Saturday, June 30, 2007

What do people want

What do people want? To survive and love. They want to mean something. They want to live in comfort. They want to live well. They want to be remembered. They want the most out of life. Everyone just has different priorities. It's the battle between the rich and poor.
I want to be useful. I want to write something useful. Can I do that this way? Can I just sit here and come up with something useful? I'm making it harder by doubting myself. I have to do it out loud.
Nothing is worthy of being printed here. My standards are too high. If I came up with it it's not good enough. I've gone too far.
I want to be rich. I want to be useful. I want the good life. I am striving for it. Maybe I already have it. It just depends on who you compare myself to.

Something about Something

There are many different ways of living well. One way is to be rich. Rich is a political term. It didn't used to be. Or did it? Are the rich a drain on or benefit to those around them? Are they a necessary evil? Without the rich we'd still be living in caves. The rich get rich by being useful. Or they used to.

All this is about envy. They're rich, and I'm not. They have a good life, or so I think so. I want to know the good life. To do that wouldn't I have to know what the good life is? If you know it when you got it I must not have it. How important is knowing? Don't knock what you don't know. Maybe I'm living the good life and don't know it. I know I'm not rich. I'd like to be useful. I want it more than anything. It's easy to want.

Friday, June 29, 2007

More of me being down on myself

A blank page meets a blank self. Anything I had to say disappeared

All I seem to be able to relate is about myself. What on earth made me think that I was a writer? I'm driving myself to the edge of madness. Is that where I'll be able to write something? I have nothing in mind, no story, no plot, no characters, no anything. It was all suppose to come so naturally. This is like everything else in my life. It was just a big daydream. I wanted to write something honest. It takes more than that. I thought I could force myself. I always do. I thought I could take my fascination with myself and turn it into something interesting. Big mistake. I'm so screwed up. Is there any chance of getting beyond this to something real? I need to come up with something fascinating. It ain't happening. All I can write about is how I'm not a writer. All I can do is get down on myself. Negative I can do.
I keep trying. Something is going to come to me. It's a matter of time. I just have to find my focus.
If I could think of one thing that would interest anyone I would write it down. I'd write all about it. I'd describe it from one side and then the opposite side. I'd just babble on and on.

What do people find interesting:

Death, dying and killing. This is the conflict of all conflict when people go from life to death, and other people are the ones causing it.

At the opposite end of the spectrum

Meaning in life, inspiration

I'm suppose to uncover some hidden truth.
Pick a word, any word. Write it down. Add another. What have you got? Litature? Just keep it going. Come up with something. It doesn't matter how good it is. Anything will get you by. Already I'm dead. Average is not good enough. This whole train of thought is rapidly disintergrating. I had to make up something.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

The words are different when you read them back than when you wrote them down. There's nothing you can do about that.

The puppet tries to control the puppetmaster. The child cries to the father.
JUst saw a blog of note, The syncronicity of indeterminancy. I come up with "Thought for the day".

What's my script here?

Everything flucuates according to whether I'm up or down. My mood is beyond my control. Consequently my mind then has a mind of its own. Whatever is causing me to be in the mood that I'm in

I have something outside of me controlling me. It makes me feel like I'm under the influence of a higher power

I try to develope a trance like state

Whatever it is that determines my mood is the true me. There is a me outside of me. I'm a puppet. Although I do have some control on that me outside of me. I can do things that affect it.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

I can put stuff down here, but it's not what is in my head. It isn't reaching critical mass this morning. So I'm left out there and in here.

The book, "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest", starts out with the big chief telling about something from his childhood while he is being chased. I am that same way. I always have something going on in my head while I am doing something. Basically I'm having a conversation with someone in my head while I'm trying to do something in reality.

THis is the world that I live in. I'm not really here you see. I do things in the real world but I'm doing something different in my own world at the same time.

Monday, June 25, 2007

What was I thinkin'?

It's opposite time again and it's going to kill me. Everything that was right is now wrong. Anything that was good is now bad. It's time to change again. Time to go over to the other side. It's two opposite people in the same skin.

Then there's happy and sad. I start out happy, but I can't stay that way. It's a curse, and it comes daily when you can least deal with it. Gotta have the sad if you're gonna get the happy.

Writing to be writing again

I'm bored. Maybe if I do this for a while at least I'll get better at it. What else have I got to do? Watch tv? Sit and think? You see I'm destroyig myself like I always do, dicotomous thinking. It keeps me bummping up against reality first one way and then the other. It's out there. I just have to keep looking for it.

I have to write things down just to be doing it. It's become a compulsion. Should make for good reading, huh? Oh well, there is always editing. At what point does a word get erased? It is created. It lives. Then it dies. What kind of life is has depends on the other words than surround it. It only lives as long as it has context.

Words become famous. They dominate other words. There's the bible, the legal code and the list of best books of all time. Words struggle. Sometimes they become discredited. Sometimes they just become irrelevant.
I want control of my body, but I'm constantly developing new needs. I'll always have that need for a cigarette with me. Shall I go get some now?
I grew up on a farm. It was natural to be outside. Houses were where trouble loomed. Those impossible relationships were there. Stay outside as long as possible.
I live alone. When I return here after a social engagement of some sort I get an awful feeling. I don't want to go back into that place. It is not a place to go. I have to quiet and console myself.

How did I get here?

Who cares? I sit here and think about it like it is going to give me inspiration. I was having trouble getting myself to do anything, and then I ran into this. I can sit all day in my favorite spot and just daydream. Is this the job for me or what?
You know what fascinates me? A bad smell. How long did it take to get that right? Rotting flesh and excrement bad, perfume and freshly cooked food good.
You know what I'd like? Better homeless shelters. It's just a shame when they go to waste though. And nobody wants the homeless around them
This is bad writing. I can say that any time, anywhere. This stuff sucks. It comes to mind so easily. I love to hate myself. It feels like everyone else hates me. I just want to join the club.

I do all the things you're not suppose to do. I have what they call poor impulse control. I don't really get in trouble, but I keep to myself so that there won't be a problem.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Diary of a Madness

Am I a madman? No. Do I have madness? Yes. You've heard of controlled rage? Well, I have control of something. I'm not quite sure what it is. It has its ghostly aspects, but it is more of a behavior, a sequence of events. There are as many different kinds as there are kinds of people. Like anything of the mind if you look at it hard enough it disappears. Say the same word over and over. See how long it makes sense.

What can be gained? A cure? Not likely. Who knows what there is to be gained? Is that a reason to not do it? I don't have such impediments. I do it for no other reason than I feel compelled to do so. That's good enough for me.

Madness starts out as eccentricity.

I make connections no one else makes. It could be genius, but it never is. It is error in search for genius. I want to be different. I want to contribute something that no one else has. This is what I thought people should do. It's so deep inside me that I can't change it. I can only be me, and me is defective. I'm worthless to the world, and I can't change. Depression is one of my chief symtoms.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

I wasn't made to do anything except kid myself. I went through life always thinking I was something I wasn't. At first I thought I was a rock star. Then I thought I was inventor. Do I think that I'm a writer now? I guess anyone is a writer. Some get read more than others. I rarely get read and only by anonymous people. I really don't want to be thought of as a writer. It would be just one more thing that would work against me.

All I do is kid myself, and all I want to do is party. It's a sad existence. I want to be somebody. Doesn't everybody? I am never going to be anybody, but I'll keep trying. I'll get up every morning. I'll go through every day. They all will lack one thing - me being anybody. How does a person adjust to that? Mostly by denial I would suppose.

I've had my moments, however. I've been somebody. I try to repress those moments. Pride always goes before a fall. What would I consider worthy of being considered as "one of those moments". I feel like it is bad luck to even think about it. Things can only go one way when you're on top. Also my present attitude has me pitted against myself. I'm totally blocked off from that part of me. I would immediately denigrate anything that I thought of. I'm not going to put myself through that.

What was my greatest moment?
Maybe it was protesting at the state capital when they brought back the death penalty. I was in the newspaper.
I was just here. I published what I had so far, and now I'm back. What am I missing. If there is one thing you can say about my fifty seven years of life it was that I was always missing something. I always had those big plans with the tiny imperfections that made them all useless. I've spent my life in the big safe easy chair of my daydreams. The less real I am the safer I feel. And I love to feel safe. Who doesn't? Security is the watch word. If you don't have security what do you have? People live on different levels, though.
Haven't been here for three days, so I'm here out of guilt. What's the most important thing for me to be thinking about right now? Whatever it is I'm not thinking about it. I'm just moving through time. I'm just being the person I think that I'm suppose to be. Really what I'm thinking back to is the fact that I didn't write anything down here for two days almost on purpose. I wanted to get the disappointment taken care of early. Look at me sitting here in the early morning like a real writer. Submit your own joke here. Really I guess that I've met with as much success with writing as I have with anything else which is absolutely nothing. Okay, here's the part where I start tearing myself apart. The words come so easy and feel so good when I say them. It makes it hard to know reality.

What do I write about if I don't use my sense of reality? I have a sense of reality. I just don't trust it a whole lot. It's good enough to use to write with. What difference does it make anyway. It's possible that a good sense of reality is a hindrance to good writing. Genius and insanity do seem to go together at least to me.

Monday, June 18, 2007

It's so faded already. The part of me that comes up with all this crap goes away the second I hear the whirl of the fan starting up. It all goes. It will leave for any reason. All other times I'm trying to block it out of my head. It changes subjects instanteously. It's just out there.

What's the difference between sitting here at the computer and sitting outside? Outside my mind roams free. Here I have to concentrate on keystrokes. It's a totally different ball game. Totally. Yet I try to do the thing I'm doing outside inside. Can it really even be done? I'm doing some imitation of it. And it sucks. What are my alternatives? There just don't seem to be any. It's this way or the highway

Sunday, June 17, 2007

The only question I've got

The only question I've got is how long can I keep this going? Will I even log on to the internet tomorrow much less come up with a thought.

Today's thoughts might be: