(no subject)
I miss my obsession with Dragons, and medieval swords, and sorcerers and wizards, and magic and pagan gods, and the sheer overwhelming unreality of it all. I miss the obsessions that brought about reading Tolkien twice, and dedicating hours to reading Wheel of Time and looking up monsters and thinking of ways to make a character more badass than he was before. I miss the obsession that made me get into Gateway, and made me get into e-wrestling, that made me write books and made me dream of perfection.
Now, I try to make everything scientific. Nothing is non-sequitar. Everything is reactionary. Everything MUST be as original as possible, and I must be able to feel it in my heart. I must strive for feeling, not perfection. I feel like a fool. In my attempts to take my early dreams and make them better, I've forgotten them. And I'm afraid the world has warped in such a way that it'll be hard to retrieve them.
I wanted to be rich and happy. Not rich with millions, but rich enough to be comfortable. And not happy as in golden-forest-happily-ever-after, but happy as in I love my job and I love my partner and I love where I live and I'm not insecure and overly analytical about people I know. Happy as in I can go home after some time doing something I can enjoy in some way, and then fade away into the part of my world that makes me ecstatic in a calm manner,or flirt with Yans, or go out and hang out with people that make me smile.
I wanted to write things that I enjoyed. I'd forgotten that until just now. I never wanted to sell books. It was a secondary thing. I had always wanted to write them, enjoy them, savor the images they formed inside my head, run away and enjoy the battlesof gods and magick that I had made because i wanted to. Selling books was a product of pressure and being told that I couldn't write books for a living. I forgot that whenever I told people that I wanted to write books for a living,that I didn't necessarily mean I wanted that to be my source of money. Stories I've loved. And stories i've been trying to rape for too long. But stories are too powerful for that.
I don't fold my hands because i was raised a christian. I fold them because they let me feel my pulse, feel my warm blood coursing through my veins. I am still alive. And I can still affect things. And it will ALWAYS, always, always turn out for the best because I am still alive.
And Yans, I still love you, I always have and I always will. I'm more or less confused, and a little lost, but I'll figure it out. I don't want to write stories for anybody else but me anymore.
I don't think stories are good for anything, in that case. Otherwise, they're political, or philosophical, or they might as well be pamphlets.
There's always been a touch of you in all my stories, even before I knew you. Except in the recent ones. And I think that's why I always loved them, and not anymore.
And, basically, to everyone period. I love all of you. I'm in a weed mood right now. Yknow... love all, peace and happiness, enjoy life, that type of thing.
Now, I try to make everything scientific. Nothing is non-sequitar. Everything is reactionary. Everything MUST be as original as possible, and I must be able to feel it in my heart. I must strive for feeling, not perfection. I feel like a fool. In my attempts to take my early dreams and make them better, I've forgotten them. And I'm afraid the world has warped in such a way that it'll be hard to retrieve them.
I wanted to be rich and happy. Not rich with millions, but rich enough to be comfortable. And not happy as in golden-forest-happily-ever-after, but happy as in I love my job and I love my partner and I love where I live and I'm not insecure and overly analytical about people I know. Happy as in I can go home after some time doing something I can enjoy in some way, and then fade away into the part of my world that makes me ecstatic in a calm manner,or flirt with Yans, or go out and hang out with people that make me smile.
I wanted to write things that I enjoyed. I'd forgotten that until just now. I never wanted to sell books. It was a secondary thing. I had always wanted to write them, enjoy them, savor the images they formed inside my head, run away and enjoy the battlesof gods and magick that I had made because i wanted to. Selling books was a product of pressure and being told that I couldn't write books for a living. I forgot that whenever I told people that I wanted to write books for a living,that I didn't necessarily mean I wanted that to be my source of money. Stories I've loved. And stories i've been trying to rape for too long. But stories are too powerful for that.
I don't fold my hands because i was raised a christian. I fold them because they let me feel my pulse, feel my warm blood coursing through my veins. I am still alive. And I can still affect things. And it will ALWAYS, always, always turn out for the best because I am still alive.
And Yans, I still love you, I always have and I always will. I'm more or less confused, and a little lost, but I'll figure it out. I don't want to write stories for anybody else but me anymore.
I don't think stories are good for anything, in that case. Otherwise, they're political, or philosophical, or they might as well be pamphlets.
There's always been a touch of you in all my stories, even before I knew you. Except in the recent ones. And I think that's why I always loved them, and not anymore.
And, basically, to everyone period. I love all of you. I'm in a weed mood right now. Yknow... love all, peace and happiness, enjoy life, that type of thing.