Shit. Shouldn't have done it. Something dark is coming on. I can feel it.
I hit the water pipe again, all alone in my parents' house bedroom. This was some potent, devilish stuff. High-grade marijuana, kush, they call it. Now I'm overwhelmed. After years of experiencing this modest plant, my toleration's boosted leading to gentler trips. But, this is kush, a whole 'nother animal. And it's sitting fat on my chest. Never underestimate the high-grade. Valuable piece of knowledge to have in Southern California.
...
A few cigarettes later and I'm still not cured. I'm wide-eyed and looking often to the right. The corner of my eye is suspicious. Wasn't something just there? The shadows are shifting. Dark figures are forming and fading simultaneously. My mind is falling to pieces. I am questioning everything and unfortunately, everything isn't pleasant. Doubts come up of my ambitions, my ideals and my purpose. The ego stands alone. It is being interrogated. Ruthlessly.
...
Nightmare scenes play in my head. A large audience is reading some of my written work projected onto a white screen. There is an unbearable moment of silence. I become congested with the greatest anxiety. Soon, it becomes apparent. My anxiety becomes justified. Nobody is convinced. Faces change from disgust to gleeful ridicule. They are jeering at my words. My sentences. My paragraphs. "Boo."
It is confirmed - I have absolutely nothing important to say. They know it. I know it. How could a middle-class, had-it-easy suburban kid like me achieve anything meaningful? I've been comfortable. I was socially acceptable: not too ugly, brushed my teeth everyday, not a goat fucker. Made it into college. Was mostly polite. Clean police record.
Oh Jesus. My fate's spelled out for me. I'm just going to follow a career path and live a true American lifestyle, complacent in shallow success. I am already boring as hell. My life's been devoid of any color of great strides. I haven't proved myself to anybody. A deathbed submerged in defeat awaits.
Paranoia's disguised as truth. Its voice is terrible. Says I haven't suffered a true suffering. Says I was always fickle and lazy with my passions, quickly hopping from one to the other. Smart enough to start it up, too much of a coward to follow through. What if writing's just another temporary fix? Another futile and eventually abandoned attempt at producing something eternal?
The "Fear", as Hunter would put it, dictates that I will die like the rest of them. Just another corpse goin' to worm feed, righteously buried with their rotten wasteful lives. One unfortunate existence joining billions of others. A sad story of wasted potential that has become a redundancy.
The night, along with the "Fear", will die when I go to bed. Will feel better in the morning.
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4 comments:
The "Fear" always dies out when morning comes. Just know that this fear you are having is human, which I'm probably sure you knew. But we all feel this fear in our hearts. I know for sure that I do.
You're more than just a middle-class, had-it-easy surburban kid. It's whatever you make of it, whatever you want to be.
Anyway, I'm sure this isn't the kind of critic that you were looking for, but I just had to say my part.
You're writing and that's all I want to see you doing.
The inside of your head is fascinating Tom. Fortunately for you, writing will never be a quick fix for creative frustration. Writing gives you the advantage to wander, and wander you must. Many pretty things will catch your eye, but writing will always be there when you need/want it.
Writing. Just another temporary fix? No way. I definitely see from your blog that you've got the drive- the will to start something. Writing isn't a hobbie that you pick up once and set down forever, though some may chose to do so. It will never end because writers are of another bread, always searching and being far too hard on themselves. Yep, you've begun the search and I think you should continue because your work can infulence someone, anyone, no one, or dare I say yourself.
Thanks for that comment. I've come here to say, first of all, "write more posts!" I've been visiting everyday...but other than that, as for the letter, you don't really have to address what I was talking about exactly, I'm kind of over that now, if you get what I mean. But please, do write, about anything.
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