Anything to Puncture The Stillness

I am profoundly vacant at this current moment. I feel inclined to write and fulfill my Zen duty, but nothing is on my finger tips besides this. It is simply that I have nothing really to say anymore. I thought that changing "Ribbon's Mind" to "Five Story Place" would undo my writer's block and reimburse my mind with ideas. But instead it has led to even more emptiness. Perhaps it is time to put Ivy Ribbon to bed. I have seen others follow me, and by that I mean start a project of their own. I can't help but be ego-enhanced for a moment for I led them to have such an idea, well I only hope I did. But at the same time I long to be different. I would never want to be the same as someone else which sounds almost worse than being the same as everybody else. But to be honest, it slightly bothers me that they have followed me; making me choose between Ivy and my Independence. I know that it wasn't my original idea; someone obviously had a project before me, but I followed blogger for I had something to say. Now, I think I've said it. Now on the other hand everyone deserves to be their own. Of course, I don't want to keep anyone from their creative expression. And I'm not talking about all bloggers. I'm talking about only certain ones, or even a singular one. So, this may be Ivy Ribbon's last post though I'm torn. it lies on still water for now. Leaving anything to puncture the stillness.

Vacations are important to reimburse your soul. This is true on so many levels. that's a "Five Story" oppurtunity.

When do we wake up? At what point do we rise from practically being unconscious to having memory?

Who are we?

My mother asked me to describe myself in three words, or so. I couldn't really get past creative and slow. [in my mind, I said fatter] And, honestly, I don't think I'm that creative, but I know I'm pretty slow- physically and mentally.

But, at what point in time do we become critical of ourselves? I don't remember being critical when I was five or really 7. I don't remember when I started comparing my stomach to other girls'. I do-- however-- remember being competitive with other kids in who would finish their tests/quiz's the fastest. I was last a lot. blerg. It really was a race back in elementary school, because grades really didn't matter.

Were We Ever Innocent?

Were we ever Innocent? Was it just for a split second and then the recycled air around us soiled it? We burst into the air that was shared by now trillions and landed into the doctor's or our parent's hands. That first touch or gasp for air was our moment of branding. Then we were carved into the walls of humanity. I am no different. Neither is anyone else. So, aren't we all the same? Innocent once, all at that same time in our mothers' stomach.