While rereading some of the writings I have written in the past, I find both a comfort and a horror in them. Most of these thoughts still have a place in my life today.
Do we really change so little?
Are we really doomed to carry the same feelings throughout our lives until the end?
Was there ever a real capacity for change?
Summer 1997 Broken Days How dreary a day when nothing is new, And there’s not a damn thing to do. A search begins yet everything remains second best, Mediocre. And the band plays on, The same music loops, A broken record. All familiar surroundings close in on you, And what was once comfortable becomes unbearable. These are the days when life’s got no meaning, But you continue to hope for a sign of otherwise. Diamonds shatter and night is no longer dark, The world’s stopped spinning, And becomes the center of the universe. ‘Cause these are the ways of them broken days, Crazy days, when all is not what it seems. You long for simplicity, The days when all is bright, And you wait for the ease to sink in, But since these are the ways of broken days, You can’t ever make the simple life emerge, Not on broken days, ‘Cause these are humanity’s (yes...my) subconscious ways.
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