I’m just pondering. Staring in a goblet sized pond of stout, wondering. What I’m wondering about? Haa! You don’t want to know. The alarming degree of importance it holds to you and I, especially myself, taking the precious time to write this, is a cause for worry. I dare say, you yourself will wonder like I’m doing now, at my reality. Let’s not sugar coat it, you will indeed, ponder on the level of my sanity.
Could it be that words could be so intricately woven, in a seamless and complex manner, and yet hold such shocking significance? Could it be that the mind of an artist would discover such a topic, disguised beneath nothingness and make form out of chaos?
Have you paused and perhaps, perused once again, this discourse from the beginning, perhaps hoping to happen on a clue that would uncover this cleverly concealed mystery? I’m sure some of you would have been enlightened with a conclusion: this guy doesn’t know what he’s writing.
You wouldn’t be far from right!
For I truly wondered what to write; did feel the urge to write. But I could only write with the right words, attempting to explain that there was absolutely nothing on my beautiful mind to write about.
But write I had to!