so depressed. angsty. not really in the mood for much at all out of life anymore. sort of wishing life was like a dvd, so i could rewind it to the happier time in my life and slow it down. unfortunate that sort of activity has just been confined to my head.
it's not often i ache for material things. lately, i've been browsing prices on a moderately sophisticated digital video camera. i feel like i want to document the things that surround me and a still photo just doesn't cut it. i want movement and voice. i want to interview people i see. there's this idea in the back of my mind i want to explore writing a screenplay and making it happen. and just to fuck around. give me something else to think about and work on beside the writing and general loneliness.
i'm good at picking the right hobbies, eh? my friends keep telling me the key is to find something i love and work on it. the truth is there's little i truly love - certainly not in a way that will substitute for this desire to be with a unique and amazing girl. that's the only thing i love and keeps me going. the chance that might happen some day. but there's writing of course. and this craving to capture things with an electric eyeball.
i've been agressively sharing the journal/novel/documentary i've been working on for the past two years, with just about anyone who is moderately interested or not. just hand it over, there you go. as my thoughts on paper, it's got things in there i don't share through spoken language, at least not often. mostly sex and my experiments with drugs. last night, the comment this one girl had for it was:
"this is a dirty book."
do people say that about anais nin's books? in any case, i doubt there are but 3-4 paragraphs in about 100+ pages of what i've written that deal with my thoughts and experiences related to sex. she just happened to turn to one of those pages.
but it got me to thinking - in a sense, it is pornography. i haven't really created an artful portrayal of my naked thoughts. i've literally transcribed my thoughts one paragraph at a time onto a page with little to no prescience. one after the other. it's raw, relentless, and brutally honest to the point where i'm ashamed of some of the things i've put in there.
in any case, i haven't decided what to do with it all. if i stand a chance to try and publish it, it has to be transcribed electronically. of course, by doing that, i lose the coffee and grease stains, and the pages that are slowly falling out of it. and i've been struggle to decide whether or not to introduce additional paragraphs as i'm transcribing it. in a sense, to revisit the past thoughts with my newly changed mind.
the other problem is that it's a triptych. i've done parts one and two (roughly 50 pages each). i'm afraid to throw myself into the third part because there hasn't been a change in mind. i do not want the third and final part to be just a mere continuation of the bottomless depression of the second part. i don't care what the change is - perhaps i continue to drown and the final part is an assortment of desparate experiences and thoughts. or, something changes and the mood is lifted onto something not unlike a pheonix rising out of ash. my heart truly wants it to be a blend of the two. but there has been no change in my outlook, so i'm hesitant to begin writing it.
writing is solitary.
it's not often i ache for material things. lately, i've been browsing prices on a moderately sophisticated digital video camera. i feel like i want to document the things that surround me and a still photo just doesn't cut it. i want movement and voice. i want to interview people i see. there's this idea in the back of my mind i want to explore writing a screenplay and making it happen. and just to fuck around. give me something else to think about and work on beside the writing and general loneliness.
i'm good at picking the right hobbies, eh? my friends keep telling me the key is to find something i love and work on it. the truth is there's little i truly love - certainly not in a way that will substitute for this desire to be with a unique and amazing girl. that's the only thing i love and keeps me going. the chance that might happen some day. but there's writing of course. and this craving to capture things with an electric eyeball.
i've been agressively sharing the journal/novel/documentary i've been working on for the past two years, with just about anyone who is moderately interested or not. just hand it over, there you go. as my thoughts on paper, it's got things in there i don't share through spoken language, at least not often. mostly sex and my experiments with drugs. last night, the comment this one girl had for it was:
"this is a dirty book."
do people say that about anais nin's books? in any case, i doubt there are but 3-4 paragraphs in about 100+ pages of what i've written that deal with my thoughts and experiences related to sex. she just happened to turn to one of those pages.
but it got me to thinking - in a sense, it is pornography. i haven't really created an artful portrayal of my naked thoughts. i've literally transcribed my thoughts one paragraph at a time onto a page with little to no prescience. one after the other. it's raw, relentless, and brutally honest to the point where i'm ashamed of some of the things i've put in there.
in any case, i haven't decided what to do with it all. if i stand a chance to try and publish it, it has to be transcribed electronically. of course, by doing that, i lose the coffee and grease stains, and the pages that are slowly falling out of it. and i've been struggle to decide whether or not to introduce additional paragraphs as i'm transcribing it. in a sense, to revisit the past thoughts with my newly changed mind.
the other problem is that it's a triptych. i've done parts one and two (roughly 50 pages each). i'm afraid to throw myself into the third part because there hasn't been a change in mind. i do not want the third and final part to be just a mere continuation of the bottomless depression of the second part. i don't care what the change is - perhaps i continue to drown and the final part is an assortment of desparate experiences and thoughts. or, something changes and the mood is lifted onto something not unlike a pheonix rising out of ash. my heart truly wants it to be a blend of the two. but there has been no change in my outlook, so i'm hesitant to begin writing it.
writing is solitary.
Laters