All is in flux; so we tell ourselves; so we make it

It's been a long time since I've written a public introverted post. So, what goes on in my mind when I'm feeling a deep vat of mixed emotions ranging from great joy, to sunken sadness?

I like the smell of a cigar. I like the way it flavors my mouth and my tongue. Everything then passes through the smoked sieve and tastes old and earthy.

I like fried tomatoes, cut in half —all shriveled and oily. It's juices running into other Scottish breakfast necessities (such as sausage) on your plate as you wonder where to start and come up with a strategy to taste a bit of every piece of food at once.

I like tequila when mixed with other fruity liquors, some lime or lemon and salt to boot. It's salty and sweet, a balance of colors in your mouth that do a jig. The buzz you get from tequila is so much smoother too, much more mellow.

Music that makes you wonder where you are in life, music that makes you smile inside and makes you think about people other than yourself—that's good music.

Yeah, I hurt inside, but I can't decide if I unwillingly hold on to traumatic memories because they are mine, or if I painfully hold on to them because they help me. Most people think that a person doesn't hold on to memories. But we do, we hold on to them tightly, because we are meaning driven creatures and Pain is so powerful and so disturbing and alien to us, that we look deep into its eyes and scream at the top of our hearts for an answer of it.
We want meaning like we want air. Take meaning away from a human and you deprive him of will to breath, eat and drink.

I like victories. Victories in music sound of triumphant crescendos, those moments where you're at first humbled by the immensity of the power a single note can make you feel and then want to join, be apart of it. Victories in art are difficult to look to long at. It's a challenge to keep looking at them, because they make all else stumble in pale comparison. Victories in life, I feel almost aren't as appreciated. Maybe because we have trouble celebrating a moment, a particular instance—which is maybe why traditions are so powerful (or, again, so meaningful). Traditions are repeated remembrance of a particular moment...

I miss being held by God.