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Usually I like the nights.. I like the quiet of the night, the darkness. At some point I learned to live happily in the darkness. Usually things I like to do are just better at night. IF I had a better car I would drive more often in the evenings. Right now lost in my solitude.... I find myself with night thoughts. Its been so long since I have really been alone at night with nothing to hold on to.. not just a person but an image. Its only eleven o clock and I just can't find the sleep my body is longing for. I am thinking about books that I want to write, how to make stories fit together. But writing makes me think of my muse. And then I just get sad and don't want to use my pen anymore. As I acquire carpel tunnel I just wish that I had the same passion for my art as I once did. Its only in the Late night I can allow myself to think of the fear. the fear that consumes this whole writing thing for me. Honestly just writing this blog when I feel the need helps with the craft and I wonder if fiction is my thing. Or if poetry is really what I am good at. I dream of lap tops that I can type away on in my room alone without the hoopla of the home office. Its hard to feel creative in a place that stiffles creativity. Well mine anyway.... So this Christmas even though I won't get it. I write Pink Dell Laptop...because of course my laptop needs to compliment my distinct style and that one does. I go to sleep at night and I dream big for it. Really I dream for the day I can sit in front of my own laptop that belongs to no one else and store my stories there. A vault of my dreams. Its not to late I hope to ask Santa for a Miracle this year...because without my tools what kind of writer will I be. Anyway I so totally lost track of what I was talking about. Writing and my muse. I am learning like many other great writers before me I am a total nut job. Emotionally dramatic and tragically flawed. I love flaws.. they make characters interesting. Makes a reader want to get to know them and why they tick. I love that part. Creating these people that have formed in my mind, and yes it does sound crazy but everyone knows that every great artist is a step off the truck. But it makes us charming doesn't it. We end up living very lonely lives really. all the greats did anyway. Its because our whole life is about balancing the flaws of inner self. We usually find this one great love that we destroy because we are extremely narcistic. ME ME ME we go through life. Examing our surroundings and then ripping them apart with songs and stories and bleeding canvases. Whether its through music, or words or paint... we find someway to give our lowly view of the world and want you our audience to feel something. But mostly we want you to feel what we felt because if we do anything right at all its feel.... People made of the creative gene, actors, painters, muscians, writers, producers and many more. We feel deeply examing each emotion with the eyes of artist. We drink to quiet the noises many of us or we use things that dull reality to give away to this other universe. Ever look into the eyes of that creative friend and just wonder what the fuck was going in in that mind of yours. Most likely we are chronciling moments to make masterpieces. NOt to sale but for people to see who we are because we are to flawed to show you the regular way. We write you poems because emotional blockage has taken away the honest use of words. I guess I am just talking about me, or the artist I have met and known and I don't hang with them. To many shows to attend, to many critics for my taste. Yet most days I love everything about me. Even that crazy that is unleashed in my fury. I hope it doesn't kill me...but in the end I am happy I have lived the way I have lived. Because each experience has given me another way to make someone feel. To make them laugh with a clever ancedote or cry at the sweetest poem. It feels good to know that somewhere I understood someones pain or happiness th rough my own. Just now I realized that even if I don't believe in this thing I think I might have. Someone else does.... I have heard the best of compliments. and I have heard the worse of critcisims. IN the end I still got you to ready my poem...or my short story and no matter what you felt. U FELT SOMETHING. I am not very good at saying I am sorry when I do wrong, and I know most people hate my ass. But I can write a hell of a poem.. and I bet that sorry is better than one that has tumbled from my lips in shame or guilt. LATE NIGHTS my best time to write. GOOD NIGHT EVERYONE.
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Posted by BitterSweetNy on 2007-12-18 02:54:07 | Rating: | Views: 84
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