There has been an open, bright and warm sun shining outside upon the capital city I both live on and was born in. My girlfriend has turned into a personal training machine. My baby nephew has grown a full head of hair. Arsenal have blown yet another series of potential trophies. The Rock has returned to the World Wrestling Federation. A new year has arrived, and an old year has passed. Governments have fallen, people have died, babies born, marriages, divorces, friendships, hopes, dreams, associations, all come and gone over the course of a one hundred and eighty six day period.
And yet, while I am aware of all these moments of life passing by my eyes, and even though it registers in my mind. In all honesty... I can barely see a thing.
You see, right now, all of this; every thought, feeling, idea, passion, position, preference and source of living, has been instantly locked away in a large deep vault in the vast recesses of my mind - as a 'Busy' sign rests on the door handle of my conscious thought. The reason? I have had a book to write. And for the past six months, almost nothing has been able to grab my attention, long enough to barely cause me to raise my head to see what all the commotion is about, let alone stop me from working on the words I process.
Since October 27th, 2010, I have not stopped to pause - I don't even know if I can anymore. I tend to take most aspects of life to extremes, carrying a philosophy of wondering why do anything by halves; which has always felt pointless, and more an action of design, than a process of passion. The goal was to finish a target, the goal remains to finish a target. I intend to reach the end, regardless of the sacrifices which come from doing so. It is somewhat selfish, I am aware of this - ambition can attain a very ugly side to it, but the bigger picture serves a positive purpose, and those who understand me, understand this. In all honesty, I receive nothing but good vibes from everyone as I chip away; dedication is a respected quality, I suppose.
Old beliefs have died, new ones formulated. I have awoken to a notion of God, yet lost all forms of religion. I have suffocated too much feeling, yet discovered so much reason. I feel as if I understand more than I ever have, yet wonder if the knowledge I can never go back to sleep, may make me more passively cold and distant, than I am as I live life in this zone. I am both alive and alert, yet asleep and alone; I am sitting in the corner on my own in a dark, quiet, empty room; as only a few small red candles burn around me, providing a natural source of light as I hold pen to paper, and construct something which has been without doubt, the toughest task I have ever undertaken, both personally and professionally.
But I will keep rolling to the very end. I cannot stop, I wont stop, I don't know how to stop. I worry if I do, even for a moment, I wont be able to begin again. It is an odd, slightly numbing feeling - like looking at life through one of those pillow-like blue clouds of a clear day; though sometimes they turn to the dark thick grey ones in the distance, promising a thunderstorm later on. I am tired of these - though they do produce an incredible rainbow afterwards... which is perhaps the best metaphor I can think of for this book.
Of course, this is all a learning process. This period will make me a much stronger and adaptable person. But I guess it gives me faith in the duality principal, that when you gain something, you lose something else in the process; I have gained a book of my own hand and mind, yet lost - well, I am not sure yet. I will let you know when I hit the final word of the final page; and know the task if finally complete...