Enter: Dusk.

Enter; Dusk. Ashen shadows swirling under the rustling leaves. A ghost of shadow steps from the misty half-light and in it's visage all the dark things of the soul are known; longing, regret, desire, the calling of a sanguine night.
Wild violence pulls on the strings of the deeper mind like chords struck in a song of the subconscious, with no purpose but that of feeling alive, of hunting and chasing and consuming like a wild thing, a dark beast in a dark forest.

More record keeping.

I've got that feeling again, the one that comes every few months. I'm inclined to say it's a sort of detachment, but I think the truth is quite the opposite. I look into the stars and see the possibilities that await us, A luminescent moon casting it's ashen shadows through the leaves of the trees.

It seems to conjure up a sense of power, or at least the desire for it; in a way more spiritual than corporeal. I find myself longing to be something greater than what I am, to serve my purposes. Patience because a necessity and burden in equally increasing amounts.

Violence calls and is retained only by the lack of a meaningful outlet. My body and mind yearn to feel truly alive, as opposed to the mundane and passive survival that is everyday life.
Meanwhile I allow little of this to seep through; aside from a slight rise in my eccentricities I am silent. A sight growl of annoyance where none would have been before, restless eyes.
A stronger sense of the spirit than is usual, to remind me that there are still things left undone.

Going backpacking will help some. It always seems to relieve the restlessness and unease. Meanwhile the days pass in hopes of change.