photos of Lyssa in there but of Ali, of the group back then and all other people I have unto now forgotten. Now it is time with my camera to renew a photo album and begin upon a new adventure of memories, a new chapter of time. As I see the photos in my album being all of the lost years you can understand why I would care to forget about them, although they had nothing to do with Jewell.
Wrapping Up Monday Afternoon
Getting now back to Monday afternoon after my explanation of the day, let me begin once again. Having explained everything that happened with Lyssa at my house I will wrap it up as she decided to leave around 4:15 p.m. Before I do I would like to note that in our last sexual encounter on Monday Lyssa decided to include kissing more than none. These days Lyssa and I rarely kiss during sexual activity but yesterday seemed to be the opposite of that law.
Lyssa was intent to use her mouth and I was somewhat surprised but it didn’t bother me. For a split second I thought we shouldn’t be kissing as intently but that didn’t stop us. After our sexual activity the both of us once again had a shower together and cleaned ourselves up and once that was done Lyssa called herself a taxi. Lyssa stayed in my room for a little while before her taxi arrived and hearing it out the front she gave me a kiss goodbye and was then on her way.
Heading to the Gym
When Lyssa decided to head home I prepared myself for the Gym by having something to eat. Food stocks at my house were diminishing (Restock is tomorrow) but luckily I had money so I bought a fish from the shops. When the time was 5:30 p.m. I headed down to the Gym, once again to an almost packed population of bodybuilders. It was hard getting from set to set without seeing someone on your machine but I coped as much as I could. The only problem I had at the Gym was my lack of drive.
This came to me from taking Friday off and it took away my mental edge. On top of the unenthusiastic mood that I was in I wore a white shirt that repeatedly kept getting dirtied by the dumbbells. By the time I had finished Chest my shirt resembled a blackboard with a duster pounded all over it. This along with my lost will led me to finish my workout at the end of my arm workout forcing me to wait until my next workout to begin on Abdominals. Now I feel much better that I am back in the groove of things, here is Monday’s workout.
Diary Of A Mad Chaos is a daily diary written from March 1996 until today, of which individual books and book series have been created, namely “The Lost Years” an exploration of young, entwined love, the “Wubao In China (猎艳奇缘)” book series which provides an extensive comparative analysis of the cultural differences between Eastern and Western societies, and the book titled “Foreigner (华人)” an exploration of race relations in Australia.
