Maybe it isn't good to write for an audience. You're not really open. Not genuine. But, then again, maybe you're kind of writing for yourself when you write to no one. Which means you're writing to your harshest critic. Which means you're not really open. Not genuine. I haven't had anything to write for a long time. Or maybe I have but just haven't made the time to do it for whatever reason. I've been seeing life differently this whole year. I don't go out as much. I don't have as many friends. And I'm fine admitting that because I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Maybe it's not that I don't have as many friends but just that we don't make as much time for each other as we used to. I used to see each day differently. Like a movie. Like everyone was a character in my movie. Including myself. Now I just live. I think. I never really know anything for sure. I never speak with conviction. Even that isn't a statement I can make with conviction because sometimes I probably do speak with conviction. I'm too diplomatic. Is there such a thing?I should read a book or something to get my mind thinking about something other than the food abbreviations at Chili's. I hate when I get certain things stuck in my head like a word that's difficult to spell or a phrase in another language. Une feuille de papier. Facetious. SteakPorto. I like poems because no one expects them to make sense. Or at least they shouldn't. I don't think poems should be so structured. Structure is meant for things like work. Not life. Things with structure can be fun sometimes but only in spite of it, not because of it. If I write a poem and someone interprets it in a way that offends them, I can just tell them they don't understand it. But if I flat-out say something offensive, there's no rearranging my words. Though sometimes even straight language can be misinterpreted. Humor, sarcasm, satire. They don't always translate just right. I don't even know what I'm getting at anymore.I want to live larger. I don't know what that means I would have to do, but I'm willing to do it. I don't want to get caught up in petty disputes. I don't want to worry about what I'm going to wear. I just want to live and enjoy. I want to take it for what it's worth. Whatever "it" may be. Big picture, small picture; they both reflect one another. Small helps interpret big in a way we can comprehend. Big helps us not get too focused on small. Balance, moderation, diplomacy. Is there a such thing as too much moderation? Perfection. If moderation leads to perfection, but you don't want too much perfection, then where does that leave you? Living. Striving. And hopefully enjoying.This doesn't have to make sense to you. That's not to say it's difficult to understand because it isn't. It just doesn't have to make perfect sense.I read this article in a small art magazine that they have on the newsstands at our school for free. It said that when people make pottery or weave blankets, etc., that they'll often put a flaw in them on purpose. It reminds them that nothing is perfect. It helps them to remain at ease with imperfection. In a way, that makes it seem like there's a such thing as a perfect flaw. A perfectly placed flaw. We all have them. It's just that not everybody loves everybody else's. But sometimes you find someone who appreciates even your perfectly placed flaws. Hold on to those people. It's easy to love people for everything that's right about them. The much more difficult thing is to love them in spite of, or even because of, their supposed flaws. If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then so is imperfection. If you realize through your own struggles that you can never be perfect no matter how hard you try, then why expect someone else to be? It is in the trying. Do they try to be the best person they can be? Then love them for that. Treat them as if they are already whom and what they hope to become. I think I read something somewhere that had advice like that. I like it. I really like it. I don't even know where to end. I'm usually always looking forward to writing a good conclusion. I just don't have one in me at the moment. I guess that just means I'm not finished with this yet. I think that's a good thing.
September 27, 2011
I was reading over all of my old posts on another blogspot blog I used to have in college. I made me wish I could still write in that wistful, breathless way that I always used to even just a couple years ago. I'll have to get back in touch with that part of myself soon. Anyway, I found a post that I thought captured me really well. It made me start to cry at one point when I was reading it, and I'm not exactly sure why or at what point it happened. But I figured that was a good sign that I ought to post it tonight. I wrote this just over four years ago, right after I turned 20. Sounds so young to me already...
Be forewarned: I don't know how to get rid of that white background, and there are no paragraph breaks. Here goes: