scathed

The more I try to correct, the more I realize the true severity of my current state: the problem becomes increasingly daunting and nothing gets solved, only further realized. How much more can I tolerate before I'm convinced it's too late? I don't know yet. But as if I'd hastily bandaged wounds that required stitches, I now slowly pull back the bloodied layers of cloth to reveal my worsened condition. And I am no more skilled now than I was then. This won't be as easy as just moving on. I won't survive, but at least now I want to know why.

tears

I need to calm down. This constant state of agitated frustration is unproductive and unhealthy.

unmotivated and mean

My condescension and contempt for all is merely a projection of my own dissatisfaction in myself. I am not unaware of this. In fact I continually find myself further and further sequestering myself from people since I seem so incapable of restraining such thought urges otherwise. I don't expect other people to live up to my morals anymore than I desire to live up to theirs. I just don't understand why it's so arduous and impossible for me to be who I am in this environment while I observe others doing it with so much ease. (Okay, maybe not being themselves, but at least not seeming to struggle/notice their masks of conformity.) Am I really as much of a pariah as I have myself convinced of each time I step outside my door? I can't be. I feel so completely dull when left in my solitude but yet my so-called eccentricities are constantly pointed out as sources of amusement by acquaintances, co-workers, friends, and family alike. I'm tired of being thought of as strange and having to play it off comically for mild acceptance and peace. Where can I go where I will be thought of as dull and listless as I feel? At least there I could grow! This outcast status is dispiriting.

sharing

AT: Every film I have directed and I intend to direct is always tied to characters who have something to overcome, who must succeed, in the name of this optimism on which I insist and which I constantly speak about. In other words, a man held up by an idea searches passionately for the answer to a question and goes to the end of his understanding of reality. And he reaches an understanding of that reality thanks to his experience.


I showed this quote to my mother after she asked me what book I was reading at the moment. I remembered marking the passage (among others) earlier in the day while reading on the train. Without a word, I flipped through the book to find it and handed it over. She read it, got very excited and said, "See! That's why I like Harry Potter. Read it again." I read it again with this new interpretation. I looked back at the enthusiasm on her face for a moment, then put my book away and waited for the movie to start.

new ways

I could sulk endlessly like this, or I could try new outlets and new sulks, which may not even lead to sulking at all.

demising

a failed source of entertainment. no outlet. no use. can't press deep enough. can't hide without false hope. expectant, denied. floods again. pause. hold breath. look inward. purposely dehydrating. (to quell release?) starved and self-starving. desired physical confirmation. confirmed. meek acts of destruction not fatal. side effect: irreversible blows, continued degeneration. further disappointment in lack of documentation. no expression. supersaturation. potential outburst suppressed by subconscious decorum. volatility inflated. stressed glass breaks. was room empty? decorum strikes again. stillness momentarily. cycles, again. braces. collapse and collect. again, again.

tiring circles. an end awaits. searching. prospects few. heightened fastidious sensibility. nothing satiates. silent plea continues despite self-suppression. communing: vague and impenetrable, two-way. quest continues with less vigor. what end will alleviate?

drivel, drivel, drivel. she endures without meaning.

sulk pt 3

I'll make them all disappear...

tap, tap

Up and down and down and up she goes.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee! *dies*

stop

This insatiable quest for learning suddenly feels counterproductive.

sulk day 2; stunted

I don't feel like I'm living. There is no Now, no current moment. So much of my experience feels vicarious and fraudulent, all knowledge and instruction without experimentation or even movement. Fantasy, escapism? Deadlocked arrogance? Bittersweet. Escape seems like the only protection I have against such undermining surroundings. Am I shielding myself in detachment from a perceived contagious apathy or a disconnection in direction? This cowering isn't a life at all. I can only manage by convincing myself that it is preparation for later enterprise, but such buffoonery fools no one. Am I molding a persona without habitat? It shouldn't be this difficult just to exist daily. But I struggle to withstand the increasing burden of harm such passivity exudes upon both my surroundings and my own worth. (Change hasn't been drastic enough. Solitude isn't working but the ditch has been dug.)

Condescending, directionless, and miserable - no one benefits.