I’m practicing a technique of some writer who wrote this brilliant book that became a pretty good movie that a lot of people liked. The idea, among the many he suggested, was to set a timer for when you sit down to write. I’ve set myself for an hour and have already dawdled through the first few minutes. Still, since I’ve begun this current attempt, the pressure has kept me moving forward.
And if I were to make up some big metaphorical lie, I could tell you that I need to do the same thing with my whole vague life. But perhaps I live without truly feeling all of the pressure that I would or should be placing upon myself and therefore can progress no further. Oh, so many times in the last few weeks have I succumb to my body’s tiredness and slide away to non-specific and slightly terrifying dreams when they can be remembered. They say that your dreams are supposed to be your own unconscious mind attempting to tell you about some injustice it sees in the rest of your waking life. If that were the case, I may have to kindly ask my unconscious mind to lay down the crack pipe and get a little bit of focus. Riddles are not the thing to be had in the effort of problem solving.
But since I was lying, perhaps the mysterious and ever eluding desire that drive such an individual forward is exact what is needed. I could argue that it is, for a time at least, and say that there is no greater driving force in the history of humanity than that of unraveling mystery and revealing purpose through that which makes no sense. For myself, boredom arrives in force when I am stuck with the same routine for any length of time I deem to be unfit. Normalcy is a dread. I have always grown weary of standing in one place, which is usually and eventually adjusted as it needs to be.
But reflections in the past can be so tainted. Memory is far from perfect. Just ask any crime scene analyst. What is remembered may not have been what had happened. Either way, there is no way to prove what was. We only know what is and fight or flee the impending fulfillment of a single timeline. So there won’t be any more about any of that then.
The struggle is being able to say, or make, or play something that someone else hasn’t quite done yet. You could say that I, as a youth in the farthest point this species has gone in time, that my ability to absorb information scattered across the past would allow for me to hold an idea composed of collaboration but lacking on uniqueness. All the art and knowledge of the world is at the disposal of my finger tips, yet with that I am robbed of the experience of discovering something new.
You could say that, if you were a total dipshit. Nay, for it is I who say, that the ability to experience that of those who came before me left behind is exactly that which creates a perspective that has yet to be had. And to toot my own horn, I have been able to steer clear of a lot of the popular cultural consumption that plagues the youth and aged alike in the saturated market of product placed entertainment.
From here the burden, which I shall carry with me for most of my days, is what to do with all of this. All the things that have inspired hope and jaded my edges helped to sculpt this experience but what is to be done with it. Turning potential energy into kinetic is not as easy as the Science Guy makes it seem sometimes.
Yet I should sell nothing short. In fact, I won’t sell anything at all. It is my aim to not try to profit off of this life, though I do plan to enjoy it. And so I have been trying to again. My health is getting better, simply because I’m trying to pay more mind to it. I’ve been keeping on all of those oh, so important outlets and trying to weed out the negative impact. It is far from going perfectly, which is exactly how I expect it to go. I hold no desire to wish for things to be without making the attempt to make them so myself.
I am nowhere near where I need or want to be in life, which is the truly the greatest thing I have. I still have a vast world of mystery left to trek through and the only thing that keeps me from it is the same thing that keeps me from everything else.
Um… what is, myself?
Correct, you can now pick the next category.
I’ll take “Where to go from here?” for 200.
The answer: Anything you want.
Um… what are, the possibilities?
By the way, I didn’t go past the hour mark. Some would say life is about the little victories. I would say that every victory is great and grand.