Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Writing Nothing or Nothing Writing

I'm staring at the muted television, some stupid pop culture "comedy" crap. I don't understand it. Stomach growling, in knots, bile surging to my throat. The silence is my very best friend and I as always, my own worst enemy. I'm having some sort of God Damned existential crisis and it pisses me off. I want to write, write, write it all down because I was somehow born physically incapable of screaming out loud. Either that or I let someone steal my voice. Either way, I find it physically impossible to scream. Trying to write makes me even more angry, I think. I'm not sure the words are even stuck, I just think they don't really exist. What is WRONG with me? Gotta keep moving, moving, moving. Never stop and listen to yourself. That just allows for emotions, feeling all that namby pamby crap. I mock it, because I don't know how to feel it. Not really. According to my father, I'm a lot like him. Not the "excitable" type. Everything is just sort of passive, sit back and let life pass you by. Don't rock the boat. It'll all work out in the end. I blame him, you know. Crossbreed that with a the most opposite personality in the world, my mother. She's insane, but she's lucky enough that she doesn't realize it. Thoughts just come and go, emotions come and go. Doesn't matter how they affect anyone else, they're too fleeting to really matter. I blame her, too.  I thought the goal was to hope for a successful combination of the best traits for your progeny.  As hard as I've tried to quell this, I seemingly struggle with all the worst. All of this bubbling up inside of my head where the pragmatic meets the crazy, which in my defense, I have managed to pare down to "philosophical" and war entails. Not just any war, but the battle of wills inside a highly over-educated mind. The kind that picks apart every little detail until they bleed and then uses that sticky, viscous fluid to artfully paint the walls and redecorate. I'm so tired. Never stopping, up-ending, twisting, turning rails for my thoughts to zoom upon faster and faster until I pass out from the unbearable forces of nature and gravity. I'm kind of hoping spontaneous combustion is in my near future.  It seems like such a peaceful way to go.

6 comments:

La Lunatique said...

I hear your beautiful screaming voice all the way over here, oh sister are we ever cut from the same cloth! Please continue to spill that viscous fluid and artfully paint the walls, love love love it!!

psychobillygirl said...

Thanks. I really love knowing that someone "gets" me even when I don't really get myself. I love reading your much more poetic reflections of twin thoughts. Please, please don't EVER stop. :)

Queen of the Universe said...

"I was somehow born physically incapable of screaming out loud."

Powerful imagery! This is when dysfunctional families pay off...lol Do. This. More. Often.

Wine and Words said...

Oh I imagine more people get you than you think. I read this on a blog the other day (Yes, I copied it and can't remember where I read it so as to give credit. Sorry). I share it because my son and I are cut of this same cloth, and working now at lighting out matches. It's too long, so will post in multiple comments.

You Are Not Here To Play It Safe
"Remember, you are not here to play it safe. You are here to start fires." - Sera Beak

Yet how many of us spend our lives playing it by the former. Fear being the controlling factor. Fear carefully and purposely cultivated by parents, bosses, peers, friends, society, the economy, and religion. With all of these players having a hand at molding you into their ideal, we traipse around life never heeding our own inner voice but instead live it mimicking those that hold influence. If we go back, way back to the time when we were children and lived fearlessly exploring the world around, learning through success and failure and not letting the latter deter us from trying again, we learn that we were all born with courageous hearts to live by the latter, to live life to the fullest, because back then nothing stopped us and we rarely played it safe. And we felt alive and happy and our souls were free.

Cont'd

Wine and Words said...

As children we believed in ourselves. We believed we could do things even when others didn't. But as we grew, fear became part of our daily diet; it was necessary to keep us safe and in control. And so we took the advice of those older and "wiser" and allowed their perceptions on how life should be lived to be absorbed into our being. These perceptions, usually borne of fear, was the last refuge and absolute controlling power. And so their "facts" in time became our own and we accepted them without thought to question because it was based on wisdom and experience that had been handed down generation to generation. Now having properly sowed those seeds of fear, we had successfully been introduced into the cookie-cutter society where individuality was frowned upon and little by little, layer by layer, we stripped our courage to live life authentically and stripped our inner voice of power and instead began to condition ourselves into what we now believed society expected of us. It was for our own good and thus began our journey into being nothing more than carbon copies of each other.

Cont'd

Wine and Words said...

And so we proceeded with life sometimes in a state of boredom and sometimes in a state of indifference with the malaise of others inside our bodies spreading like cancer. We had many good days, months, sometimes years and yes we weren't always bored or sad, but we just always felt something was missing. We could never understand the root of our listlessness and our lack to be completely fulfilled because we had long abandoned that inner voice that, if asked, could have answered the questions we mulled over time and time again.

But then....

then one day we were wakened from that entranced state, not by the outside voices that held power, but by our own inner voice that could no longer be silenced. And we were no longer afraid. We finally acknowledged that voice, the voice that had been chosen for us alone, that voice that had held fealty to us all this time even when we failed to reciprocate. And the voice, finally sensing that we were once again one, engaged its vocal chords and vibrated our thoughts and desires out into the world. It screamed its existence and expected acknowledgment and overpowered everything else around that we could no longer hear the fears of others above its din. And the releasing of that voice was like a drug. It calmed us, finally sating that listlessness and ennui that had lived inside of us but that we could never fix. It sparked the fire within that had been nothing but a slow dying ember, an ember that refused to be fully extinguished because it believed that one day we would return to spark it to a flame. And it finally freed our souls to connect to the essence of who we truly were and said, "Remember, you are not here to play it safe. You are here to start fires." And so we finally did.

End.