Silently We Wander

Originally Posted: 03/28/08

So I’ve got these ideas lodged in my brain. Circling, circling, circling the drain. I’ve been contemplating (not much else to do) this little piece of nonsense for the past couple of days and, as usual, I probably won’t use half the shit I thought up to say. I can’t seem to write until I just sit down and do it. There are some very strange things that boredom can do to the mind, but things happening in my mind is what this (might be) all about. If I can focus on what I’m doing. It’s…difficult to do without smoking, believe it or not. I’ve been accused of using that as an excuse, but I don’t use excuses. For anything. Be they addictions or actions. So, without further ado, here’s this latest page or so of shit.

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I feel suffocated, isolated, unwanted and alone. Sad thing is this is the only place that I call home. Outside of here I’m drifting, wandering, lost. I’m not so sure it matters to anyone else, and for the most part I’m content with that. But lately I feel like I’m going mad. Boredom, frustration, an over-abundance of responsibility, and my own senseless insecurities have evidently formed a gang of sorts and encircled the last bastion of Sanity somewhere deep in my head. Problem is I think Madness is better prepared to endure the siege. Its like having my mind eaten from the inside out, and I’ve started spiraling into the realm of bat-shit crazy. I have no allies, not this time. Like Hemingway says, I’m alone. When it comes right down to it, we’re all alone.



I’ve begun to experiment with some things, and I won’t go into what or who else might be involved because that is strictly the business of the concerned parties and I prefer to keep them anonymous. What I will say is that the results are mixed, and they foster a mixed response with me. Vaguely satisfying (which is the point, satisfaction) and getting more pleasant as I go. Unfortunately, I’m also left alone with a lot more time to think, and that’s never been a good thing. There are times, sitting alone out in the night with the wind in my face and a cigarette slowly burning away, that solitude and silence are wonderful things. When a moment to think is more beneficial than you could imagine. But like anything, thinking and being alone should be taken in moderation. A lesson I, like many others, have had to learn the hard way. I don’t like the things my mind concocts, the ideas that spring up after a week spent in utter silence. Creativity refuses to stagnate, my mind refuses to atrophy, and because I would let these things happen they’ve decided to enact a little revenge. Force me to turn my mind away from the torments they punish me with, and use those two wonderful tools on something less self-destructive.



Unfortunately for all of us, I’m a stubborn son of a bitch. I will not be cowed into resuming the things I’ve got no interest in. Writing is my passion, my life, and I’m not feeling very lively or very passionate right now. I can crank out stories like nobody’s business but I don’t give a shit about them.



New things always tend to cheer me up, at least until the novelty wears off and they become another aspect of my day-to-day life. Even then, there are always new things to try and new people to meet. New things to learn, places to go, discoveries to be made about the world and about myself. This latest experiment of mine has some lasting power, I think, once the kinks are ironed out and the machine is running smoothly again. However, in my rapidly degenerating mental state it’s become somewhat difficult to see those problems and fix them as easily as it used to be. Maybe I’m just being stupid about the whole thing. I have my melodramatic moments. A little soul searching might provide the answer to that. I’m not sure there is an answer.



I have said before, and I will say again, that I’ve grown very tired of people projecting an image of me. I’m fairly simple, and it baffles me as to why people insist on doing this. I’m a nice guy, for the most part. Easy going, intellectual, creative, affectionate, and occasionally a little needy. Not the way you’re crazy girlfriend is needy, when she doesn’t want you to have any kind of human contact beyond your pitiful, doomed relationship. I mean the kind of needy where, every now and again I’d like to have my dedication to other people, my affection, and maybe even my desire to make them smile reciprocated. Apparently, that person escapes people and they create an image that simply doesn’t exist. Sure I’ve got complex emotions, motivations, and some secrets that I keep from most everybody. Everyone has those, even the person I am on the surface isn’t so two-dimensional. Problem is, most of you don’t seem to know me. You’ve never even met me.



People disgust me, these past few weeks. There are about four of you I’d like to spend some time with. For one reason or another, that hasn’t happened, or it can’t happen. The rest of the walking puddles of human waste I find myself surrounded with (both literally and figuratively) cause me great discomfort. I’m nauseous by the thought of being subject to their extended presence. This, as you can imagine, makes a person very lonely. Coupled with the Organizations I’m constantly speaking out against (that is, organized religion for those of you just tuning in) and my strong desire to be moving, rather than staying put and focusing on what I’m doing and where I am (a syndrome brought on by my serious cutback in smoking) and some people’s inability to keep their word, I’m not in a pleasant place right now. Honestly, though, I realize most of this is probably my own damn fault.

You can’t fix me. Don’t even try.

Go fuck yourself,

S.R.

P.S.- My apologies that this hasn’t been entertaining. Welcome to my world.