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[align=center]I'll look at things in life, like maybe, a flower working it's way out of a crack in the cement or sometimes the rain dripping of the edge of my roof, and i'll try to be poetic about it. I'll try to think of the right words to use to describe what i see, i'll lye on my floor and stare at my discolored cieling waiting for some epic phrase to come to mind, but it never really comes out right. Usually i just get frustrated and spit out some phrase that doesn't make sense even to me. It's irritating, when you really want something like peotry to come to mind, it never does, it runs away and hides in the corner of you mind, waiting untill you fall asleep to prance around in vast playground of your dreams. When i do find inspiration for a decent line of poetry, i'm in the shower. Oh the shower, of all the places, so i have to scramble out of the shower, with the water still running, drip down the hallway to my room, and fumble around for a pen or pencil or scrap of paper to write down whatever insignifigant idea i had. Tragicly by the time i get back from scribbling down my inner thoughts all the hot water is gone, and i get to take an "Inspiring" cold shower.
Come to think of it, i'm always tired, sleepy, worn out, fatiged. Strange? maybe. I could just be unbelievably lazy, who knows? I suppose i like sleeping because i get to shut everything off for a while, block it all out. Though i can say my dreams are far from daffodils and babbling brooks, they fallow more along the lines of an O so demented version of Alice in wonderland. Or maybe a sick horror film. Nightmares are the pits, there's no other workd for it, just "THE PITS" a tiny little hell in a litteral mind. I can never scream in my dreams, only ommit a tiny whimper or cry, it's like someone decided to walk up and say "Hey there! i'm gunna barrow your vocals for a while! is that ok?" well of course it isn't but there goes your voice ripped from your mouth just like that. That and i can't move in my dreams...sorry nightmares. It's like slow motion, but everyone elese around you is moving fast, a really wierd movie with no apparent plot, that's a dream. Some say dreams are our inner most desires and thoughts, others say it's foreshadowing, personally i think it's the leftovers of our day bieng thrown up in our mind in a fast forward replay. Or at least, that's what it feels like.
I love to read fairy tales, i really do. At the same time i hate them. I'll get partway through a book and want to incinerate it, that or i just want to cry. Why? because of the love stories. They're so perfect, even when everything gets totally messed up, it all works out in the end, and that's what kills me. i love to read those kinds of things, but i despise it because i know it's never going to happen in real life. How ******** epic. It's simply depressing, the depiction of love in books, it makes me sad it really does, as demented as it sounds. I sound demented for this, i really do, but what can i do about it? reading those books just makes the rest of the world seem like a gray and washed out place with nothing but let downs and broken people.
I find at times that i often set my standards too high. I want to be more, more than just an average person. But doesn't everyone? am i right to think that? or am i making absur assumptions in my mind, imagining that people really might feel this way as well?
 nightmareswings · Mon Mar 05, 2007 @ 03:33am · 2 Comments |
