talk is cheap

1. There are so many things irrelevant to me,that I feel not bothering about so much has sapped all the energy from me,and its an oxymoron of sorts,that I have tried very hard to make near each part of me,and every one of my creative offering,inaccessible,because I find it graceless,excessive and unnecessary to expose too much of one's self in whatever one does,but in my effort to obscure,I have made my most unspeakable and shapeless desires capturable,to a certain extent.

2. That I feel there are people who get caught up in all the things they want to be,and want to be a great many things,and there are people who just are,simple and perfect just one way or another,that one could be an amazing conversationalist,or have an eye for jewelry,that talent is such a rare thing,yet so many of us at this age,all we want to do is talk and talk until we are out of all of words to express what needs no expressing: the ennui,dullness and everyday quality to a youth born to act.

3. That I was born part dreamer,or all,but a fighter,that I can't not fight for certain things,some part of me is always and eternally pushing ahead,I may look content and appear without a single emotion on the outside,that I recently met someone who actually uttered the words "I want to be a poet" and meant it,and I thought this obscene and beautiful all at once,people who have succumbed to the self-indulgence of art,but still feel they can use it as a medium to create,explore and contribute something that hasn't been done or said before,I think its an understated risk to go that way,that you'd have to have the faith to stand before a world so modernized and oblivious to its freefall,that I have been reading across many different genres that I sometimes now find it hard to express an opinion NEAT and CLEAN and CONCISE.

4. That I am waiting for an epiphany,a sign,and we are all somehow always waiting,postponing,observing,that I must continue to distract myself with beautiful objects and wondrous people,that I'm afraid to have latched on to someone equally drifting and hopeful as I am,that writers we make such bad lovers,a magical carpet ride into (nowhere),but the journey shall be golden,that is,until its time to wake up,and play the face (of the everyman).

(brainstorming for The Sham Diaries/Pt.2)

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