Tuesday, November 24, 2009

writer's block

there was a time you know. once. once upon. i took such solace in words. it was helpful to say things. not even to say them, i'm sitting in my room alone, but just... to think them, to take abstractions, hazy murmurs, half-formed things floating about and memorialize them. trapped in little boxes made of sentences. little cages. small ones for passing musings. larger ones for bigger things... emotions, feelings, what have you. brilliant idea, mausoleums.

but now... [shakes head]

i've been thinking a lot recently about hard-work. work-hard. you know it, it's a common phrase. you say it a lot. we all do. i've been working hard. right now, it occurs to me, how often that is a lie. how often i think i am working hard, when i'm not. and i know this now, at this juncture, because, i'm working soo damn hard. and it's not that you're going through lots of things. that's different. that's like holding something up, like you're moving a fridge and you just have to hold it up for a minute. that's tolerance. mettle. strength. valuable qualities, to be sure. but hard-work... it's the proactivity that's the killer. it's not just tolerating or 'putting up' or resisting something external, it's the opposite. it's being a wedgy up the crack of fate. f*ck you that result isn't good enough, i need better. you see? it's... i will not drop this plate, blow me gravity, i won't. i've dropped plates before. i have because i got tired of tolerating things. because i was exhausted from the sheer force, the weight of... everything i guess. all of it. from all angles. oversize shoes. diet-plans - gluten free or whatever. broken hearts weigh a person down. family issues, knife party right there, invite your history and some sharp cutlery. money. comes goes. like water. all of it. so i've dropped some plates i can't juggle who'm i kidding? but for once, just for once, for freaking just goddam once, i actually want something. which is nice. that's a weird feeling to. not to want something, but to want something and... to want it enough to work for it. someone once said that to me. and she was right. maybe you do love me. who knows these things, half the time even we don't know. but listen to this Q, love is more than a word. it's easy to say it. it's easy even to dream it. it only becomes real when you put it on the table. when you make bets based on its validity. when you actually have f*cking faith Q. have f*cking faith in it - in us. and you _don't. smart girl right? (i thought/think so). she meant that love is not just a thing you have, but a thing you have to _w a n t. _and if that's the case, then it needs work.

and who knows why we choose what we want. tha benjamins. to shoot 100 straight free-throws. a threesome. to be a world famous international DJ. a high-court judge. a playboy. that happy looking old guy that greets you at Wallmart. __in any case. here i am. cursed. blessed. one or the other, probably both. something i actually want. and here i am working-hard for it. for the second time in my life.

[just as an aside, i've been writing stuff for some websites. and... people comment on my articles. and you know what strikes me most often about people's comments on my posts? how few people are willing to see themselves as... included. most of the comments are accusatory. people who do that are so blah blah. or, they quickly distinguish themselves, i have a friend like that who... few people actually absorb. or try to absorb. try to imagine that perhaps at some point or another, they were that person. (whatever that person is). the lonely guy at the coffee-shop. the girl who's in some improbable infatuation she can't seem to abandon. the downers and outters. the goodwilling. the fortunate. molesters and users. liars and masturbators. rebels and conformers. just... people. in any case, sometimes when i make statements like that now, 'that it is only the second time in my life i find myself genuinely working-hard for something', in my head i see thirteen posts from people saying 'oh yeah, i always work hard. i give 100% to whatever i do'. bullshit. bullshit you do. you're the same as everybody else, own it and move on.]

because hard-work is not something you can lots of. it's hard-work to work hard. i ate today. i had lunch at 4pm. that marks the first meal in three days. sure there was a can of tuna at 5am (but i can't remember what day that was). and 2-minute noodles for breakfast when i woke up (after a three hour sleep) at 10am, but it was my first meal. i am unused to speaking to people. when people see me they're a little shocked. i have a regular shaving schedule. when my girlfriend says she wants to see me, i shave. i smell of decomposition. this is what it means to work-hard. to say: dear fate, dear all-realistic-most-likely-probable-ility: EFF YOU. i _w a n t_ it. you don't, so EFF YOU. i'm going to suspend gravity for just a sec because i _w a n t_ this. it means, essentially you resign yourself as a human being. i have long now ceased to be a person. it is something even i myself find difficult to reconcile. that i have now lost most of my once-were-friends through neglect. through not picking up the phone or returning emails and texting back. through sitting in libraries and on my couch for days. days. my body is decrepit. a temple of amphetamine and caffeine and 2minute noodles at 3am and tune-breath and i brush my teeth incessantly and i wash my hands every 20 minutes and i can't handle bright lights and too much speech or noise bothers me and when i have panic attacks i actually think the 20 minutes it takes me to drive home isn't worth it and i consider sleeping under the desk in the library. __it really is a shame that intent and effort count for very little in this world. __chance just owns too many shares. major stakeholders are a bitch like that.

but just... to want. that's enough. helps the time pass. one minute it's May, the next time you look up it's November. dear god November's almost finished now. (i suppose they call it speed for a reason)

i just have soo few thoughts nowadays. so few things pass through my mind.

everything would be better if i had a suntan.
maybe a jog.

or somethin

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