| OBV. |
[Jan. 5th, 2008|10:53 pm] |
| [ | How I'm Feeling |
| |  angry | ] |
| [ | I'm Listening To |
| | The motherfucking Banner | ] |
I HATE YOU! |
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| Previously posted elsewhere. |
[Jan. 1st, 2008|12:15 pm] |
| [ | How I'm Feeling |
| |  anxious | ] |
| [ | I'm Listening To |
| | Fork and Knife - Brand New | ] |
I feel like it's harder to define myself, these days. The passions I've been perfecting since day one are common practice for those who have no passion at all. But who am I to shoot down their free will?
Now how should I define myself, in a world so blurred out of context?
I am sincere. But what does that count for anymore? Sincere feels like an adjective used by apologetic therapists to account for a patient who has no outstanding positive attributes.
I am affectionate. What does affection matter if there's no one to give it to who wants it? There aren't enough people in this world who appreciate the power of a hug or a cuddle. And the ones who do, apparently haven't met me yet.
I am an artist. If you aren't one yourself, you'd probably love the art that I make. But if you are, I'd be willing to bet that you'd scoff at it one time or another. I have minimal natural talent, and have to work hard to produce what I can. But even that isn't enough. There's always someone with neater brush strokes or a more accurate piece of graphite.
I am a photographer. This might be the singular visual medium that I believe I actually have a real talent for. But even that has become trivial, these days. Anyone with a point-and-shoot thinks they're a photographer and plasters their 'work' wherever they can. Composition is overlooked, and the entire satisfaction of watching the image you created come to life at your finger tips is gone. I love the excitement of popping open the canister to peel out the negatives, waiting to see if the frames you really loved turned out how you wanted them to. But there's always more recognition given to the hipster with the polaroid than the creeper with the 35mm.
I am a writer. Nearly every second of every day is being narrated by my overractive mind. I contemplate constantly, and my thoughts constantly compete. Half of the concepts floating around in my head never escape their captivity. Simply because of how I'm positive they would be perceived. But they exist all the same. One day I think I'd like to write a book about my life. No one would buy it, but I'd like to think that my extreme overuse of adjectives and commas would at least be worth a library checkout. But now everyone's a poet. Give a teengager a blog and that's it - you've given a murder his bullets. Everyone suddenly has all these philosophical thoughts about life, filled with misplaced modifiers and an overuse of pronouns.
Not that I'm any better than those people. Here I am, sitting at the computer typing into my blog about how the world has done me wrong. Maybe the world has done us all wrong...
But despite the world's fallacies and the wrongs of my peers, I've realized that it's actually quite easy to define myself in this state of mind -
I am not them. |
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| Undermind. |
[Dec. 29th, 2007|07:47 pm] |
| [ | How I'm Feeling |
| |  annoyed | ] |
| [ | I'm Listening To |
| | Like A Movie - Midtown | ] |
You are not nearly as deep as you perceive yourself to be.
Arrogance, misconception, and idiocy do not lead to depth or understanding.
I 'get' you more than you think I do.
Just because you adore me doesn't mean you don't ignore me.
Open your ears, fasten your mouth.
There are plenty of other flowers in the field. |
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| Don't mind me. |
[Dec. 25th, 2007|10:46 pm] |
| [ | How I'm Feeling |
| | aggravated | ] |
| [ | I'm Listening To |
| | Yule Shoot Your Eye Out - FOB | ] |
And in case you were wondering,
I still hate you.
But in that way, that I kinda don't,
but mostly do.
You with your brown eyes
and shitty, thick, cliche hair.
I don't miss your arms,
I miss your truth.
Don't do that,
that's just for me.
You can't, You can't, You can't...
You can't recycle affection. |
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| Blown away. |
[Dec. 10th, 2007|08:54 pm] |
| [ | How I'm Feeling |
| |  bored | ] |
It's simple routine for the leaves to fall and the winds to shift. For the birds to fly south, and the air to grow a chill. And I guess it's time for me to change with them. But it's not that easy. The knots in the bark of the trees have been forming for centuries. So have my idiosyncrasies, my insecurities, my walls. There's a wall around my hips, but there's an invitation to my heart. My fingertips are numb, and my shoes are worn past the soles, but my feelings are fresh and warm. Hand over heart, head over heels. |
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| Stop. |
[Nov. 15th, 2007|04:56 pm] |
| [ | How I'm Feeling |
| |  artistic | ] |
| [ | I'm Listening To |
| | She - Saves the Day | ] |
Expression, repent.
Reflection, relent.
You're worth much less,
but it means so much more. |
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| I won't let you smother it. |
[May. 2nd, 2007|04:51 pm] |
| [ | How I'm Feeling |
| | exanimate | ] |
| [ | I'm Listening To |
| | Apocalypse Please - Muse | ] |
What if I'm just meant to be a dreamer,
and I never really reach what I've been striving for?
There has to be people out there like that.
People who try all their lives to achieve their big dreams, and fall short.
I don't want to be one of those people.
I can't be one of those people. |
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