The shot at perfection is somthing ive based my life on, possibly.
the chance at stardome, noteriety, acceptance.
To make somthing life changing.
To be marked as a great man when my life's end comes.
Alas, all dreams must take themselves at some point.
But what i've come to realize, sitting here in this tiny place, is that it's not the search for perfection.
No, its the search for joy.
The man playing his guitar will be forgotten as soon as the moment passes. So why does he do it?
For the joy of it all.
Being torn away from the pen for far too long is my own doing. I didn't do it well enough, i thought.
Whats the use in doing something if nothing will ever come of it.
I thought nothing in terms of recognition.
But i soon realized recognition is nothing in itself.
Why should i base my life on how others perceive me.
It's the first thing i learned, long ago. But i suppose it took a while to sink in.
If I'm sitting here pounding out a thought or banging on a key, thats mine.
If someone enjoys it, then maybe their just like me, maybe they enjoy the things i enjoy.
This night, i feel this emotion. Now tomarrow may bring new insights or old ones may crawl back in. But atleast for now, i'm happy doing this. A happy vent?
I associated writing for a means to express depression, anger, hatred...all the bad things.
When happy writing sprouted out of me, it was usually accompanied by a drink.
I really appreciate that divince thing. Leave something your thinking about, somthing your doing, for a while then return and greater insight will reveal itself. I don't need to fill my writing with symbols and make it sound a certain way. It should reflect my states. If im feeling symbolic, yes a sybol appears. But most days i feel worked, bruised, and happy. So my words dont need to be stretched, im not a professional, Writing should never be a job. To me atleast.
I don't want to feel obligated to come and write. If i do come, its on my own valition. If you can guess the next words coming, good for you, maybe we can have a conversation.
I guess i enjoy writing. It's very easy, not too much effort. And regardless of what you write, your never wrong.
Mistakes are only mistakes if you let them be.
I may come back and write some more, i've got a feeling i'm going to be poetic any day now.
I don't want to come here and complain about my day, this is my time. No ones around me, no tv, no music, no bothers. I worry too much all day to constantly suffer with them.
Right now i can listen to my fingers move about, the rain drop on the roof. I can listen to the people coming home from wherever they were. The insterstate being it's usual noisy self.
And i can relax....
Maybe i'll come back a little less comfortable and describe my aching feet, my steady cough, my worries. But i hope i dont, because this is ben time.
When people ask me what i did last night, i can tell them "i did what i wanted to do". I came here with a mission. To fill nothing with something. To return to this place with all its strange memories, examine them, realize them, and make some new ones.
I can say i took 15 minutes out of my day and just forgot everything and was happy.
There are no movies playing out in my head, no day dreams of fantastic things.
So i think for tonight i will sleep well, knowning i've created somthing, new, fresh, and completly me.
No funny business.
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