05-13-09
i hate that i'll swim through thoughts while driving, never put them down and then just forget about them, or they just trip over each other while moving around in my head, slamming against the walls of my brain...ya know, it's nothing. it's parallel to my days traveling...just random images of passing country side. i can make believe every night of my life, put myself where ever I want to be and talk about as much or as little as I want. I've never created another identify for myself, that is no fun. But you're identity is always different when it's placed into different contexts. "I change by not changing at all"...
i could never write a book, i have no point A, nor do I have any point in my life that is a point worth talking about, but that is where the art of writing takes over. I lack imagination. i'm very reigned in and even fascinated by the cogs of a sober reality, so much so that i don't care to move beyond it. I do romanticize and idealize the infrastructure of cliches...blue collar, troubled, sensitive tragedies.

it is all so completely underwhelming, boring even...everything from the past has been made into legend, i figure if i I was there in the moment, i would walk away, over to some bar and find something else from the past.

how silly is it that i walk right by the best sellers shelf!