desperate
ugh. livejournal. i am desperate to write. something. anything. i can't find any writer groups in santa barbara. ha. go back 10 years and i write about not finding fly hunnies in sb. now it's writer groups. but serious. where are the poets, personal essayists, screenwriters... all wannabes of course. but where are these people? and ones who are not 60. this is whiny. good.
remember when the internet was centered around livejournal? when it was a hive of teenage, unsure, narcissistic minds - interconnected by a series of tubes (internet reference). it allowed strangers a direct connection to ones brain - or at least he part of the brain we wanted to share with others. many friends found me that way, many of them have disappeared since (no biggie). but i miss the sense of writing. the word choices, the interspersed images (soccer metaphors), the random comment by either someone you didn't care if they commented OR by the people who were on your short list of OH MAN I LOVE WHEN THEY COMMENT. it wasn't really that short of a list. but it was a list none the less.
going back into livejournal is always a dicey preposition. not too different from wading through a bunch of dusty photo albums at your parents house, or starting up an old computer that has a zip disk drive and finding a zip disk full of old work. the livejournal holds odd moments and heart skips and daily stylelogs and the stuff that populated my brain at the end of the day - or the middle of the day - or heck at the beginning of the day.
i even used livejournal in college... in 2003...2004... to go back to old posts... 2003...2002.... to find inspiration for poems. find moments from san diego comic con - sneaking into a hotel swimming pool, eating in n out in a soccer mom van driven by a 17 year old, acting like we are important and cool and awesome. we were. it's true. other moments like me being totally lost in florence - unable to eat or dream without thinking about SOMEONE or SOMETHING engulfing me with fear... the fear of the earth swallowing me up everything I stepped outside. Looking at frescos of hell all day in art history didn't help this.
did you know myspace still exists?
remember when the internet was centered around livejournal? when it was a hive of teenage, unsure, narcissistic minds - interconnected by a series of tubes (internet reference). it allowed strangers a direct connection to ones brain - or at least he part of the brain we wanted to share with others. many friends found me that way, many of them have disappeared since (no biggie). but i miss the sense of writing. the word choices, the interspersed images (soccer metaphors), the random comment by either someone you didn't care if they commented OR by the people who were on your short list of OH MAN I LOVE WHEN THEY COMMENT. it wasn't really that short of a list. but it was a list none the less.
going back into livejournal is always a dicey preposition. not too different from wading through a bunch of dusty photo albums at your parents house, or starting up an old computer that has a zip disk drive and finding a zip disk full of old work. the livejournal holds odd moments and heart skips and daily stylelogs and the stuff that populated my brain at the end of the day - or the middle of the day - or heck at the beginning of the day.
i even used livejournal in college... in 2003...2004... to go back to old posts... 2003...2002.... to find inspiration for poems. find moments from san diego comic con - sneaking into a hotel swimming pool, eating in n out in a soccer mom van driven by a 17 year old, acting like we are important and cool and awesome. we were. it's true. other moments like me being totally lost in florence - unable to eat or dream without thinking about SOMEONE or SOMETHING engulfing me with fear... the fear of the earth swallowing me up everything I stepped outside. Looking at frescos of hell all day in art history didn't help this.
did you know myspace still exists?