i don't dream the way i used to

which is why i don't write the way i used to... which is sad in many ways and yet, it is as it is, life is sad in many ways too... initially i wrote to nurture myself and share myself with others so fueled by the hope and dream that the words would somehow find the one, that imaginary person who was everything i ever wanted in another person in part because i was everything she wanted in another person... ah, the romance of it all... but all casual platitudes and literary stylings aside, love was the primary and in many ways only reason for existence in this life for many years...

the words would flow virtually without restriction, at least without any conscious intent at restriction or form, except when they flowed into rhymes and then, the consciousness of meters and rhythms and rhymes did not seem to be real in that i did not think about structure, i simply let the words express the thoughts and feelings and they somehow flowed into rhyming lines... the rhymes would tell some sort of story or express some sort of emotion and were more focused than the prose, or babble... and the rhymes would flow back into narrative prose or babble as seemless, just as easily as the babbling prose broke into rhyme (or song, at least in my mind, though i seldom wrote the music i was hearing as i wrote)...

ah, and that is missing component... the music that always played in my mind as i wrote is often silent in recent years (or longer) and that may be one of the primary reasons i do not write - or dream the way i used to... the lucid dreams that would flow into my writing were largely fueled by the music in my mind... the disconnection, it seems, is that somewhere along the way i let go of the unconditional trust i had in that music and somehow, lost the ability to hear it and ride it (or let the words ride it) as i tapped the keys (or put pen to paper)...

wow, is this a profoundly revealing entry or am i just dreaming?...

lol lam narf :)