I think I want to describe a pattern.
Patterns are a significant thing in how I describe my perspective
after all. Given that things have been “slow” and not necessarily
dramatic; I’ve had this long period of calm deliberate thinking
about nothing in particular that seems to speak to exactly what I
wanted to say; an example of which I hope to do again with this blog.
I must be after something in writing so much. It’s the “what’s
my motivation” question. What am I after with this voice?
I think it might be for a “pattern of
everything.” I want to describe things in a way that account for
all nuance and any misconception. I want be able to express the
spectrum of emotion; from glassy-eyed and empty to talking too fast
and too loud at precisely the correct level of enthusiasm. There’s
theoretically a way to take every sentiment from every compelling
song or bad poem or rant or criminal abjection of decency and
describe it in complete terms. It’s probably just a matter of
semantics.
But, why? Why keep talking? Why
different words for the same sentiment? It must be some level of
feeling appeasement. When you get the chance to write about something
that gives you chills. Maybe that’s what I want to do. Describe the
pattern and make it chill worthy. The ups and down compelling at
heart level while they sooth your head scrambling to protest. I want
a way to understand things that doesn’t sell the experience short.
A way to understand having friends who you’ll never talk to again.
Maybe I stay away from hope because the
more I see reason to have it, the less a place I see for myself in
the world. Part of me knows the information is out there. I know
there are people who are motivated. I know there are a lot of people
much smarter or better connected with a perspective I may never get.
Maybe they already have the reigns and are just reeling things in in
due course. It seems to miss the question to ask “what does the
world need?” and then jump to fill a role. It has and has had
everything it needs. It’s answered the questions and had the
experience and just waits around for you to discover what it already
knows.
But not to personify too much and lose
my point; if I ever have one. It’s of course TV that puts my mind
into a framework. Whenever a main character is killed off it really
sucks. They’re as much of the story as anybody else, right? They
made you feel, they fill an integral role. I mean, how does the rest
of the cast even make sense without their input? And then
inevitably, the story plays out. They’re remembered in old videos
or hallucinations. They get paid homage to and show up just in time
for a flashback. But they’re just a memory. One that no matter how
long or hard their friends want to hold onto will find itself
competing for time. It’s not so much about it fading, but the fact
that it’s all ever a memory to begin with.
Maybe if I can describe my dream, my
memories, what arises and fades in me perfectly I’ll be able
to start my cycle of change. Maybe by the end it will all just make
so much sense.
I worry about transcending my ego. Why
am I here if it’s to forget myself? Presuming I know myself, and a
why, and what “here” is…It could just be a problem of bad
language to describe the circumstances. I should, as a matter of
habit, be able to describe a world that makes perfect sense without
me perhaps even quicker than one where my intentions are felt. The
ensuing melodrama I could cross my fingers is TV worthy. The moral of
my disappearance lifted from a perfectly timed line coupled with spot
on camera work.
It really is a good thing I’m not
suicidal because writing myself out of the story doesn’t feel any
better than watching a character die off in a show. In fact, it’s a
dramatically worse feeling. But the story would still go on.
