I haven’t blogged for public consumption in quite some time.
And, even when I did, I didn’t put much effort into promotion. I didn’t really expect strangers to read what I wrote and engage with me. I’ve never felt like much of a public persona, a personality, or even just someone with a valuable opinion. I’m somewhat nihilistic, highly depressive, outrageously reserved and in a sort of solitude that I created for myself.
Want some cheese with that whine type of deal, all the time.
Lately, though, I’ve been wondering if I should build on these things. Watching the world go by is okay. I wonder if it would want to watch me. Us. Dude Ranch and The Boy Chin Wonder and Mashu.
There’s something to give in every situation. I might put myself back in the world again, slowly and surely, and with more thought than before. I might see how this thing goes.
It’s time to get up.
I mean that in a variety of ways. A bonfire of variety.
One way is that, well, I’ve been physically unable to do anything all day. That depression thing. Where you can’t do anything but sit and daydream about characters interacting with people you’ll never meet but would love to. Astrid being able to show her hallucinations to people, to a room full of people, and everyone being amazed. This is what your violent, overly sexual, terribly plagued brain is like? And plugging other people up to it and realizing that no one else has quite the same brain.
Is it a parasite? The ocean? Love, hate lust, etc? I’ve gone through this one quite a bit and it’s morphed in just a day. Chaunce hasn’t been in the most recent version of it but Joji and all those others have, regardless of me trying to keep real people out of it. I think it’s time to sit down and start writing and vomit my creativity somewhere.
It’s a start. Shit, it’s a save. I haven’t been up to anything but working lately, but even that is a bit of a save. Even that is more than before – I’ve been overworking but it’s kicking my ass into getting up. I actually made writing playlists today. I actually earned my keep this week.
I need to learn to draw, most definitely. I have a vision but I can’t keep telling myself I need other people to do it. There’s no one else. I’m not getting married. I’ll never be with anyone, not seriously and not long term. And I doubt I have a whole lot of time left.
So I’d like to draw, to learn to code, and to actively write again. I want to go ahead and take the amazing parts of me out of the trashcan and exist again.
So. I go.
Vicious, unwavering depression is the best depression. It must be. Otherwise it would leave me the fuck alone.
What a vile thing.
Love is nothing without tragedy.
It’s a boring lump of bookends. The beginning and the end. It’s a bit of highlights.
Without tragedy, love doesn’t translate. It’s nothing.
It’s absolutely nothing.