realization
i read some poems by a very good friend today. i wondered why they affected me. well... i mean... they were good and inspired... and interesting and you know ... those types of things. So it makes sense they would have an effect. But it just hit me. just moments ago. why they stuck with me. I haven't written anything in a long time. of substance that is. i used to write a lot in high school. and before that. one could pass it off as typical teenage angst-ridden bullshit. i mean. it might apply. and some of it was required for classes and all. but it was raw. and real. and it was a release. and it was something entirely me. that i created.

I don't really have that anymore. that release. that ability to create something solely mine. i almost said can't. or thought i did. but i clearly can. i just don't. it seems. i don't even write on here anymore. no more entries of substance. i feel i've traded my pen for a bottle... my paper only comes wrapped around tobacco these days... and of course... i only light it... burn it down...and dispose of it. thrown from the car window... or my balcony... or simply smashed in a metal tray in the back of the office. it's a weird realization.

honestly... as much I enjoy what I do... or the fact that I consider myself pretty good at it... copy editing is more than anything the art of deletion. that might be a negative way to look at it. i mean... i do think that I make the articles better more often than not... but... mostly.. it's turning december into dec.... taking states out of dateline cities... and composing 5 to 7 words to describe a piece of writing. with another 10 or so to further bring home the point. it's changing words to figures and shit like that. and it rarely feels like your own.

at least when i was designing... it was me. a bit of flair that I came up with. something I composed... that was real...and tangible... that you could hold. even if someone hated it... or made you move the photo or work in more white space ... it was still me.

I'm in a strange mood this evening... maybe it's the change in temperature. the holidays. the new changes coming at work. the Matrix gruel that sometimes I feel like things have become. the lack of someone to really share these moments... these thoughts with... i can't quite figure all that out. i just know that i don't express my emotions or thoughts or whatever anymore into anything physical. i don't really release them like i used to... into something better. than simply a random mini-breakdown ... or just bottling them up in some fermented liquid to wash away. or just burying them in tar inside me. some things really need to change. before they get out of hand. i can see the romantic appeal of the writer. even if it's simply a reporter. that chance to make something so entirely yours on a daily basis. maybe more so an artist. but you get my point.

I had some sort of closing thought... that was actually worth a damn... but it's a bit hazy... those libations they do that it seems.