My apologies for not posting yesterday. Busy busy busy. Trying new things, sobriety for one. Also, it's been a while since I've cried. It felt good. Almost feel like doing that now, if my eyes weren't burning out of my skull. I honestly feel like a late night would be good for me. Perhaps it would, I don't really know anymore. Watching On the Road (the movie, I didn't sit and watch the book for two hours) really is making me want to live that life. I've caught the Beat bug once again. I only fear this won't be good for the likes of me. Part of me wants to live a short life, burning twice as fast. I am unsure that I would be twice as bright, on the other hand. I've led that life, and it almost killed me. I don't know if I want another go at that. But goddamn, a drink sounds really good right about now.
I've decided to live out of my notebooks from now on. I love the feel of writing longhand. It gets my ideas out in an organized way, as opposed to scrambled and put together in a very short amount of time. Writing longhand helps me write better. So, as of now I'll be living out of notebooks. The trouble is, I always feel weird writing randomly in a notebook in the middle of class. I am paranoid that someone will call me out on it, read over my shoulder, or make fun of me for it. Though, the little fucks in my classes aren't really worth feeling hurt over. Alas, the pain is still there.
A lot of the time I feel as if I was born in the wrong era. I have been obsessed with the Beat generation for a long time. Though it went dormant when I got sober. So now all I can think of when I think of the Beats are drugs. I don't know if I can ever feel that same passion again. That passionate wide-eyed sweat that comes from reading Howl, that wondrous and infectious thought that the truth is out there, somewhere and all that I have to do is search for it by any means necessary. The senseless thoughtful hedonism that led the generation to literary legend. I want to feel that again. At the same time, though, I want to be healthy. I want to be stable and I want to make something of my life. Isn't the whole life of an artist devoted to chance, passion, and love? The chance to do something great through your art, at the expense of everything else. Something about that just sings to me its siren song. If only I could do both. Live a life of love, truth, wonder and still be stable enough to not have everyone around me hate me for who I am.
I guess that's the rant of the day. Just me, bearing my soul open and injured on the proverbial stage. Just please, be careful with my heart. It's the only thing I want to keep intact.
Happy reading.
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