photo courtesy of comicmix.com
Prior to this sucky day, I have lost about a great number of brilliant moments where I could've written something spectacular or pretentious. It has always been a staple in my life, those lost moments. Fragments of something great in my life that has slipped away. A part of me wonders why I let this happen and why am I not doing anything about it. I guess, I am afraid to admit that I'm terrified. I'm terrified of recording the moments where I just feel the inner glow of being depressed, elated, half-dead, alive. It's like ideas are just whizzing in my head back and forth at the speed of light and I can catch every one of them. I'm scared of writing them dow, because if I do, I'll look back at that moment and feel the pang of nostalgia. I have a long history with nostalgia, we just don't see each other eye to eye. I don't want to belong to a growing number of unemployed people in this great country of ours. I don't want to a be a statistical number, but I guess that's what we all are, numbers. A number of rich whores, a rising number of pseudo-intellectuals preaching the greatness of being. I've just written a truck load of shit. I've always wanted to write, but I don't think that's going to happen. No amount of words I learn, books I read, movies I watch, people I observe will make me a writer. I'm too technical, too cold. Real writers are free-spirited, well-versed, passionate. Their words emanate and stir up your emotions. They take your feelings to a wholenew level, a different place. They make you think of different possibilities, of realitites and fantasies, of logical thoughts and absurd ideas. Doubt is not always a good thing.
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