Impending NOT Doom

Circuitous motion.

No, not circuitous. More like endless waves. Crests and troughs of emotion through time and space, interwoven with a constant nagging suspicion that something big is missing.
Family, love, friendship - all the things that anchor you as a person - are missing from me. This isn't to discount my nuclear family of parents and sister (and beautiful feline babies). This isn't to say that my new blossoming friendships are unsatisfying. I'm just tired of feeling so anonymous. I have so many daily interactions, but am never left with a clear understanding of what any of them mean. I just want someone to know me. I just want to find a place to really call home.

The more I live this way, the less I am open to really caring about someone. I crave it more than anything, but when I'm faced with an opportunity to do it, I shrink back in fear. Fear of having my heart handed to be on a plate after it's been run through a meat grinder. Fear of being bored. Fear of being forced to feel ashamed of myself, of holding my mind reined in, of letting my dreams die.

I'm tired of cynics.

I won't let myself become one.

Happiness is just around the corner. I can feel it.

Until then, I have batteries and "Californication" on Netflix instant viewing. And a silly dream that miracles can happen when you least expect.

Let The Sun Shine

I feel animated and alert and kind of thrilled.

I just watched the latest Hulu episode of The Simpsons and while it wasn't necessarily LOL-inducing, it made me feel somehow excited about life again. I mean, it wasn't just the episode or anything. All day today I've been kind of teetering on the edge of a delirium.

The episode, in any case, before I so rudely interrupted myself, was about micro-financing and Facebook and different ways that people interact with money. Lately I am consumed with thinking about money, like most people in this country, and I think I am tired of pretending that making money doesn't matter to me. It suddenly matters to me a great deal and that is scary/exciting to observe. Maybe because I've never stood so realistically close to actually making it. My new job is providing a wealth of information and opportunity, and I intend to capitalize on it. My jellyfish-like state of mind feels good. Jellyfish don't have minds, I don't think, but they themselves are Zen incarnate. They just go with the flow. They don't worry about the consequences of their movements. Their place in the ocean doesn't matter to them. They are simply designed to survive as long as they can. I mean, they can always get eaten or wash up on the shore, where they can sting random beach goers, causing their friends to helpfully urinate on them... but that's beside the point. They are pretty and floaty and unabashedly unique, and my brain is becoming more and more like a jellyfish each day.

Ramble, ramble, ramble.

I am going to chisel out the truth from life. That is my mission.

Truth can only exist where there is love, though. The truth can only hurt if people don't really love one another. And I mean all people. Really. Love.

I just want to be clear so that last night's post doesn't come off too venomous. It was obviously a whimper of defeat, but also a defiant cry. To myself, more than anything. My experience is real, and I am still capable of being the me I was before any of this happened - the comedy, the heartbreak, everything. Writing has been my way of life since I can remember. No, that's not true. I never really had the desire to write for fun back in "Zee Mahzer Land". It was the English language that seduced me. That's when everything began to take on a narrative form. For me, to write is to exist. No matter how seemingly nonsensical, no matter how base or crass - it helps us shape the great human story, forever preserved in time. I am always puzzled by the depths of the human psyche, and the greatly varying degrees to which people are willing to explore them.

Things people always tend to have major hang-ups about:

1) sex

2) relationships

Any other thing a person claims is at the root of his/her existence is a decoy.

Look, even Mark Zuckerberg was motivated by nothing but being scorned by a girl/trying to win back the girl.

I've also found it immensely fascinating reading Clark's new book because while from his music tastes it can easily be gathered that he IS a pensive soul, his book reveals a level of depravity I didn't expect from this quiet brooding creature. He DOES have mischievous eyes.

What I guess I am trying to say is that for an artist, there is nothing more valuable than her/his particular unique way of processing reality. How that reality gets deconstructed and presented will greatly vary from person to person, but each artist will feel just as attached to her/his reality as the other artists to theirs. It's not really a conscious choice. It's just something that permeates deeply into your brain, and becomes a constant voice and companion.

"You exist, you exist, you exist."

"Now this is happening, and now this, and now this..."

"What does it mean? Does it mean anything? Surely it means something."

This is a long elaborate excuse for narcissism.

BEAU-TI-FUL.

I had a point somewhere...

Oh yeah. I'm gonna figure things out. Bit by bit.

In the meantime, this thing keeps growing....That seriously blows my mind.