Blurry, Puddle of Mudd

As I was sitting there lost in thought, I had come to realize I was starring at my hand. When I get deep and thought and I do this, I can't help but think of a movie that came out many years ago.

The Never Ending Story.

I loved that movie as a kid, kind of lame today but theres no accounting for taste when you are a kid.

Now I don't think of the entire movie, just one particular scene.

Its preaty late in the movie, the Nothing has taken away most of the land and its looking bleak for our heros. Atrayu *or however you spell it* comes across an old friend from the travels to end the Nothing. Just sitting there starring at his hands is this big hearted stone giant weeping at the loss of his friends.

"They look like such big, strong hands."

He kept saying this as he tells Atrayu about what happened to his friends, that the Nothing had sucked them up and now they where gone forever. And no matter how hard he held on, no matter how hard he held tightly, even he couldn't keep them from there fate.

He says this with such a deep sorrow and a disbelief that as strong as he was, he couldn't avoid the inevitable. Its such a deep moment in the movie which invariably was meant for children so such a moment was probably lost on the majority of the viewers.

Sometimes control is a dillusion, a safe gaurd so that all the nasty things about life don't overwhelm us and leave us curled up in a little ball in the corner. A certain invulnerability to things cause, "that wouldn't happen to me" beliefs. And when reality kicks in, when that something finally happens to you, all your dillusions and safegaurds are ripped from you, leaving you naked to the harshness of the world.....vulnerable.

So as I sit there, starring at my hands I can't help but see the sorrow in that gentle giant's eyes and here his words..."They look like such big, strong hands." Looking at my own hands as if they where his, wondering why they can look so big and strong, but how little I can control the situations in my life.

I wonder how come I have become such a failure in life, such a complete disapointment.

I call myself a writer, but deep down inside I laugh bitterly every time I even come near calling myself a writer. My work sucks, I procrastinate way to much, my writtings seem simple and improper, almost childish at times. I have all these good ideas in my head, but when I put them to paper.....it all looks like crap. My fantasy life is rich and extensive, it all seems like a magnificent tale in my head, but my skills as a writer is laughable.

It pains me deeply to know that something I can love so deeply, something that means the world to me, something I live and breath to do. I ache inside when I realize how much of a miserable failurer I am at it.

Is Turtle Guy right when he said, "Are they just in love with the romantic idea of being a writer."*not a direct quote*.

Now don't get me wrong, I know he wasn't talking about me since I actually do critque my work, but it makes so much sense.

Am I just in love with the romantic idea of being a writer?

In my heart I feel this is not true, that its much a much deeper love the the romantic aspects of it...that I'm in love with the writing itself, with the worlds I can create and manipulate..the stories I can tell.

But....

In my head, I have to wonder if I'm diluding myself to believe this is so. That in the end I'm just another dime a dozen poser wanting to get the ohs and ahs of being reffered to as a "writer".

"They look like such big, strong hands."

Sure, now some of you might argue this cause you like my diary. Maybe....well a man can hope this.

But when it comes down to it, what I do is make you laugh and lets face the facts folks, how hard is it to make someone laugh.

Not very hard since we are all looking for SOMETHING to make us laugh. Something to releave all the stress in life, something that will lighten our soul and the load we carry on our shoulders. Making someone laugh is easy, beceause deep down inside we all need to laugh sometimes or what point is it to keep on going.

Now I like being funny, it makes me feel better and hopefully puts a smile on some of your faces.

But what I want to do is move you, inspire you, make you think, maybe awe you with world of fantasy so rich you can't help but fall head first into it happily and willingly.

Unfortunetly I don't inspire such feelings in others.

I am what you call a nobody, one of a million, a clone of a clone of a clone. I am not note worty or quote worthy, I will not linger in your mind, my stories won't change your views or make you crave for more. I am just another faceless writer wannabe, the tiny articule crammed in the back of the magaizine. Stuck between the dietary fiber's and the "make you a better lover" home videos. I'm the little blurb you pass over as you seek out the real story.

"They look like such big, strong hands."

In the end I will easily be forgotten as I try and change everything about me so maybe one day I can move onto some dead end career so I can buy all my toys to fill the void inside me. Someday I'll quiet the voice inside me that rages on, "I AM A FUCKING ARTIST!" Become one of the millions who go on with there days of cubicle hell, dreary lives, meaningless days.

Someday I will stop being a disapointment, give up my dreams and make something of myself...even if making something of myself ends up killing me inside....killing my spirit, my soul, everything that is the least bit creative within me.

But in my heart I can not become this, I can not trap myself in this prison of nine to five dreariness wondering when it will all end, when I will finally find some peace in life by reaching the end of it. In my heart I struggle and fight against all this, fighting to keep the one thing inside me I can cherish and love about myself...my creativity, my vision. Without these things I feel I would be a shell of a man, completely empty inside, devoid of any meaning or explanation. I feel without this, I would have nothing to offer this world or to someone signifigance in my life.

In the darkness of night as I sit there alone, wrapped in silence and the overwhelming war between my head and my heart I weep for what I want to be and fear what I have to be.

"They look like such big, strong hands."

To quote a line from Robert Jordan...

"The wheel of time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again."

In time I will be over this and back to my regular freaky weird me. In time you the reader who may love me, despise me, pitty me, or don't give a shit about me, will forget this either in seconds after reading this or within days after a few entries of the regular goofey me entries.

In time I will be alright, as it always happen things will come back around again.

So in case you are one of the loyal readers *if there is even such a thing for me*, don't worry this is not and end to the rantings I do on here.

I'll be alright....I always get there sooner or later.

It's about time - Wednesday, Jul. 07, 2004
An Honor for Chrome - Friday, Feb. 20, 2004
A great loss - Monday, Oct. 20, 2003
a terrible announcement. - Tuesday, Sept. 09, 2003
Chrome speaks: - Friday, Sept. 05, 2003