- January 20th, 2011
I am so tired. I just feel so utterly fatigued in the face of everything. I'm tired of scrambling up a muddy slope as the earth gives way to my desperate hands. Each step forward meaningless as the world is constantly moving back. Sadly I can't even bring myself to be properly depressed anymore. I practically have to force this drivel out. Even though it pains me to do so, literally. There's this throbbing sensation in my skull when I concentrate to put any of this none sense into words. I can't seem to remember anything lately. It's getting worse. I have this... quirk of the mind. If I set my mind to do something at a certain time, it gets done. But should I be barred from accomplishing it exactly as I'd intended, i forget about it instantly and never remember to come back. I must be bullishly determined when set to a task. I think it's partially why I used to shun sleep. It interrupted me. Made me forget. I think it still does. I'd probably be incredible if I didn't have to sleep. I'd be content with quick, controlled dream states. As it is proper sleep is too chaotic, too unpredictable. My chemistry never finds a set time. Everything has gone belly up. I think I'm just grasping at straws right now. Masquerading about like I've still got something worth living for. Really, I don't have anything of note. Nothing to be particularly proud of beyond my own egocentric meanderings. All my resources feel dried up. Everything is too little too late. I sit at night pondering about just getting up and leaving. I was suicidal years and years ago. The serious kind, not the kind you'd find halfheartedly bleeding out in a bathtub after a bout of writing poetry. My great epiphany came when my attempt failed. And believe me, when you hang yourself you don't want it to fail. But anyway, it was like everything made sense for a while. A long while. It was all really clear. Now, I'm lost again. So many years later. So much wandering. So much lost. It's like I'm feeling around in the dark. Sometimes I think back to that old staple, suicide. I think about it but in the least sincere way you can. You contemplate it like you contemplate between flavors of potato chips. Chips are pretty meaningless, disposable things. I'm really more angry, I think, than depressed. I'm positively livid inside. But it's just this castrated anger. All the moxie's been taken out of it. All the fire. It's all just hollow howling and could-have-been rage. It's like complete apathy. As though I'm dragging around this anchor inside. All it wants to do is sink, but I just keep on pulling, hoping, believing it will get lighter. It doesn't help that everyone around me is practically useless. I've got a basket case visual effects designer who has a breakdown because I surprise her with a new project and an obese wannabe director who doesn't have the creative muster to get anything done! Then there's my old business partner, whose balls are in his mother's sock drawer. And my former stuntman who has the ambition of a corn flake. Here I am saying "Look! Look at what you have here! Look what you can accomplish! Look what WE can accomplish!" But they're just weight on the anchor. They believe in themselves for a few seconds, but then reality tricks them again. Then they get lazy, get dissuaded, forget. I can't carry them. I can't force them. There was a time, just a few years ago, when everything was in alignment. It was a hard road ahead, but we had a team. Fuck all if that didn't fall apart. Like everything else in my life. It's like the only thing that HASN'T fallen apart too is my life proper. And it's all I can do to keep from taking a hammer and breaking it too. I'm big on symmetry. But you know what? Without fail whenever things seem so dark I can't get out, whenever it seems like the end of the line: Something happens. It's always something painfully miraculous. Something so convenient and so obvious that it stupefies me. Well, I'm waiting. I've worked hard. I've done my best. But I'm spent. I'm done. I'm overwhelmed. It's too much for me. It's always been too much and it's all past tense now. I don't have what it takes anymore. I wonder if I ever did. I think I did, for a moment. It was all there. I was organized, I could remember things, and I was able to motivate people. Now I'm just selling used furniture. Old hat. That's what frustrates me most. What fills me with such anger. That the world is so dreadfully unmotivated to do anything. It's this inert mass and I'm just the wind saying, no yelling "But you could fly!" and the ground just replies "yeah, but I'm dirt. So I'll stay where I am and be content to be dirt." But even dirt can find wings on the wind! Just this morning I was reading some forum policies in regards to solicitation. Now, I understand the attitudes, I'm an artist, I'm more than familiar with people soliciting for free work, but this is different. How do you expect to generate new business in your industry without selfless endeavor? how do you expect to make history without sacrifice? How do you expect businesses to pay you if the business can't get started without you? Damn the self centered laziness of it all. We're AMERICAN GODDAMNIT. We're PIONEERS!!! That's what we do! We see something and we explore it! We settle it. We turn it into business. We brave the elements, risk our lives and families for the promise of something better. I don't think there's anything worth believing in anymore. Or at least anything people at large are willing to believe in. There isn't any faith or courage left. Not even self-determination. As much as I hate to think it, I'm beginning to believe myself a victim of the era as well. I've got all right ingredients, but none of the culture or training to use them. The impersonalness of it all. Technology and digital communication. Tools, yes. But soul stealing swords if you ask me. There's a price. And the price is certain skill sets. I had the misfortune to be in between, it feel like. I grew while everything was changing, not after it had changed. I feel transitional. Like I've only got pieces of a whole. Maybe that was just how I was raised. Maybe it's how I'm wired. Maybe it's psychosomatic. Maybe it's Mabeline. I'm old enough to think that's a joke. I feel like I'm persisting for the benefit of others at this point. If I were gone person x would miss me or I may never help person y cross the road or change person f's life accidentally. It's a terrible reason to live. Probably part of why I'm wearing out. No one seems to live for me or perhaps its that there's nothing I want to live for myself. I think there's something there. It explains a great deal of my relationship needs. that I would need something to live for if I am regularly living for the sake of others. All of the things that were my own purpose are withered and dead. The only thing I love in this world is my cat. I love this cat. The noises he makes, the wounds he leaves, the way he wakes me up in the morning to feed him. I've been doing so much art lately not because I'm inspired, but because I want to escape. Whenever I do art I leave my corporeal body and drift through an endless daydream. And at the end I can find some meaningless pride in my accomplishment.. It's the little fix I need to keep going. But it's all fake in the end. It's all fleeting. It's just half hearted attempts at pretending to do something with myself. It's what I've come to in the end. I just keep telling myself that a lot can happen before a man dies. He can win and lose fortunes between years. That's always been what keeps going on when things are like this. Just that reminder that life is long. so much can transpire. Maybe I'll live to go out with some dignity. Maybe I'll find some dignity to go out with. too many maybes for one night. I think I'll pass for now. Finally my physical exhaustion has caught up with my spiritual exhaustion.