Wednesday, November 10, 2010
day speak illiterate
It's another quiet morning. The dreams of yesterday are awake this morning, earnest in their yearning. I can't seem to get the room right and I want to get rid of everything. Even the dampness of the early air and the autumn leaves recreate a distant world in which I may have once resided. A different history could have yielded different results. I have built a dream and can taste the dusty resentments. The equation never seems to come out right no matter how much I do the math. The usual suspects of reality and fantasy seem to blur where retrospect and reality mix and I am left uncertain, caught in the unfortunate safety of another day. I can't be honest, I can never be honest. It's never changing and I understand that, lost and gone forever.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Pilot
Life is a series of awkward moments interluded by rapture and lost epiphanies.- me
I have concluded that it is essential that I once more start emptying the scattered contents of my brain. I have been locking it away, rather effectively even, in a sort of junk drawer of thoughts. Useless things, unneeded, cluttering. Stuff that really should be just thrown out.
I enjoy taking them out however, dumping them across a page in the disorganized fashion that is my own. Sometimes, when I am feeling clever, I can tie the words in delicious knots. They twist and turn and hide my secrets. Things I'd never tell another soul. Yet there they are, daring a stranger to lay them out, divide and interpet.
I used to share such thoughts privately in a series of diaries. When I was enduring the misery of teenagerhood they offered a much-needed solace and escape as well as a place to daydream about the opposite sex. Eventually Myspace became the drug of choice, a venue to share publicly. Like an exhibitionist I could show the world my nastiest emotional bits, knowing that most wouldn't care or understand anyway. It was nice. My diary faded away, determined to be too much of a liability. With the slow, painful death of Myspace, my random blogging died as well.
Not that it mattered. I'd already lost my muse. It is essential to note that I am only creative when I emotionally distraught. A crushing fight with a loved one, a breakup, an academic failure, now that's the meat of creativity! What's a happily married college grad with a steady homelife and a healthy extended family to cry about?
Well, I'm sure I'll think of something. :)
I have concluded that it is essential that I once more start emptying the scattered contents of my brain. I have been locking it away, rather effectively even, in a sort of junk drawer of thoughts. Useless things, unneeded, cluttering. Stuff that really should be just thrown out.
I enjoy taking them out however, dumping them across a page in the disorganized fashion that is my own. Sometimes, when I am feeling clever, I can tie the words in delicious knots. They twist and turn and hide my secrets. Things I'd never tell another soul. Yet there they are, daring a stranger to lay them out, divide and interpet.
I used to share such thoughts privately in a series of diaries. When I was enduring the misery of teenagerhood they offered a much-needed solace and escape as well as a place to daydream about the opposite sex. Eventually Myspace became the drug of choice, a venue to share publicly. Like an exhibitionist I could show the world my nastiest emotional bits, knowing that most wouldn't care or understand anyway. It was nice. My diary faded away, determined to be too much of a liability. With the slow, painful death of Myspace, my random blogging died as well.
Not that it mattered. I'd already lost my muse. It is essential to note that I am only creative when I emotionally distraught. A crushing fight with a loved one, a breakup, an academic failure, now that's the meat of creativity! What's a happily married college grad with a steady homelife and a healthy extended family to cry about?
Well, I'm sure I'll think of something. :)
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