It is strange how reading a particular thing can put one in such a peculiar state of mind. What have I been reading you ask? I have been reading comics. I have had so much spare time of late, not having a car, I have nothing to do but read. First I reread Transmetropolitan which is my favorite; then Johnny the Homicidal Maniac and it's sequel Squee! Transmetro always makes me burn with hatred for how the world is and what it's turning into. Johnny and Squee take me to a kind of gothic madness I was never quite hard-core enough to enjoy, but that I understand nonetheless.
I did read some new things. I read my way through Preacher in it's entirety. Preacher made me ache deep in a part of my soul I had forgotten. To say why would make me feel like a silly overly-romantic lass still wet behind the ears. I get too wrapped up in the characters.
This morning, my internet was down, so I settled in to read the first arch in Neil Gaiman's "Sandman". For those of you who are unfamiliar, it's the story of the Lord of Dreams; he is captured by a wizard or sorts, and held captive for 70 years. In that time his possesions, his tools which are pieces of his power, are lost through-out the world. Eventually all his captors die, and he escapes, and needs to find his tools again. The nightmares and dreamscapes through which he travels in search of these things makes me remember how important dreaming can be to the human soul.
I have been accused of many things in my life. I am hedonistic, a sensualist. I live fast, but I don't want to die young. I feel things profoundly, which is part of why I don't ever read current events. The horrible things I see there are enough to bring me to tears. Although it is also true that the ultimate beauty of a single moment or an exquisite song has been seen to do the same. I've been acused of being irresponsible, of being immature. I've been told I'm too wise for my years, that I'm too smart and too beautiful for my own good. I've been told that I have so much potential if only I would apply myself.
It is only when you realize that you have nothing left to loose that you can leave everything behind and start again. One by one, over the past two years, everything of value has been taken from me. Things that bound me here; things, people I loved- they have left me. Cars, family, boyfriends, lovers. They will not hold me back any longer.
I once spent many years inprisioned- but not in the way you may think. My jailer was a man who was supposed to love me; a man I discovered later was little more then a child. Dear reader, he still exsists in the same void as he did when I left him. He has ceased to grow. He had also caused me to cease to grow. In fact he caused me to become someone who was not me at all. Then one day I realized where I had gone wrong.
Somewhere along the way, I had given myself away to become what was expected of me. I hadn't -lost- myself. I had actually willingly given away everything that made me who I was. And for what? For love? What a cruel joke. Love for me remains a cruel joke, but I beleive in it implicitly. I give it away freely because that is it's nature. I love easily and often, and the more I give the more I have. Or so I'd thought until recently. I'm starting to wonder if that's not true. Everytime you love someone, you give them a piece of yourself- if they do not return that love, you are left with a gap in your soul. The most recent betrayal has carved a giant chasm in me, where the chunk was forcibly ripped out. That wound will heal because it was not freely given. It is the other peice next to it that I gave away without thinking that will not heal.
I digress.
Over time since I left that man three years ago, I have slowly reclaimed myself through much trial and travail. Though I have reclaimed myself, there are things I have not reclaimed. When I went to New York City for the first time two years ago, I realized what I had lost and needed to reclaim. I'd lost my Dreams. Until now, physical things have prevented me from reclaiming my dreams. I have been steadily working towards this moment though pain and tragedy, working harder and suffering more then I could ever have imagined.
My detractors, my accursers: they are my family, they are my friends. Some of them do not realize they are doing it. Some have given away themselves and thier own dreams as well. Some of them, because of my nature, do not respect me. Some immediately assume that I am less intelligent simply because I do not have a college education. Newsflash: you do not learn about life sitting behind a desk in school.
The worst thing I have been accused of: I am a dreamer. I'll always be a starving artist, I've been told. I'll never make anything of myself. Well what defines "Made something of myself"? Is that a husband, 2.5 children, and a career I spent many many years and lots of money training for that I quickly realized I hated? Is that owning the nice cars, and the nice houses, picnics on weekends, the boats, and vacations in Hawaii? Or is it living in a small apartment by myself being able to walk the streets of a city I love, working on my Art that I love more then any human I've ever met? I have little hope of ever finding a man of the sort I seem to fall for- well-educated, sensitive, and strangely normal in the ways that count, and complely abnornal in the other ways that count- who will take me seriously enough to ever really see me. I'm not the sort of girl that sort of guy settles down with.
I am not sad, or depressed, so don't ask. I am perhaps happier then I have been in my whole life. I can see the things I've dreamt of for so long just on the horizon. And as much as I love everyone, I will walk away without looking back when the time comes.
With childlike innocence
I turned away
When the world I loved became
The enemy
They talk about you
They shout out loud
When they get bored of talking about themselves
When I've lost the lust for life
I know I'll find a way
I'll find it where
I left it all that time ago
And if you feel like letting go
I know you'll find a way
You'll find it where
You left it all that time ago
The pressure of your eyes
Has turned me cold
I fear myself
The paranoia, will drive us mad
The paranoia, will drive us mad
The paranoia, will drive us mad
They talk and then they laugh but you assure yourself
That they meant well, they meant well
They talk about you
They shout out loud
When they get bored talking about themselves
Letting go
I know I'll find a way
I'll find it where
I left it all that time ago
The paranoia, will drive us mad
The paranoia, will drive us mad
I'll find a way, I'll find a way
I'll find a way, I'll find it where I left it all that time ago
Letting Go - Glis
I did read some new things. I read my way through Preacher in it's entirety. Preacher made me ache deep in a part of my soul I had forgotten. To say why would make me feel like a silly overly-romantic lass still wet behind the ears. I get too wrapped up in the characters.
This morning, my internet was down, so I settled in to read the first arch in Neil Gaiman's "Sandman". For those of you who are unfamiliar, it's the story of the Lord of Dreams; he is captured by a wizard or sorts, and held captive for 70 years. In that time his possesions, his tools which are pieces of his power, are lost through-out the world. Eventually all his captors die, and he escapes, and needs to find his tools again. The nightmares and dreamscapes through which he travels in search of these things makes me remember how important dreaming can be to the human soul.
I have been accused of many things in my life. I am hedonistic, a sensualist. I live fast, but I don't want to die young. I feel things profoundly, which is part of why I don't ever read current events. The horrible things I see there are enough to bring me to tears. Although it is also true that the ultimate beauty of a single moment or an exquisite song has been seen to do the same. I've been acused of being irresponsible, of being immature. I've been told I'm too wise for my years, that I'm too smart and too beautiful for my own good. I've been told that I have so much potential if only I would apply myself.
It is only when you realize that you have nothing left to loose that you can leave everything behind and start again. One by one, over the past two years, everything of value has been taken from me. Things that bound me here; things, people I loved- they have left me. Cars, family, boyfriends, lovers. They will not hold me back any longer.
I once spent many years inprisioned- but not in the way you may think. My jailer was a man who was supposed to love me; a man I discovered later was little more then a child. Dear reader, he still exsists in the same void as he did when I left him. He has ceased to grow. He had also caused me to cease to grow. In fact he caused me to become someone who was not me at all. Then one day I realized where I had gone wrong.
Somewhere along the way, I had given myself away to become what was expected of me. I hadn't -lost- myself. I had actually willingly given away everything that made me who I was. And for what? For love? What a cruel joke. Love for me remains a cruel joke, but I beleive in it implicitly. I give it away freely because that is it's nature. I love easily and often, and the more I give the more I have. Or so I'd thought until recently. I'm starting to wonder if that's not true. Everytime you love someone, you give them a piece of yourself- if they do not return that love, you are left with a gap in your soul. The most recent betrayal has carved a giant chasm in me, where the chunk was forcibly ripped out. That wound will heal because it was not freely given. It is the other peice next to it that I gave away without thinking that will not heal.
I digress.
Over time since I left that man three years ago, I have slowly reclaimed myself through much trial and travail. Though I have reclaimed myself, there are things I have not reclaimed. When I went to New York City for the first time two years ago, I realized what I had lost and needed to reclaim. I'd lost my Dreams. Until now, physical things have prevented me from reclaiming my dreams. I have been steadily working towards this moment though pain and tragedy, working harder and suffering more then I could ever have imagined.
My detractors, my accursers: they are my family, they are my friends. Some of them do not realize they are doing it. Some have given away themselves and thier own dreams as well. Some of them, because of my nature, do not respect me. Some immediately assume that I am less intelligent simply because I do not have a college education. Newsflash: you do not learn about life sitting behind a desk in school.
The worst thing I have been accused of: I am a dreamer. I'll always be a starving artist, I've been told. I'll never make anything of myself. Well what defines "Made something of myself"? Is that a husband, 2.5 children, and a career I spent many many years and lots of money training for that I quickly realized I hated? Is that owning the nice cars, and the nice houses, picnics on weekends, the boats, and vacations in Hawaii? Or is it living in a small apartment by myself being able to walk the streets of a city I love, working on my Art that I love more then any human I've ever met? I have little hope of ever finding a man of the sort I seem to fall for- well-educated, sensitive, and strangely normal in the ways that count, and complely abnornal in the other ways that count- who will take me seriously enough to ever really see me. I'm not the sort of girl that sort of guy settles down with.
I am not sad, or depressed, so don't ask. I am perhaps happier then I have been in my whole life. I can see the things I've dreamt of for so long just on the horizon. And as much as I love everyone, I will walk away without looking back when the time comes.
With childlike innocence
I turned away
When the world I loved became
The enemy
They talk about you
They shout out loud
When they get bored of talking about themselves
When I've lost the lust for life
I know I'll find a way
I'll find it where
I left it all that time ago
And if you feel like letting go
I know you'll find a way
You'll find it where
You left it all that time ago
The pressure of your eyes
Has turned me cold
I fear myself
The paranoia, will drive us mad
The paranoia, will drive us mad
The paranoia, will drive us mad
They talk and then they laugh but you assure yourself
That they meant well, they meant well
They talk about you
They shout out loud
When they get bored talking about themselves
Letting go
I know I'll find a way
I'll find it where
I left it all that time ago
The paranoia, will drive us mad
The paranoia, will drive us mad
I'll find a way, I'll find a way
I'll find a way, I'll find it where I left it all that time ago
Letting Go - Glis
VIEW 14 of 14 COMMENTS
have you solved your lack of wheels problem yet?
Man...I haven't read any of the Vertigo books in years and years. It makes me sad, because I feel like I've completely lost the side of myself. I used to be so wrapped up in comics. I moved away from home and now I miss them. I wish I could just pick up all those books you mentioned but I don't have them anymore. I'm sure that they've been long ago taken away with other garbage, which makes me quite sad.
I felt the same way when I was 23....I kind of wonder where that person went. I lkie who I am now, and where I ended up, but I wonder how things may have turned out.