Plain Vanilla

Felt my age in more ways than one today. Comes at the moments when I recognize the world is moving around me at a much faster pace than I am.

I'm just not that interested in progress anymore. Progress seems irrelevant. Maybe on some level, futile.

There's no hypocrisy in how I feel about it; I appreciate progress, I need progress just like everybody else. But a part of me knows I could live without it, and thinks I'd be much happier in life without it.

Seriously...I could be happy waking up every morning to not much more than family, earth, and sky.

I think it's because the filter of life that is me is mostly outgoing. I feel most at me when processing what the senses sense, then recreating those things in a different form. Too much stimulation, too much static, too much to process overloads me, and then I shut down.

This is why city life would never suit me. This is why I prefer silence. solid colors. plain text. brown paper packaging tied up with string.

I'm serious about having a longing to live with the Amish. A life of simplicity of purpose, a life of satisfying work and work expression. A life in which conflicts are intimate and earthy, where a nature contrary to the world is assumed.