New things aren't always good things, but that doesn't shake anyone from trying for the most part. Trying new food, new drinks, new books, new music, new clothes, that's easy because they can only temporarily hurt or harm. Trying new friends, new companions, new cities, new classes, now that's difficult because they can cause a long-term, festering hurt that can give birth to fear, anxiety, exhaustion what have you. It's good to keep in mind that the unknown in either case should create a curiosity inside because we only have one life. Let's live it like it's ours. Don't let the fear of being harmed cause you to miss out on what could be your next blessing, love, check because they don't just fall into our laps, we have to risk our happiness for even more happiness. To bring it into modern terms, we have to risk our current success to gain even more success. Major key.

I’m at this bare naked period in my life in a sense that everything about me is slowly being unveiled to me as if i’m dating myself. I saw an extremely clean and tidy room as I was meditating today and it was so difficult to rid my mind of that space, the walls were a foggy blue hue with pale green decor. It
was beautiful and peaceful. Sun was shining in the left center window through sheer white curtains which reflected off of the empty book shelf. I was mentally starting over. I am mentally starting over and getting to know the true self that I was searching for. I have to create this person. I have to fill the bookshelf with readings, I have to decorate the walls, but I will never change the curtains. I want to be as transparent as possible for my neighbors and passerby’s to witness me in my new apartment. I love it here. I just need to buy a stereo system and some CD’s.

Presenting everything about myself as a work of art from the things I carry to everything inside. I am in
the middle of creating my own world. I have no people, it’s still the first day, and only light and water
exist. I see a dusky sun, a melanin deepening sun that’s blessed with nutritional soul functions. This sun
feeds me because in this world it’s all I know. It’s all I have, and I love this simplicity. On the outside i’m
starving, always searching to fulfill some hunger for my flesh but internally, i’m so full. I look at other
people and wonder how developed their worlds are. I think Salvador Dali liked the primitive nature of the beginning stages and stayed that way. But I don’t want these deserts for long; I want long, dramatic, lush landscapes. I’m going to take my time and use phases to create states and continents, but my world is
Pangaea right now and I want it to stay that way for a while. I’m not old enough to be broken up but there are cracks and the meteor that took out my first phase is done. I’m waiting on the flood. But right now, myworld is polluted still from all that smoke, hella soot and i’m cleaning it up. But I do see a tree spouting up in the cracked desert ground. It’s very standard and i’m okay with that, as long as it continues to grow. I don’t know how to water it though, where’s my source? I don’t want it to die, but AHA, the sun. Maybe the sun is feeding it too. It doesn’t need water yet, it doesn’t know the water exists and it doesn’t need the water to exist. Just as I don’t. Walking alone in this new and foreign land; post meteor, what is this? I thinkI need to dig for water. I want to swim.

My other thoughts consist of not being such a surface level writer and that requires writing and reading. 
The sweat on my neck makes my necklace feel like a bug is playing on the marrow of my spine. 
I’m not that great of a writer but I continue to write and I know i’ll get better. I want to stop using “I” so much, but what’s a proper substitute? surface level writing ain’t fair, it’s hard to crossover. You have to
study dictionaries and learn new words all the time to sound sophisticated but like, fuck that. My language isn’t sophisticated at all. My language is inherited from an inheritance. It’s borrowed from those that have enslaved me, my language isn’t mine but my words are mine and not any other writer or storyteller. I tell my own damn stories. I want to remain inspired to write every single damn day. Write as Frank ocean
writes; effortlessly, creatively and without compromise. I would love to write that way. I want my words
everywhere. Fuck a writing assignment but I have to do it, I have to study, I just want to be a creative man.

It’s morning and I woke up on time for meditation and everything I believe in makes me who I am. I’m confused with that idea of freedom. We’re free to believe in what we like while being guided into what to believe in. So is that really freedom? Or is it freedom through a glass house, or maybe even a glass maze? I mean freedom has to be found, it’s never given. Our beliefs can’t be governed by others or monitored by text, beliefs are intangible and they’re custom to each human alike.