On and On and On

We are the unexperienced cliche,
humanity's trope viewing the world through the eyes of naivety
while we bring nothing new to existence.
We are no more than a self-absorbed cycle.

It's depressingly dark how, when I sit down to write, it's thoughts like these that plague my mind. Whenever I write, insecurities abound and I think about the worst possible circumstances in which I may one day find myself. I think forward to an existence of nothingness, or a life lived in constant forgetfulness and I write to capture life as I live now. What an odd thing to wish to document.

I feel as though writing is the process by which I share my self. I am given the freedom to say whatever I wish and as I write I think of nothing beyond my own thoughts. So often we tailor who we are or what we say to our audience as a means of coexisting, this can be such a tiring process when all we are looking for is someone to hear everything we need to say. Like I said above, this is all such a self-centered cycle but I suppose there are moments within one's life where they transcend the trivial reflections and leave something that lasts. This is something worth striving for. I feel as though one day I'll have something so valuable to say that I must prepare my voice, without losing it altogether droning on about pessimistic observations.

I want to write a song. I want to create something that I can be proud of, something that I can perform, something that requires focus and attention. I've been lacking these traits lately, finding myself pulled all sorts of directions while freely confined to the computer chair at my desk. Motivation is a paradoxical beast; how is it that I can spend so much time wanting to want to do something while paralyzed from any actual action or pursuit? I want to be a musician, I want to be more physically active, I want to be more assertive and I want to be more adventurous. I wake up with these sort of goals on my mind, and go to sleep aware of the fact I've fallen short. Somewhere between the sun's rise and fall, I've been pulled away from ambition until I'm reminiscing of the missed opportunity. I pray life doesn't follow this same trajectory for me. I suppose I only ever worry in reflection.

On another note, I recently met someone whose abilities I greatly admire at his poetry reading/show thing. It's funny how someone else's words can express the pain of your heart better than anything you've ever uttered. As I sat in my seat listening to him speak about life, love, heartbreak, loss, and a variety of other subjects, I was fully focused on his every word as though he'd speak secrets of the universe I'd never again have the chance to hear. He read my favorite poem, Move Pen Move, as his encore, and I was brought to tears at the possibilities life may yet have in store for me. After the show, I met him, posed for a picture, and then went on my way. Even those words, the ones which reach deep into my chest and grasping my heart, squeezing it and forcing it to beat faster while grabbing hold of my breath in an effort to fully capture my attention, even they become lost in the night, washed away by the downpour of a Vancouver rain. I drove off without saying anything more to the man whose inspired me, perhaps some day down the line I'll inspire someone and realize that nothing's changed.