Everyone is just lusting over a continuous string of things they can’t have, but in that moment of desire think they can.
When you spend too much time alone it can become one of those introspective nightmares where you replay everything in your head. Anxiety reaches its peak and you reach for the vices. Whatever you can get your hands on, if you’re a flawed person. Which most likely you are. I know I am. That’s something though, accepting your flaws. Some people deny that sort of thing and hold up this mirror to reality instead of looking directly at it. They live in the constant reality of thinking they’re on the wrong side of the road. Instead of having that split second when you’re tired and you think you’re on the wrong side and you panic, but only for that split second.
That’s a laugh. I think that I haven’t lived long enough to be able to call myself a writer. I think to really be a writer you have to have some miles on you. I’ve seen some things, lived in a lot of places and encountered some insanity in my time but not enough to really call myself something professional. Even though there are some people way younger than me making way more money and more connections than I am at this very moment but what difference does it make?
Where do you go when you’re sick of all the viral posts on Facebook? To your own page, that's where.
We all enter this world the same way, and we sure as hell leave it the same too. I heard once that writing doesn’t mean shit if its stuck in your head, technically writing consists of your thoughts coming on to a page, making a cohesive thread between the abstract neurons that fire silently when you’re “thinking” and the physical printing of ink to murdered slab of tree.
In the nights where your back starts to hurt because you’ve been laying down for too long something pulls you up. For me, It’s the words. Whether they be in the form of a song or a poem, a sentence or a novel they have to come out. It’s like a shorted out wire in my brain that switches on in times of complete desperation, madness, happiness or love. Once you find something that trips that faulty wire, you have to explore it, or at least answer the door when it comes knocking.
Some of these scribbles end up in notebooks in night stands never to be seen by another human’s eyes. Others end up on billboards or in magazines, TV Shows or movie scripts for everyone.
Sometimes this act is painful, and other times it's full of joy, but right now as I look at these words from over a year ago, I can say that it's worth it.
I hope these words reach someone who can connect with them, cause I know I have. Sometimes I read things and think, well, that person, who wrote that thing, is marching to the beat of a drummer I’ll never hear. And that’s the beauty of it. The words are concrete. They’re forever. Unless you erase them of course.