i've been in a pondering mood. not pensive, mind you, but simply... pondering. which can be a healthy means to self-actualization. or maybe they just drilled that in me during my stay in the mad house.
either way, the current theme of my ponderings has been realization. you know, noticing shit. noticing, particularly, that some things never change. they don't change, not because you can't change them, but because, for whatever reasons, you don't.
and then there's things you notice that you know you gotta change, or they're gonna drive you into the ground.
in any case- realizations. revelations. again, the literary epiphany. made known to us in our highschool years by our good buddy Joyce.
so on that note. i present to you, my gallery of mildy concerned strangers:
realizations i've made, for better or worse.
1.) when i was 8 years old, i wanted to be Bogart. no shit. my brother and i would pretend to be detectives. i would be the middle-aged, whiskey-drinking, cynical one. he would be the young gun, gung-ho and not yet wise to the world. this explains a lot about both of our personalities now.
2.) i was in an airport a couple months ago. in the smoking lounge- it was nashville. they still have one of those glass-paned rooms with ripped-up vinyl chairs and columnular ashtray/trashcan combos. the chamber reeks of stale smoke and busted hope. i looked down at myself, and realized: i am my mother.
3.) i have penis envy. there. i said it. i won't say it again, but damn... i want one of those!
4.) i'm a better writer than i am an artist. this really pisses me off, for some reason. art seems purer. writers seems fake.
5.) as much as being 21 lends itself to delusions of immortality, eventually, my lifestule is going to kill me long before my time.
6.) few people are truly "great". i mean, revered and remember after their time for what they did during their brief stint here on earth. i, my friends, am not one of those people. not will i be, despite my efforts. this is a hard one to come to terms with.
7.) and lucky #7, tonight's epiphany. for the past three and a half years, i've been under the impression that i've been writing a story- a novel, if you will, about pirates. but i haven't. despite the tireless research, i have been writing a love story about what would happen if the masculine side of the worst aspects of my personality hooked up with the female side of the worst aspects of my pesonality. the thing is, i was really excited about the pirates. i still am.
which leads to:
8.) everything i do, everything i make, everything i emit is somehow, some way a reflection of me. a badly drawn charicature in the metaphorical (and literal) sense. i am, indeed, a self-obsessed, alcoholic, chain-smoking, manic-depressive, mediocre artist with delusions of grandeur.
and so are you.
that's all. goodnight, dear friends. goodnight.
so with all the love and none of the sympathy of an honest-to-goodness relationship,
i am, yours, -Hyena,
either way, the current theme of my ponderings has been realization. you know, noticing shit. noticing, particularly, that some things never change. they don't change, not because you can't change them, but because, for whatever reasons, you don't.
and then there's things you notice that you know you gotta change, or they're gonna drive you into the ground.
in any case- realizations. revelations. again, the literary epiphany. made known to us in our highschool years by our good buddy Joyce.
so on that note. i present to you, my gallery of mildy concerned strangers:
realizations i've made, for better or worse.
1.) when i was 8 years old, i wanted to be Bogart. no shit. my brother and i would pretend to be detectives. i would be the middle-aged, whiskey-drinking, cynical one. he would be the young gun, gung-ho and not yet wise to the world. this explains a lot about both of our personalities now.
2.) i was in an airport a couple months ago. in the smoking lounge- it was nashville. they still have one of those glass-paned rooms with ripped-up vinyl chairs and columnular ashtray/trashcan combos. the chamber reeks of stale smoke and busted hope. i looked down at myself, and realized: i am my mother.
3.) i have penis envy. there. i said it. i won't say it again, but damn... i want one of those!
4.) i'm a better writer than i am an artist. this really pisses me off, for some reason. art seems purer. writers seems fake.
5.) as much as being 21 lends itself to delusions of immortality, eventually, my lifestule is going to kill me long before my time.
6.) few people are truly "great". i mean, revered and remember after their time for what they did during their brief stint here on earth. i, my friends, am not one of those people. not will i be, despite my efforts. this is a hard one to come to terms with.
7.) and lucky #7, tonight's epiphany. for the past three and a half years, i've been under the impression that i've been writing a story- a novel, if you will, about pirates. but i haven't. despite the tireless research, i have been writing a love story about what would happen if the masculine side of the worst aspects of my personality hooked up with the female side of the worst aspects of my pesonality. the thing is, i was really excited about the pirates. i still am.
which leads to:
8.) everything i do, everything i make, everything i emit is somehow, some way a reflection of me. a badly drawn charicature in the metaphorical (and literal) sense. i am, indeed, a self-obsessed, alcoholic, chain-smoking, manic-depressive, mediocre artist with delusions of grandeur.
and so are you.
that's all. goodnight, dear friends. goodnight.
so with all the love and none of the sympathy of an honest-to-goodness relationship,
i am, yours, -Hyena,
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
Alas, back to the isms. I do know what it is like to have the ones who are supposed to be your brothers and sisters be completely fucking stupid and ruin a cause because they can't think beyond their own selfish wants. This is the reason why I can't claim any of the 3, but claim them all. There are so many brilliant ideas mixed in and its just fucking amazing to read and to hear the greats write and think aloud. I vary. I can't decide what i want, I war with myself about it. It's like at this momen...im an angel...It's like...PRAISE JESUS! (no im not drunk). I'm in a good mood. 2 days off.
theyll burn burn burn like they did to the anarchists and theyll burn burn burn like the history they stole from us, and one day patriotic thugs will give apologies for a miserably acted perfection
And thank you