If u read this and know the importance of how i start this note than you have been reading my thots for a very long time. i gave it up when someone pointed it out and it was because i have a disdain for being seen transparent. i write these notes and the blogs and all the other shit i write never thinking for a moment that anyone pays attention to any of it. who knows maybe one day an archivist will scoop it all up and make somthing grand of it. name it the rise and slow decent of dreams passed by or somthing gloriously tragic along the same lines...................................................................................................... Well on that note let us begin.

It is 2:32 am and i am listening to "Siren song" by Bat for Lashes and i am feeling anxious but relaxed. which in all honesty is understandable as i smoked and have been in bed watching Mad men and a few movies and read a couple books in the past three days without leaving the house at all. uneventful? no i dont think so. consuming media is somthing i do in large quantities. more so than anyone else i know. i wish i could consume media and be paid for it! i know almost everything that is going on as i read alot of cnn.com and when i am able to stomach it ill even see different sides of subject by taking in Foxnews online as well. I go through music all day everyday and my playlist is constantly changing. i do this as i distract myself from the fact that i have not created in a few months now. i have shut down shop sorta speak and i think alot of it had to do with the fact that i was getting good at what i do. i was getting to a point that might make me succeed. might make me known. and that scares me more than anything because i dont want to stop loving my art. and where do go after u go there? what do u do without the struggle? will it be there on the other side? and then if it is is all of this really worth it?
I find myself fighting myself all the time and I'm not sure why. the only person that has ever stopped me from doing anything is me. i am too scared to run and too proud to be happy staying. so where am i? in a flux of self loathing and narcissism that could very much so astound. appall. and possibly mystify at the extent of my self involvement. relationships have become strained and i find myself needing them more as i grow older and i find myself desperate for intelligent conversation that doesn't consist of the mainstream pop culture. i would like to be around creative people again, discussing art again, discussing story and structure and style and a real depth i am so lacking in my life. i keep everyone at a constant distance because i don't want them to see how much of a freak i am. but i think I've already shown everyone that already. the cracks are there so i can see a little of the real world through them inside the glass case I've built for myself. the screens were lifted for a little while and i desperately clung to things hoping to rise to something greater than myself. it didn't work out too well. and i cant help but think that my great time has passed me by. my great contribution can no longer be made. that the person i was supposed to be, the mind i was meant to become, the blazing star in the chaos of all the shit storm we call life has blinked out of existence and all that's left is me. the shell of a once hopeful brilliance never realized. i suppose i will keep writing, keep drawing, keep imagining the worlds this one will never know. and my great contribution will be one no one will ever see. i suppose i will have to inspire myself and no one else. a universe inside of a universe.