Here you go internet viewers - this is an honest burst of true expression. I am settled nicely within the constraints of the place I consider home. It is a rented place, which I share with my girlfriend. She is amazing, but she is visiting parents, and I have decided to take(ing) advantage of some lonely peace which I sometimes crave. My alone time is never calm, well to the naked eye it may look like it, but inside, my mind is racing.
The thoughts run so fast, and in a moments grasp, I struggle to keep up with them. Writing has become my niche, something that I strive to achieve in some way. My mind is always racing with ideas, and sometimes when I feel I have a good one, the opportunity is poor to strike. When things are busy, school, work, homework, and making sure I spend time with my girl, it can be tormenting letting the good moments go to waste.
Spending the entire day alone, pre-meditating the idea of relaxation, peace, and non-mental stimulation, I spend nearly the entire day working on a novel, trying develop a screenplay (which I know absolutely nothing about), and even finding myself drawn to the blog world.
It’s something that I don’t really understand, but when I can let people hear my voice, I feel a sense of power in it. My words seem so drowned out by the commotion of the crowed. I am just one single human being, facing the world from my own perception, trying to preserve a glimpse of it that might live it’s days past mine.
It’s past 1:30am and I am completely awake. I should be sleeping, trying to keep my body healthy, but my mind keeps turning, like a set of gears, fulfilling their purpose. When I started my blog I posted pictures all over it, mostly mediocre ones that I snapped while wandering town and trips, etc. It was all just to attract followers, but I stopped, and gave my blog a bland, probably non-attractive look to fill up with writings, and writings only. It’s what I do, it’s what I love, so why not share the true me? Pictures of random shit doesn't really define the messages that I try to communicate, so the beauty of language is what I produce, if I try to be a photographer, I’m only faking it.