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Detritus Waltz - days, camels, meanings, leavings, days, camels
hanging on a branch
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days, camels, meanings, leavings, days, camels
Another day, another pack of Camels. Another low level quiescence of meaning, another fruitless search high and low for whatever I feel quite strongly I am looking for. Kupek wrote, Poker, pot & booze could help me wipe away these blues, and I suppose this would apply in this situation as well, but I have neither of the latter at hand at the moment, and the only playing cards in this house, I kid you not, are two sets of Tarot. Where was I? Looking for meaning. This is a daily quest in the halls of my mind and body & combined self, of course, and looking at it from outisde this may be a positive method, but it's quite annoying from the inside, you may trust me on this. Constantly re-examining - or worse; feeling like you should be re-examing - your self-worth and ideals is a fucking hassle. These fucking indefinables will drive me mad one day, or sane, or perhaps both. What's that, body-mind-self? You feel like you should be acting? I'm glad. Thank you for that. If you'd be so kind as to give me any directions? No? I appreciate it.

It's allright if your eyes have gotten fuzzy and indistinct by this point. My father has hit upon a definition of truth which I believe does well; 'That which raises an echo within you'. This is all echo talk, here, and mostly for my own benefit. I meant to say something here, but I started typing with honesty, which is always dangerous. Ah; meaning. When I cannot find meaning, when meaning hides somewhere just behind my head, when the hollow in my chest begins to make itself noticed and I cannot calm it, I will look at least for some sort of reminder of self. A booster, an answer to the constant badgering questions from the self, even if it is an old answer. "Back in 2007," I will say, "This person thought I was worth something." This will if but for a moment calm the beast within my chest. My good and I dare not think how many-years-long (5, I fearfully calculate. My god.) friend Lachlan keeps a folder with the many compliments he has garnered for one thing or another collected therein for his moments of weakness. I should have done the same, if i'd have had any sense.

This journal has always been a pressure valve, and functioned well for that. But I am becoming a little too proud, and perhaps worse, a little too fulfilled. The scream to the emptiness is wearing thin, and in any case the scream to the well-known cast of near-emptiness is not the same. I relieve my madness here and there, but perhaps a text file would do as well. This whole thing has become static, too static. Meaningless. Existing only to be shouted at. That's no sort of audience.

What I meant to say, in all of this, is that i'm seriously considiring leaving this whole thing behind. But there will always be a little bit of the validation-seeker hidden in me, behind the beard & tattoos. Come then, my invisible audience. Give me your thoughts. Maybe there's still something in this format that can inflame me. If not, well, in life you discard or are weighted down. Another day, another pack of Camels, right?

What is it now, evening? Past six, that's evening. Good evening.
Comments
tyoko From: tyoko Date: September 4th, 2008 06:26 pm (UTC) (Permalink)

My internet connection will be cut off sometime today, so I shall be brief:

I think you should at least have some sort of blog open, not because it has any meaning, but because of the very selfish reason that I want to hear about you.

Honestly, if your blog isn't fulfilling any more, or you've lost track of what you are trying to say with it, then this is a fair thing and you should close the blog and start afresh. However, a blog is more than just an outlet, but a form of communication with other people on the end, some of whom would still like some method to at least tease you about your punctuation.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't so brief. Maybe I can just email you occasionally instead?

Also: I'm wondering what terrible truth you stopped yourself from saying. Do I want to know?
kaura_nighthawk From: kaura_nighthawk Date: September 4th, 2008 09:40 pm (UTC) (Permalink)
The tarot was originally designed for card games anyhow. I'm sure it only takes a little tweaking of the rules to play poker with them.

Also, I've always been suspect of compliments made in the past, if only because Pratchett made a good point in Night Watch that the past you isn't you- it's a little twit with only some of your memories, and has yet to take as many beatings as you have, so what the hell does he know? Get your validations hot, fresh and present- do something worthwhile now, even if it's as small as impromptu comedy on the street corner with a rubber chicken, some vaseline and an innocent bystander.

...well, maybe that isn't so small. But you get my point, I think.

And if it's an audience yer looking for, show up more often in IRC, man, and tell us t' review something. Or, better yet, join me in the madness- I could use another collaborator for NaNoWriMo, if only because misery loves company.
lady_thundercat From: lady_thundercat Date: September 4th, 2008 10:07 pm (UTC) (Permalink)

dude, I know how you feel

I felt rather gloomy sometime around six p.m. so I just went to sleep, and now I'm up, smoking my lungs out, realising that another day, another pack of Camels is an accurate description of my life... but not the only description.
Reading what you wrote... man.. it does something to me, you know? makes me think instead of studying physics... Reminds me of things I'm better off forgetting, like the fact that I spend most of my days running like a maniac from that emptiness...
What I'm trying to say here is thank you for writing...
3 drops on the green grass though, of course, you can Shower your rain upon the fields of love
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