04/14/06
[A journal entry I've stumbled upon while sifting through old musings and material. Couldn't sum up my current situation any better. I feel as though I should be more frightened by the fact I seem to be in exactly the same place, but instead... I'm simply a lonely, lonely boy.]
Words are gone. I should be writing something, I should be writing a number of things, but I can't.
It’s really hot. And I’m fighting with music. Nothing is more distracting than silence, and nothing is more complicated than finding just the right music to effectively lull me into a state of comfortable productivity.
I am frustrated by my inability to remember. Feelings, images, and other confused thoughts bounce against each other in my head as I try to recall specific events and dialogues that elude me. And those memories that I’ll never forget, the few that I can hold on to and examine anytime I want, I cannot put into words. The last five years of my life are represented by inexpressible, disjointed ideas, moments that slip through my fingers when I try to reflect on them. My entire memory is like a bajillion piece puzzle missing the box and subsequent picture. All the pieces are scattered in front of me with nothing to serve as a basis for their reconstruction.
Where are you, words? Fuck. Nothing is happening. Nothing has happened. Am I waiting to be inspired or am I just waiting for someone else to decide what to do with me?
It seems as though I am still under the delusion that this struggle can eventually produce something meaningful.
Time for a nap.
Good night.
[Good night.]
Words are gone. I should be writing something, I should be writing a number of things, but I can't.
It’s really hot. And I’m fighting with music. Nothing is more distracting than silence, and nothing is more complicated than finding just the right music to effectively lull me into a state of comfortable productivity.
I am frustrated by my inability to remember. Feelings, images, and other confused thoughts bounce against each other in my head as I try to recall specific events and dialogues that elude me. And those memories that I’ll never forget, the few that I can hold on to and examine anytime I want, I cannot put into words. The last five years of my life are represented by inexpressible, disjointed ideas, moments that slip through my fingers when I try to reflect on them. My entire memory is like a bajillion piece puzzle missing the box and subsequent picture. All the pieces are scattered in front of me with nothing to serve as a basis for their reconstruction.
Where are you, words? Fuck. Nothing is happening. Nothing has happened. Am I waiting to be inspired or am I just waiting for someone else to decide what to do with me?
It seems as though I am still under the delusion that this struggle can eventually produce something meaningful.
Time for a nap.
Good night.
[Good night.]
posted by AHaynes at 3:48 AM
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