Something Sinister At Work

I can feel it.
There is nothing like "Silver and Cold" by AFI forcing one to slip into a serenity-induced coma, especially when the wind is whispering in a cryptic way, and the sky is an open book, containing the answers to all of life’s questions. That sinister feeling seemed to permeate the air, though smoky it was, and I could feel autumn slicing cleanly into the atmostphere. Sharp inhale, soft exhale. I love this time of year… it yields answers, contemplative moods, and eloquency.

I’d have rather taken a long walk on the trail by my house, clad in my winter parka, and oogled the indecisive leaves and heard their cries as they were crushed beneath my heel, opposed to caging myself in a roasting kitchen. Sigh. Nothing could be done about that, but now I will rub my hands together and cackle, because I am able to express my thoughts now.

This diary…my sanctuary. If I didn’t have it, I’m sure I’d be more enigmatic, but instead, I love to pour out every tickle in my soul. It’s where I can vent my spleen, record my more eloquent (and not so eloquent) thoughts, and write things that should never be said aloud. These entries are the whispers of the real world amplified by about nine thousand times.

These words are my lullabies. If I should somehow do away with myself, I am forever grateful that a part of me will still breathe.

Sinister…a lovely word.
I chose it because I can feel the undercurrents, and they are more powerful and potent than ever. It is the only word eloquent enough to express the torment and laughter inside me. I am more confused than I ever was, and yet I am complacent, because I am recieved with open arms by nature. I am something of a transcendentalist; I’ll admit it.

I am far too giddy, my writer’s glow is fading, so now I must sign off.
Until next time, sweet world,
Amanda