well, after some time to myself and a lot of scribbling and contemplation, i don't feel much better about what i'm doing with my life. nor do i have much of an idea of what i'd rather be doing with it.
i sit around, let the days turn into weeks, turn into months gone by, and have nothing to show for it. and i feel this weight building inside me, pushing me towards something. an edge. the edge of the world maybe. hell, better to jump off into the unknown than pass your time standing about idlely. and if you get swallowed up in the proverbial void, and no one ever hears from you again... hell, like the song goes, "better to burn out, than to fade away"... my my, hey hey.
i'm big on metaphors; allusions; melodrama... you know this. take it with a grain of salt.
i just get so frustrated. i get bent out of shape and fall into these black moods, and start thinking that the only way to break out of this rut is to burn all the bridges, salt the earth, hit the highway and never look back.
i get this stabbing in my head that screams for me to run. it tells me that i've got to cut loose, throw away, or wreck everything that i know in order to start again. it tells me that's the only way it's going to happen. sure, other people can make changes one by one, work up to a goal, have an ongoing process of growth and improvement and blah-de-blah-de-blah. but not you. no, not for you. you've got to go to the extreme, take it all the way. you don't have near enough patience for that. you don't respond to subtlety. you don't respond to anything less than a kick to the fucking head. no, you've got to wipe it all out, and try again.
and i have these day dreams that i leave the house for a walk one day, end up at the bus station, and just keep going. forever. i tell myself every fucking day that i wasn't cut out for this. that i am better than this. that i can do better. and it makes me angry. because i don't.
and there's this burning sense of urgency that won't leave me alone. ever since jules died. i feel like i'm dying, too. that i don't have much time. even if i live another thirty, forty, fifty years. even if i live a hundred more. it's not enough. it's already so fucking late.
and so that's where my head is.
but i'm back nonetheless.
got a bit of business taken care of, drew a bunch of stuff, and figure that's a start, if nothing else.
anyway.
cheers. and love to you all.
-Hyena.
i sit around, let the days turn into weeks, turn into months gone by, and have nothing to show for it. and i feel this weight building inside me, pushing me towards something. an edge. the edge of the world maybe. hell, better to jump off into the unknown than pass your time standing about idlely. and if you get swallowed up in the proverbial void, and no one ever hears from you again... hell, like the song goes, "better to burn out, than to fade away"... my my, hey hey.
i'm big on metaphors; allusions; melodrama... you know this. take it with a grain of salt.
i just get so frustrated. i get bent out of shape and fall into these black moods, and start thinking that the only way to break out of this rut is to burn all the bridges, salt the earth, hit the highway and never look back.
i get this stabbing in my head that screams for me to run. it tells me that i've got to cut loose, throw away, or wreck everything that i know in order to start again. it tells me that's the only way it's going to happen. sure, other people can make changes one by one, work up to a goal, have an ongoing process of growth and improvement and blah-de-blah-de-blah. but not you. no, not for you. you've got to go to the extreme, take it all the way. you don't have near enough patience for that. you don't respond to subtlety. you don't respond to anything less than a kick to the fucking head. no, you've got to wipe it all out, and try again.
and i have these day dreams that i leave the house for a walk one day, end up at the bus station, and just keep going. forever. i tell myself every fucking day that i wasn't cut out for this. that i am better than this. that i can do better. and it makes me angry. because i don't.
and there's this burning sense of urgency that won't leave me alone. ever since jules died. i feel like i'm dying, too. that i don't have much time. even if i live another thirty, forty, fifty years. even if i live a hundred more. it's not enough. it's already so fucking late.
and so that's where my head is.
but i'm back nonetheless.
got a bit of business taken care of, drew a bunch of stuff, and figure that's a start, if nothing else.
anyway.
cheers. and love to you all.
-Hyena.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
I too wish i could just get in a car, drive all over the states and learn alot about different cultures. I also know that i have to grow up and get rooted somewhere because i'm not to sure on social security being there when i get old.
So what is is and what isn't isn't i guess.
<3 Arg
As far as Argentum's road trip. I did that for about a year in a 1980 Crown Victoria with two other guys.
I would spin the knife on a map and we'd go there.
I can't say it helped me find my direction.
I came back and was homeless for almost 5 years.
I then broke out of New Orleans to help a friend with bail.
On the way there the fucker steals a car and I was pinched for it.
He was moved to a prison in OK and I figured that was punishment enough. Strangely, I could have gotten out of the charge on a technicality. I just didn't have anywhere to go so I stayed.
After parole was over (12 years ago now) I only knew what I didn't want to do anymore.
Now I find out something I want to do.
I want a big piece of land somewhere.
I'll work it until my back breaks and spend the rest of my days in retreat.
I'll let you build a house on the northern piece if you like.