The Decagon - part 7
My "art" has been on the decline. I used to stare at my bedroom floor for hours years ago. And then I would create something. They say if you pretend to be something for a long enough time, you'll turn into it. It seems to me that I've been pretending to be someone who could do something great for quite some time now. Every day finds me feeling like I'm spreading myself too thin. I can never do anything unless my heart is in that thing alone and nothing else.
Let's make this more self-indulgent.
I can't help but feeling that every word of encouragement from everyone that matters to me is a lie. This Decagon is killing me. I started it with the intention of describing ten single states of mind. I failed. I've created some kind of mental hurdle, and it's driving me insane.
Believe me though, I'd like nothing more than to be a genius driven insane by his own art. That would be delicious. It would lend some validity to whatever it is that I do.
I've been dwelling on the past a lot today. It's something that I haven't done for a while. Not since I realized that most of my former regrets meant nothing in the wake of the utter annihilation that is the modern romance.
Those regrets have a way of coming back. If I've learned anything, it's that nothing hurts more than a tragedy of teenage proportions. I like that, tragedy of teenage proportions. That's fucking genius.
I'm listening to music that I would've loved in high school. I've been listening to it for a while. I keep listening to the same five songs over and over. The songs remind me of driving in a girl's car in winter. I've been thinking about her and I want to say that I don't know why.
For years I've told myself that she loved me and I didn't love her back. I have to make myself lie with a fervent stoicism (eh?) that I didn't know was possible. I'm in love with her, and I have been for too long. I can never tell her. I can never let things go too far. The next time I kiss her, I'll have to look her in the eyes and tell her that we can never be more than friends. Every time two people become more than friends a countdown begins, and when it hits zero, the world ends. I can't tell her that I love her because she's all I have left, and every time the world ends for me, I come crawling to her and cry on her shoulder, and she takes it in.
They say a woman is a well into which all the world's sorrows are poured. I guess they were pretty fucking right on about that. I guess all of us depressed creative types, all the sad young men, are the ones who create the sorrows. Listening requires us to stop being self-absorbed. We never want to put effort into anything, yet creating all these earth-shattering sorrows is pretty draining. It takes a hell of a lot more energy than listening, but then again, no one ever gets praised for listening, they get praised for creating beautiful pain.
Let's keep going with this, together.
I'd like to cut this entry short because I don't even feel like writing anymore. Nothing is worth writing if it's too short, though.
If this entry seems overly dramatic, a little too straight forward, don't worry. I wrote it like an emo song on purpose. Because I'm clever. I'd like nothing more than to have a girl listening to FATA to read this journal and slit her wrists. I'd like nothing more than for that girl to fall in love with me because I changed her life.
Writing doesn't feel good anymore. I should have been more careful what I wished for. I guess I got good at something. Better than I thought I could be at anything. Good enough so that I came within finger's length of making a living with it. That chance passed me by. Should've tried harder or something. I'll go play a videogame. I love videogames. Maybe I should write about them. Oh, wait, I wasted two years of my living doing that. You know what else I did? Nothing. I sat around and did nothing. I'm not tortured, just lazy.
If you give me permission, I'll make something great. If you give me support, I'll make something amazing. If you tell me I don't have to do anything, I'll change the world.
Writing this is easier than working for something better.
I'm so sick of feeling like I need to create a fake world to survive. All I've wanted for so long is to be lost somewhere and just be, without trying to be anything to anyone. But I've backed myself into a corner. I've made it so that the things I've come to hate are the only things that can move me over this cliff of broken dreams that I've built. I hate every word that I've written, but I have to write.
You can sit down but the chairs are electric.
Let's make this more self-indulgent.
I can't help but feeling that every word of encouragement from everyone that matters to me is a lie. This Decagon is killing me. I started it with the intention of describing ten single states of mind. I failed. I've created some kind of mental hurdle, and it's driving me insane.
Believe me though, I'd like nothing more than to be a genius driven insane by his own art. That would be delicious. It would lend some validity to whatever it is that I do.
I've been dwelling on the past a lot today. It's something that I haven't done for a while. Not since I realized that most of my former regrets meant nothing in the wake of the utter annihilation that is the modern romance.
Those regrets have a way of coming back. If I've learned anything, it's that nothing hurts more than a tragedy of teenage proportions. I like that, tragedy of teenage proportions. That's fucking genius.
I'm listening to music that I would've loved in high school. I've been listening to it for a while. I keep listening to the same five songs over and over. The songs remind me of driving in a girl's car in winter. I've been thinking about her and I want to say that I don't know why.
For years I've told myself that she loved me and I didn't love her back. I have to make myself lie with a fervent stoicism (eh?) that I didn't know was possible. I'm in love with her, and I have been for too long. I can never tell her. I can never let things go too far. The next time I kiss her, I'll have to look her in the eyes and tell her that we can never be more than friends. Every time two people become more than friends a countdown begins, and when it hits zero, the world ends. I can't tell her that I love her because she's all I have left, and every time the world ends for me, I come crawling to her and cry on her shoulder, and she takes it in.
They say a woman is a well into which all the world's sorrows are poured. I guess they were pretty fucking right on about that. I guess all of us depressed creative types, all the sad young men, are the ones who create the sorrows. Listening requires us to stop being self-absorbed. We never want to put effort into anything, yet creating all these earth-shattering sorrows is pretty draining. It takes a hell of a lot more energy than listening, but then again, no one ever gets praised for listening, they get praised for creating beautiful pain.
Let's keep going with this, together.
I'd like to cut this entry short because I don't even feel like writing anymore. Nothing is worth writing if it's too short, though.
If this entry seems overly dramatic, a little too straight forward, don't worry. I wrote it like an emo song on purpose. Because I'm clever. I'd like nothing more than to have a girl listening to FATA to read this journal and slit her wrists. I'd like nothing more than for that girl to fall in love with me because I changed her life.
Writing doesn't feel good anymore. I should have been more careful what I wished for. I guess I got good at something. Better than I thought I could be at anything. Good enough so that I came within finger's length of making a living with it. That chance passed me by. Should've tried harder or something. I'll go play a videogame. I love videogames. Maybe I should write about them. Oh, wait, I wasted two years of my living doing that. You know what else I did? Nothing. I sat around and did nothing. I'm not tortured, just lazy.
If you give me permission, I'll make something great. If you give me support, I'll make something amazing. If you tell me I don't have to do anything, I'll change the world.
Writing this is easier than working for something better.
I'm so sick of feeling like I need to create a fake world to survive. All I've wanted for so long is to be lost somewhere and just be, without trying to be anything to anyone. But I've backed myself into a corner. I've made it so that the things I've come to hate are the only things that can move me over this cliff of broken dreams that I've built. I hate every word that I've written, but I have to write.
You can sit down but the chairs are electric.