Today was an interesting day. I finished my essay. It was so dragging. It's about a ritual that I involve myself with throughout my week or everyday practice. Jared said he was going to overlook and review my essay. He's an amazing writer. I've read some of his thoughts, and they are deeply thoughtful and poignant to an intellectual degree. I've always fancied myself after the intellectuals. They bring me hope. I don't know why, but they do. Today was, as I said, dragging. The night was particularly my highlight. I was up chatting away with someone who loves the same music that I do—well, maybe not all of the music I like; but the night was still memorable. It feels good to be able to talk to someone who understands and is just there to talk to. I think that's an elemental significance that everyone needs, a need of belonging. There! I extrapolated an idea. Sweet!
There was one thing that I loved to ruminate as I sit here in front of my now warm laptop upon my lap. As I sit in my living room, in this hot night (it's been particularly hot recently), I think about the artistry of art and music. Renaissance art in particular impetuously delights my fancy now in this very moment. Certain emotions, until now, have laid dormant in my life. Audacious and impeccable delights enter the intellect. And what is it? I like to call it the emotion of life. Delectation is another word that best describes this feeling. Have you ever considered how life is better, even the air—albeit currently a horrid heat—when things seem only to work out in the mind? Ah, the mind. Only a step above the four-footed creatures and we can use rationale. I think I can describe this emotion. Have you ever enjoyed an apple? A good one, juicy and plumb? The emotion is this: you taste it. It is good. Now it's been a decade since its delectation—the time has past that engendered your taste buds to a dance of muse and rhyme. Here now you come upon the tree. It is teasing your mouth. Your mouth is bursting with questionable yet erudite—because you recognize its taste—tease. Your mouth now enjoys the ecstasy of biting into that enticing and nefarious endeavor. But there comes over you a sense of completeness. The world stops as you delight in this feat of nature. Nature. There you are. What great nebula you bring to man, to intellect. This is the joy I speak of. It is lively and vivifying. It creates a joy. What we can't explain yet enjoy is nostalgia. We love it. We bathe in it. We couldn't want it in any other way.
Enough with abstraction for now. It's late and still I can't sleep. I want to dream. I want to dream of a place where I can think and be a thought. Is there such a place? There are thoughts within thoughts. It seems the creation of this dream is impeccable, yet almost impossible. To be a thought is only a thought, howbeit. I want the reality. I want to Desire of Life. Are you there?
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