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I used to think something was wrong with me,well something clearly is somewhere,but its probably not what I think it is,anyway when you ramble about your friends and how awesome they are,like every line of conversation ends with a punchline expecting a big,hearty laugh on my part-and of course I'll laugh,rather than argue with you,truth is I hate the arguments,or fighting,I'd rather just smile bleakly and play the part of a good listener,and the clueless ones they ramble on,about things I won't remember two seconds later,and I really think the word 'special',there you go-not everyone is 'special',then it wouldn't be 'special' would it-only few people in this world will make it past that box,make something truly amazing out of the lives they've been given,and so you imagine from reading all these autobiographies and hearing about things that have happened or people who have made it,and the films with their grand soundtracks and fantastic endings,that someday something amazing will happen to you and you'll make it past this state of overbearing normalcy,that I feel most people just exist,just there for your visual consumption and later pooped out,stranded-and people do find love,which in my heart of hearts of other hearts,think is an experience unlike any other-I have felt the tips of its wings graze my being,it lifts you out of the darkest places and brings to light a part of you that can be happy-no matter what the circumstance-and we all follow the trend,later to find the teenage angst,stripped of its unreasoned fury and loud energy,had some basis-that life,if left for noone to drive,would not become yours,and you'd sink-society-you want to be part of this,but the individual also wants things,and I feel blessed,that I have been given a voice,that I truly feel passionate about writing,photography and art-and have been given this ability to convey,things I don't dare speak out loud,things that don't surface to consciousness just like that,a way for me to cope with the otherwise hum-drum things,that I was made to swim and eventually find my way to the ocean,that I was lonely and found a friend in God,or all of those things that sound like you've managed past some horrible challenge,a difficult part of your life,and truth is noone wants to hear about that,sympathy is the cheapest thing-we quiet down to such basic emotions in times of disregard-that one day I will rise above my own fears,but that day won't be pretty-nor anywhere near as inspirational as it sounds-because I am not That Person,I don't aspire to be looked up to,admired and whose story is passed on like a lollipop that never runs out of sweetness-I am prepared for a life of anonymity,the masses-people-it is a collective,one whole,when it can be broken down into so many beautiful bits,and the films in my head,my future early works,will feature simple,loosely defined characters,unlike these types you see on the street pushing to pigeonhole themselves so aggressively,and yes I sound condescending,separatist,actually I just included that to sound even more condescending,I'm not too sure what it means,and I sound like someone you'd probably hate,which is right,because I cannot become That Guy,poster child for fuckups who eventually right themselves to become Unique and Wow-my mind is fixated on satire,humor,and all things absurd and ridiculous its as if these thoughts traveled from a different universe,and my love-although it is strange and selfish,ugly and distorted and comes with a whole lot of baggage-it is after love,just love,and this the day I open up,last week was the week I shared,that everytime I write something more than a sentence-no matter how needless,as long as I've committed to it-I feel unburdened,from my daily life,this body is mad,it drags me here and there and into the lives of others unfortunate enough to discover how light,free and drifting I am inside-it is the core of me,to want and dream for things I cannot have,but I've become an adult,I am not driven by hate or rage or just things and the kind of life I cannot have-I have a destiny,that is different than yours,not better,just different-and in a year or so you'll see,and loathe me for everything you think I am,and I will say Love,because I don't know how to respond to things like that,and don't bother much-and today I've written this one long sentence,and shared with you something personal,and sometimes I think I'm made up of only that-personal things-because I keep so many secrets,and hold back so often,that I'm learning to share,and give away,until I am left clean and white and all my wasted youth redeemed,if you have read this sentence all the way through,my dear you cared,and so my words do have a power of reaching somewhere beyond this neverwhere,and the fact that you have made it all the way here,you have a little piece of me I was never meant to keep.

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