More lost notes.

I found another crinkled piece of paper in my room, dated 4/11/07. I would have been 15. It reads:

Scribbling notes right now. Write now. Inspiration? I'll think of that later. I was wasting my time earlier, so I left for this. I'm thinking regardless. I need beautiful sounding words. And I used to walk like a sage. I felt elevated. Now I feel frustrated. Consumed in my rage. Consolation brings relief, and makes me smile. Am I incapable for some or is it just my sound? I need beautiful sounding words. Abandonment gave me this setting. Inspiration came and works through me, pulsing. Seeing familiar traits. Circles, rings, other round things. Halos turn to spirals. Direction unknown. Where are we going? With this. Sing to me in simplicity, affect with driving strength. Act out descriptions or move on your own. Fantasizing. Dreams are enticing. Excitement is rising. Calm down. Keep to yourself. It's too meaningless to settle. Act on impulse, but fight for the worthy. Internally organs beat with a fury, the outside is still. Once the movement was of a sage. Explanations of events suggest otherwise. Convinced, a new role is assumed. That was me. Now this is me. Everything close. Everything near.