Wretched Excessivenesses

Here's just a random vomit of thoughts i threw onto a Sticky (not a mac person? loser.) while waiting impatiently to regain control of the house dialup internet *dies*.

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no one realizes - no one can see .... my desire. it is so repressed.

destined to scrounge in the muddy depths of mediocrity

i can love any food, and want to make it myself, but i am not a cook
i can love the wind and the sea, but i am not a sailor
i can create ideas, but i cannot weave them into a story as a writer
i can share an idea, as awkard as it comes out, but i am not a teacher
i can draw a building idea, but i am not an architect
i can read notes on a page, but i am not a pianist or composer
i can howl at the moon but i am not a wolf
i am not a coyote or a fox, or bear, or any other creature
why is a human the only creature that wants to be so many others
why would anyone want to be something they're not

how could someone be so full of contradictions?
- i desperately want to stop feeling so alone while i think of all the heavy objects i would throw if my sister or mother came into my room in the midst of me crying
- i feel like i've never been good at doing something for myself yet I know I am the most spoiled child I have ever met
- I carry a philosophy of breaking barriers, and going through trouble instead of around it, and confronting fears but i can't seem to break through this figurative triple-strength super metal alloy plate that covers my mouth in the prescence of those i wish to confront the most
- i am the most hyper-sensitive whiny yet dreamy, naieve kid I know yet also the most hard-assed cynical realist i've ever been forced to deal with

I spend all my time thinking and trying to work things out for myself....and I know I need people, but if i can just get these last few plans in order, i can set myself up to make a great deal more people who i can be there for and they can be there for me.......so why, when they try to be there for me, do i only feel like they are questioning everything i have thought out, i feel totally threatened, the ground falling out from under me, thanks to these, my own parents?
Why can't anyone else try to be such a threat?

Why do i discover the blogs and galleries of people i've never met, interesting people, people that seem to have such a graceful balance of all the things they want to be doing with their lives, and i either wish i could be like them, almost obsessively, or i imagine what my life would be like with them.

People tell me I have potential. That I can do it. I think i know. But I really just wish i could see it a little clearer in times like these.

Wretched Excess

okay, so the idea is that we live in such a world that everything is in excess
there are so many people - there is so much more bad stuff....good stuff....whatever.......we think - okay, i think - why do we have to celebrate so much -- maybe because if we didn't, then all the bad stuff would be so much more prevalent and less kept under wraps, nO?
So how do people cope with the masses of everything on an individual level? When we feel overwhelmed by it at least,. cus i guess alot of people out there exist who are apparently well-balanced. nice to meet you one day. It seems that maybe people have to compensate for the over-abundance of everything , by toning down themselves a bit to keep from swinging wildly from extreme to extreme and getting carried away. Okay , so just like i feel now. Do you honestly think that people willingly subdue their own individual, creative energies for the sake of their own sanity, because if they let loose, and explored every impulse, then the impossibly huge canvas and palatte from which to take and give would simply cause an overload.
i really don't think any of this makes sense. I know it's better for me to be doing somethign. writing at least. than sitting and wallowing. thinking alone. sharing thoughts or at least vomiting them onto a page has to be better than nothing. i dont' care how cliche and self-depreciating and depressively live journal-ish they are.
is my toungue supposed to be purple?

it's not that i think i am a totally disfunctional human being. i mean, i can perform...a task....a relationship....a job. alot of things. just when it gets like this and there's nothing u can immediately do that you know you're good at doing, esp when you have googles of creative impulses bashing around in your head - i mean if someone put a shovel or a paintbrush or pen or sledgehammer, i know i could do some damage with it. If some need for me presented itself....at least to get me away from the bleak chasms of endless thought....i would leap at the opportunity. Hell, over the past two months, I have applied for 200 of these random jobs. 200. Two hundred random tasks sitting around NEEDING someone, that I sit from my little corner of the map and wave my hands in the air screaming "i'm here, i can do it!" and i'm pretty sure i can do it damn good.......--well.
I don't want to be sitting at a desk filing papers all my life, but i sure wouldn't mind earning a quick buck or two doing it now ....for a little while. I'll walk dogs, I'll wait tables, I'll buy your groceries, I'll seal 5,000 envelopes, I'll buy coffee for your film crew, I'll do anything. But wait, i know i've made at least one condition to the whole big plan. I have stubbornly insisted to all those who have inquired that i have made the plans to pursue whatever the hell it is i am going to do with my life by leaping head first, and half blinded into the biggest and one of the most fascinating cities in the world. And I only half know how to swim. I know i'm going to swallow (choke on) a few heaping gulps of water, but i'm willing to take the risks.....the challenges........right?
Everyone talks about doing it. Now why, when I'm finally in the middle of actually doing it, does it seem like I'm ))))

Not having sex in over two months at this stage in life has got to have some negative effects as well. Two points for honesty.

why do i write for someone i don't even know. why when i'm so absorbed in those i know all to perfectly well and feel wrapped in how horrible they make me feel, can i never bring myself to express, write, scream (anything) a single word?
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okay, so yeah. that's all turning around. so i figure I'll explain why i actually have the energy and drive to post this crap in the next post to come.

p.s.: i think i'm plotting a mass exodus to an actual blog and maybe even an attached flickR account in the near future. woot.