i think i just feel too constricted always all of the time. i always feel like i’m being pulled in three or four or five different directions. i want to feel strong enough to be free from any influence other than what lays innately in my guts. i want to be reckless and feral and free. i want to go without food or drink for days and feel empty and pure. i want to run, naked and screaming, through the woods while on mescaline both crying and laughing at the same time. my life is without rapture.
honestly, i feel stronger than i ever have, but at the same time i feel really kindof confused and wishy washy. i just don’t want to do anything, i’m incredibly unmotivated to do anything constructive. i didn’t even really think anything of it, until i just had this weird, overwhelming feeling of “today i’m going to be the best person i can” which was promptly followed by “wait, am i not already?” thusly, this rambling non-sensical blog entry i’m frantically trying to get down, hoping that maybe i can capture this feeling and make some sense of it later.
i wrote a comment to a friend earlier, and since then i’ve been evaluating my own life. i’m incredibly happy with where i stand in this world. everyone has their troubles, their flaws, whatever it is that makes them entirely and fully human. my entire life i’ve been chasing something that cannot be seen or expressed. those that have had profound influences on my life: the kerouacs, the hemmingways, jd salinger, those that have truly spoken to me through countless paperbacks devoured and thrown away and compact discs that have been transcribed digitally and scratched and left behind in moves and sliped between the seats in friends cars. all of these people have talked about something calling them, or as the case may be, a general nothing to fulfil them. i’ve lived wrecklessly, i’ve made my mistakes, but i’ve come through them for the better, if not a little banged up.
the night speaks to me. the liquor, the muggy, heavy garbage tinged air of allston summers. the raw aggression of basement shows, the frantic fury of the occasional fisticuffs. the passionate deep wet drunken kisses and sweaty copulation in the back of bars or empty living rooms. sometimes, something speaks to me and picks me up and moves me in some wild path, even if only for fleeting moments of temporary insanity.
because of this, the moments of thoughtlessness and carelessness, the insanity and impending doom, i’ve had to work twice as hard in every aspect of my life. i’ve got a severe problem with duality. by day i’m a workaholic, by night i’m an animal. i am my own phineas gauge.
my life is my own primitive version of HOWL. the rediculous stories i share with my friends are our own unwritten epilogue to On The Road.
maybe it’s crazy, maybe it’s dangerous, but i think i’m ok with who i am, after all of these years, i finally know where i stand, and i’m pretty comfortable in my shoes.