Mental note to self...Dreams are dreams
12/06/2001 11:46 a.m.
Mental note to self... Don't waste too much of your precious readers time with your rambling... oh.. too late.

My dreams.... I've always wanted to be a writer.. be it in music, or just in the published arts.. but I really think I lack the talent to latch onto the mainstream... My work seems like the tainted glass of water no one wants to sip from...Thats me... Tainted...
Tainted by this life.. Tainted by a life that hasen't been kind... Tainted by love.

I've spent years working on poems.. and to be honest, these last few years have been hard on me to keep writing.
I came to the conclusion after editing my library only to lose it all about a year ago in the crash, that really my dream really isn't going to come true...
and that I can only live my fantasy out on some poetry website with a thousand faces and a million voices.. I'm just a tear in the bucket...and I thought I was special. Ahhh, how dreams die hard..

You know thats the funny thing about life.. You grow up thinking about what they teach you, telling you you can be anything you want...I wish that really was true.. since it seems like such a waste to try so hard to be something that you really can't be...maybe I'll prove myself wrong.. I've tried this long.

You know.. this is what amuses me about this... I could use this place to inform you about the trivial facts of my life and stuggles..(Single and living off of oodles of noodles) and play the woe is me part of the starving artist.. but yah know what? Screw it..I'm not gonna waste my time or yours...

Just call this a moment of clarity.. which are few and far between with me these days...

Writing.. ah, My one love.. the one love I never get to do anymore.. except when I've worked a 12 hour shift and get to come home to a cold computer and a colder house..pretty hard to be inspired anymore...espically not wanting all my work to come out bitter anymore.. even tho, deep inside, I can feel it growing.. this unrest, this bitter taste creeping up in the back of my mouth.. this scream boiling up in the back of my throat burning in my lungs.. but why drown out your happiness with my smog of depravation? Why cheese your buzz when all you want in some mamby pamby poem about love and rose petals... fuck that. I hate puppy love, I hate it all... at least at this point.

I've been creating for years now, but haven't found the right outlet for my work, well other than here... (which is being why I came back here after a year of it being sucked into the black hole)... be it in music or in just simple publishing.. So it's all just seeming more and more pointless to spend hours and hours working on poems that, other than a handfull of, people will never see my work...Really, is there even a viable market for poetry? I mean I don't write for the mass, but is there really some intrest that I havent seen in the poetry world? I've seen a million people writing, but 5 people reading..
It seems like such a waste to spend my life working on this massive undertaking to know that after I day, someone, somewhere might take an intrest into my politics or the way I rhyme... maybe even one of my inspirational ones...

Rambling.. ahh.. How well I do it with the voice in my head.. but get me to do it in person and I can't speak a word...


I am currently Bleh
I am listening to The voices in my head telling me to shut up and suck up...