"The World is waiting at my door."
Published Thursday August 19th, 2004

Contemplative, philosophical moods come and pass.. I frequently find myself in such moods, but instead of writing, recording my thoughts i simply lay there idly, and ponder. I enjoy the bliss which is key to this emotion. The feeling of great capacity. Feeling as though i could cure all cancers while flying to Mars in my home-made spaceship. A feeling not of happiness, or glee, or conceit but of great contemplation, of great expectations. Though, not expectations that are unachievable, but expectations of action. Life. Stories. Events unfolding before oneself. Things happening! Best described by this cliche: The World is waiting at my door. Indeed.

The World waits outside my door and i want to explore it. I want to experience the things which are out there to be experienced. I'm ready to take what's out there. I want to take it. I urge for it! My veins pulsating with a sens of urgency, desiring new energies in my blood! Yes, simply said. It certainly will not be done lounging around. I want to pick a direction and just walk that way. I want to go into the cities. I want to party, i want to dance. I want my body to experience energy. Great activity, movement. Not necessarily in a physical sense at all.

Yes, the world is waiting at my door. So how do i open it? Who has stolen my key? Perhaps i have misplaced it somewhere? Or maybe it was never given to me? Who has been holding onto my key, and where can i find them, or the key? Is the door even locked, or do i simply have to open it and step out? H'm.. I find myself actually considering these questions, pondering their answers. I shift my eyes around the room, studying my surroundings. I'm not at home. I am at home. I am at home away from home away from home. So here I am. Continental Europe.. Switzerland.. and what am i seeking? What did i expect to find here? H'm.. The things which are there when i step through, out my door.

Indeed. I yearn for something. I find myself seeking something, but what it is that i am seeking i don't know. I find myself not knowing many things. "I don't know," Is common. Too common. I want to know, and when i don't, i want to learn. Learn what i don't know about the world. Find out new things about society, about life, about the world. The World. So vague, so cliched, so meaningless. "The spice melange." What is this world's melange. Who hold's the spice? Does some great Duke limit the supply? Do the things i think correlate, or have anything in common, or are they randomly tied together? Why did i use the word 'common' four times now in this paragraph? Why so many questions? I don't know. My point exactly.

I forgot to formally invite you into my mind. This is it. Welcome. I'm sitting here, half laying on a bed looking about this room. I am hesitant to call it my room. I have some headphones over my ears, providing my ears with both warmth and music. One of my legs is half outside of my sheets to stabilise my body temperature, and to avoid sweating. I wish i had a duvet. I wish my grandma had or used duvets. I'm in Europe! Where is my duvet!? Not here. I behold in my eyes a TV, its screen somewhat smeared with something oil-based. I find that every time i look up at it, i'm ever so slightly irritated by it. However, to get up and clean it off i am too lazy to do.

Great, lengthy pauses are made between many sentences. My surroundings, familiar, provide me with no inspiration. Great things i think washed away by countless other thoughts pushing their way up into mental consciousness. Never taking turns, or waiting patiently. Acting as salmon swimming upstream to return to their birthplaces to lay their new eggs. Their eggs my countless desires to fulfil my thoughts, and poachers my mental screening picking off the irrational and rational in a great swoop. Ten tracks have elapsed from the start of this entry, and i see no real end to my rambling as i do with the CD that i am listening to.

I cannot answer these questions i ask myself without stepping through that metaphorical door. Best answered questions are those which are answered by new questions. To strike the old and pose new queries to myself I need new, unexplored input. New observations, different sights and sounds. I need more varying culture. I need to meet new people. The last is key. My key.

I suppose the door is locked, after all. However, i have its key. I hold in my metaphorical hand the key with which to unlock my door to the World. All which remains for me on this side of the door, is to leave. I must simply unlock the door and step through, out into the World.

Where is the door?