It isn’t until the wee hours of the
morning I can be creative. And of course by creative I mean deep
enough in thought to forget who I’ve stolen from. I don’t think
there are any answers. Only stories, methods, and tendencies. You’ll
take only what you’re capable of from anything. It’s terrifying
to think you have to lose so much in order gain so much. What could
be a more deconstructive process? If who, what, and when is so ready
and capable of shifting. You’re always in flux. Or maybe you’re
not, but everything about you and your environment is, so why not
“you?” What is it called when you maintain during endless flux.
Self? Observing? Collapsing? Your particles are shifting, connected
to things you can’t ever know. Your decisions constantly affecting
and controlling what is and isn’t. What happens when you realize
you already have ultimate power? You don’t want it. You don’t
qualify it as powerful, just a matter of fact.
I connect with characters. They are the
dramatic portraying of what actually goes on, and yet they feel more
real to me than much of my day to day. It’s easier for me to
imagine getting on in an episode of skins than in life. Or maybe it’s
just simply appealing because it isn’t my life. Because a story is
in place, one I can kind of rely on. Characters resolve, generally.
The story can’t die. It can be relied upon. They play with death,
drugs, and emotions. They speak to ideals we wish we saw in others.
Love. Bliss. Trust. And we’re made to believe that even in a world
we’d never want to actually imagine these things exist.
I have a corner, but I want a corner. I
don’t want to make sense to people can’t make sense. I wanna be
OCD, if not just obsessive. I want cohorts. Losing the attachment
makes you inhuman. I wonder what it feels like to have an emotional
component to being completely understood. I don’t respect isolated
emotion. It’s too easy to get angry, it can be just as easy to be
happy, if you want. I don’t necessarily think you lucky if you are
disposed to “falling in love” with people you are desperate to
connect with.
I can’t help it. The danger coupled
with infinite opportunity to learn. To tell a different story. A
compelling story. One that changes you before you can dictate how.
How can you ask that of someone? To get
lost in them. To understand. You can’t. Unless you both can
appreciate just how quickly it can change. Mutually reverence for the
moment. Amplify the observation. Make real infinite potential.
I should play more.
Do I stay up to prove to myself that I
won’t run out? That I have more control when I really try to. Sleep
is a condition, a compulsion, but not what controls. Do I abstain out
of fear or respect? Have I already tasted what it is I’d be losing?
When I stopped loving I stopped feeling such a ridiculously driving
force I allowed it to control me. Control is important, no? There was
a time that she didn’t have a hold on me, other than being the most
beautiful thing I’d ever seen. But I wasn’t dramatic. I wasn’t
prepared to lose myself happily. I wasn’t prepared to think of
anything but myself under the spell of love. Maybe I find myself too
convincing. I got too many ridiculous ideas and have trapped myself
into them because I’m too sold by how they made me feel. Is it just
because it was the first time? I find myself obsessive because it was
a sole incident? Am I looking for the next one? The next one would
have to be a completely different flavor. What does that say about
the original? What does it say about the feeling? Do I behave in
reaction to what I’m not feeling? Comparing all others as if there
is a standard. But of course there is, her individual person,
something you can’t “logically” compare across people. I won’t
be a slave.
How am I so unable to stop thinking
about the same things? And what the fuck is it doing to my mind…
Punctuated moments of sincerity. Save
your tears for when they matter. So many loose ends.
