Blast from the past

This piece of writing is gonna start while I'm in the process of a writers block, sorta to work my way through it I guess instead of just letting it eat away at me until I gather my thoughts completely.. fuck that.
A blast from the past happened today, and yesterday, too. And the day before that. It happens every day actually; like re-acquainting oneself. A blast from the past won't last in your memory for too long, they're nothing more or less than a flash in a movie.
This movie, seems to continue forever
not only through me, but through other people
through the way things are and the way they would've been; the world as we know it
through and through
It's tough to swallow, like a pill when you have a really sore throat.
If I wasn't alive right now, things would still remain. Ouch, what a blow to the ego!
It's intimidating; the world as we know it
Why does everyone believe they are so meaningless? A legitimate connection exists within the way things happen
& the way things are
other than through myself, I am an instrument,
but I'm no different.

The movie will end eventually... but would the ending be happy?
Happy as in peaceful, harmonious.
I'll never know for sure.

Can I learn myself through another, through blood of mine;
literally and hypothetically,
washing my hands in the reservoir of serenity?
Why not compromising with what you can't win? Like a business deal,
like trading secrets just to gain secrets.
Secrets are symbols, they hold power. Sharing secrets holds power,

I am a tyrant to the wealth of my liking. I still have writer's block, what the fuck.
Dealing with emotions takes work. It's fucking draining, really.
I'd rather be informed than ignorant
I'd rather speak "the truth", not
"my truth".
Where does one draw the line, though? I guess I'll never really know

I'm so quick to judge.. maybe not.

I guess I'll always be alittle bit insecure of the things I write.. with great power comes great responsibility. Writing gives power to anyone, really. Anyone has the right to write, but I don't think enough people write.
And if they do, they're selfconscious about it! Always.
Selfconsciousness is only a problem when it holds me back from just saying what I have to say, even if I have no idea what that is.
Like I said, I'm an instrument
I don't always understand, that's the point.. the drive, motivation.
Questions are motivation.
Secrets are motivation.
Metaphors are beautiful. I spend way too much time explaining myself,
metaphors created with actions, not words
mean something even bigger. Manificent, actually.
In size that is.
The more I write, the better of a writer I become. It's as simple as that,
practice really does make perfect.
Well, maybe not perfect... but perfection doesn't really exist anyway.
It's a goal to meet.
Perfection isn't enough of an incentive for me to practice.
Perfection isn't something to strive towards at all
Why would I set myself up for failure? I wouldn't.
Maybe not perfection, but I know I want to be good at writing. It's a skill, which takes patience
like any other
It's 11:11
Make a wish.