i do want to think of myself as a passionate man. i know that i thrive for feelings of all types, of joy, sadness, desire, accomplishment, loss, loneliness, contentment, anger. i want to wallow in each moment, make them last forever and be able to find the string between them that reveals who i am, the commonality between experiences. i want to get lost in every feeling and experience it repeatedly until i understand my reaction, understand how the person i am defines what i learn and how i act because of my feelings. i don't wish to do this because i seek to control them, but rather only so i can be able to understand others reactions to things, and to be able to communicate what i learn through my paintings.

it seems that it is somehow a shameful thing nowadays to be unabashedly passionate. somehow it is improper to be an idealist and a romantic and be utterly sincere about it. the proper attitude is rather a detached jaded view of the world, where love is a lie people tell themselves to feel good about the world, and where truth is an antiquated relic that exists only as an example of our forefathers foolishness and pigheadedness. as if truth is real, as if love is attainable. and so long ago i adopted the habit of hiding my feelings in half-truths, in riddles and lies so that who i truly am is unmockable, so that i may live my life without fear of feeling guilty for wanting to love everyone and discover all truth and beauty. and when the idea of a passionate artist is mocked as a farce and a starry-eyed ideal, i laugh along.

most people see only the emptiness and despair. they are paralyzed by the openness of life, the truth that you can do as you please and that there are only consequences after your actions, not before. i know i do not know everything about life, but i am pretty sure of some things. that because everyone can do what they want all the time, it is important to decide what you want from life, and work towards having it. once you know your destination, life becomes a well-trod road, with only small detours from the path that do not deter you from your final goal. and that life is utterly meaningless without a goal. people see too many things to be, and cannot decide, and while their time away with things to keep busy, things to keep them going until they see the path meant for them, and most never realize the path only appears to those that set out on it, that fortune truly favors the bold. 

theres a certain feeling about it.

when yer feet scruff the carpet and the dust flies up into my nose, i can see that in slow motion, the tennis shoes as they back away and turn around, the wind sneaking through the door making me colder as you smile sweetly and leave.its like this image of blue jeans that will never leave my mind, creases and spots and rips, patched and unpatched, always moving always warm.

the softness of a face in a picture tells me again of things that are lost. there was a light around it, a glow that shows through in the image that tells me, this is the image, the slight look of anger, that look of anger and fear and love and happiness and annoyance all at once. that look that i saw more and more often and let the distance come in and fill up this crack that had appeared, filled it up and burst it all. im a fool for not seeing the distance behind that look and running through it, running past it and closing it off. i think thats me though, always seeing something going a bit away and being too afraid to move, too afraid to make the wrong decision.

for a second, ill tell you what i think. i dont change my pants much because i like the way they look. i like peeling the paint off of them in the days after painting. i like to draw characters out of the shapes made by the brush marks on them. i cut my own hair, and i wont let anyone else do it for me. my hair grows for me to cut it, its my toy to play with. i want to make others know that i have similar feelings to them, so that we can together be less alone. i realized once that no matter how close you are to someone, you are always alone on the inside, they cannot know your thoughts. but if you show someone something beautiful, that beauty brings a part of you into them, and they can cherish it and feel less alone. people that are not self-reflective do not enjoy mu company i think, for they do not feel the loneliness of life. i am here for those that have searched inside, and have found that it is only themselves, their thoughts, that no one else is here.

of course i still wonder if this is worth doing. if the touch of a hand will bring warmth that will not fade. i am lost in this maze of flesh and wants, seeing the negative and positive, judging neither and following the only obvious path. when i kiss my girl i only want it to be over, it doesn't bring me pleasure, only this pitiful suggestion of what pleasure should be, in the way a few pennies suggests real money. is it that i care for myself so little now that its impossible to care for others? how is it that its not written plain as day on my face, my nonchalance and my absentness.
like a paper boat in a drainpipe, surrounded by dirt and beauty im stuck in the tar, anything that moves me forward destroys me as well. i long for beauty but what could i do with anything beautiful? am i capable of preserving it, serving it, changing it, of even witnessing it at all? or am i so full of sorrow and regret that my words are meaningless whines and mumbles, perceived as self-referential babble by a populace that has no way of understanding? how can i change my facade, how can i empty this sad serenity that has flowed from the inner depths of my mind ever since i first realized i had to care for myself?
i cannot communicate wisdom i do not possess to people that have neither the time nor inclination to care or listen.
my madness will surely destroy me, for how can i fight the demon that brings me the only pleasure i know.

or mebbe im just upset cause there is no weight behind the kisses i receive, no sweeping melodrama that quickens my pulse and drives me crazy with confusion. and of course i want confusion, it gives me something to work for, a goal that cannot be accomplished simply be knowing what is wanted and doing it. any fool can do that. i want to work for something intangible only to have the focus switched to some other random point, for all perfect things have their flaws, only boredom is flawless.

an american dream of whiskey and starlight, the cool breeze through your hair. memories are what i am made of, because they are the only imagery that is solid enough for me to really grasp. sometimes if i am lucky i can mold a hunk of bronze in my mind, create an image powerful enough to stay there forever, maybe rusting and getting covered in bridshit and leaves, but permanent nonetheless. as i lied near the river passing between the past and the future i grasped at the fibers of who i am. pulling them all tight and trying to braid it all into a rope i can use to tie down my dreams.
a small harbor for launching boats. needlefish are always there, the water has always been that same murky green, the color of a swimming pool that no one will ever bother to clean. he was always getting frustrated so easily, i hope the same doesnt apply to me.

in life i try to do what comes natural.

i try to do the things i want to.

i am learning as i go many different things, there is no way i can communicate what i think. there is no way i can say what my hopes are, what my dreams are. does that make them less important. does that mean i am doomed to obscurity. is there any other doom to have. it has been reported that all of the people that have been like me before have done what i am doing, swum into the trap of freedom gladly, seeing something they thought the others did not see. is it really something the others did not see or perhaps just something they know to avoid, it is a promise which can never be fulfilled.

when people are tired do they lose that part of themselves that controls all those things that are flying around in their heads, all those ropes and nooses and twine and hooks that keep those bubbles and balloons and fish and feathers down? do the skies become cloudy and grey? does a chill wind rush through the windows of their eyes and shake loose all those lines of thought that tie down their repressed feelings, setting them free and letting them rampage throughout the world?

if i had something to say i would show it to you. if you could understand it i would be so happy. if i could say it so beautifully that you could only respond in kind then i would fall apart like a sand castle in a rising tide.

sometimes it seems like my life is just meant as a way to feel these certain days. these days when the air is crisp and the sun is bright. when i can feel the wind blow like crazy and hear the rustling of the leaves. there is so much beauty in the way these colors look, so much that i wish i could emulate for others to see, so that others would see something beautifully unreal, and say "that can't be real" and then notice that it is real in subtle ways. so that people notice more around them. because i think thats whats good in life. those one second memories of splashing water with a stick, the way that the folds of a dress fell around someone i once knew, the touch of a hand. if i could make a all of things visual i would, and i know damn well i'm gonna try.