To be a complete dork

I know, I know. I started a writing and now I can't stop. Really, the frequency of these posts are due to the fact that I used up all the paper in my little notebooks (I reserve the big one for my philosophical musings and research and lists of lines of poetry and or phrase i like, and the other one which I intend to use for a biography, ambitious, yes I know), but my precious little notebook is out and I knew if I bought another one I would write in it and thus distract myself from work, the work which I must at some point complete because word on the street is, school is important. A shocker, I know.

After drinking two pots of coffee (roughly), with hands shaking and an inability to write anything more, a feeling of irresolution is still so very near I smell it's odious breathe. But, we will see. If there is something of which I am always unsure it is my writing. I do not know why exactly, as we can never really know ourselves. But perhaps that is it. My writing is a mirror into my soul and we, humankind never really wishes to know ourselves because we have fully self realised, where do we go? There is a camus quote I believe that slides in nicely here, but it slips my mind..it must be the caffeine buzz. Paul Erdos, the mathematician used to stay up late at night and worked out his most famous theories, often fueled by coffee binges, as he said, "a mathematician is a machine that takes coffee and produces theorms" or something like that...

I do not think that I have ever not heard my desk clock flip over to 12 at night. It always makes this odd sound...a ping, but lower frequency. I am still trying to figure out exactly what it is...maybe a popping from the rapid shift in power to light up the different individual segments, I don't know...I probably aught to ask someone and find out why.

There is something so utterly calming about the night. Everything is at rest, a time for quiet reflection, not to sound romantic, but only at night, in theory, is everything winding down which leaves a perfect scene for the finer things, those activities that seem so delicate and just don't, shall we say flourish in the yellow light of day--activities such as reading (a particular kind of book though, there are books that must be read with the sunshine on your face, but they are different from night books, which offer something different to the soul). But those books are great. The night is for blankets too and just that little bit of cold, that doesn't make you cold, but you know it's there..the potential generates a tension with the environment. Maybe thats it, the night generates tension, for it is dark, not light, you can barely see, just enough, you know something is behind that darkness, just not exactly what. In the night the temperature drops. It is all about creating dramatic tension, it gives way to the creative process nicely...I ramble. The music takes on different meaning too, if that is possible, but it is all about the enviornment. The night allows for the mingling of fear( the dark, the unknown in life, insecurities and worries) and the philosophical and creative side of mankind (think of fireside story telling).

Then sunrise in all its beauty, beat Mr. Shortz's little creation of the day, play a quick game of set and then off to the world of the intellectual, far removed from the tension of the night.

This is rambling and I apologize, this is what happens when I don't have a new notebook....