galloping at a glorious speed, for a grand end.

I have turned into this dumb person who doesn’t know how to write. My wand of writing, also known as my pen, or my always dysfunctional keyboard was stolen by some unidentified pilferer. I didn’t feel it when it was unwillingly taken. The pilferer had to be so smart to defeat my perceptiveness. I have not written any bloody posts since three months ago. I am a dumb, thoughtless person without opinions now. My opinions were all taken out by the Lord of mental death. Braindead. Emotionless. What could be worse than them? 

I deserve some mercy from the homeless which certainly never exists. I’m no longer the home of wild opinions. I am just a horse running from one dark galaxy to another. I am no longer the home for vehement emotions. My heart could no longer be the stable for that horse. It just couldn’t be the barn for active horses anymore. Its sturdiness as a stable rotted away. I am now the home for nothing. I am a box of literal vacancy. No thoughts, no occupants, just vacancy, and elements of emptiness. I shall not be in this blogging world anymore. I shall not be in this expressing-out-your-opinion world anymore. 

I have no opinions. I only know how to live a boring life now. I have nothing on mind, only random monologues with myself, random, strange thoughts about my uncertain future, my ongoing life, and my insignificant feelings. Where are the sparks in my life? Have they gone to the underworld? Have they been taken away by some unidentified theft too? 

I can’t even think of any SAT words now. Shame on me. I have no values. Fuck me. I lost my inspiration, lost my voluminous energy, lost my momentum in writing. I have nothing but a mundane brain now; a dull brain, a dead piece of meat in a dead being, in a dead me. I am a dead person now- lacking inspiration, lacking fresh air, lacking everything. Beat my heart, baby. I’m all yours. 

These few months of hiatus, these few months of wrong emotions, I envisaged some scary future, of being alone forever, dying in the arms of unknown strangers, who if based on pop culture would be some firemen called by my future neighbors, after being unvisited in a nursing home for decades. Who would visit me anyway? My unborn sons? My unborn daughters? Or my non-existent lover?

I just feel like writing now, even though I have no topics on hand. I may need to write back, to seek for my own reincarnation, after thrown away into the hell of life last semester. Hell of life, indeed, after a temporary heaven of life borrowed by the God of generosity expired. I need words now, some great words, some really sexy words, to make me feel the magic of words, admire the art of rhythm, and experience the stimulating effects of writing and wording. 

This shall be my speech of new needs. This shall be my lamentation on current loss. I need a new life, a new life that can be described with new words, and clarified with new trains of thoughts. I need the desire to move on. God give it to me, I’ve lost my passion in everything. I’m just a rigid being, living in this fake, glamorous life. I need more and more truths in my life. It has been all about superficiality and rare realities. I need somebody to inspire me. I lost a life. I need a new one. Be that of mine, love, new love. Thank you.