I think about her when I get high
Mind goes on a cruise to years gone by
We use to be best friends who’d thought to give love a try
Never had I knew that love could make you cry
But I did the first night you said goodbye
“Why” was the only thing on my mind
I prayed for a sign
I thought you an angel, or divine
But you sent my heart to hell, girl I felt a fire inside
Every time you hug that other guy
You were his girl but I wanted you mine
I never got you and so I only think of you high
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Three pages after I wake Sun-Dec-20 (3)
I am supposed to write three pages. I have just woken up, and I vaguely remember my dream, although It was not a story dream as they usually are it was more like a scene. I dreamed I had texts on my phone from people I don’t know, maybe it was wishful thinking whishing I could get a text from someone specific. My sleep is not always the best and clearest so I am sure I am missing a few other details that I will now never remember or get back.
I have written a lot more than usual which is strange seeing as I still have garbage flowing out of my fingertips. The whole point of writing those first three pages is to get the creative juices flowing, but I don’t think that is happening. However like I said in my first attempt this is only something I started doing today…how dare I think that I will just pick it up and master it just like that.
I have been thinking in my mind about happiness and the pursuit of it. I know its bad to rely on others as your source of happiness; I know that ultimately leads to a hard down fall like the one I experience now. I feel safe in exposing my self slightly as I realize that things like this (my writing) and things of this length (my writing) hardly if ever get read, even by request. So what harm do I lose in being true to myself and writing the first echoes that come to mind?
I remember my first heartbreak and I admit its kinda…or actually made me very skeptical of women, but I can admit that I am a fast learner in all things, as I already mentioned in my first three page writing. I suppose as I meet and learn each new woman I learn to distrust a little bit more as I go along. Which is strange seeing as how I am already very untrusting. Its like investing your money into a bank and seeing little return, so every other bank afterwards you put less and less into it expecting a larger return than the last. Of course I realize the folly of this logic, but money is like love it does not grow on trees and must be hard earned.
If I have learned anything it is to be stingy with my love. In the same way that I learned to be stingy with my poems, I don’t ever write poetry to be read by a woman, it now stays trapped in the deepest chambers of my mind or I write it and keep it all to my self. Everyone loves Santa and getting gifts and presents, but who gives gifts to Santa? Women loved getting poems and letters for me, but not so much giving me their time or their numbers. I suppose real life is not like the movies and no matter how long I toil over a set of words to make sure they sound just right and rhyme just right you can’t sweep a woman off her feet with a couple lines of poetry.
I guess until I start finding my self and respecting who I am, I will always feel more and more hollow each and every time I let a woman come around and dig a piece out of me. I was thinking last night that the direction I want to take, this path to enlightenment and self education does not leave much time and room for lolly-gag. A lot of time that would otherwise be spent chasing or pleasing will actually be spent staring at a computer screen or frowning at little piece of paper. Which I admit is kind of romantic to me. No one can ever take away your education, that is until they take away your life. They can take away everything else that people my age chase and long for but they cant take away your education.
In a few weeks it will be a new year. I claim that I don’t want to be stuck doing the same thing I was doing last year or the year before that. But some habits die hard. If I really want to improve I will change my frame of mind, I will change my attitude I will change my overall look on life. Why do I feel as if writing is the magic key to all that? Should I not be out chasing God and religion to find peace and harmony? Why have I convinced myself that through writing everything else is possible? I suppose there are worse things to chase after in this life, but something as lonely and under appreciated as writing?
At work I am valued for being able to do several peoples jobs, I am sort of a jack of all trades. The problem with that is that even though I may be doing another job that is not in my job description and not what I was hired for I still get paid as if I was still only doing my job. I feel as if people who have talents in several different fields (And mind you I don’t call mopping floors a talent but it is something that not everyone I work with will do) are under appreciated. I feel as if I am taken for granted, however to be honest with myself I feel as if I am taken for granted in a lot of places and by most people I know.
It has been suggested to me that I seek physiological counseling, but I don’t see how that would help other than get me all weepy in front of a total stranger. No I would rather get all weepy in front of a piece of paper and keep those tears for later, as a remembrance. Maybe that’s why I feel that writing is a key to unlock the mysterious of my life. I feel as if the more I write the more I know myself and what I am truly capable of, I feel like the more I write the more I wont take my own self for granted, the more I write the less I have to rely on other people to understand of myself and a sense of worth and validation. On a piece of paper I can prove that I lived and had cohesive tangible thought.
I have already done more writing that most people my age, but that’s not saying too much. If I was an athlete or a mathematician, I could say the same thing about those skill sets and they could say the same thing over me. Just because I have done something I enjoy to do more than average does not mean anything, other than I enjoy doing it.
I took the ASVAB again a week ago, I actually scored lower than I did the first time. Somehow I am not surprised and knew that I would do just that, more of that beginners luck that I am world famous for. I don’t believe I scored too much lower than last time, though admittedly I don’t even remember my score from last time. I would think I should score the same, seeing as all that has changed is a few months and the fact that I have smoked copious amounts of marijuana. It was the English scores that propped me up just like last time. What these tests always make me realize is that if it were not for my God given ability to communicate I would be less than average. My math scores are way below par and my science is sketchy at best. Out of 25 vocabulary questions I missed 3. Out of the same number of Math questions I am sure I correctly answered no more than 7.
Maybe this writing this is working out after all, I am having flash backs of memories long forgotten, all this time I thought marijuana had robbed me of my memory, and maybe it has but writing is the best way I know how to empty out the cob-webs in my head. It was suggested to me that I should write memoirs of my youth. I laughed at the idea then, just as I laughed at it every time my own mind would suggest such a daunting task. “Who am I to log my memories as if I have achieved something?” I realized even then that you don’t have to have anything accomplished yet to begin remembering where you came from and what you had already gone through, if nothing else than for yourself so you remember who you are, when you feel lost and others begin to tell you who they see you as. So that when the day finally comes you already have a start on telling people about yourself and your story, and you don’t have to trust someone else to write it for you.
That sounds all fine and well but I still want proof that this whole memory writing thing will go anywhere. I have enough notebooks that I don’t touch now, I have notebooks that I have given away, notebooks that I have lost, now I am meant to add to that collection? Notebooks that store my life story. Ah, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. One thing is for sure, I shouldn’t start working on it till 2010, when things are different and are starting to look up. Maybe when I start to see that shinning glimmer of hope that I am not a psychopath and I haven’t mistakenly convinced myself that I am a misunderstood genius, maybe then I can sit down and take myself seriously and write that memoir
But until then it will steady sound like the ranting of a man with too much time on his hands and a very active imagination. People think that being creative is a good thing, and a good thing only. Sure yes it is nice to be creative and have the ability to solve problems uniquely and think rapidly on the fly, things like that make me feel like Peter Parker. But its no fun thinking you house the devil in your head or that all this self talking to yourself has driven you crazy, then your imagination becomes your own worse enemy because your fears become real and everything you think…just might be. I have this idea in my mind that one day I will meet and work with Kanye West. So years ago I started the habit of referring to him as ‘Mr. West’ only so that it will feel more natural for me to call him that when I actually do meet him. I want to call him Mr. West so that I am seen as being respectful and not just another fan who wants an autograph or a picture, I want him to regard me, at least in that first initial meeting (wherever and however it may play out) as a serious artist with serious proposals. I write all this with a straight face.
I have built a huge fantasy in my mind about working in studios, making movies, being on Oprah. One of my most vivid fantasies is being on the Oprah show. I read in a paper a few weeks ago that in a year the show is being cancelled. So how is it that I will ever be on that show? Sure, sure I have a year but honestly…
Instead of encourage me it seems to knock the encouragement and what little confidence I had right out of me. To make matters worse my memory is so shot I cant recall if I was high during these daydreams or not, because if I was it makes it all the easier for me to dismiss them as insane imaginative ranting of a self-deluded sociopath.
I have written a lot more than usual which is strange seeing as I still have garbage flowing out of my fingertips. The whole point of writing those first three pages is to get the creative juices flowing, but I don’t think that is happening. However like I said in my first attempt this is only something I started doing today…how dare I think that I will just pick it up and master it just like that.
I have been thinking in my mind about happiness and the pursuit of it. I know its bad to rely on others as your source of happiness; I know that ultimately leads to a hard down fall like the one I experience now. I feel safe in exposing my self slightly as I realize that things like this (my writing) and things of this length (my writing) hardly if ever get read, even by request. So what harm do I lose in being true to myself and writing the first echoes that come to mind?
I remember my first heartbreak and I admit its kinda…or actually made me very skeptical of women, but I can admit that I am a fast learner in all things, as I already mentioned in my first three page writing. I suppose as I meet and learn each new woman I learn to distrust a little bit more as I go along. Which is strange seeing as how I am already very untrusting. Its like investing your money into a bank and seeing little return, so every other bank afterwards you put less and less into it expecting a larger return than the last. Of course I realize the folly of this logic, but money is like love it does not grow on trees and must be hard earned.
If I have learned anything it is to be stingy with my love. In the same way that I learned to be stingy with my poems, I don’t ever write poetry to be read by a woman, it now stays trapped in the deepest chambers of my mind or I write it and keep it all to my self. Everyone loves Santa and getting gifts and presents, but who gives gifts to Santa? Women loved getting poems and letters for me, but not so much giving me their time or their numbers. I suppose real life is not like the movies and no matter how long I toil over a set of words to make sure they sound just right and rhyme just right you can’t sweep a woman off her feet with a couple lines of poetry.
I guess until I start finding my self and respecting who I am, I will always feel more and more hollow each and every time I let a woman come around and dig a piece out of me. I was thinking last night that the direction I want to take, this path to enlightenment and self education does not leave much time and room for lolly-gag. A lot of time that would otherwise be spent chasing or pleasing will actually be spent staring at a computer screen or frowning at little piece of paper. Which I admit is kind of romantic to me. No one can ever take away your education, that is until they take away your life. They can take away everything else that people my age chase and long for but they cant take away your education.
In a few weeks it will be a new year. I claim that I don’t want to be stuck doing the same thing I was doing last year or the year before that. But some habits die hard. If I really want to improve I will change my frame of mind, I will change my attitude I will change my overall look on life. Why do I feel as if writing is the magic key to all that? Should I not be out chasing God and religion to find peace and harmony? Why have I convinced myself that through writing everything else is possible? I suppose there are worse things to chase after in this life, but something as lonely and under appreciated as writing?
At work I am valued for being able to do several peoples jobs, I am sort of a jack of all trades. The problem with that is that even though I may be doing another job that is not in my job description and not what I was hired for I still get paid as if I was still only doing my job. I feel as if people who have talents in several different fields (And mind you I don’t call mopping floors a talent but it is something that not everyone I work with will do) are under appreciated. I feel as if I am taken for granted, however to be honest with myself I feel as if I am taken for granted in a lot of places and by most people I know.
It has been suggested to me that I seek physiological counseling, but I don’t see how that would help other than get me all weepy in front of a total stranger. No I would rather get all weepy in front of a piece of paper and keep those tears for later, as a remembrance. Maybe that’s why I feel that writing is a key to unlock the mysterious of my life. I feel as if the more I write the more I know myself and what I am truly capable of, I feel like the more I write the more I wont take my own self for granted, the more I write the less I have to rely on other people to understand of myself and a sense of worth and validation. On a piece of paper I can prove that I lived and had cohesive tangible thought.
I have already done more writing that most people my age, but that’s not saying too much. If I was an athlete or a mathematician, I could say the same thing about those skill sets and they could say the same thing over me. Just because I have done something I enjoy to do more than average does not mean anything, other than I enjoy doing it.
I took the ASVAB again a week ago, I actually scored lower than I did the first time. Somehow I am not surprised and knew that I would do just that, more of that beginners luck that I am world famous for. I don’t believe I scored too much lower than last time, though admittedly I don’t even remember my score from last time. I would think I should score the same, seeing as all that has changed is a few months and the fact that I have smoked copious amounts of marijuana. It was the English scores that propped me up just like last time. What these tests always make me realize is that if it were not for my God given ability to communicate I would be less than average. My math scores are way below par and my science is sketchy at best. Out of 25 vocabulary questions I missed 3. Out of the same number of Math questions I am sure I correctly answered no more than 7.
Maybe this writing this is working out after all, I am having flash backs of memories long forgotten, all this time I thought marijuana had robbed me of my memory, and maybe it has but writing is the best way I know how to empty out the cob-webs in my head. It was suggested to me that I should write memoirs of my youth. I laughed at the idea then, just as I laughed at it every time my own mind would suggest such a daunting task. “Who am I to log my memories as if I have achieved something?” I realized even then that you don’t have to have anything accomplished yet to begin remembering where you came from and what you had already gone through, if nothing else than for yourself so you remember who you are, when you feel lost and others begin to tell you who they see you as. So that when the day finally comes you already have a start on telling people about yourself and your story, and you don’t have to trust someone else to write it for you.
That sounds all fine and well but I still want proof that this whole memory writing thing will go anywhere. I have enough notebooks that I don’t touch now, I have notebooks that I have given away, notebooks that I have lost, now I am meant to add to that collection? Notebooks that store my life story. Ah, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. One thing is for sure, I shouldn’t start working on it till 2010, when things are different and are starting to look up. Maybe when I start to see that shinning glimmer of hope that I am not a psychopath and I haven’t mistakenly convinced myself that I am a misunderstood genius, maybe then I can sit down and take myself seriously and write that memoir
But until then it will steady sound like the ranting of a man with too much time on his hands and a very active imagination. People think that being creative is a good thing, and a good thing only. Sure yes it is nice to be creative and have the ability to solve problems uniquely and think rapidly on the fly, things like that make me feel like Peter Parker. But its no fun thinking you house the devil in your head or that all this self talking to yourself has driven you crazy, then your imagination becomes your own worse enemy because your fears become real and everything you think…just might be. I have this idea in my mind that one day I will meet and work with Kanye West. So years ago I started the habit of referring to him as ‘Mr. West’ only so that it will feel more natural for me to call him that when I actually do meet him. I want to call him Mr. West so that I am seen as being respectful and not just another fan who wants an autograph or a picture, I want him to regard me, at least in that first initial meeting (wherever and however it may play out) as a serious artist with serious proposals. I write all this with a straight face.
I have built a huge fantasy in my mind about working in studios, making movies, being on Oprah. One of my most vivid fantasies is being on the Oprah show. I read in a paper a few weeks ago that in a year the show is being cancelled. So how is it that I will ever be on that show? Sure, sure I have a year but honestly…
Instead of encourage me it seems to knock the encouragement and what little confidence I had right out of me. To make matters worse my memory is so shot I cant recall if I was high during these daydreams or not, because if I was it makes it all the easier for me to dismiss them as insane imaginative ranting of a self-deluded sociopath.
Three pages after I wake Sun-Dec-20 (1)
I read that after waking up it is best to write three pages at least, of free form writing. If only to get the fluff out of the way and get creative juices flowing. As I sit down right now, on a time clock even I find it hard to focus on anything to write about. It seems the little reading I do has a major positive impact on me. I end up learning all sorts of new things. You think that would encourage me to read more but it doesn’t. I’m not sure what I blow my time on, but its not reading. Strike that. I lied. I know what I spend my time doing. Whishing for better. I spend most of my time procrastinating. I spend most of my time waiting to get something I don’t have. I met an interesting person, last night. Sometimes in life, I meet a person so impressive that I want to be like them. Not exactly like them but I see qualities in them that I want for myself.
I feel I am living up to only 25% of my potential. Damn straight everyone should be disappointed in me, no one so much as myself. Letting my youth spoil like fruit in the sun. I should be doing something with all this. Time is against me, more so now than ever. I have a month to turn things around and waiting is not an option. I suppose I think I do myself a favor by not stressing out over certain things. It is my nature to mull and worry over the most far away things in the cosmo’s but then turn a blind eye to the building disasters in front of me. I can write and write till my graphite falls off but until I put those words into action I might as well be writing in sand script, the letters have no meaning to me.
I suppose the first step is being confident and satisfied with yourself. Though admittedly I am never satisfied with anything, not my art, not my life, an least of all my self. I have had it told to me that I have serious self loathing issues. Maybe my dissatisfaction has led me to strive for self improvement. This is what this writing is a step to self-improvement. ‘you say you wanna be the next Kobe Bryant but you don’t play for a team and you call yourself a writer but you cant produce complete work.’ For a long time I have been chasing that elusive title as ‘writer’ I have long had ideas but lacked the discipline and the strength to finish them
I wake up with the most inane thoughts. Maybe I should stop looking at myself through the lens of others people lives and take a step back. Maybe I should look at it from a factual point of view. Or maybe just my own point of view will do fine. One problem is that I expect things to come easy and if I can slack on something I will. I have this belief that I can pick up anything and automatically be the best at it. I don’t know where this thinking comes from. It is true that I can quickly catch on an excel at most things, so when try and fail at something I automatically assume I’ll never get it.
I don’t even dream anymore when I sleep. I see visions that I can remember. I recall waking up one day this week thinking about Chris Brown and why he beat Rihanna. I picked up a copy of GQ with her on the cover a few days later. I recall also this week waking up with the lyric “But they say you be on that conscious tip, girl get your head right get up on this conscious dick.” And recalling how disgusted I was with that line.
It seems I spend a lot of the time recalling and thinking about things that disgust me, annoy or otherwise disappoint me. The hook of “Halle Berry! Halle Berry Halle Berry.” Stayed on my mind for weeks despite having forgotten where it came from and numerous attempts to dislodge it from my mind. I even started replacing Halle Berry with other words. Kansas City! Kansas City Kansas City. Just to see if it would fit. I swear my mind is a computer or at the very least working at the whim of someone else. There have been times I would wake up suddenly and still hear my mind talking, as if having a serious conversation or simply listening to one. However as soon as I realized it was taking place the conversation was lost to me and almost instantly forgotten as if I had been eavesdropping on the thoughts of my own brain. The words I thought I heard where no longer remembered.
I use to believe that I was unique, a gifted individual, someone set apart. Now I believe that I simply do not understand myself and have allowed people to attach their opinions of me, on me and I wear them as my own. Though I would hardly consider myself average or normal I just don’t feel as if I have earned the right to coin myself as unique or gifted. Maybe talented as I have enough imagination to fill several college ruled notebooks but other than a few exocentric rantings, what sets me apart from anyone else?
I suppose that since I am still young I am allowed to not know these things yet. However, three pages later and I still feel no better sense of direction. Ah! There I go assuming I’ll get it on the first try…
I feel I am living up to only 25% of my potential. Damn straight everyone should be disappointed in me, no one so much as myself. Letting my youth spoil like fruit in the sun. I should be doing something with all this. Time is against me, more so now than ever. I have a month to turn things around and waiting is not an option. I suppose I think I do myself a favor by not stressing out over certain things. It is my nature to mull and worry over the most far away things in the cosmo’s but then turn a blind eye to the building disasters in front of me. I can write and write till my graphite falls off but until I put those words into action I might as well be writing in sand script, the letters have no meaning to me.
I suppose the first step is being confident and satisfied with yourself. Though admittedly I am never satisfied with anything, not my art, not my life, an least of all my self. I have had it told to me that I have serious self loathing issues. Maybe my dissatisfaction has led me to strive for self improvement. This is what this writing is a step to self-improvement. ‘you say you wanna be the next Kobe Bryant but you don’t play for a team and you call yourself a writer but you cant produce complete work.’ For a long time I have been chasing that elusive title as ‘writer’ I have long had ideas but lacked the discipline and the strength to finish them
I wake up with the most inane thoughts. Maybe I should stop looking at myself through the lens of others people lives and take a step back. Maybe I should look at it from a factual point of view. Or maybe just my own point of view will do fine. One problem is that I expect things to come easy and if I can slack on something I will. I have this belief that I can pick up anything and automatically be the best at it. I don’t know where this thinking comes from. It is true that I can quickly catch on an excel at most things, so when try and fail at something I automatically assume I’ll never get it.
I don’t even dream anymore when I sleep. I see visions that I can remember. I recall waking up one day this week thinking about Chris Brown and why he beat Rihanna. I picked up a copy of GQ with her on the cover a few days later. I recall also this week waking up with the lyric “But they say you be on that conscious tip, girl get your head right get up on this conscious dick.” And recalling how disgusted I was with that line.
It seems I spend a lot of the time recalling and thinking about things that disgust me, annoy or otherwise disappoint me. The hook of “Halle Berry! Halle Berry Halle Berry.” Stayed on my mind for weeks despite having forgotten where it came from and numerous attempts to dislodge it from my mind. I even started replacing Halle Berry with other words. Kansas City! Kansas City Kansas City. Just to see if it would fit. I swear my mind is a computer or at the very least working at the whim of someone else. There have been times I would wake up suddenly and still hear my mind talking, as if having a serious conversation or simply listening to one. However as soon as I realized it was taking place the conversation was lost to me and almost instantly forgotten as if I had been eavesdropping on the thoughts of my own brain. The words I thought I heard where no longer remembered.
I use to believe that I was unique, a gifted individual, someone set apart. Now I believe that I simply do not understand myself and have allowed people to attach their opinions of me, on me and I wear them as my own. Though I would hardly consider myself average or normal I just don’t feel as if I have earned the right to coin myself as unique or gifted. Maybe talented as I have enough imagination to fill several college ruled notebooks but other than a few exocentric rantings, what sets me apart from anyone else?
I suppose that since I am still young I am allowed to not know these things yet. However, three pages later and I still feel no better sense of direction. Ah! There I go assuming I’ll get it on the first try…
Three pages after I wake Sun-Dec-20 (2)
Even though I have not just woken and have been up for several hours now, I cant stop thinking. So, I decided to write for another three pages. As long as I am sitting here on the clock getting paid I might as well write. If I can do that on their time I can do it on mind. Otherwise it just goes to show, I really won’t make sacrifices for writing. As if I cant spare any of the twenty hours I spend sleeping. I over exaggerate. I don’t sleep nearly that long. I actually don’t sleep enough, but I will choose to sleep over most anything including getting up for work and writing.
I realized something, I am forgetting stories. Well actually I don’t know if they are forgotten as much as they are just not thought about. When I look over my notes all my mental notes on the idea come flooding back. One thing that frustrates me and when I fix this problem it will go a long way to allowing me to take myself seriously is that I have mounds of unfinished work. It is not rare for me to get bored halfway through a project or move on to something else. It has been suggested that I have ADD. Then I consider the source of that suggestion and I consider it a misdiagnosis. Then again people have labeled me all sorts of things in my young life. Doesn’t mean I believe all of it. One label I have resisted my whole life thus far is that of ‘bright’ Usually teachers use this term and it is followed by the words “But he doesn’t apply himself.” I tend to think that ‘bright’ is a term they use for most their students, more than ever I see it as a burden of high expectations. I already see where this line of thinking will take me.
Why is it I would rather believe I am dull and incompetent than bright. Is it easier to give up or to try? I have heard both, that I am worthless and genius. Its easier to believe the latter but honestly I know better. You can only fool yourself for so long. I look at what I have now, scattered ideas and scattered incomplete notes. How is this anything more than a hobby? As my father put it “This is a huge scam.” That’s how I feel most times when people heap compliments on me. The usual bright remarks make me cringe and I feel like I have tricked them into believing something that is not true. I feel no great reward or accomplishment, I feel guilty that this person believes me to be better than I really am.
A fraud. I suppose if I sat down and wrote more like this I would learn a lot more, if nothing else I would get better in the craft I am trying to dedicate my life to. Maybe if I got all this filthy junk out my head I could concentrate more on the projects in front of me. I only get out of my mind what I put into it. The midnight sub conscious ramblings of my mind is merely a byproduct of all the information I store in it during the day light hours.
As much comfort as it gives me to downplay myself I do realize that I am burning an enormous amount of potential. I remember as a youth reading the encyclopedia for fun. I was always alone as a youth, my poor school grades kept me locked away in my room during the school months so what better way for a future hermit to spend his time than to read books all day. Sometimes I wonder had I not have grown up the way I did, would I still be a writer. Am I a writer because of how I grew up or despite how I grew up?
I admit always being creative but again Is this because I was locked away in my room with only myself to talk to? I don’t recall an imaginary friend I recall talking to myself knowing full well I was the only one who would answer. Even now talking aloud to myself gives me comfort in stressful situations.
I have only a few minutes left before the end of my shift. I admit I suck ever dollar out this company. Used them as much as they used me. I have about half a page left on the third and last page. Just as well I’m tired of writing, I want to think now. Thinking leads me to writing.
I realized something, I am forgetting stories. Well actually I don’t know if they are forgotten as much as they are just not thought about. When I look over my notes all my mental notes on the idea come flooding back. One thing that frustrates me and when I fix this problem it will go a long way to allowing me to take myself seriously is that I have mounds of unfinished work. It is not rare for me to get bored halfway through a project or move on to something else. It has been suggested that I have ADD. Then I consider the source of that suggestion and I consider it a misdiagnosis. Then again people have labeled me all sorts of things in my young life. Doesn’t mean I believe all of it. One label I have resisted my whole life thus far is that of ‘bright’ Usually teachers use this term and it is followed by the words “But he doesn’t apply himself.” I tend to think that ‘bright’ is a term they use for most their students, more than ever I see it as a burden of high expectations. I already see where this line of thinking will take me.
Why is it I would rather believe I am dull and incompetent than bright. Is it easier to give up or to try? I have heard both, that I am worthless and genius. Its easier to believe the latter but honestly I know better. You can only fool yourself for so long. I look at what I have now, scattered ideas and scattered incomplete notes. How is this anything more than a hobby? As my father put it “This is a huge scam.” That’s how I feel most times when people heap compliments on me. The usual bright remarks make me cringe and I feel like I have tricked them into believing something that is not true. I feel no great reward or accomplishment, I feel guilty that this person believes me to be better than I really am.
A fraud. I suppose if I sat down and wrote more like this I would learn a lot more, if nothing else I would get better in the craft I am trying to dedicate my life to. Maybe if I got all this filthy junk out my head I could concentrate more on the projects in front of me. I only get out of my mind what I put into it. The midnight sub conscious ramblings of my mind is merely a byproduct of all the information I store in it during the day light hours.
As much comfort as it gives me to downplay myself I do realize that I am burning an enormous amount of potential. I remember as a youth reading the encyclopedia for fun. I was always alone as a youth, my poor school grades kept me locked away in my room during the school months so what better way for a future hermit to spend his time than to read books all day. Sometimes I wonder had I not have grown up the way I did, would I still be a writer. Am I a writer because of how I grew up or despite how I grew up?
I admit always being creative but again Is this because I was locked away in my room with only myself to talk to? I don’t recall an imaginary friend I recall talking to myself knowing full well I was the only one who would answer. Even now talking aloud to myself gives me comfort in stressful situations.
I have only a few minutes left before the end of my shift. I admit I suck ever dollar out this company. Used them as much as they used me. I have about half a page left on the third and last page. Just as well I’m tired of writing, I want to think now. Thinking leads me to writing.
Three pages after i wake Mon-Dec-21 (1)
I woke up today with the fleeting thought that I was getting unwanted text messages from someone I did not want to talk to. Ironically enough I was finally stirred awake by a text message from someone I did not want to talk to.
I have had to realize today that I am always skeptical of everything. Of everyone, I have had it told to me that I am far too trusting and I believe everything says to me, but I don’t think that is the case. I don’t believe anything anyone says to me, and I am the type of person who has to experience things first hand. I am vaguely surprised that I believe in God and haven’t decided to wait till death to start being a believer in a high power. Maybe because I don’t allow myself to be that ignorant.
I feel as if I have missed out today, like I am missing something. I discovered that I am made single again today, under mysterious circumstances. The scent of ‘taken’ is gone from my body and I noticed that I am again repulsive to the opposite sex. I over stretch things…but really not that far. I feel like I have been made alone again, and all I had was a few month time period where I was not, kinda of just faking it…kinda of like a time out instead of anything substantial. I am not sure if I am being emo or realistic.
The snow has locked me into the house again with the rest of my family. I am starting to have ‘reflective thoughts’ again. This time about my family and the way I have been growing up. Its coming to the fore front of my mind again as if I wont be living with them anymore. That’s a good thing, I just hope it wont be like last time when I was sitting in a jail cell. I almost feel like I am trapped in a bad marriage, though I have felt that way for a long time, since I started being a teenager at the age of 12. I started to realize how I was not happy in the company of my family.
Even talking about them brings back all the memories that I have worked so hard to repress in order to make it through the day and put on a brave face. My father calls it ‘mental gymnastics’ I’m not sure what I was doing when he coined the phrase but its now a phrase I use to describe the trickery I do to my own mind to believe that things need to stay the way they are or I wont make it out alive, or as I know myself. I sort of feel like I am in some sort of war zone and as soon as I leave the battlefield I know I will go into shock of having seen and done all the things I did on the battlefield. Its like knowing that as soon as things change, as soon as you are on that plane back to new york city you aren’t going to be the same.
I have the option of going over to the current war, and to be honest that’s not looking to bad right about now. I have nothing over here to stay for. It’s a win for the fact that I get to stay away from my family. I know how that sounds, but its how I feel. I enjoy time away to understand myself, because I know that I will never really be able to know myself until I get to behave as I usually would. Let me be clear, the person I pretend to be inside these walls is not who I really am, and the longer I stay trying to fake someone else the more damage I do to myself.
A time will come when I will crack open a psychology book and start reading and run across chapters that make it seem like I am reading about myself. I know it will happen, because it already has. Reading about yourself in a mental health book is never a good thing. It only reinforces all the negative thoughts that others have placed in my mind. “Something is wrong with you…something is seriously wrong with you.” You know that sort of thing.
So it should be seen as something great that my mind or the universe or whoever it is that is controlling the gears of my brain is saying that it is time to take a review of your life so far in this situation. Last time that happened I was leaving Kansas City, and I didn’t even know it yet. Even though I had been trying and making plots to leave Kansas for more than three years, I didn’t start feeling like I was really leaving until the last year, even before I knew I would be in DC.
What is this teaching me, the ability to hold a couple of different personalities in one body? That I would make a great actor? I would hope not, maybe I’ll turn out to be a sociopath killer during the night hours and a well loved person during the day. Exactly like Mr. Brooks. But that’s a far stretch even for me to think like that. I know that all this is having a profound and lasting effect on me. I mean I am still suffering from my first heart break and the trust issues I picked up from it. I already know that I don’t trust people, that’s male or female, but a female in a relationship with me or trying to form a relationship with me, I believe is lying to me 100% of the time. It just feels safer to assume that than to assume I am being told the truth, and then one-day realizing I was being lied to. At least that way I can say I knew it was happening.
I was talking yesterday about how romantic it is to be smart and self teach yourself various things. I think now that I realize I have all this extra time on my hands, and in an effort to keep myself productive I will take that up, and start picking up little improvement projects. I figure if I can keep this thing running (Writing three pages) then slowly but surely I can start to add other things that will not only improve me as a writer but will improve me overall as a man. At this stage, I can never stop improving. Especially when all your faults are put under a microscope and scrutinized. I feel like I am training to be a celebrity or something. I hope not, my god I even hate the word celebrity.
No amount of writing though will help me completely. I think I may one day have to get all weepy in front of a paid stranger or risk getting all weepy in front of a stranger who I am not paying. I cant vent up all this emotion, and while writing is a good temporary solution it is by no means long term and I can suspect this will not help me any more than ignoring it will. I hope that once I start clearing out my head though, with all this bent up emotion and words it will clear some space for me to finish my projects. I suppose that’s why me and weed had such a strong bond in the start, it was an easy way for me to take myself out of my mind and my current hopeless situation and into a comfortable zone where I could reflect and think. Of course when I did too much thinking my thoughts would always lead me back to how hopeless my current situation was. Ha! But for the times weed actually allowed me to escape I came back with vivid stories and notes. Of course I don’t believe that weed brought me the stories, I know better than that. I do believe that it gave me the time and space I needed to let me imagination loose. Its hard for me to think about one thing when I have forty million problems and the cosmo’s facing down on me.
Again, of course, it was not all that bad but everyone’s own problems seem like a lot.
For the past few couple of days I feel like I have been relying to much on the company of others. Like a baby to a bottle, what happened to the days as a youth where I can sit in my room for days on end without having to speak to another soul. What is this all of a sudden where I go social and feel the need to interact with other people.
Sadly I don’t even know if I was being sarcastic with myself jus then. Its not like I cant find books to go read, its not like there is not a library almost a block away. Maybe that’s what I should do, maybe I should go take my emo self on to the local library and start reading up on classic lit, never know what I can find. Something tells me that I may end up looking for a psychology book and end up reading about myself then I wont want to come back once I realize how far gone I am.
Sometimes I think they way I grew up is training, almost as if people are not put through more than they can handle. I actually got that quote from the bible, but I believe it to be true. After all what does not kill us makes us stronger. I do know that the relationship I have with my family is only a starter for something else. I do know that later in my life when my family is no longer a tax on my mental health something else will replace the negative feedback and animosity I feel from them. I can only wonder who, and in a small part I feel sad for the future, because I really don’t want to have to deal with that anymore.
I already feel as if my training has been paying off. Training is a funny word but I try and make light of it all. I am able to face skeptics and haters to the face without the blink of an eye because I know that nothing that anyone can say will be worse than the words of my father. I know that there is nothing that anyone can do to try and tear me down worse that what he has tried to do. I have never seen a man that so closely resembles the American eagle, with an arrow in one claw and a peace olive in the other.
I hate to make it seem like everyday is like autswitz but I spend half the day waiting for the other shoe to drop, the arrow to fall out the claw after the olive branch. However I know full well that when I start to feel like an adult (And lets face it my parents are the reason I still feel like a child) I will look back on this and smile with gratitude the things I lived through and the things he put me through. Not so much thankful to him because there is no grand maser plan in his actions, he has admitted so himself. I will be thankful to that higher power, to that whisper in my mind that tells me that this will soon be nothing. That little boost of confidence that sometimes only last five minutes…but maybe that’s all I need. That five minutes of clarity. A lot can happen in five minutes, who knows what I might have done had I not had that mini vacation from the burden that is my own intellect.
Sounds like I may be a drinker sometime in the future…to ease the burden of my own intellect. My god my god what have they done to me my god?
I have had to realize today that I am always skeptical of everything. Of everyone, I have had it told to me that I am far too trusting and I believe everything says to me, but I don’t think that is the case. I don’t believe anything anyone says to me, and I am the type of person who has to experience things first hand. I am vaguely surprised that I believe in God and haven’t decided to wait till death to start being a believer in a high power. Maybe because I don’t allow myself to be that ignorant.
I feel as if I have missed out today, like I am missing something. I discovered that I am made single again today, under mysterious circumstances. The scent of ‘taken’ is gone from my body and I noticed that I am again repulsive to the opposite sex. I over stretch things…but really not that far. I feel like I have been made alone again, and all I had was a few month time period where I was not, kinda of just faking it…kinda of like a time out instead of anything substantial. I am not sure if I am being emo or realistic.
The snow has locked me into the house again with the rest of my family. I am starting to have ‘reflective thoughts’ again. This time about my family and the way I have been growing up. Its coming to the fore front of my mind again as if I wont be living with them anymore. That’s a good thing, I just hope it wont be like last time when I was sitting in a jail cell. I almost feel like I am trapped in a bad marriage, though I have felt that way for a long time, since I started being a teenager at the age of 12. I started to realize how I was not happy in the company of my family.
Even talking about them brings back all the memories that I have worked so hard to repress in order to make it through the day and put on a brave face. My father calls it ‘mental gymnastics’ I’m not sure what I was doing when he coined the phrase but its now a phrase I use to describe the trickery I do to my own mind to believe that things need to stay the way they are or I wont make it out alive, or as I know myself. I sort of feel like I am in some sort of war zone and as soon as I leave the battlefield I know I will go into shock of having seen and done all the things I did on the battlefield. Its like knowing that as soon as things change, as soon as you are on that plane back to new york city you aren’t going to be the same.
I have the option of going over to the current war, and to be honest that’s not looking to bad right about now. I have nothing over here to stay for. It’s a win for the fact that I get to stay away from my family. I know how that sounds, but its how I feel. I enjoy time away to understand myself, because I know that I will never really be able to know myself until I get to behave as I usually would. Let me be clear, the person I pretend to be inside these walls is not who I really am, and the longer I stay trying to fake someone else the more damage I do to myself.
A time will come when I will crack open a psychology book and start reading and run across chapters that make it seem like I am reading about myself. I know it will happen, because it already has. Reading about yourself in a mental health book is never a good thing. It only reinforces all the negative thoughts that others have placed in my mind. “Something is wrong with you…something is seriously wrong with you.” You know that sort of thing.
So it should be seen as something great that my mind or the universe or whoever it is that is controlling the gears of my brain is saying that it is time to take a review of your life so far in this situation. Last time that happened I was leaving Kansas City, and I didn’t even know it yet. Even though I had been trying and making plots to leave Kansas for more than three years, I didn’t start feeling like I was really leaving until the last year, even before I knew I would be in DC.
What is this teaching me, the ability to hold a couple of different personalities in one body? That I would make a great actor? I would hope not, maybe I’ll turn out to be a sociopath killer during the night hours and a well loved person during the day. Exactly like Mr. Brooks. But that’s a far stretch even for me to think like that. I know that all this is having a profound and lasting effect on me. I mean I am still suffering from my first heart break and the trust issues I picked up from it. I already know that I don’t trust people, that’s male or female, but a female in a relationship with me or trying to form a relationship with me, I believe is lying to me 100% of the time. It just feels safer to assume that than to assume I am being told the truth, and then one-day realizing I was being lied to. At least that way I can say I knew it was happening.
I was talking yesterday about how romantic it is to be smart and self teach yourself various things. I think now that I realize I have all this extra time on my hands, and in an effort to keep myself productive I will take that up, and start picking up little improvement projects. I figure if I can keep this thing running (Writing three pages) then slowly but surely I can start to add other things that will not only improve me as a writer but will improve me overall as a man. At this stage, I can never stop improving. Especially when all your faults are put under a microscope and scrutinized. I feel like I am training to be a celebrity or something. I hope not, my god I even hate the word celebrity.
No amount of writing though will help me completely. I think I may one day have to get all weepy in front of a paid stranger or risk getting all weepy in front of a stranger who I am not paying. I cant vent up all this emotion, and while writing is a good temporary solution it is by no means long term and I can suspect this will not help me any more than ignoring it will. I hope that once I start clearing out my head though, with all this bent up emotion and words it will clear some space for me to finish my projects. I suppose that’s why me and weed had such a strong bond in the start, it was an easy way for me to take myself out of my mind and my current hopeless situation and into a comfortable zone where I could reflect and think. Of course when I did too much thinking my thoughts would always lead me back to how hopeless my current situation was. Ha! But for the times weed actually allowed me to escape I came back with vivid stories and notes. Of course I don’t believe that weed brought me the stories, I know better than that. I do believe that it gave me the time and space I needed to let me imagination loose. Its hard for me to think about one thing when I have forty million problems and the cosmo’s facing down on me.
Again, of course, it was not all that bad but everyone’s own problems seem like a lot.
For the past few couple of days I feel like I have been relying to much on the company of others. Like a baby to a bottle, what happened to the days as a youth where I can sit in my room for days on end without having to speak to another soul. What is this all of a sudden where I go social and feel the need to interact with other people.
Sadly I don’t even know if I was being sarcastic with myself jus then. Its not like I cant find books to go read, its not like there is not a library almost a block away. Maybe that’s what I should do, maybe I should go take my emo self on to the local library and start reading up on classic lit, never know what I can find. Something tells me that I may end up looking for a psychology book and end up reading about myself then I wont want to come back once I realize how far gone I am.
Sometimes I think they way I grew up is training, almost as if people are not put through more than they can handle. I actually got that quote from the bible, but I believe it to be true. After all what does not kill us makes us stronger. I do know that the relationship I have with my family is only a starter for something else. I do know that later in my life when my family is no longer a tax on my mental health something else will replace the negative feedback and animosity I feel from them. I can only wonder who, and in a small part I feel sad for the future, because I really don’t want to have to deal with that anymore.
I already feel as if my training has been paying off. Training is a funny word but I try and make light of it all. I am able to face skeptics and haters to the face without the blink of an eye because I know that nothing that anyone can say will be worse than the words of my father. I know that there is nothing that anyone can do to try and tear me down worse that what he has tried to do. I have never seen a man that so closely resembles the American eagle, with an arrow in one claw and a peace olive in the other.
I hate to make it seem like everyday is like autswitz but I spend half the day waiting for the other shoe to drop, the arrow to fall out the claw after the olive branch. However I know full well that when I start to feel like an adult (And lets face it my parents are the reason I still feel like a child) I will look back on this and smile with gratitude the things I lived through and the things he put me through. Not so much thankful to him because there is no grand maser plan in his actions, he has admitted so himself. I will be thankful to that higher power, to that whisper in my mind that tells me that this will soon be nothing. That little boost of confidence that sometimes only last five minutes…but maybe that’s all I need. That five minutes of clarity. A lot can happen in five minutes, who knows what I might have done had I not had that mini vacation from the burden that is my own intellect.
Sounds like I may be a drinker sometime in the future…to ease the burden of my own intellect. My god my god what have they done to me my god?
Three pages after I wake Sun-Dec-20 (4)
The safest place to hide things from anyone is a book, because most people don’t read, and most people wont read anything a page long if they aren’t grabbed by the first three sentences or are already interested in what they are reading. That explains why I write and say some of the things I do, with little fear of backlash. Though I suppose once I…
I have found the right music to help me write some thoughts I usually keep locked away, share some things I usually only confide in with my closest confidant. The reason is because failure is such a shame, and more than anything I don’t want to look back on my twenties as the time I was a reckless dreamer. I am staring at the cover for a reason, and that is to give me confidence to continue on with what I want to get out in the open. It is scary to see something so vividly and then have to realize that you were only fooling yourself. How could I ever trust myself again. The first time was love…
I have dreams at night that I cant let go, and I know before I go on into further detail that this makes me seem like a crazy person and that’s all fine and well I have long accepted that fact. As I have been told I do a lot of preamble so I’ll stop and get on with it.
I had a dream so real that it made me sad to wake up to reality. I was in a music studio, sitting in front of a beautiful women who was singing in the booth. I saw the woman, but I didn’t see her. I saw that she was beautiful, I knew that I was awe struck by her and her singing, and I knew in my heart that song she was singing was written by me and was being sung to me, as the beautiful woman was looking and smiling right at me. I feel the glare of people behind me though I did not see them, I could feel the heat of their eyes on my back, but me and the beautiful woman kept looking at each other. In my dream I saw myself getting up, and walking into the booth with her showing her what I had written on a piece of paper, she smiled nodded and kept on singing as I walked back out the booth. The dream ended almost as if the whole thing was a movie and the ‘camera’ slowly panned from behind me to a high corner in the studio and all I could hear was the song of the beautiful woman, though to this day I do not know the words even though I know I heard and wrote the complete song in that dream.
I make no guesses as to what that dream means, if it is a sign of things to come, or if its just a by product of random assortment of things I saw and thought about the day before. I can only hope that is a omen. This brings me to the subject of Rihanna. I have never admitted this, because as I said before it makes me sound even more mentally unstable than I know I already seem. But damn the appearances!
I became aware of Rihanna around the same time most Americans did, with the song umbrella, though I unknowingly had heard her songs and voice before that. When I first heard the song I didn’t really care for it, as I don’t care for most music I hear on the radio, but when I sat down and watched the video, I guess maybe it was the smile, maybe it was her singing accent, maybe it was something else all together but I was taken by her. I am not so naïve to call it love. I don’t even know the woman any more than the next man that has only read about her in articles or seen her in music video’s. I cant even claim to have gone out of my way to know about her. All I know is that when I look at her pictures or listen to her songs I feel as if I should be there. Almost in the same way as I feel when I see Kanye West and others doing what they do, I feel as if I am missing from that picture. However the way I feel ‘I should be there’ is slightly different when I see Rihanna. I cant say that I obsess over her, or that I plot and plan to meet her like I want to meet Mr. West. As a matter of fact I have assured myself that I would introduce myself to Mr. West when the opportunity presents its self. I could never be so bold as to introduce myself to Rihanna.
I admit that her picture, or hearing her voice is always an inspiration to me, the kind of inspiration that send shivers up my spine, goose bumps really. I would gladly write music for her, and as a matter of fact I plan to in an effort to better my song writing skills sit down and write songs with certain artists in mind, Rihanna being one of them. I’m not claiming that I think I could ever date the woman, or even know her anymore than you can know a person by watching you-tube videos of them but I am claiming that she inspires me in a way that no other artist male or female does. Of course she is not the only woman that I would consider beautiful or would be shy about introducing myself to. I don’t think I have the courage to say “hello” to Alicia Keys, another artist I would gladly write with, and whose songs inspire me and give me Goosebumps.
There is something unmistakable the creative effect Rihanna’s image has on me. I suppose that is why I picked up the Issue of GQ the way I did on such impulse. It is not the first GQ issue I have purchased and I know it wont be the last as I have made it a goal to write something for GQ and have it printed. I am very familiar with the magazine. I knew that whatever was inside that magazine would inform and inspire me, a little more than usual. I was not let down. While I don’t think it a huge accomplishment to say that I have never lusted over her body, I am not going to lie and say I don’t find the woman sexually attractive, but what I do like more than anything is looking into her eyes, and on the rare times people can make her smile. But its no secret to know that I love the smile of a beautiful woman.
Leaving Rihanna to go on to other dreams I have had, I once dreamed myself in the white house, inside the oval office Sitting in the room with me was the President and the father of one of my friends. We all sat on a couch and they sat on either side of me glaring at me saying that I was a disappointment and that I had let them down. I woke up from that dream very sad why was my sub-conscious trying to tell me the President of the United States thought I was letting him down. I suppose I was feeling let down by myself and what better way to make me see that than by using a man that I have much respect for. I am sure my mind knew not to use my father in place of my friends father because I am already very familiar with how he feels about me and my progress so far in this life. What makes this dream weird is that a few days after that, maybe a week or so I had the exact same dream except this time they were congratulating me, saying what a wonderful job I had done and that what a credit to the black race I was. I don’t recall doing anything differently, but maybe my attitude had changed maybe sub consciously I had changed. I was pretty shaken up by the first dream, something is pretty wrong when the president shows up in your dreams to scold you.
I mentioned before that I had dreams of being on Oprah, I have actually had sleeping dreams of being on Oprah and her asking me tough questions about my life before I ‘made it’. I have had it more than once actually and sometimes they vary a little bit but they are always the same and they all seem to real. Certain dreams seem as if they have already happened and I am just seeing a sneak preview. Yet it is so hard for me to walk away with a good feeling for more than five minutes, because I quickly realize that it was a dream nothing more than a dream and now I am stuck with the reality of my situation far far away from what I had been dreaming of moments ago.
I would have given anything to be back in the white house with the president or back in that studio in front of that beautiful woman singing to me, but I was back where I always was, at the bottom. That is why I get so upset with myself for what I feel like is me burning my youth, because these dreams are all fine and well while I am young and still have a shot of making them come true. There is no reason for me not to believe that I could be shaking hands with the president, laughing with Oprah, writing for Rihanna. No reason at all. I think about all the time and trials and work it will take, and I suppose I get scared and daunted by it all. Its not that I am lazy, I don’t feel I am lazy, I suppose I just don’t have the confidence yet to claim my dreams. Its almost like its right there in front of my eyes but I don’t see it, I don’t see it enough to reach out and grab it. Maybe just like the dreams of the white house and the presidential scolding Rihanna is a symbol of my dreams. Not so much her, but what she represents to me. I suppose I have always wanted those far away things. As my brother always likes to quote. “Ah the unattainable dreams, those are the best kind.”
I don’t see my dreams as unattainable, hard yes..sure. but not unattainable. I don’t believe that I would be tormented with such vivid dreams if they were not the utmost longings of my soul. As I have heard it said. “hell is not a place you go if your not a Christian, but the failure of your life’s greatest ambitions.” Rihanna represents (as least at this stage of my life) my life greatest ambitions that is why she effects me the way she does, I don’t know how she came to symbolize that but I realize now that she does.
And to think about it…I wouldn’t have it any other way my ambition is very sexy. Yes, my ambition has been beaten, it has been made fun of it, and it has been doubted, but it is still strong and it is embodied perfectly by a young woman from the Caribbean.
I have found the right music to help me write some thoughts I usually keep locked away, share some things I usually only confide in with my closest confidant. The reason is because failure is such a shame, and more than anything I don’t want to look back on my twenties as the time I was a reckless dreamer. I am staring at the cover for a reason, and that is to give me confidence to continue on with what I want to get out in the open. It is scary to see something so vividly and then have to realize that you were only fooling yourself. How could I ever trust myself again. The first time was love…
I have dreams at night that I cant let go, and I know before I go on into further detail that this makes me seem like a crazy person and that’s all fine and well I have long accepted that fact. As I have been told I do a lot of preamble so I’ll stop and get on with it.
I had a dream so real that it made me sad to wake up to reality. I was in a music studio, sitting in front of a beautiful women who was singing in the booth. I saw the woman, but I didn’t see her. I saw that she was beautiful, I knew that I was awe struck by her and her singing, and I knew in my heart that song she was singing was written by me and was being sung to me, as the beautiful woman was looking and smiling right at me. I feel the glare of people behind me though I did not see them, I could feel the heat of their eyes on my back, but me and the beautiful woman kept looking at each other. In my dream I saw myself getting up, and walking into the booth with her showing her what I had written on a piece of paper, she smiled nodded and kept on singing as I walked back out the booth. The dream ended almost as if the whole thing was a movie and the ‘camera’ slowly panned from behind me to a high corner in the studio and all I could hear was the song of the beautiful woman, though to this day I do not know the words even though I know I heard and wrote the complete song in that dream.
I make no guesses as to what that dream means, if it is a sign of things to come, or if its just a by product of random assortment of things I saw and thought about the day before. I can only hope that is a omen. This brings me to the subject of Rihanna. I have never admitted this, because as I said before it makes me sound even more mentally unstable than I know I already seem. But damn the appearances!
I became aware of Rihanna around the same time most Americans did, with the song umbrella, though I unknowingly had heard her songs and voice before that. When I first heard the song I didn’t really care for it, as I don’t care for most music I hear on the radio, but when I sat down and watched the video, I guess maybe it was the smile, maybe it was her singing accent, maybe it was something else all together but I was taken by her. I am not so naïve to call it love. I don’t even know the woman any more than the next man that has only read about her in articles or seen her in music video’s. I cant even claim to have gone out of my way to know about her. All I know is that when I look at her pictures or listen to her songs I feel as if I should be there. Almost in the same way as I feel when I see Kanye West and others doing what they do, I feel as if I am missing from that picture. However the way I feel ‘I should be there’ is slightly different when I see Rihanna. I cant say that I obsess over her, or that I plot and plan to meet her like I want to meet Mr. West. As a matter of fact I have assured myself that I would introduce myself to Mr. West when the opportunity presents its self. I could never be so bold as to introduce myself to Rihanna.
I admit that her picture, or hearing her voice is always an inspiration to me, the kind of inspiration that send shivers up my spine, goose bumps really. I would gladly write music for her, and as a matter of fact I plan to in an effort to better my song writing skills sit down and write songs with certain artists in mind, Rihanna being one of them. I’m not claiming that I think I could ever date the woman, or even know her anymore than you can know a person by watching you-tube videos of them but I am claiming that she inspires me in a way that no other artist male or female does. Of course she is not the only woman that I would consider beautiful or would be shy about introducing myself to. I don’t think I have the courage to say “hello” to Alicia Keys, another artist I would gladly write with, and whose songs inspire me and give me Goosebumps.
There is something unmistakable the creative effect Rihanna’s image has on me. I suppose that is why I picked up the Issue of GQ the way I did on such impulse. It is not the first GQ issue I have purchased and I know it wont be the last as I have made it a goal to write something for GQ and have it printed. I am very familiar with the magazine. I knew that whatever was inside that magazine would inform and inspire me, a little more than usual. I was not let down. While I don’t think it a huge accomplishment to say that I have never lusted over her body, I am not going to lie and say I don’t find the woman sexually attractive, but what I do like more than anything is looking into her eyes, and on the rare times people can make her smile. But its no secret to know that I love the smile of a beautiful woman.
Leaving Rihanna to go on to other dreams I have had, I once dreamed myself in the white house, inside the oval office Sitting in the room with me was the President and the father of one of my friends. We all sat on a couch and they sat on either side of me glaring at me saying that I was a disappointment and that I had let them down. I woke up from that dream very sad why was my sub-conscious trying to tell me the President of the United States thought I was letting him down. I suppose I was feeling let down by myself and what better way to make me see that than by using a man that I have much respect for. I am sure my mind knew not to use my father in place of my friends father because I am already very familiar with how he feels about me and my progress so far in this life. What makes this dream weird is that a few days after that, maybe a week or so I had the exact same dream except this time they were congratulating me, saying what a wonderful job I had done and that what a credit to the black race I was. I don’t recall doing anything differently, but maybe my attitude had changed maybe sub consciously I had changed. I was pretty shaken up by the first dream, something is pretty wrong when the president shows up in your dreams to scold you.
I mentioned before that I had dreams of being on Oprah, I have actually had sleeping dreams of being on Oprah and her asking me tough questions about my life before I ‘made it’. I have had it more than once actually and sometimes they vary a little bit but they are always the same and they all seem to real. Certain dreams seem as if they have already happened and I am just seeing a sneak preview. Yet it is so hard for me to walk away with a good feeling for more than five minutes, because I quickly realize that it was a dream nothing more than a dream and now I am stuck with the reality of my situation far far away from what I had been dreaming of moments ago.
I would have given anything to be back in the white house with the president or back in that studio in front of that beautiful woman singing to me, but I was back where I always was, at the bottom. That is why I get so upset with myself for what I feel like is me burning my youth, because these dreams are all fine and well while I am young and still have a shot of making them come true. There is no reason for me not to believe that I could be shaking hands with the president, laughing with Oprah, writing for Rihanna. No reason at all. I think about all the time and trials and work it will take, and I suppose I get scared and daunted by it all. Its not that I am lazy, I don’t feel I am lazy, I suppose I just don’t have the confidence yet to claim my dreams. Its almost like its right there in front of my eyes but I don’t see it, I don’t see it enough to reach out and grab it. Maybe just like the dreams of the white house and the presidential scolding Rihanna is a symbol of my dreams. Not so much her, but what she represents to me. I suppose I have always wanted those far away things. As my brother always likes to quote. “Ah the unattainable dreams, those are the best kind.”
I don’t see my dreams as unattainable, hard yes..sure. but not unattainable. I don’t believe that I would be tormented with such vivid dreams if they were not the utmost longings of my soul. As I have heard it said. “hell is not a place you go if your not a Christian, but the failure of your life’s greatest ambitions.” Rihanna represents (as least at this stage of my life) my life greatest ambitions that is why she effects me the way she does, I don’t know how she came to symbolize that but I realize now that she does.
And to think about it…I wouldn’t have it any other way my ambition is very sexy. Yes, my ambition has been beaten, it has been made fun of it, and it has been doubted, but it is still strong and it is embodied perfectly by a young woman from the Caribbean.
Three pages after I wake Wed-Dec-23 (1)
I was not able to write yesterday because I was drunk for most of the day. I started drinking around 10 in the morning and I stopped drinking a little after 4 in the afternoon. I slept from 5 pm till 4 am the next day (today) when I had to go to work.
I say this to say I had plenty of time to dream. I had three dreams that I can recall clearly.
I dreamed I was in my grandmothers home, it is a small house where the front of the home can be seen in the back of the kitchen. I say this to explain why my dream was particularly scary. I dreamed vampires were attacking me. I am of course tempted to shrug it off as craziness, as would anyone else. It was three vampires two men and one woman and they weren’t particularly dangerous as they were easily defeated by me using punches and kicks but they would only stagger and fall before getting right back up to attack me again. I was trapped in the small house and was forced to run back and forth in the house no more than twenty paces away from them at any one time. The Vampires were not epically vicious, they were even borderline friendly. As friendly as one can be when they are bent on taking your life. I do recall in the dream that I was looking for something in my pockets that would help defeat the vampires but I could not retrieve it fast enough as the vampires would spring back to life almost as quickly as they fell. One last note about that dream. I recall having at least two, other dreams were I fought fantasy type beings in my grandmothers home. They always ended with my death, as did the one I had last night. I died from exhaustion and in the end I just gave up and let the female bite me
My second dream is skimp on the details, but I was in jail. An old European type jail, dungeon, where the three musketeers might have found the king in the man in the Irion mask. My jailer was my father who talked to me through the door of my cell that is all I remember.
My last dream I remember also included my father. I was alone on a grassy mountain in the middle of the night. I was talking on the phone with a girl when my father shows up on the mountaintop. He did not come for me in fact he is there despite of me, almost as if he has gotten off work. He is relaxing. I avoid him on the mountaintop and he is aware of me but we do not speak. Suddenly the top becomes smaller and we are next to each other. He talks to me casually. Says something about trusting me to perform a task. I remember him saying a station wagon was missing and someone hit it in the driveway. The station wagon was mine. The dream ends. I remember the task he trusted me with. He trusted me to drive his truck somewhere, it was snowy. That is all I remember. Oddly enough I have never owned a station wagon or even driven one. I actually hate the look of them.
The order of the dream was Jail-mountain top-Vampire. I don’t know if that means anything or if me being drunk for half of the day meant anything but I woke up this morning with a DR. Dre song in my head.
“I been there I done that you go guns well I got straps a million mother fuckers on the planet earth and they all talk about guns cause that’s all they worth.”
I had not heard that song for a week now. I suppose it took my brain that long to digest it. I of course have more to say but my shift is over, this is only two pages.
I say this to say I had plenty of time to dream. I had three dreams that I can recall clearly.
I dreamed I was in my grandmothers home, it is a small house where the front of the home can be seen in the back of the kitchen. I say this to explain why my dream was particularly scary. I dreamed vampires were attacking me. I am of course tempted to shrug it off as craziness, as would anyone else. It was three vampires two men and one woman and they weren’t particularly dangerous as they were easily defeated by me using punches and kicks but they would only stagger and fall before getting right back up to attack me again. I was trapped in the small house and was forced to run back and forth in the house no more than twenty paces away from them at any one time. The Vampires were not epically vicious, they were even borderline friendly. As friendly as one can be when they are bent on taking your life. I do recall in the dream that I was looking for something in my pockets that would help defeat the vampires but I could not retrieve it fast enough as the vampires would spring back to life almost as quickly as they fell. One last note about that dream. I recall having at least two, other dreams were I fought fantasy type beings in my grandmothers home. They always ended with my death, as did the one I had last night. I died from exhaustion and in the end I just gave up and let the female bite me
My second dream is skimp on the details, but I was in jail. An old European type jail, dungeon, where the three musketeers might have found the king in the man in the Irion mask. My jailer was my father who talked to me through the door of my cell that is all I remember.
My last dream I remember also included my father. I was alone on a grassy mountain in the middle of the night. I was talking on the phone with a girl when my father shows up on the mountaintop. He did not come for me in fact he is there despite of me, almost as if he has gotten off work. He is relaxing. I avoid him on the mountaintop and he is aware of me but we do not speak. Suddenly the top becomes smaller and we are next to each other. He talks to me casually. Says something about trusting me to perform a task. I remember him saying a station wagon was missing and someone hit it in the driveway. The station wagon was mine. The dream ends. I remember the task he trusted me with. He trusted me to drive his truck somewhere, it was snowy. That is all I remember. Oddly enough I have never owned a station wagon or even driven one. I actually hate the look of them.
The order of the dream was Jail-mountain top-Vampire. I don’t know if that means anything or if me being drunk for half of the day meant anything but I woke up this morning with a DR. Dre song in my head.
“I been there I done that you go guns well I got straps a million mother fuckers on the planet earth and they all talk about guns cause that’s all they worth.”
I had not heard that song for a week now. I suppose it took my brain that long to digest it. I of course have more to say but my shift is over, this is only two pages.
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