Sunday, June 26, 2011



Being a writer has ruined me.




Well, writing and reading that is. If I had been raised by wolves in a forest, never learning to speak or read or anything about this society life would have been all the better - or simpler at least. See, I have this issue, where the fictional worlds I've created seem so much more appealing than anything even remotely realistic. Which is why, as a writer who wants to be in control of their own universe, I cannot seem to bring myself to interact with actual human beings. Well, that is, not the ones I have yet to meet. So, the farthest I'll go in terms of really contact with seemingly interesting people in rowdy crowds of concerts is eye contact and smile-communication. Several times at that. While thinking and rethinking new lines to say in order to start a conversation with someone who might be absolutely wonderful. And then I'll do that, over and over and over again, until, eventually, we've pushed back through the crowd to the exit and stumbled out into the cold early morning air. From then on, I create a character. I give this person attributes of someone real, a witty script and some sort of ideal life. It's pathetic.

It's the books and the poems that are the problem. I'll blame them forever, no matter how much I love them. Writing story upon story has left me isolated and stunted socially, because I can't live outside of my own creations. And it's getting increasingly upsetting to miss my chance to meet the people I want to because of it.





* picture1 * a very blurry version of myself * festival schedule * wristband *

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