talk is cheap... it doesn't matter what your mind can think up, or what comes out of your mouth... unless you act on it... it's still just in your head. what good does it do in your head? you don't have to share everything with the world, but if your passion for an idea overwhelms and consumes your normal activity (sleep, eating, etc.) then you really should act on how you are feeling. you have to come to an understanding of this journey on your own, otherwise you really won't understand its significance. action. reactions. consequences. how are they related? if your passion moves you that much and you don't act on it, then that's just wasted energy and soul. do something about it! just START...
2/9/04 (Monday) 12:52 a.m. That was the shit that I typed so many months ago to launch what was going to be my space, my little virtual world on the internet... but months have passed and oh so much has changed... I'm sitting here at what is a way too late hour as I have to get ready for work in about 5 hours and yet I am driven by passion to ignore what is trivial (yet "important") and write how I feel. I always prided myself on writing. I called it my "best friend", the thing that would always be in my life, that would listen to me always and always give me honest feedback whenever I wanted. But I have turned my back on my best friend. That last sentence couldn't be more true, and in so many ways. How do you just throw away your life? I did. I threw it all away. What do you do when you fuckUP so much, so BIG? Do you stray behind? Do you wait, hoping, praying for miracles? Do you make silly wishes that you could turn back time? Do you drift lifelessly until you hit a wall? Do you continue to skid along roads until you just dissolve and distintegrate into nothing? Do you watch as the world around you where you once particpated, carries on seemingly oblivious to you or your pain? Do you secretly stay in touch with elements or your past life, your life ruined that you yourself ruined, just so you can still feel in touch, not left out, though you know far too well, that you no longer participate, that you only pathetically observe, so you're constantly reminded of what you threw away? Do you grow masochistic, hoping that others come to your aid when they see you bleeding; that the one person who can stop bleeding eventually budges through the line and comes to your aid and says 'I love you.'? These are the thought sthat have been so long to come out or that perhaps just now at this moment at this itching restless hour, i churn out becuase I cannot just shut my eyes and go to sleep and think of what is before me, but what is behind me but yet so in front of me as well. I stand sometimes but always alone at that cold bus stop in the winter and justify that heavy winds bring tears to my eyes, but the truth is that a crying man cries because his heart is broken because he broke it himself. Does it get anymore pathetic? If sorry could heal. If sorry could rewind time. If sorry could make wrong right. If it had just never happened. If he only knew. If he even cared. If he still cares as I do now and definitely always will. Perhaps he longs to forget, but I never will nor want to. And even now that I just ramble to seem poetic, to seem deep, to seem poignant, I feel that it's true, it's bottled up shit that has to come out and it's my heart and mind typing, perhaps secretly hoping that you stumble across this one day... but isn't perhaps just another word for if... These are the ramblings of a wasted weekend that passed because of dragging, which as usual for sure contained moments spent on thinking of you and of the incident. These are the ramblings of a tired and broken man at 1:13 a.m. who wasted another weekend... who though he tells himself that he'll spend it properly next weekend has lost his spark because he killed it himself. He kills it even more as he watches his spark continue to live as he just stays behind, in pain, crying on thr inside, drowning in his own tears until he waits at the bus stop and soemtimes the tears overflow and he cries on the outside for all the world to see, hoping that the one person who can stop the tears sees... but hope relies on if... it's 1:15 a.m. and I'm tired. who knows if this becomes a normal thing? if this is journal entry #1 or rather #2, or the last? the sunrises in a few hours and it will set as well...
worth a visit? YOU decide!
