so. booya. i’ve been a “writer” for roughly.. hm.. since middle school. fuck putting a time on that. i’ve progressed so far in personal understandings that to try and put them within a context of an extent of time is useless. you are the blink of an eye.
i will never seek being known.
a problem with being unknown
is the desire to show those unknowing
what you know.
how… peculiar the need for others’ approval/acceptance/..sustenance.
to proclaim your work is to accept its state, or to progress from its state, or to leave its state. i prefer to revolve around the work set forth until the yearn to change something, to alter or to augment, arises. humility is the thinker’s disguise.. of stupidity. why be labeled lackluster when you simply lack a sense of luster? the world will know you when you deserve to be known.
crash your fluid glance upon these words and know that, despite your role, you are nothing more than human, nothing less than what you take from what you’re told.
so much is written that shall never be read; forget what you know and figure ‘it’ out on your own.
they sit behind me, laughing, hanging on the breath of a floating piece of paper unseen but scribbled ‘pon, until a chance wind breaks the stream of subtlety into a thousand cackles casting their chains of change-of-self upon me. what waste to live within a process you did not create/you were not meant to follow.
capitalism will lead to both poverty and excess: which is worth aiming toward?
of course, in this lifetime, many see progression of wealth as one of few symbols of status worth achieving. can you honestly say you would work your entire life to be able to live? yes, if it were within the extremes of comfort and security.
i rarely discuss my dreams or aspirations. that’s not a character flaw, it’s a choice to ward off arrogance or the eventual naiveté which so often follows the dreamer. i look forward to being a writer/to giving others yet another view of what life may hold. i look forward to being a father, a husband, a caregiver. i look forward to being for someone else who Mom was for me. i look forward to teaching anything you wish to know until you can do so for others.
i’ll never really see those aspirations come to light. that’s the mindset i have to maintain in order to keep a sane outlook; in order to not fumble over goals, i shall remain unknown until the unknowing wish to know me.
i have this sinking feeling that i’ll go the way of dickens, or, better yet, the way of poe.
despite all, ideas will remain so long as you strengthen them with knowledge. you may paint a picture or compose a work or scribble a prose, but without a knowledge of the circumstances or the reasoning, the onlookers/listeners/readers may merely go “ah, how beautiful!” without a need to go beyond the first impression. in that sense, you must both offer them a “why?” and withhold from them a reason. perhaps that is why so many artists base upon the common; bring them close with what is close to them, yet show them something they may not have taken in before.
i am a writer. just as you are a reader. you may be using your eyes for the first time, as i may be using my hands for the first time, but despite both, we are who we set out to be until we no longer wish to be so. follow yourself in thought and, perchance, you may find who you are.