They sat, anchoring two long shadows.

Yet another vauge and introspective post from me. If you don't like them, read something else. Why do i write them in here? Well, quite honestly, i don't have a book to write them in yet, and pens make my hands cramp whilst i write prose. But all things aside, here are my thoughts.

Pressing my hands against it, the depth of this wall seems to go on forever. Its not completely thick, not completely like an eternity. It is dense and it is wide, wider than any journey could follow.
The only way to the other side of this wall is through, to move through it, to pass beyond it. It has no doors and it has no face up which i can climb. It is infinite except in its depth. Behind me, there are similiar walls. Not the same, this wall is something much more profound. It is subtle, and yet imposing. It has presence, and yet could so easily be ignored, it would be as though it did not exist.
I press my hands against it, my ear, my body. Softly, not as though i might try to test its strength, i know its strength. I try to feel it, to give it form, to give it function.
This wall is the next thing i must pass, it is the point between where i am now and where i will be. It is a splinter in my mind. I can feel lies tear at my mind, and i refuse to allow them to come to bear. This simple sign is proof of the wall. I feel a pull, a need, an unsatisfied hunger to move. To advance. To arrive at some new place, to begin a new understanding.
And so, i strive to continue. I strive to build in myself the tools and disciplines nessecary to continue.
To this end, i will find a means. To this end, i will come.

And i will now make in myself the work of Art which i so desperately wish to be.

Sine Scientia Ars Nihil Est.