Chapter: Sunday Neurosis

We're all flawed, some are temporary compared to others. Lately, I've been in a state that I couldn't even describe. I haven't been doing much with my free time, haven't been completing the many ideas and projects I come up with at all, but yet still felt ok about it because I always thought to myself "I'm gonna complete it someday." When in reality, time keeps passing and days go by and the inspiration and motivation dies off as soon as I'm done visualizing the idea.

I realized I was caring too much about the outcome and the message I was saying that I wouldn't even want to work. I dreaded working on anything because it felt like a burden, Cared too much about it being great, that the part most sacred to me, the process, became the worst. I wasn't enjoying it and gained a lack of focus. We all want to be happy in our lives. We all want to succeed. In order to do that, we must do what we love and enjoy most. I wasn't making art for myself anymore. I worried about what people might think, what they may interpret and it just didn't feel honest.
It was tainted.

I haven't created something that I really feel in such a long time. In order for me to gain control of my life again I need to reconnect with myself. I want to get to know who I am. I was recently asked that question and I was speechless. I had absolutely no idea what to say.

So I guess I'm getting back on my feet again by getting my life together. It's not gonna happen in one day, but I can start. It's on me to keep it going. I only have one life, I should enjoy it while I'm living, doing what I love.

Chapter: Under Construction

Everything is off. Every single little thing is out of sync. What was, no longer is and I'm left with an unrequited emotion that haunts me. Time is the remedy. Of course it bothers me you don't care. I know anything I feel is irrelevant to you. I was an idiot to ever think otherwise. Of course you do good now. You're on point now. You can see clearly now. But you don't see the effects you leave on other people. You directly effected me. Continuously when you thought I shouldn't care. Not like you. You wrecked havoc. Complete havoc and then you leave to make yourself better. Cool. Whatever casualties occurred aren't your problem. Should have always kept that wall up. Didn't know what it was there for, but it was there for a reason. I get it now. I can't help but feel resent. Not like you care. Words I say are just blown away by the wind. With no record of ever being there. If only time passed faster so all these feelings could just die and be gone. I hate them.

Chapter: Message Read

When the fear of a threat inhibits you from saying what you may feel, it's not right. If what you do is seen as wrong and detrimental to the other, although it makes sense to you, its not right. If they're so quick to mention it, that means you've always been an option. But in reality isn't that what we are? What keeps you with that person, what is holding you to them? It seems so scary to change what has been in your life for so long, but I guess thats what happens when clashing is routine. Its almost like I can't write. I can't say what I really feel. Theres a lack of understanding in the connection there is or was if what I do makes you change your mind so quickly. I don't think we ever do things to intentionally harm the other, we are just ourselves. The person we are. You do things that seems fitting to you, and I ask. It's not my intention to destroy everything. It's my intention to understand so I can leave it alone. But I guess I'm also guilty of not listening. So the matter lies in the air.

I don't like threats, the yelling and the shunning. But I get it. Messaged received.

Chapter: A Fit Destruction

I hate the feeling of containment as an artist. What kind of crap is that. Ugh. Sometimes I feel like exploding and just running outside with a paint can and throwing it on everything in sight. I like to create and I enjoy destroying. Its a weird mix, but thats life really. We live and create our lives through the experiences we have and we most of the time destroy it with the choices we make. Naturally. May seem like a leap of an assertion, but....this is my blog. I can say whatever I want.
So yeah, feeling pressured and just so recluse have my mind doing somersaults. It's freaking making me nauseous. All the things like is mixed with. It's such a concoction of sweet and sour that I am forever in a state of awkward. I never know what to do, what to expect, how to react or how to go about it. I just analyze and observe, almost in awe of what this world is full of. (Insert your own idea of what world is made up of here.) It's just weird. But it can be beautiful. On really rare occasions. Under a certain lighting. On a foggy day. Around 3am.

Chapter: I'm Too Frustrated to Name This Post

I don't have many issues, if any. Those I do have are generally kept under control. Still, I manage to feel like utter worthless crap somedays strictly out of the blue. Maybe it's not so random seeing as I've educated myself enough to know that any kind of happiness or pleasure is from an over casted plague of complacency we are all victims to. Sounds rough, but is there really any other way to put it? What's the point of sugar coating anything nowadays? It's as if we are asking to be kept under this veil of ignorance. Sure, ignorance is bliss, without any doubt, but is it a blissful feeling realizing we are all mindless drones being pushed through some sort of system under the illusion of free will? It's unsettling when we fully comprehend it. Why is it so hard to succeed? Better yet, why is it so much easier to sit down and watch a movie, rather than focus that attention towards something I don't know productive, fulfilling. I could go on to mention my disdain towards people after reading several posts on Facebook and twitter, but then I would have to call myself a hypocrite. I find myself stuck deep inside some funk that has got me tied down by every hair on my body. Or at least it feels that way. I feel lazy and distracted to do what I love. I step outside of my body and try to witness myself from a different perspective, and I think that is what has me in this bitter mood. I'm under a content facade that living like this is ok. But when I go to correct myself, the most random weight sits itself on my body and it's as if I am physically incapable to do something. At all. So I lay on my bed falling right back into a hole of expediency.

So here I am. Typing and still not doing. I could say a lot more, but I won't.

Chapter: Scoop of Truth

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Chapter: Traced on My Palm

Perhaps I'm scarred with all the twisted attempts towards your happiness I made when you shattered mine.
Perhaps I'm not aware that your actions, affected mine permanently time after time.
Perhaps I've grown cold, so cold that it feels warm.
Like I'm standing in a hurricane completely unaware of the storm.
Perhaps this is temporary, a phase I'll pass through soon,
But maybe it's necessary, since you barely remember the picnic on the moon.
You say so many things, the truth stings so why does this tickle?
Perhaps it makes me laugh that you really think my feelings are fickle.
What is it that you expect from me? To be a stone, a boulder you won't move?
To be still at your words and actions, to just stand by and approve?
This is news.
Perhaps we can't communicate,
Perhaps we don't understand.
Or is it I just miss the words you wrote once on the palm of my hand?

Chapter: Not A Single Clue

What kind of a bond is it if you can't be real without being put down,
Like I don't have a right to speak, to cry to make any sound.
I knew in the beginning, but you hushed my inhibitions,
Leading me to a world where your embrace is my addiction.
If I even state the word, raise the thought or imply the action,
The withdrawals start imediately and I'm led to my retraction.
Is this right?
Not feeling special, called needy, not an ounce of care at the sight of a tear.
I'm "emotionally attached", excuse me for being human.
My simple requests are burdens to you and you believe their completion
would suffice my happiness. That you do oh so much for me.
You've made progress, we've made progress,
but the nightmares come and go.
The trust is back, but the fear is instilled,
Hope for the best and ignore all the woe.
I can't even write poetry, it's like it's all dead.
Emotions stirring violently while I lay down on my bed,
but there they stay, plain, dry, quiet and grey,
Unarticulated thoughts tainted with dismay.
What is this?
I want to run, scream, shout and kill,
Implant misery to those who hurt me.
But what's the point.
It happened,
It'll always lie in the past,
holding my present captive and my future as a pathetic hostage.
What has become of me?

Chapter: Subject to Failure

Everything is this country is marred with fiscal issues. We are brainwashed with the amount of stuff we have and the more we want it. We're used to buying and owning, continually raising the bar.

Is it me or does money seem to thwart dreams and ambitions, and make people full of potential settle for the stability of a bi-weekly paycheck? Selling their time to businesses and corporations instead developing their minds, abilities and talents. NewsWeek did a recent study on the top 13 most useless majors and of course Fine Arts was listed as number one. Big Surprise. They based it off of unemployment rates, earnings and projected growth within the next decade. Realistically, in this day and age those things are "needed" in order to "succeed". That's where the mind boggling happens for me. How is it we've evolved into a nation that relies on it's monetary system to determine stature and success? It isn't even the nation's monetary system, it's the Federal Reserve's, (but that's another issue.. I won't go all political science-y on you.)
Now let's return to the "useless majors". Art critic Blake Gopnik responded to the list with

After all, who’s more important today, Rembrandt or the people who bought his art? Monet or the people who bought his? Van Gogh or the rich idiots who FAILED to buy what he made? Useless is as useless does, I say, and it seems pretty clear to me that, across history, many of the people who made the biggest difference had training in the most useless professions. (Aristotle, anyone?) 

I think it's safe to say most of us can agree with that comment. Or at least I'd hope so. If we didn't have people studying philosophy, where would these new thoughts and theories come from, and what about? Drama and theatre arts or film, video and photographic arts? Really? What movies would we be watching or what shows would make us laugh? (I understand you don't need to major in these areas, but let's think of it as simply it being your passion.) And finally the one that really hit home, fine arts. Anyone who decides to major in art is obviously taking a risk. Personally, every time I tell someone what I study at school I get the casual fake smile that really says "God be with you". To get that all the time is kind of discouraging, but then to read it's the #1 most useless major was just offensive. 

(It was discouraging too, I was depressed for about 2-3 days, but I'm over it.) What Gopnik says is true, if we don't have people studying all these different fields, we'll lose the diversity this nation is known for and we'll all be a bunch of mindless drones running through the system. I don't understand how people don't see it, but the world will MOST DEFINITELY not be a better place when people have more money. We all fall into that trap. "If only I had more money, then I could do..." yada yada yada. Truth is, we need to want less and value what's important more. 

What is happening is like a mind-blowing interrelated domino effect. Personally, I believe it begins the second we are afraid to fail. What was the list based on? Unemployment rates, earnings and projected growth. All the things we somehow believe calculate our chances of succeeding. If we don't achieve a stable job with a solid income, we are failures. Edwin Land once said, "An essential aspect of creativity is not being afraid to fail." If we get this stability, we won't want to risk it for the fear of failing and losing what we have. If we do not push ourselves to take risks, our creativity dies. This thought has been embedded in us since school. Schools are constantly killing creativity and limiting their students. The curriculums are biased, the teachers are not great, and the teachers that are great aren't rewarded. Not enough focus is placed on public education. The one of single most important things! Educating the youth! But I digress. In high school we are told to be doctors, be lawyers, be whatever brings home the bread. But why? So we have a surplus of bread? Doesn't bread expire? At some point it'll be useless, no? That's my thought progress at least.

We'd all have cancer if it weren't for doctors.

I understand there are people who are truly passionate and talented at what they do. Doctors, lawyers, engineers, nurses, computer scientists and business people. My only issue is placing the importance solely on those who make the most money. A perfect example of this, (in no way am I comparing them to doctors and such) are reality TV stars. What is it exactly that they do? Entertain sure, but what else? What do they contribute to the positive progress of the world? You tell me.

But anyways, I wrote this because I was frustrated with money. Not being able to get a job, which doesn't help me get a studio space, or materials, or a car to get to a job. I just feel like it's creeping up on me and impeding my progress. I'll find a loophole, eventually. I hope. But in the end, "the grass is greener where you water it."

Chapter: Silent Screams

Who do I call when I get a good grade? Who do I call when my dog does something funny? Who do I call to talk to about my day and all the craziness I come across on the train? Who do I call to just converse about life? My fears, my ambitions, my feelings. Who do I call if the only person I want to talk to is you. No one, you shut the door in my face. Out of no where. All these statements and claims with nothing to support them, nothing to help me understand. I end up explaining the course of a conversation and then you change your premise to something else. How on earth am I to keep up and understand if you won't let me? I am confused beyond belief. When I try to speak to you about how I feel you give me an article to read...I'm asking to speak to you, not to google. It's like my mind is caught up in some whirlwind. I don't know what to do, if I'm wanted, if I'm boring, if you care. I do and what's the point of anything. I try not to offend, I try not to cry, I try not to say the wrong thing, but I am imperfect. Stone me for goodness sake. I don't know what to say anymore, but yet I still yearn the sound of your voice. I'm so blatantly shut out and I still yearn the warmth of your arms even if your embrace is cold. Am I a fool if you matter to me? Am I oblivious or am I supposed to just know everything you feel?

I don't know anything anymore, all I know is I want to talk to you.
Unfortunately there is no longer anything to talk about.