My blog's life cycle seems to be mirroring Mayan prophecy about 2012. What I thought was an end was rather a new beginning. See, I actually like for people to see what I have hear. It's a way to infect the internet with my ego. Is this selfish? Maybe.
But enough with the pessimism - or at least so much of it. I'm keeping in the mind the 'employer takes a look at all your information online' possibility and treading this ice carefully. I like the cold, but I don't want to freeze to death.
So recently I've discovered that I no longer care for wordsmithery. My fingers and pen and keyboard were once on fire for the novel, the short story, the essay. It's just not in me right now. It may be lying there dormant, but I simply want to move on to something else. I don't mind being typified as a writer, but I desire to be something else, too. However, that writer does still take shallow, withering breathes, because even as I write this post, I feel the need to be poetic, using metaphor and simile and other words I learned in English class that I've forgotten. I'm even trying to watch the proximity of my words, checking that two words aren't too close to each other.
And right now, I just pressed backspace and fixed a typo. Twice, now, actually. Oh, took out a spacing error!
Anyway, lately, I've been RPing my life away. This is why I cannot relax, cannot slow down, cannot play video games, cannot 'play' period. As Brother John said, one of my favourite simple quotes of all time: "There is simply not enough time." (Damn, I wrote two "times" too close to each other.) I feel as though I must keep pressing forward into this unknown road that's been lying before me for ages, yet I was too afraid to step forward.
"Swallow your fears.
Swallow the things that hold you back
That hold you back from
Living life."
A song. Plays at work all the time. Folks, truth comes in many forms, even in song.
I can no longer live in a fantasy world of ornery, snappy Korean women who control energy, 16 year old schoolgirls that transmutate bodily mass into knives and kill people part time, and alien commandos who can manipulate shadows. All of these crazy, raging ideas and vivid, colourful insane characters in my mind must be put back in their toy box for now, the child in me must go to bed, and the man I am must go to work.
There is a road before me. There are footsteps ground into the dirt, from where I dared ventured forward but a couple of times. But now, I must strap on my bag, tighten my shoe laces, step forward once more.
And never look back.
2 comments:
In truth, this post saddened me. As someone who lives within stories, it always saddens me when a friend and fellow artist has become the proverbial lost sheep. The problem I find, when people try to smother the child within themselves, is that there are so many things people lose when they try to thrust "manhood" upon themselves. In truth, I hope you find the answers you're looking for before you head down the wrong road for too long.
Thanks.
Post a Comment