Let's Move Forward

Sometimes, it’s easy to abandon things. The world is filled with hardships and constant reminders that we are just one of many people doing exactly the same thing we’re doing. I know I have been letting it get to my head much too often. Writing, as hard as it is, is a common hobby and if you have ever visited a bookstore, you know there are an insurmountable quantity of books by different authors. When I walk into one of these stores, the smell alone is enough to encourage me and to drive me up a wall. I feel like I’ll never write something worth reading, and at the same time I feel like if there are so many people that have done it, maybe I can do it too.

Five years ago, when I started writing, I had no one to read my stuff. Everybody I asked told me that they would read it, but they didn’t. If they ever did, they had nothing to say about it. I felt alone. I felt useless. Writing became something that I was constantly turning on and off, while I found something more meaningful to do. I occupied myself with other things, and only occasionally wrote something, which after some time I thought was horrible. I lost all self-confidence.

Now, I finally feel like I have a purpose. I grab inspiration from everywhere. I record my thoughts constantly. I am not afraid of admitting when I have a bad idea. I am not afraid to try things that may not work. I became brave, strong-hearted. I watch movies. I read books. I listen to music. I talk to people. I write almost every night, and I develop my ideas into meaningful pieces of prose of which I can feel proud after. I express my thoughts clearly and with an ever-growing vocabulary. I have learned to write as myself, and not to copy other authors. But, best of all, I found people interested in reading my work. I found people I can talk to about what I’m writing or planning to write, and receive encouraging words and valuable advice.

The road ahead is always dark. We can only see bits of pieces of our line, and hope that we’ll be smiling in the end. This is one of those times when I can say with absolute certainty that I feel like things are going to be perfectly fine. I will always hold my head high, and think about tomorrow. For those that have supported me so far, I can only extend my deepest gratitude and say that even if I don’t really know you, or even if I have never held your hand and felt your pulse with mine, or even if I have never had a cup of coffee with you, I love you with all my heart. Thank you for everything you’ve given me and I hope I can count on you in the future. In the same way, I hope you trust in me to keep creating things that will take you places you’ve never been before, or give you new perspectives on old experiences. You have my word that I will always try to earn your readership with constant innovation. I won’t get discouraged by the darkness.

I will never stop writing.

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What I'm Seeing…Is It Real?

Since mp3 players are so small and affordable now, I no longer have to listen to the sounds of the world when I take a walk. Every time I’m outside, I simply have to put on my headphones and it all goes away. With each song, I get to imagine something.

I imagine a scene. Five friends gather in a graveyard to sing songs to their deceased friend. They talk about their friend, and what he did when he was alive, the awesome things they accomplished together. They spend the whole day next to his grave. They eat together. At night, when it’s time to leave, they write good-bye messages in his grave and play a song called “Requiem”.

I imagine a scene. A couple dances across the room. They are dancers by profession, and they are also married. With each step, they let go of their problems at home and instead surrender to the passion in their dance. We can see images from their days together reflected on her dress. We see the fights, the arguments, the mutual blame. We also see the kisses under the bridge, the words of encouragement, the silent evenings sitting at home watching old movies.

I imagine a scene. A couple is arguing inside a car at night. They are parked outside her house. They love each other, but you can see in their eyes that they are tired of shouting. The argument escalates exponentially, each saying things they don’t mean. When morning comes, he is holding back his tears, she’s openly crying. You can tell it’s the end, and it physically hurts them. She gets out of the car, a mess of meshed make-up and emotions. She stands in the doorway and waves to him. He waves back, but once she’s inside he’s a complete mess. The pain is driving him crazy.

I imagine a scene. After a year of mourning, an middle-aged man lets go of the painful memory of his deceased wife. He is sitting on a bench in the park and, for the first time in a year, looks up. He sees the trees and the squirrels and the birds and he learns that he can remember his wife based on the little things they did together. He gets up from the bench and starts walking through the park. He hears the people, the cars, the loud stereos. The ghost of his wife waits for him at the end of the long road. They hold hands. She sees him, and finally knows that everything is going to be alright. She sees the light.

I imagine a scene. A young man sits in a large empty room, playing the piano. He came to this room by mistake, while wondering around the hotel where someone he knows is getting married in. He plays a calm, melancholic song. He knows this song by heart, he does not have to look at the keys to play it. He closes his eyes. A young girl walks into the room, by curiosity. Her steps make no sound. He doesn’t know she’s there. She stands next to the piano and looks at him. She can see he longs for something, but she doesn’t know what. He plays with great passion. When he’s done, he opens his eyes. She sees her next to the piano, looking at him. He starts to say something, but she comes closer. She kisses him.

Who needs reality when you’ve got music and a wild imagination?

The Abyss Gazes Also Into You

It occurred to me lately that I’ve been seeing what I do under a wrong light all along. Yes, it’s beautiful to think I’m “Winning you over”. It’s also false and stupid. It’s also futile and dumb. It’s also not remotely true.

Love at first sight is like Santa Claus. Movies tell you it’s real. Books tell you it’s real. Sometimes even your parents tell you it’s real. Once you grow up a little, you realize there is no such thing as love at first sight. You start realizing barely anyone really falls in love anymore. They way more often do something that we call, “settle” which is simply giving up and getting together with anyone who will give them what they want. Sure, some people have been known to actually fall in love, but their numbers are so reduced, they are negligible.

I recently realized that I want to have writer friends so that they can write about me with the same insight and affection that I observe them with. Then again, since I have none, I’ll just have to keep doing what I’m doing and write about myself shamelessly. For example, I like to write discrete, secret messages with chalk everywhere I can just in case someone will come around and read them someday. Even if someone erases them or writes over them, the fact that I wrote something on a surface where nothing was supposed to be written gives me personal satisfaction.

Even if I had someone in who to focus my romantic intent, it would be useless, because the only thing I actually know how to do is to write, and I think I’m pretty lousy at that too. Plus, girls are not impressed by writing, It’s way too straight-forward. Written declarations of love are only appreciated after the person has a general feel for who you are and what to do, not before. You cannot “confess” anymore, simply because there are too many unsolved variables and you simply can’t go around confessing to everyone. You don’t love everyone, you love a select group of people who dislike being told they are loved by others.

I hate my generation, and that reflects in  my writing so clearly, it’s not even a secret anymore. What does it mean, to hate one’s generation? Do I hate myself? Do I hate everyone else but myself? After all, I am part of  my generation. Whether I want it or not, some traits from the modern way of living have imprinted themselves into me. I talk like my generation wants me to talk, I eat what my generation wants me to eat, I watch what my generation wants me to watch. Some other traits I have decided not to follow. One night stands, going to clubs and quick relationships are included in that category.

I’ve frequently tried to write meaningful, poetic songs, without much success. It seems I can only create funny songs, and that’s only when I’m improvising. I sometimes wish I was as good as Cole Porter, or as witty as Max Bemis. I wish I could see the world the way they saw it. I worship the ability to describe my feelings with poetic accuracy, like it was a super power. Every time I try to write a meaningful song, it sounds incredibly cliched. There is nothing I dislike more than cliches.

It’s funny how people talk about what they like and what the want men/women to be like, and then when it’s right in front of them, they choose to ignore it and go search for someone ‘better’. This is lonely men’s main complaint against women. Women tend to fall in line with those who ignore them, rather than those who find them absolutely ravishing. This can make falling in love very difficult. It limits the possibilities of dating, and it leaves almost everyone with a bad taste in their mouths once they get older.

It’s also hilarious when you see someone who you think is perfect for you, and you’re sure they feel it too, but they’re going out with one of your friends. It’s beautifully tragic. It makes me happy, in a way, because it shows me that movies are not always wrong. The feeling of longing I feel is real, and so is the fact that, even if they break up, I’ll have a very hard time if I try to achieve something with her, because they’ve been dating for so long. Plus, he’s my friend, and he does not handle jealousy well.

I think the problem lies in that I can’t find meaning in anything. Someone once told me that, once you found beauty in everything, you started really living. I do see beauty in things, I just cannot find meaning to that beauty. Why are things beautiful? Why are things terrible?

A Lonely Life Feels Like An Eternity

I think what attracts me about marriage is that you never have to be alone once you’re married. It must be awesome to actually fall in love and wake up next to your loved one every day. I think I would no longer feel like shit in the evening. I could try things I’ve always wanted to do with someone else, like dance to french music at night or have a picnic somewhere where there is no one else around. I would have someone to play guitar to, to sing love songs to, to write to. I would have someone to kiss me when I’m feeling down, and the other way around. I know people say it gets boring after a while, but doesn’t everything? One of the things I like the most about long events is the fact that you can always expect to find a new way to look at it. I want to discover someone so deeply, that I understand them completely.

This are all things I want, but few of them will actually come true. This is the thought that keeps me awake at night. This is what I can’t get over.

There Is No Life Without You

Love is imperfect. Sometimes we hate the one we love. Sometimes love makes us do crazy, stupid things. If it doesn’t, then it’s not love at all. We can dream about love all we want, and make perfect plans for our wedding and whatever will happen after that, but love is unpredictable. Love can find its way around our plans, and leave us still thirsty for more. Love is infinite, and it is feeble. Love is often misunderstood and rejected. Love makes us forget what we know and replace it with what we feel. We fear love, because we can’t understand it. We crave love, because we can’t understand it. We search for love in all the wrong places, because we wish for love to be there. If we go to bed, we don’t feel loved. If we eat, we don’t feel loved. Love drives us insane and suicidal. If we declare our love, and get rejected, it drives us insane an suicidal. We can’t right now, but all we want is to say it honestly. We want to shout it from the top of a building. We want to be unashamed. We want to say I love you. I love you.

If You Only Knew

Today is one of those days when I wish I could kill everything I touch. When I feel like destroying everything around me. Today is one of those days when I see the bad side of everyone and everything I come across. This is one of my Super Villain days. If I had a wrecking ball I would have already demolished the school. If I had a gun, at least half of the people I see every day would already be dead.Of course, consequences keep me from destroying the world. Specifically, the fear of consequences.

There’s a hot girl about 15 meters from where I’m sitting, and she’s alone. Of course, I won’t ever talk to her. Even if she does seem to look in my direction pretty often, I think it’s obvious that I’m to scarred and terrified to say anything,  because, according to pretty much everyone, that’s not the way things work. Plus, she seems like she’s waiting for someone. God, I wish I had my guitar right now. Anyway, if I go talk to her, she’ll immediately assume I’m flirting (which is kind of what I intend to do) and she’ll blow me off like all the others. It’s a pity because she’s pretty too. Not absurdly pretty, in a “Fall in love at first sight kind of way”  but in a discrete, silent kind of way.

The guy she was waiting for seems to have arrived. I don’t think it’s her boyfriend. He looks dorky and small. He sat on the opposite side of the table so they must not be very close. From where I am I can’t see his body language, but hers tells me that she sees him as nothing more than a friend. I seem to remember a time when the urge to talk to her would be so strong I would even get depressed when she left. Like how she’s leaving right now, but today I don’t seem much of a damn about anything.

I mean, I’ve been in my share of one-sided love stories. I’ve been in unilateral love more than enough times to reduce the experience to a couple of seconds. I know exactly what to do when I start getting interested in someone. I ignore the urge. It never leads to anything remotely good. Mostly, it guides me down a horrible path filled with lava and packs of blood-thirsty seagulls that are very slow at eating away humans blindly following their heart. Sure, some parts of the ride are fun. The beginning is quite pleasant. Everything else is just an emotional roller coaster in which, regrettably, i get off much too soon.

Dammit, sometimes I fear I might be schizophrenic. Then again, I don’t know what actual schizophrenia feels like. It feels like a thousand different voices shout different things directly into my brain, completely ignoring my ears.

When I was a kid, I dreamed that pure, white angel wings sprouted from my back, and I flew away into the morning sky with green pastures below me. There would be a single tree in the middle of the prairie, and I would sit below it and rest. I was fearless, I was completely alone, and I was happy. I used to think that, if I had wings, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I wouldn’t need anyone. If ever I was in trouble, I would just fly away and everything would just disappear.

I don’t dream about wings anymore. I’ve abandoned the notion that one day I won’t have to depend on anyone. I no longer want to do things alone. I dream of doing whatever I can down here on earth, with what I have.