The Epiphany Of The Bee

How disappointed I feel. The beautiful warm light of inspiration has been shrouded in cloudy mists. The dance of my blog muse seems to have reached the end of the first Act. I have sat here for several days pondering what to write about, what to review or scribe opinions of. Everything in the news, though interesting, has not forced my hand to keyboard in fury or inspiration and I sit pondering why this may be.
It is apparent to me that this is a blog, and I am in not attempting to pretend that what I am posting here is not. So in a sense I am indeed finding something to write about, even if it is just my lack of focus. Perhaps if I was intellectual or an acclaimed author, this would be regarded to be of notable value to the literary world. But I am not, and so these words will reside upon the Internet forever more.
In a way I suppose the philosophical question about whether a falling tree in a forest makes any sound without an audience applies here. If words are written in a blog, book or article and no one reads them, ?sense do they make
It is not without self realisation that I let you know how amused I was by that last paragraph. It tickles me to think that one day you (yes YOU), will stumble across this page in the future. That for some reason you were led here by a variety of search engine robots to glean some information that you required from this page. What information could that be, what lies within these words that can be treasured by some and valueless to others? I certainly do not know. But in truth I must do. After all I have become the creator, and without me this collection of well known words would not have laid on this page in this manner.
What a dilemma this gives me. The words fall from my conscious mind without effort or any planning. They stick here and one day will be read by you. Does this make me the aforementioned creator, or merely just a proponent in a chaotic accidental world? Perhaps it is predestination. Maybe these words, in this order, at this time were meant to be. But this train of thought is too paranoid to make sense. Say for instance I now just simply deleted this all, I have been the only reader of these words, but maybe that was entirely who they were meant for. Who is to say either way? I know it is not me. Perhaps it is you. In your unplanned guidance by machines to venture upon this site, to read and to take note, perhaps you can answer why or to what end I have put these words upon the Internet?
This stream of words and thoughts has certainly become quite addictive to me now. The beauty of this has fallen upon my mind like a million petals of sweet scented flowers. There are questions to be asked of everything, and whether or not it is visible immediately, it is there humming in the background like a pollinating Bee.
It has stopped. Again, I sit quietly reading back my words. How unfortunate that this should occur after the epiphany of the Bee. Yet it has not lasted long. I cannot help but enjoy where this is going. I appreciate that to whoever you are, reading this collection of thoughts may well be stagnant and dull. However at this moment, for me, it is quite soothing. Literary alcohol. It certainly is a lot cheaper than the real stuff.
Maybe today I can use this torrent of words that rain from my mind and put them to good use elsewhere. Perhaps a poem or even a short story, despite my lack of style and skill. We shall see, as my father always says, but unlike him I have intention. It is funny the things we say repeatedly to a variety of situations. "We shall see" has forever meant to me the same as "not a chance" when spoken by my father. It is his way of politely rejecting an idea or suggestion. It is comical to hear it said still after so many years. The polite nature of the phrase has gone, because it no longer implies a possibility, time has taught me that, it simply means "no".
I am hardly any better myself. I struggle to refrain from the repetition of words in conversation with other people. I used to suffer from constantly saying 'basically', but managed to shift that from my tongue. Recently I have found the phrase 'to be honest' creeping in, and it annoys me. It implies other things I have said were not honest, or that I impart information through a jumble of lies. Sometimes listening to your own speech is frustrating, mainly because you are paying more attention to it than who it is being spoken to.
So there it is. A blog post. I managed to break the silence and hope it doesn't look like piffle. It is now, after all, part of history.