>Existential Quandaries

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I really apologize to my core audience right now, because this page has been terribly empty for the past couple of weeks. It seems that every time I sit down to try to write something, there is some unforeseen obstacle waiting for me to get the hint of productivity before hijacking my thought process. Most of the time it comes in the form of realization that I need to write some paper I completely forgot about in the jumble of nonsense that is flooding my life, and other times it comes in the form of a wave of paralysis that creeps from my toes to my eyes and covers my brain with this blanket of inescapable and crippling exhaustion. I tell myself that when all of this school stuff is finally finished and I can do things like sleep or sit down again, everything will get back to normal and I'll become reacquainted with the Muse once again.

Until then, I suppose I'll just share this one thing that perhaps somebody out there is battling as well. Matt and I were talking the other day on the way to band practice about this matter of Existential Quandaries and struggling with the notion of all of the "rest of our lives" crap. It was one of those moments of epiphany, whether for good or bad, and got me thinking about just how superficial and petty most of the problems we are faced with are. I look at the people around me in college, being JUNIORS and SENIORS who still talk about how they can't wait to "party, bro" and the people desperate for any sort of income acquiring a job that is perfectly fine but perhaps full of customers that are, as they put it, "unbearable," and they quit without having any sort of backup plan, and I wonder just what they're trying to prove. Trust me, I'm the last person to defend the Capitalist system or to say that we've got it right over here, but I do recognize that in order to survive, there are a number of hoops that you just absolutely have to jump through, and if you don't like it, nobody is keeping you here. 

So, I went up to my room and for a brief moment heard the whisper of that elusive Muse and sort of returned to my poetry roots for a minute. You can read if you want :)

Existential Quandaries

There is this breeze, they tell me.

They say it moves the trees

And even if I find it,

I'm not the God it heeds.

Mine's not the soul it feeds.

They tell me this is calming:

The swaying, leafy blades,

And nature has no quandaries

Yet garners acolades.

It brushes arms with fate

And doesn't look away.

They say it comes as whispers

And illuminates the night

As little lamps in children's

Cribs - rocking, creaking, slight,

Instilling what is right.

They say it bases reason

On what the Breather sighed.

That plans are executed

With ease beyond our minds

And we but seek to question

His perfect, flawless time. 

Hamilton Barber

The subject of this page is an introverted writer/musician/lunatic from Chattanooga, TN who dabbles in lexical dexterity, unorthodox thoughts on prosperity, and being overwhelmingly undeserving of the privilege of waking up every day. He hopes that everybody who reads these words takes them to heart and leaps higher than he ever could. He reads, thinks, and speaks too much; he listens, works, and loves too little; and he says “I” entirely too often. The words on these pages are not his: they are the words that were given to him.