I often read the things I’ve written and wonder how they came about. All I remember is that I slip into a trance, stop thinking and just let the words flow out. Sometimes the words simply refuse to come out. More often that not though, they do, and some of the times, when I’m happy of the outcome, they don’t get destroyed or hidden, and some people get to see them. Some of the times, they tell me they’re good, and only a few people criticize them. Those are the people I love the most.
But recently, I haven’t been able to write as much, simply because all I want to do is bitch about some things. For those of you who know me, I complain a lot, and as some sort of a reaction, I began feeling very self-aware when I complain, and I try not to do it so often. This self-awareness stops me from slipping into my writing trance, which in all honestly, if not in the most articulate wording, sucks. I’ve promised myself in the past few months that I will refuse to, over and over, to censor myself, yet I keep doing it. I think I’ve reached the tipping point. I will rant with all the bitch-juice God gave me, and if you care enough read it, and if you don’t, then you are no friend of mine. Just kidding, we’re still friends, but I just don’t like you that much any more.
First of all, I’m confused. I don’t know where I’m going in life, but I really want to get to there fast, because I already packed all of my crap, and I’m sick and tired of waiting. I’m confused because I don’t know who I am any more from the masks I keep wearing. I’m utterly and profoundly confused because I don’t know where I stand in the eyes of all the people I know (welcoming any self-affirming comments below.) I’m confused because people keep telling me that being in university is the best time of my life, yet I feel like a monkey’s poo-poo hole.
I’m confused, and I’m not ashamed to say it. I don’t no where I’m going right now, but I seek glory eventually. I need to be precise. I seek glory, void of vanity and evil. I don’t care if people don’t remember my name after I die, and I don’t even care if they do know my name before I die, but I want them all to know, nay, feel the impact of a guy who stood for something, and it was good. I want bards to sing about “That One Guy who did Great Things but was Cool About it.” I don’t want to “gently go into the night”, I want to go out with (metaphorical) pyrotechnics and fake explosions.
Yet there are many good things I stand for, and no stable ground for me on which to stand, so that will have to wait. I wouldn’t mind a healthy dose of focus any time soon.
That’s all I have to rant about now. I feel much better. =D