breathe, breathe in the air...
I really wish I had something deep or profound to share, some sort of epiphany, or some newly discovered knowledge. Unfortunately I do not --and most likely never will.
I've been caught up in the music again. That vortex of thought and emotions, known as The Dark Side of the Moon. It often catches me, haunts me. I honestly wouldn't have thought of it this evening, if it hadn't been for pandora deciding to play 2 Floyd songs, back-to-back, on my Sleater-Kinney station. I don't get it, and I never will.
During this current moment of upheaval in my life, I find myself now, more than ever, reflecting on old livejournal entries. I've been reading all sorts of tidbits, not really remembering any details but getting a general sense, a feel for certain lost moments.
Life is always so full of opportunities, even now. And yet, as I look at the world around me, all I see are my walls. They've been there my entire life, actually. The Walls were developed as a very conscious effort, sometime in the late 1990s.
I've blown so many opportunities, squandered so much. I've actually had fortunes disappear due to my decadence.
There was something real and tangible I wanted to record, something more than just a feeling of the malaise of the times.
I didn't do much with this Sunday. I read a lot, slept a lot, ate a lot of fruit. I wish I could have done something more active, but I don't know. I listened to some of that 60s classic rock I wanted to listen to.
What struck me most about today, however, was when I saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I came in during the middle of Sweet Transvestite, and it wasn't commercial free. So, there I lay in bed, hot, sweaty and uncomfortable, and remembering a movie I first saw in 1999, the year that the world changed on me. The year that this era began.
It's funny, to reread entries on here, and find all sorts of hints at who I was or what I could have been. I really have couched quite a few entries in obscure metaphors and phrases that I just don't get. That's sad, really, that I can't rightly recall my own past. I mean, what the hell is the point of creating a written record?
I'm just so amazed at some of the things I've written and thought. I do genuinely seem to have been happier in 2003 and 2004, the early years of this journal. Something has been lost, along the last 7 or 8 years.
I've lost my innocence. I'm jaded and worn out --and I'm only 25. I'm pretty sure I've said the same before, it's just my age wasn't so high. Here is where I venture to prognosticate about the future: should I be, say, 30, and still alive, and still writing in this journal, I will look, too, at this moment as a time of wasted opportunities. I may even glance upon this very entry and say to myself "wow, you were happy then."
I find myself clinging to certain truisms, truisms I don't fully understand or know where they came from. I realise now I've been trying to build my life's foundation on quicksand. (I know I used that metaphor before, as I read it earlier today, but I don't recall the exact entry).
I'm just so lost, so confused. I don't think I've ever really had any passions, any strong suits. Like I said, I just sort of liked English and language and writing. Somehow, along the way, that turned into History and Marxism and linguistics and being a Slavophile. Now, now where am I? Friendless, alone, and back on language...the Spanish, language. I don't quite get what my life is trying to teach me at this point, but I have a feeling that --give it a couple of years, maybe 5 --and I'll look back.
5 years from now, I'll be 30. And if I'm still here, I'll be wondering not only what did I do with my teen years, but also, what did I do with my 20s...
I've been caught up in the music again. That vortex of thought and emotions, known as The Dark Side of the Moon. It often catches me, haunts me. I honestly wouldn't have thought of it this evening, if it hadn't been for pandora deciding to play 2 Floyd songs, back-to-back, on my Sleater-Kinney station. I don't get it, and I never will.
During this current moment of upheaval in my life, I find myself now, more than ever, reflecting on old livejournal entries. I've been reading all sorts of tidbits, not really remembering any details but getting a general sense, a feel for certain lost moments.
Life is always so full of opportunities, even now. And yet, as I look at the world around me, all I see are my walls. They've been there my entire life, actually. The Walls were developed as a very conscious effort, sometime in the late 1990s.
I've blown so many opportunities, squandered so much. I've actually had fortunes disappear due to my decadence.
There was something real and tangible I wanted to record, something more than just a feeling of the malaise of the times.
I didn't do much with this Sunday. I read a lot, slept a lot, ate a lot of fruit. I wish I could have done something more active, but I don't know. I listened to some of that 60s classic rock I wanted to listen to.
What struck me most about today, however, was when I saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I came in during the middle of Sweet Transvestite, and it wasn't commercial free. So, there I lay in bed, hot, sweaty and uncomfortable, and remembering a movie I first saw in 1999, the year that the world changed on me. The year that this era began.
It's funny, to reread entries on here, and find all sorts of hints at who I was or what I could have been. I really have couched quite a few entries in obscure metaphors and phrases that I just don't get. That's sad, really, that I can't rightly recall my own past. I mean, what the hell is the point of creating a written record?
I'm just so amazed at some of the things I've written and thought. I do genuinely seem to have been happier in 2003 and 2004, the early years of this journal. Something has been lost, along the last 7 or 8 years.
I've lost my innocence. I'm jaded and worn out --and I'm only 25. I'm pretty sure I've said the same before, it's just my age wasn't so high. Here is where I venture to prognosticate about the future: should I be, say, 30, and still alive, and still writing in this journal, I will look, too, at this moment as a time of wasted opportunities. I may even glance upon this very entry and say to myself "wow, you were happy then."
I find myself clinging to certain truisms, truisms I don't fully understand or know where they came from. I realise now I've been trying to build my life's foundation on quicksand. (I know I used that metaphor before, as I read it earlier today, but I don't recall the exact entry).
I'm just so lost, so confused. I don't think I've ever really had any passions, any strong suits. Like I said, I just sort of liked English and language and writing. Somehow, along the way, that turned into History and Marxism and linguistics and being a Slavophile. Now, now where am I? Friendless, alone, and back on language...the Spanish, language. I don't quite get what my life is trying to teach me at this point, but I have a feeling that --give it a couple of years, maybe 5 --and I'll look back.
5 years from now, I'll be 30. And if I'm still here, I'll be wondering not only what did I do with my teen years, but also, what did I do with my 20s...