Tuesday, November 18, 2008

            I think the whole struggle to write is just the act of actually sitting down to write. With all things in greatness comes repetition and practice. There is an innate sense of failure upon opening a pad of legal paper or maybe a journal that you might have laid away in an old red steel plated lockbox. Just the idea of opening such a portal invades my subconscious to the point of exploding. Why must I write to express my feelings? Such a thing seems utterly unimportant. I'd rather talk intellectually with people yet the act of actually thinking about talking to someone annoys the hell out of me.  

            It's a basic flaw in our society. Why must one express his intelligence with words, actions, awards or degrees? The intelligence of a man should be determined by his character and resolve to expand his mind to grasp at the unexplained anomalies that occur throughout our past, present, and our hopeful and eventual future. Character alone could not withstand the test of time.

            History has shown us, much like my inner workings, that the human mind, or mine alone, changes course. Adapt. Your environment changes your views.

I am a product of my environment. I always will be. Forever.

            It's not to say that my environment might fail. Society is always doomed to fail. Has there ever been one community that has fought past all opposition and failures to rise above from war, greed, and depression? A government that has succeeded in all endeavors and is documented throughout history as the premiere doctrine of governing? I'll venture to say no, although I am no expert on the subject.

I could bounce from one point to another.

Is it wrong to think that my legacy will be based on my writings or my words vocally coming through vintage CD players that are hidden away in tiny closets for rainy days of smoking pot on the front porch? I'd like to think that would be an accomplishment.

Is it forced because it feels forced? Is it wrong to think I only write when forced; thus making my writing seem forced? Or am I the only one who can feel that? Maybe one day I'll look back on this if I'm alive. Where will I be when this occurs? What state of mind will I be in? Will this be a legacy based on nothing but pride and jealousy? Time will tell if I can shape it to relay the story in its most valid form.

Just the thought of thinking that anyone is judging me makes me worry about the time their wasting on thinking about me. I'd rather not have to feel their peering eyes or inquisitive minds. The thought of being seen in what could be a trendy state of mind scares me into feeling that I must act in a way that makes the persona look better yet imposes havoc upon the soul.  

            My opinions are my own yet they feel suppressed by the society I have surrounded myself with. I have lost the respect that I have shed blood to gain. Wasted lost memories I care not to remember. Is the past what makes us happy or is it the purposed prospect of a brighter future ahead that makes us try on another day?

            Everyday you wake up. Everyday you put on the days of the past upon your brand new daily skin. Everyday is a new skin yet you did not shed the skin of the days past. It is lying underneath you like the skeletons you keep hanging in your closet. Your eventual primary concern is to cleanse your under skin so that it looks like your outer skin. Buying into false religion or scandalous politics. Fend off and contort your inner demon to reflect your inept ability to change your soul.

            Vile, unholy, yet lacking self-pity they believe in what they've done so unjustly that their soul has no meaning. They feel nothing. It's the age-old debate of action and reaction, yet nothing is reacted. Nothing is even sliding. The cloaks of our past are wrapping our society so tight that it's blocking our light of passage, our right of passage. Giving up all things means the eventual downfall of everything that you once thought was important. Everything they thought was important.

            The only substance worth fighting for is your wholehearted, deep-rooted belief that your opinions are sound and true to what you think is...

It's not the idea to believe in but the idea to believe.

author daniel gregory erb.