emotions
I find myself having the urge to create something beautiful and tragic all rolled into one. A piece of art, a visual piece that is viewed on a screen, a story flourished with every embarrassing moment that life has to offer. Yet, other times I find myself looking at my waist, feeling remorseful for allowing myself to slack on doing sit ups and rather drinking more beers then I'd like to admit. I find myself to be my most creative when I've lacked sleep and a couple of hours of self isolation in a warm dimly lit room that is quietly playing a band I'm enjoying at the moment. Why do I only feel artistic when I'm alone? Why do I focus more on my appearance when I'm around others? Why do I find myself judging others by their actions? Yet, feeling extremely emotional when they judge me? Is this why I remain silent most of the time. Pretending to be a statue that may very well be invisible. Do I find comfort in art because it's my shield? My knight in shining armor? When I was in first grade I used to close my eyes because I believed I became invisible from the teacher. I realized my powers had failed me when she called on me one day.
I find myself trying to dig deep into myself to pull out something amazing. Digging and digging, as though I'm literally shoving my hands down my throat in an attempt to find something that's stuck deep down in the pit of my stomach, like a meal you can't digest. The kind that makes your body make those embarrassing noises when you're in a silent room filled with your peers. Yet, it's not that simple. It isn't that tangible. This thing called life is so mesmerizing. It's almost like a dream at times. Other days it can feel like hell when your emotions are going up and down from one moment to the next.
Emotions.
Emotions.
Emotions.
What are those? They have no logic. And they seem to get us into more trouble then do us any good. I depend on emotions. If we didn't have emotions, art wouldn't affect us. Could you imagine? A world with white walls and grey skies. Steel floors and ceilings and everyone walking along like robots.
Maybe emotions aren't so bad.
What was I talking about?
I guess it doesn't matter. Or does it?
I find myself trying to dig deep into myself to pull out something amazing. Digging and digging, as though I'm literally shoving my hands down my throat in an attempt to find something that's stuck deep down in the pit of my stomach, like a meal you can't digest. The kind that makes your body make those embarrassing noises when you're in a silent room filled with your peers. Yet, it's not that simple. It isn't that tangible. This thing called life is so mesmerizing. It's almost like a dream at times. Other days it can feel like hell when your emotions are going up and down from one moment to the next.
Emotions.
Emotions.
Emotions.
What are those? They have no logic. And they seem to get us into more trouble then do us any good. I depend on emotions. If we didn't have emotions, art wouldn't affect us. Could you imagine? A world with white walls and grey skies. Steel floors and ceilings and everyone walking along like robots.
Maybe emotions aren't so bad.
What was I talking about?
I guess it doesn't matter. Or does it?