02 September, 2011

Blank Canvas

         These books are all I've got left.
I wonder why everyone romanticizes being a writer so much.
Understanding that you would have to have some sort of degree
or some sort of education to produce good writing, why has it been so
mystified?  I personally have developed an intricate relationship with writing,
where its all I want to do for the rest of my life.  Besides giving me arthritis when
I'm older, it is one the best careers I could have chosen.  Finalizing further education
in the English Language and educating myself to the point there my mere intrinsic
talents have become incredibly polished have given me an entire new perspective in life,
in everything I do.  Everything seems to have more color, more animation, everything
seems to make more sense, but also many of these things,
 less.  I have no problem calling someone or something ugly,
and though it shouldn't bother me because it's the truth
(or at least my truth) it does because it reflects me and my loss on innocence.
That much knowledge really does begin to destroy you from
the inside, and the more you know, the less you actually do.
It's really all very complicated.  I almost wish to forget sometimes about the critical me,
and just experience my life through sounds and colors,
but it becomes impossible because I've bought myself a mind that's almost worth
100,000$ and every single time I have to make a
payment for this purchase I'm reminded of the horrible 
person knowledge has cause me to become.

The people I've left behind, are only in revenge for those who have left me.
Though it's not their fault, they have to go through the consequences of my
dramatic life changes every time I decide to have one.

To all those people that have to unfortunately been collateral
damage to my destructive nature, I'm sorry --
I wish you all the best, but I hope I never see any of you again.

              I am too, able to recognize beauty, no matter where it presents itself, but I don't think of that as enough.  I condemn others for not knowing, for not expressing, for not seeing as clear as I do, and that just makes it unfair for everyone else around me.  My primary defense mechanism to a person I know will not survive my expectations is to act dumb, or dumb myself down in their presence, just so later I can tare them apart and laugh at the inconsistencies of their life.  How do  I know someone isn't do the same thing to me?  Since I don't know about it, I may not care, but yet, I wonder.  I'm so incredibly judgmental, and education has done this to me.

Still, I regret nothing.

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