July 22, 2009
I've decided to turn this into a sort of journal. A journal of sorts. Sorting out my life. Sortof.
Many thoughts on my mind but which one to turn to? I have thoughts of Love. Thoughts of Life. Thoughts of Death. Thoughts of the future. Many thoughts of the past.
I've just moved. I'm not from where I live. For the first time in my life. I know no one here. Tabula Rasa.
Clean Slate. We all wish for it. When it comes, we wish for the opposite. A full slate.
A feeling of emptiness can be refreshing. And lonely.
Maybe I'll find peace here.
An escape from my past.
From who I was.
I've come here to embrace the full potential of my artistic ability. To paint and write and smoke and drink to my troubled artistic delight. I embrace this idea. Yet have not embraced the reality of it.
It's not easy. Change. Fighting who I've been for the past ten years.
I've been lazy. I've been driven. I certainly contradict myself whenever I can.
Isn't that life?
We drive through life a million miles an hour to something true. Something with meaning. Passing by so many things along the way. Not passing life by. But passing through life.
It's just how it goes.
and I love how it goes.
A million miles an hour down a road that's paved along the way. A burning screaming laughing crash.
It's good to make love this way.
Crashing. Sweating. Screaming. Lost in between the lines of Maddening Love and Crushing Sadness.
Because Love is Loss.
The trick is to go off the cliff together.
Laughing as you fall.
and not bailing because you are to scared of the Crash. The inevitable burn that is the end of the road.
All roads end.
What we fail to recognize is that we all crash. Every last one of us.
This is why victims of (whatever) tragic events stay together. Why they relate. Why they start clubs and found raisers and (whatever) Anonymous. They have seen the end of the road.
and the only way to get through is to know that the one next to you is you.
All strangers of this road we are on.
We are not two.
we are one.
I've decided to turn this into a sort of journal. A journal of sorts. Sorting out my life. Sortof.
Many thoughts on my mind but which one to turn to? I have thoughts of Love. Thoughts of Life. Thoughts of Death. Thoughts of the future. Many thoughts of the past.
I've just moved. I'm not from where I live. For the first time in my life. I know no one here. Tabula Rasa.
Clean Slate. We all wish for it. When it comes, we wish for the opposite. A full slate.
A feeling of emptiness can be refreshing. And lonely.
Maybe I'll find peace here.
An escape from my past.
From who I was.
I've come here to embrace the full potential of my artistic ability. To paint and write and smoke and drink to my troubled artistic delight. I embrace this idea. Yet have not embraced the reality of it.
It's not easy. Change. Fighting who I've been for the past ten years.
I've been lazy. I've been driven. I certainly contradict myself whenever I can.
Isn't that life?
We drive through life a million miles an hour to something true. Something with meaning. Passing by so many things along the way. Not passing life by. But passing through life.
It's just how it goes.
and I love how it goes.
A million miles an hour down a road that's paved along the way. A burning screaming laughing crash.
It's good to make love this way.
Crashing. Sweating. Screaming. Lost in between the lines of Maddening Love and Crushing Sadness.
Because Love is Loss.
The trick is to go off the cliff together.
Laughing as you fall.
and not bailing because you are to scared of the Crash. The inevitable burn that is the end of the road.
All roads end.
What we fail to recognize is that we all crash. Every last one of us.
This is why victims of (whatever) tragic events stay together. Why they relate. Why they start clubs and found raisers and (whatever) Anonymous. They have seen the end of the road.
and the only way to get through is to know that the one next to you is you.
All strangers of this road we are on.
We are not two.
we are one.