The Fool

There is a perverse lethargy that sets in with ambition. Technically, not ambition, but rather a branch of vision. For the first time in my life, my journey does not lack direction, I have set a course. And now I realise that the mapping of my future irks me.

A checklist of cap-offs sits on my tack board.
Steady job....check.
Application process, sunny side up.....check.
Thesis project progress.......check.

And I know that I am, to put it mildly, bored beyond brittle comprehension. There is an inherent abhorrence for structure set in my bones. For better or worse, I DO want more. Not more of the traditional goals, that perhaps are important to most, but I fail to find an element of priority in them. I want more of what it is the sprites call 'pixie dust'. In an inverted world where I am Queen and Shero of my fate: my life spent with a journal, a trailer and a road to everywhere and no where simultaneously. It is such a road that I hope to find love and all its labours lost with. A daily deluge of gospel guitar twangs on the radio, blank paper and sharpened pencils, loads of junkfood and a long and winding path with wider bends and steeper planks.
Then again, to dream is 'eventually' to do. Or so I like to think. Some dreams are dangerous, others silly and the rest fanciful musings. I pick the latter with a perrennial pinch of salt.
In some cultures it is considered lucky to wear ones socks inside out. Essentially implying that looking at things inverted and opposed to the norm, is either the path of the progressive and evolved or that of the fool. Again I pick the latter, this time with a cheshire grin. In the Tarot and in Zen, it is the Fool who always triumphs. He frames the first card of the deck, primarily because he is open to all firsts.

So give me the beat boys
to free my soul
I wanna' get lost in the rock n' roll
that drifts away