I am no piano man
I was going to write somthing
I was going to write something about how the ask box is never used anymore, and maybe draw comparisons to changes and a lost language, and probably throw in some sort of nostalgia. but then I realised that I would only be doing this in some vain attempt to receive. And now i’m thinking about how I never put anything here, or on any social media site, or anywhere on the internet really. I do this because I understand that the only reason any of it is ever done is to have someone respond, and not in any meaningful way, not in any response, but just in a click. I want to be liberated from this, I want to remove the rush of seeing that some one took an immense amount of time out of their day to click something. I want to write without the nerves of wondering if or how many clicks. I don’t want the buzz or feeling of satisfaction that comes with social media, its different than the feeling of making someone smile or laugh. its more surging, needy, craving, sharp. It makes you edit and change yourself for others in ways that you would not do in any other situation.
I realise as well that I don’t think about the implications of when I click that button.
the contemplation of existence
So today I go to the shops to get a mothers day present. I fucking hate shops, and so this quickly turned from what would be a good present to how can i make everyone else in this place disappear I felt like I needed some form of sensory deprivation. So there is this problem i am doing something I hate so I can spend money at a place I hate so that they can continue to make more of the things I hate, and if i don’t do it I’m an asshole for not getting a present.
So later in the day I head out to a look out area, and i get out of the car and look across the sea, then over at Newcastle, head down some stair and look out to the sea again. And through it all i was just contemplating existence and it got me wondering, where are all the others, why am I the only one out here. It can’t be because I am the only one, there must be more, but where. I feel like thoughts like this can only be achieved with the expansive view that only high places provide, so where are the others.
I looked to the sky then, and as my eyes hit they barrier of blue, i came to the conclusion that what i am really seeing, by only looking at the sky, is an area that we can only truly perceive as an infinity.
recently i have had this feeling, this feeling of fear and anger an regret and a multitude of other emotions. it is this feeling of fake paranoia. i get this feeling like i have done something so terribly terribly wrong, and someone is so so close to figuring out what it is, or so so close to catching me. but i have done nothing (maybe thats the problem) and there is no state in which they can catch me in the act for there is no act. there is nothing. and yet, its there. these uneasy feelings, these butterflys in the stomach. maybe its a precursor, a sign into what is to come. i hope not, for then i will have a reason to actually fear, to actually be angry, but worst of all, to actually feel the regret.
regret is strange, it is one of the few emotions that somehow manages to sneak into our lives when it wants, and it is the only thing that truly haunts us, and everyone around us equally. its this feeling of blood flowing through the veins, for it starts in the chest, and as you think about the events that you regret, it continues through the body working its ways to the fingertips, as i write it is in my forearms. why, why is it there, is it the fake paranoia, or is it the already nervousness and regret, however minimal, that is already felt from what is said in the lines above, even tough to an extent they are already forgotten. that regret, seeping into the present from the past of events we forget. its just there. thats all it is. just there.
we dont like to be fully understood
Miles:I don’t get you
Alaska:That’s the whole point
i think we all have a bit of this in us, we hold back secrets form people so they dont understand us entirely, but we want them to use what they know to understand, which doesnt always work. i think in this was we want to be gotten but not by giving, but we still dont want to be fully gotten, we want some at some point for someone to say “i dont get you”. we want some form of inner being that only we see and understand, at least to some degree.
think about it, there are things about you, however minor that only you know, and only you will ever know, no matter how close you get to some one, there will always be those small yet significant secrets, all in the hopes that no one can say “i get you” in the way that they know all.
is it nostalgia if the thing is still going. can our feelings for nostalgia be used and abused by those who wish to even when we have not finished, at a midpoint, that is not the beginning nor the end, where we have the memories but not the satisfaction. i have been thinking, and the are probably wrong thoughts, but how much of art is just bolstered by this feeling of new nostalgia, preying on the current to carry them, and the past to bolster them.
caught in a state
last night i was caught in a state. a state of awe ond excitement. a state of dream and reality. a state that was neither real nor fictional. a state of viewing and dancing.
last night i saw jack white.
This is a placeholder
It is here simply to extend the length of time it takes you to get to back to where you left off. It makes you seem deeper than you are for you are reading something rather than scrolling endlessly through pictured videos and gifs. If someone were to walk past while this was on your computer they may imagine there own world in which this text was written. It is here not to make you think. it is here not to make you imagine. It is here not to make you laugh, cry, smile, get angry, happy, sad, regretful, joyous, uplifted or vengeful. This is a place holder. Simply to extend both your blog and mine, to make us seem deeper than we are.