I will go in this way
Is anyone here? Posts to my friends page have slowed to a trickle. I suppose everyone has gone off to tumbl' or tweet or just hung up their blogging capes for good. It's the way of things, I guess. And yet, and yet, I'm drawn back here again. The past has called to me lately, I've felt a longing for things that are no longer. This journal is one of those things, or, more precisely, the way I used to write in this journal is one of those things. There was a kind of innocent playfulness in the prose I put here I've wasted lots of time and hard drive space trying to reproduce elsewhere. So, no more. Even if no one is here to read, I'll work with words again in this way for a while.
Why the past? What's there? I've been looking for what went right and what went wrong, and I just don't know...perhaps it's just, I'm growing old, and don't like it. My hair seems to have skipped gray and is going straight to white. I'm looking back to a time when anything seemed possible from a time when much, much less seems possible. I'm listening again to the music of my youth, which appeals to me in a way the music of my early adulthood can't because it is full of all the green springy energy that seemed to bounce around the world when I was fifteen. When I was fifteen, there was one less decade hanging around. Man.
I live with my girlfriend in Madison, WI. I work the pre-dawn shift in a bakery. My life is nice, but not what I thought it would be. I thought by now I would be in graduate school. I thought by now I would have everything figured out. Naive, I know, but I thought there would come a point when everything would just make sense, when I would know what to do and how to do it. Alas, it hasn't happened yet, and I don't think it will ever happen, at least not on its own. So...where to go from here?
I wonder if it's possible to write the way I used to...what did I used to do? And is it worthwhile doing it, even if I can? All things seemed fresher, better, livelier then, closer to whatever hot core of existence burns in all things. Maybe that's all there was in what I wrote, that I wrote it when I was closer to boy than man. However, even if that's the case, I feel better doing this than not doing this, so I'll do it for a while. And if you're here, and if you hear...thanks, dear heart thanks, for that.
Why the past? What's there? I've been looking for what went right and what went wrong, and I just don't know...perhaps it's just, I'm growing old, and don't like it. My hair seems to have skipped gray and is going straight to white. I'm looking back to a time when anything seemed possible from a time when much, much less seems possible. I'm listening again to the music of my youth, which appeals to me in a way the music of my early adulthood can't because it is full of all the green springy energy that seemed to bounce around the world when I was fifteen. When I was fifteen, there was one less decade hanging around. Man.
I live with my girlfriend in Madison, WI. I work the pre-dawn shift in a bakery. My life is nice, but not what I thought it would be. I thought by now I would be in graduate school. I thought by now I would have everything figured out. Naive, I know, but I thought there would come a point when everything would just make sense, when I would know what to do and how to do it. Alas, it hasn't happened yet, and I don't think it will ever happen, at least not on its own. So...where to go from here?
I wonder if it's possible to write the way I used to...what did I used to do? And is it worthwhile doing it, even if I can? All things seemed fresher, better, livelier then, closer to whatever hot core of existence burns in all things. Maybe that's all there was in what I wrote, that I wrote it when I was closer to boy than man. However, even if that's the case, I feel better doing this than not doing this, so I'll do it for a while. And if you're here, and if you hear...thanks, dear heart thanks, for that.