prelude 2

A sense of relief; the urge to walk away from it all, to not be haunted, not be self-betrayed, maybe to sleep soundly with no troubling dreams. Though i know i will be pursued, through my own weakness, my own nature; my defences drop in an instant. I betray myself, over and over again, through desire. What is it that i am defending? My inner soul, which i feel to be under attack. So it is that i put up impregnable walls around myself. At the centre is a terrible calmness, lucidity, no madness, but waves of agitation now and then disturb the equilibrium. The best thing is that i can see quite clearly, without outright madness, that is, utter nonsense, but not without confusion, a certain agitation which is inevitable. The idea behind it all is: order out of chaos, to quell a certain restlessness or silence a brewing storm. I can always, must always, contain it, thought it damn near kills me not to express it.
The conclusion i have come to is that it is hope, that oldfashioned thing, that is the prerequisite and starting point of life (in whatever form), and that only the dead have truly despaired. I have never truly despaired, but only doubted. It is only through the agency of doubt that i can establish principles, or come to conclusions, or think at all.