The love you take

Writing has been, for years now, something I tell myself I love doing but never actually do. Loving it is likely part of the reason I don't do it. I'm certainly no stranger to self defeat. It's probably some sort of control issue. It's also a bit of laziness. A bit of disillusionment. Embarrassment. Intimidation. I'm not completely sure why I want to do this now. In a way it's been something new for me to bond with two of my best and oldest friends over. I assume that almost no one will read this blog, and I'm okay with that. It would be nice to have something I write spark a dialogue with others, or to simply hear that someone enjoyed something that I posted, but I'm comfortable with what I feel I can gain simply through the singular act of writing. It isn't passive, and that feels important to me. I've had a tendency to fall into a cycle of passivity, and there's rarely anything to be gained from that. Much can be learned by working through an idea in writing. There are an endless number of ways to articulate a concept and the depth of meaning that can be achieved with the right words can be enlightening. I find writing enjoyable in the same way I enjoy doing crossword puzzles. There are patterns and connections to be unlocked and revealed. I think it's one of the reasons I've found myself writing poetry even though I find a lot of poetry nauseating. I enjoy the act of trying to create dense layers of meaning and sound. It's like a game. Despite all of this, I still find it hard to convince myself to sit down and write most of the time. Sometimes it feels silly and pointless that we even started this blog. Sometimes I'm convinced there's some standard that my writing should be meeting, which I will inevitably fall short of. Sometimes I feel like I have nothing of any value to say. No energy to work through an idea. These are, I believe, the most important reasons for me to keep doing this. I could find a million excuses not to do it, and a million excuses not to try any of things that intimidate me. By forcing myself to sit down and write something I'm forcing myself to take a look at who I am, to recognize the ways in which I could improve my approach to life, to actively try to be a better person. As time moves on the need to participate in this world feels more urgent to me. I see how much the hunger for experience and knowledge that I had in my youth has been diluted by years of disappointment and I'm willing to acknowledge that it was often me disappointing myself and that the weight of disappointment is misleading. In truth my efforts have been frequently rewarded with heartening and gratifying results. I recognize this and feel the need to be engaged in how my time is spent, to tune in to my existence.

I spend most of my time alone these days, locked into a schedule, constantly missing my friends, my family, my cats and my girlfriend who inspires and excites me. My mind pours over memories and dreams. I struggle to connect them to my life. As I write this I'm just outside of Baltimore at an IKEA warehouse. As usual I'm essentially nowhere. There are baby geese flopping around in the grass outside my window. I see a lot of beautiful things. I drift through small towns and flickering landscapes like a ghost. It's all beyond my grasp. I pull into another neon lot, the air thick with the stench of piss, and slink past the corndog cowboys on my way to another trickle-dick shower. I attempt fruitlessly to wash the road from my brain to make space for gainful thoughts. I'm always aware of time. It digs its nails into my soul. Ignoring me, taunting me, it refuses to comply with my desires. I try to stay positive and engaged but my spirit is broken. In the brief hiccups that I get to be home I'm overcome by a dizzying desire to devour everyone and everything I love. I feel every kiss, every laugh, every dance deep in my bones. Then I tremble back into the manic waves of loneliness, where I will find the odd treasure. I will find ways to pass the time. I will learn to live with my brain. Ask me about all of this tomorrow.