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22 July 2006 @ 02:29 pm
So this actually started out as a comment on one of Kristin's entries, but then I decided it deserved it's own little place in the world. I think it was her saying something about how "so many masterpieces result from intense pain"...sometimes i think that maybe there's a reason that i've been so unhappy for such long periods of time in my life, that maybe i'm meant to channel it all into something great someday. but right now i just don't really see that happening. maybe i still have a long way to go, i'm still young. but for my whole life, the one thing i've been absolutely sure of is that i was put on this earth to write something worthwhile. but right now i don't have it in me to write much of anything. i haven't since...well, since he died. because it always seemed like i was writing for him, and now that he's gone there just doesn't seem to be any point. i know that he would want me to keep on doing it, but when did it get so fucking hard? i sit down and the words won't come and i don't have anything to say anyway. i keep waiting for it to change, for things to get easier again, but i've been waiting for years now. i have the notebooks, piles and piles of them, just random bullshit and how much i hurt at the time. i don't know what's going to come of this, if this is just adolesence and things have been too turbulent for me to be able to see things in perspective. i have the whole rest of my life to write. i just don't want to look back before i'm about to die and wish, more than anything, that i had more time...and still, after all those years, not have anything to show for the time i did have. 
i've been reading this biography of Jim Morrison (the Doors frontman) and he just had all of this pain and mental and emotional turmoil, and of course there were the drugs, the sex, the alchoholism. but he also wrote amazing songs and poetry...he was just so creative, he managed to channel his personal problems into art. i guess i'm not really having problems being creative, but it seems to be coming out in other mediums...collaging and the way i dress myself, as of late. maybe i have to learn how to put it all into words. 

"taste the salt and taste the pain
I'm not thinking of you again
summer dies and swells rise
the sun goes down in my eyes
see this rolling wave
darkly coming to take me
and I've never been so alone
and I've never been so alive"

fuck. i'm so lonely this summer, and it's making me think more than usual. in some ways i like it.

Current Mood: blahblah
Current Music: third eye blind - god of wine
kplightningseed: sparkkplightningseed on July 23rd, 2006 02:26 am (UTC)
wow, yeah... it's unbelievable how many parallels between our entries there are. I've had the same feeling for a long time, not necessarily about writing, but just in general- that I'm meant to create something important. And I hate myself for sitting around and wallowing so much of the time, but it seems that experiencing the kind of pain that could result in something profound comes hand in hand with paralysis- physical and mental.

one of my biggest fears is what you said about looking back on my life and wishing I had more time. Sometimes I think these summers in which I promise myself I'll read all these important books and write at least a poem every day and play guitar for hours on end... and never end up doing a fraction of those things... are just microcosms of my entire life. That's what scares me the most.