It's been a long time since I've posted anything, in Livejournal, or anywhere else, other than random singular thoughts in Facebook. While that site is lovely, it is a little... schizophrenic.
And, in most cases, that'd be perfect. Schizophrenic streaming information is perfect for the ADHD user. All the little bits of data we want with no risk of either losing interest in the endeavor altogether, or losing those fragments of information. It's okay, we remember them all, and we put them all together later. It's how we are.( Sometimes, though; sometimes that's not enough.Collapse )
- Music:Jack Sparrow - Hans Zimmer
I've come to the conclusion that I don't really want to do anything. I stick with any project or field study for about... two months, then drop it and never want to do it again. Any writing project, any art project, any kind of journal or thing like that. I even started a movie blog which hasn't been updated in a week. I really don't care.
And I hate it.
I find the idea of me having no passion for any kind of art sickening, but it's there, clear as daylight, in how I take in the artistic things around me. That is, I disregard them almost completely. I have never liked a book because of it's good writing, I've only liked the characters and the connections, the basic story. Everything else is meaningless. I _hate_ poetry. I mean hate it. I can't read the shit. And the clever use of words in prose is always lost on me, since the words in a story are merely a means to an end. I want the story, everything else is forgotten.
I haven't been on deviantArt in forever, mostly because I don't care a great deal about the finer things of art, the representation, the presentation, any of it. It's just something pretty, sometimes, or it's not interesting at all.
Leaves me with music, which, in my opinion, is the most difficult art of all. I've never done any kind of music in my life, and I don't exactly feel like learning from the beginning to nearly MASTER just to be able to create it at all.
And then, the most disturbing of all, when I consider simply being a wage slave, working, paying bills, then coming home and goofing off in my downtime, the idea doesn't revolt me in the slightest. I could fucking do that until I got old and DIED.
If I worked as a bigshot lawyer, or a dude in a mill working his ass off, they're both the same job to me. They're both meaningless outside the paycheck, and even when it comes to that, I need fucking little to maintain my happiness (which is one of the key reasons I've never gone for a high-paying job). Give me a computer and internet access, and I'll be fit as a fucking fiddle.
- Mood:Fuck you
It's been a while since I made a post here. I thought it might as well be time.
It seems that each of my different journal accounts (My writer's forum, deviantArt, and LiveJournal) serve different purposes. My writer's forum works mostly for up to dates on what's going on in my world, and possibly updates on writing projects I might have going on. My deviantArt account is almost strictly used for "business" type purposes, advertising my projects, my forums, the webcomic I was working on, etc.
LiveJournal, on the other hand, is for my musings, my thoughts and dear opinions on what's going on around me. It's the dark side, few people read it, and those that do aren't known for neither being idiots or strangers.
So what's this particular post about? I'm not quite sure. It's just going to end up a helluva lot cleaner than my mental dump that I posted earlier, which I made private, mostly because it's ugly and long, and I can't remember how the hell to use ... whatever those things were called.
More to come
- Music:Headstrong - Trapt
I am back to livejournal, it seems. Doubt that matters to many, since most of the friends I've had on here have gone on to do otherwise. I can actually only think of two people who still even use livejournal who would notice this post.
Anyway, I haven't typed a damn thing in a long time. I think it has been far too damn long. A writer writes, yes? Isn't that what Harriet the Spy said? (Don't know who that is, let me know, I'll fill you in)
I watched an incredible movie today, and the title of the movie might throw you off a bit, "Zach and Miri Make A Porno". Now here's something you don't hear very often about something even associated with pornography: The story was most excellent and the dialogue and the interaction (non-physical, I swear) between the characters was superbly written and directed by one Kevin Smith. The movie has much to do about early filmmaking. Working with no budget, shooting an entire movie out of your workspace, turning a hockey stick into a sound boom, etc (which is how Kevin made "Clerks" dontcha know).
I don't know, it got me thinking about the movie business again. I think I'd like being a director. *shrugs* I also was half tempted to come over here and write a short story or whatever, but I couldn't get past the scene in my head, which was a guy (or gal) blowing into their hands to warm them.
I dunno. In the coming month or so (maybe more), I doubt I'll be able to do any damn thing creatively, except talk with my girlfriend about a story we're co-authoring during the 15 hour drive back to her hometown to move there. *sighs* It's just now that I get the urge to create something or write when I _know_ I have way too many things on my plate to handle, like the car, and cleanup, etc. etc. whatever. Anybody interested in an ancient, beat up Toyota Corrolla?
- Music:Elan Hickler - Moving Forward
I took a test a couple days ago, or maybe it was just yesterday (depending on how you define days), it was a personality test. One of the criteria for determining if you were a Judger or a Perceiver is that a Perceiver (which I said I was) prefers "to start projects," while a Judger prefers "to finish projects."
I laid in my bed tonight unable to sleep, which is normally why LiveJournal ever updates, and I thought of that one criteria. It is so very true. I start many projects, but I never finish them. Ages of Light and Shadow, Libertine, any little story I put a one-shot in, and every single RP I've ever been in in my LIFE. The riddle project lasted A SINGLE RIDDLE, and I never did go back to that, (and for some reason, nobody complained). It's not just writings, either. I had plotted and schemed to smuggle a Mexican friend of mine into the country, though that plan flopped, too, and because I didn't hold up my bargain was just part of it. NaNoWriMo? well, that was a fucking joke. Libertine went nowhere at all. Though... I can say safely that I was severely distracted by everything in my life becoming instantly awesome during the whole month of November.
Side Note: Oh, my god, I'm cursed. I'm writing this damn thing, and the fucking timestamp says December 11 at 1:11.... Jeez.
So now we come to it, the present. The present ordeal. The comic? Sure, that might suffer the fate of all the projects that came before it. But no, that isn't what concerns me. That's replaceable, re-doable, as were all the former projects, save for that Mexican that I haven't heard from since. You see, it's PEOPLE that matter to me, and that is all that matters to me. This is shown in my writing, I write more character profiles than I ever do anything else. This is shown in my memory, I can practically write an entire dossier on anybody I've met, listing a full page of history and information just by talking to them for a while from the tip of my memory.
That's why when my girlfriend got back from work today, she couldn't find me. I'm finishing a project.
(Side Note Part Deux: ... When I flipped open Winamp and turned off the song, it read 1:11, too.)
- Location:Not Here
- Mood:fucked up
- Music:Second Sight - Rescue
Fucking stupid shit.
I don't like taking care of people all the live long night as soon as I get back from work. It's turning into a damn routine. First I talk to one, deal with her shit (with much love to my girlfriend, who helps with that), and once she goes to bed, I deal with somebody else's shit for an indefinite amount of time. Time zones SUCK ASS, you know?
Also, nothing is going to change in my life unless I make it change. Same old produces same old, and I want out, goddamnit. I want to change, to grow, to evolve. Yes, I do this in slow increments every year, but I don't want a single degree of change, I want a fucking 45 degree angle, to change the whole path and outlook of this whole fuckery.
To do that, I need money. Lots of it. I need a good, fulltime job that'll let me do what I need to do. Two part-time jobs seems like too many hours, and I need at least SOME time to work on what I need.
The comic... oh, boy the comic is soooo awesome. It's working so beautifully. Girlfriend's helping with the script, and so far she's doing pretty damn good.
Still, I have a lot of work that needs to be done if any of my hopes and dreams are to be accomplished _anytime_ soon. I guess this is what they call stress.
- Music:none... why?
And once again, I come to this, my solace, the LiveJournal page, you shit-useless item that saves my life every now and again. The fates are doing weird things to me. They poke and they prod, and they deliver me to weak people who fear themselves almost as much as they fear me, then bring to me an odd strength in another. Odd. Very odd. Oh,well.
I have decided, even before this odd twist of Fate came to pass, to close one frivolous and seemingly useless chapter in my life that has lasted only a few weeks shy of a year. I'm tired of playing house, I'm tired of playing a game that nobody but me seemed to believe in. If it's just a goddamned game, then I won't mind simply switching it off and discarding it along with every other game I tire with. No regrets, no thoughts, no feelings.
None of that has anything, whatsoever, to do with "Demon." At all. I'm serious. Ah, glory be the Stream of Consciousness, my hands have always known better than me, and it's when I write here that I simply learn to trust them. My eyes are not the window into my soul, my fingertips are. My soul is poured randomly into this, at 4:30 in the goddamn morning, when I am weary and worn, but so wound up with that pesky inner demon that I simply cannot sleep. That demon feeds of my past and tortures my future with doubt, a caged animal that must be freed. And free you see it, here, in these words.
Hmm. Perhaps I should also reveal what exactly the demon was feeding off. When I regret or despise something in my past... I re-enact it in my head, as well as verbally. My vision reverts to the memory, I see the faces I saw in the same scenario in the same place, only now I say different lines. They are _always_ vengeful lines, lines I would not have the courage to say in person, lines that exploit the weaknesses I saw in their character for a long time. I was recalling a time in which I met a friend for the first time and did not go well. She as good as alienated me since the second day I was there, tried her damnedest to keep me at a distance, and made me feel like a third wheel, unwelcome and unexpected. Then SHE tells ME that I've been rude (which was regrettably true) and ungrateful (which was justified), and that I make her nervous (which is a total mystery to me).
To fuckery with LJ-Cuts.
The stupid fucking LiveJournal spell checker thinks LiveJournal is spelled wrong.
- Mood:Piss Off
- Music:Shitty piano tech music
Lately, I've been attempting
to do some writing. I do all sorts of writing, for all those that don't know me that well, none of it can be considered non-fiction, per se. If I'm writing something philosophical, it's based on my own opinions and what I've learned and observed in everything I do as far back as I can remember. Everything else is prose fiction. I work on whatever story sticks in my head, and every single one of my stories (at least, that I can remember very clearly) began with either an inspiration for a character or a line that repeats itself in my mind for unknown reason.
There is a third type of writing that I do, and you're reading it right now. All zero of you.
It's a sort of thing that I call a brain-dump. It's used when my mind is buzzing with information, and I don't really feel like bugging somebody in a conversation, or that nobody could or should be bothered at the time, or nobody I can find are quite competent enough to really be of much use.
So, let me bring you back to the point of this thing. I'm a writer, a writer writes, and lately, I've been frustrated in my writing. There's a few things that I need to be able to get the ideas to do... whatever writing suits my fancy.
I need to:
- Be exposed to new ideas on a near-constant basis.
- I must be at peace. I must not see nor hear the world around me. I am easily distracted.
- I should have someone to talk with about my projects. It gets me to write even more about it.
- Last, but by some strange, morbid twist of fate, the most important; I must be depressed. My God, the Doc was right; without angst, there is no art.
There's been a thought buzzing around in the back of my mind. Something I seem to desire, but I haven't had the full...drive to truly want it enough to make it my mission. I've already considered going into film school, I can't imagine a job that would please me more than directing, as I am an avid fan of film and theater.
A second occupation that I think would benefit me in nearly every single way is journalism. To go forth and acquire vast amounts of information and utilize it into writing, thereby fulfilling the first condition. The second condition is easy, and if I'm a journalist, the third simply comes with the territory. The fourth condition comes on it's own or it doesn't. I could easily create this condition myself, but I don't really like the idea; it feels fake.
The greatest weakness I have ever encountered is myself, without question. What I wish the most is... shit... I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I need help. Someone that believes in something beyond me, and will push me. Though, I guess that sort of thing is left up to the fates, in my case. They show themselves or they don't. Well, I'm not completely helpless on my own, I'm pretty certain I can do whatever I wish on my own steam.
I draw the energy, the inspiration, the drive to create from emotions. If I don't feel any strong emotions, I can't write. It doesn't matter if the emotion is positive or negative, but it needs to be strong, I need to feel it in my very gut, and it must flow through me like some sort of electrical power.
It's typically negative energy that truly inspires me to create, and therefore, no strong thing can happen to me that does not have positive effects. If I lose a friend of mine due to foolishness on my part, it still gives me the benefit of that... little boost I need to create. Creating is what I do. It is what I have chosen to do. My life's work is at my fingertips.
You know what? Maybe I should get out more. Have my heart broken a few times...
One problem with that though, I have this unshakable indifference that makes me throw off all but the worst of scenarios. Makes all that going out seem almost wasteful.
Not that I mind going out, I just simply don't have the opportunity to do it often at all. I have no friends where I live, and I live pretty much alone and secluded, just like my family does. Parties and social gatherings we simply do not have, but I don't really know why.
In any case... I suspect I shall be writing up and well again very soon.