An Attempt at Expressing My Insanity

Beginning a project is always exciting, but this one specifically has got me extremely excited. For the first time, I've got a talented artist, a new friend and wonderful human being named Kyle, who is creating artwork from my drivels of words I've thrown up onto a page. It's always a special privilege when someone finds your work intriguing and inspiring enough to bring it to life on a page and I'm taking it with more than a bit of giddiness. That being said, I don't usually post samples of my work on here because I either don't think its worth anyone's time or I simply don't want to share. However, this time, I feel like this piece is worthy of a bit of showcase if for nothing else, to make a record or to at least give a taste of what I'm doing. So in the next few days or weeks, I plan to post up little portions of what I'm writing for both Kyle's benefit as well as my own. Can't promise it'll be amazing, but it will be something I'm starting to grow proud of for whatever it's worth. 


Here's to the creative cliff and jumping off. 

Epitaph in Silence

There seems to be no sympathy

For the people that we used to be

So we run out into the sea

Hiding no lies, we struggle and fight

Just for one moment to feel satisfied

Oh we try, and find there’s nobody inside

There’s just time.

Up and out we go, but nobody knows

How to find what will help us to grow

So we take a deep dive into the snow

Crying and wishing, we’d find ourselves missing

To come back and see loved ones sitting

Then come running, hugging, and kissing,

Only to wake up once more.

There seems to be no sympathy

For the people we used to be,

So we run out into the sea

Feeling so washed away, one day becomes every day,

Wondering if we should go or just try to stay,

Choking on words we never could say,

Only to end up alone.

Misplaced

It's a strange feeling; being misplaced. Like you've been there before but you just don't quite feel like you belong. I suppose it's should be frustrating by now but rather, it doesn't really make me feel like anything at all. Which is probably worse. Actually if I had to say how it makes me feel in particular, its mostly just...thoughtful. I've always been a horribly thoughtful person even when I try hard not to be. Sometimes it makes me feel like one of those people they make movies about whose mind just isn't quite on the same wave length as everyone else's. Not in a good or superior way. Just different. I suppose it doesn't really make a difference at the end of the day. It's not something I can change or go to the doctor to have fixed. And it's not like I'm broken or crazy or something like that.

I just am. I'm me. For better or for worse I suppose. Not really a comforting thought, but a true one.

But being me comes with its quirky qualities. Having constant obsessive needs to write and create and imagine being the biggest one. I serious do not think I have the capacity to go for even one hour without thinking of something imaginary. It's not that I hate my own life or anything that clique. I simply just see nothing in real life right now that warrants extra thought. I probably wouldn't be so caught up in my head if I talked to more people, but who the hell is really worth me trying to explain all this to? Certainly not anyone at this university. Yeah, I got friends here and I love them as much as I can, but they really don't want or care to understand. Which is all well and good with me because I don't really want to care to explain it to them.

It just takes too many damn words. Then I end up looking like some kind of crazy, self-absorbed person who just goes on FOREVER without actually getting anywhere. I don't even want to know how many people find me completely annoying. It's probably a lot more than I'd like to think, but on this matter, I'm going to stick with ignorance being bliss.

Funny. I hate it when people talk about depression because every time it gets brought up I feel like laughing my ass off at how stupid people are. Everyone gets down/sad/upset/lonely and humans just love being victims so much they gave it the name "Depression" so someone could cook up more medicines for us to abuse.

Oh, America you little messed up child you.

But I'm off topic, my point is, whether or not I can be labeled "depressed" is completely irrelevant. What IS relevant, is that I'm content to be this way. Frighteningly so. There are quite literally times I feel completely disinclined to be around anyone. It's quite the mystery how I have any friends at all. Someone give them medals for sticking it out this long.

Loneliness is the real kicker. Some days are better than others. I write, go to class, watch movies, read a good book, and just get lost in other stuff, other worlds, other people (Imaginary ones. They seem to like me better). Silence gets to me sometimes. Music helps and sometimes I resort to acting out scenes from my stories like I'm 12. It's fun, lots actually. A lot more fun than it should be for a 21 year old about to graduate college. But I'll manage like I always do and eventually someone will either appreciate me or not (I mean a man. I got too many women in my life as it is).

More writing. More watching. More waiting. I'm getting good at it.

Canvas

There has to be someone up there laughing. 


Like it's all some big, elaborate, well-timed joke. Shiver at my side, pencil in my hand pausing over blank paper, "sleep away" knows exactly how I feel, sunlight tempts me silently, and as for me, well...I'm waiting to see if that "some day it will be" is ever really coming. 


Laugh on my friends, laugh on. 

Uso

"What do you want from me? Just let me breathe a little. What do you want to see? What's in front of your eyes? What do you want to believe? Still nothing can be settled. Hold on to the words you say...It's no good"

When I think about everything, from the beginning to the end, I still can't see it. Maybe that's the point. Maybe it doesn't have to make sense and that's why its so hard to think about. Beyond any kind of pain or sadness, it's that blank space of having no answers, no reasons, no answers to the questions that can drive a person mad. 

I haven't always done things right, Lord knows I've made the wrong decisions, hurt people, not always walked the right road. Hasn't everyone? But sometimes you know that you did the best you could with what you had. Is it too much to take pride in the things you worked hard for? For once I feel justified in saying that I gave my time and effort despite my fears, my uncertainties, my apprehensions. When you dare to step outside the world you know, you take the risk of being left there, staring at the dark without so much as a star to guide you out. It was a risk I was willing to take.

No matter how many mistakes I've made, I don't regret the things that have happened to me. Even if they hurt, even if they aren't great, those are the things that have built me from the ground up. I don't regret it. But this time, just this time...I feel that pang of regret stirring violently in my stomach. Regret for not getting the chance to prove it could be right. For not getting the chance to give my all. And I'm just stuck with it, that feeling. It grinds down my guts with a sickeningly slow pressure. 

How do you take back what you gave with all your strength? The sad truth is that you can't. Nothing erases time, nothing makes it all go away. No matter how much anyone pretends that they can. I just wish I wasn't the only one that understood that. 

In the face of it all, what do I say? In the midst of it all, what do I see?  In the wake of it all, what do I believe? 

Someone please tell me.

"Must be a dream I see, It's like deja vu again. Trying so hard to know inside of you. Staring at your eyes to feel...Wishing to break through to you, but it's a hopeless dream. So cold, you're beside me, smiling...Hey Liar, Hey Lair, this and everything is a lie, Enough already, I'm tired, so tired, What do you think of living without me?"

Waxing Vainly

Easy isn't suppose to exist and therefore it doesn't. Nothing ever is and nothing ever will be. We all know it or at least the evil realist inside us does. And mine knows good and well that nothing in life is easy and this isn't any different. I expected it, was ready for it, waiting for it even. But not a whole lot prepares you for actually living it. It'd be nice to think I'm invincible, that nothing can phase me, nothing can stop me, and nothing can take my joy, ruin my day, steal my smile. But maybe the one thing all this has taught me is the limit of my own smile, laugh, will, and patience. Perhaps even my foundations. Now that's scary. Foundations. The thing/stuff/substance we're made us. 

I can't really say I know what it is has gotten me here, maybe this, maybe that, maybe nothing, maybe everything, or at this point it could just be the silence. That lack of noise in my life. Who could have thought such a thing could chip away at a person? Maybe in a bizarre way this is an incite into a drama queen's drive to create crisis. Sometimes the lack of it can break you down more than anything else. Or at least that's what it seems to be, but I'm certainly not sympathizing with drama queens. 

Screaming, crying, maybe even laughing is what I want to do. Just have a moment to let it all hang out so to speak. But it's an even more bizarre feeling when you've no energy left to scream, no tears left to cry, and no hazard to fuel a laugh. It's like staring at a reflection of yourself having a break down and seeing a stare instead. A blank, unmoving stare. Like an oil painting from back in the day when smiling was for babies and crazy people. More importantly though I realize that I don't want to scream, cry, or laugh. Somehow the blank has become so much more appealing. 

It's even worse when you can see people needling away at you. Trying or maybe not even trying to chip away at that nice lacquer finish you glazed on to keep the cracks from showing. Funny thing is they think they are doing you some grand favor that you'll thank them for later. Too bad they haven't got a clue and you're probably closer to swinging away at their "matter of fact" face. Or worse they genuinely think they're right which might be even more disconcerting. You'd give them a piece of your mind if it wasn't such a complete waste of time and wasting time requires that energy you haven't got. So you give them bobble-head treatment and get on the next train to "Here We Go Again". 

Sad thing is I know there is no room for any of this now. No one wants to hear it, not even me. I'd rather go to the "Unforeseeable Future" than stick around in "All Too Well Known Present" and the damn train just isn't arriving fast enough. So this is the part where I pop in my headphones, go into cruise control, and let the world figure out how fast it wants to go by my windows. (This is exactly what I intend to do by the way.) And hopefully somewhere in the width of the 2400 songs on my Ipod I will finally arrive, step outside, and the rest will lapse into that infamous "History". Until then I'm going to put faith in the thickness of my privacy glass and pray the gas meter doesn't hit 'E' before the end of it all. So here's to Sade's song "In Another Time" and in the words of Lauren Bacall from the ironically titled movie "To Have and Have Not":

 

"I'd walk if it wasn't for all that water."

The Sweetest Privilege

is the memories. 

The rest is just hot air.