"we dont do that here, man. you cant just leave."
"yeah, i am rude, i am a jerk, etc..."
and no one disagreed.
my first open mic poetry reading since i moved to colorado.
it made me decide something very important.
i just dont know what it is that i decided.
it was either A:
i am not a poet, or a writer of any kind and cant appreciate other peoples writings because they show me how inferior i really am at the craft.
or B:
i really am a poet and therefore cannot stand to hear the illiterate dribble of this pretentious group of intellectuals and there so-called poetic revolution. i am clearly destined to be set apart and to rise above these people who dont know how to dress and who say nothing quickly and call it art.
or maybe C:
i dont know what "C" is exactly, but i am sure that it would be the correct answer to the equation.
i just dont know.
i have tried so hard since i was a kid to achieve a level of self-actualization.
this diary, as well as my poetry, is the embodiement of that search.
i write so i can read what i have written, in order to figure out why i act the way i do.
the majority of my thoughts are about why i do the things that i do, and the rest of my thougts are spent on how i can make thse things seem funny to the rest of the world.
at times, it would appear that i am cursed with a face that is constantly looking inward.
every action sorrounded by millions of thoughts.
recently, i have realized that self-realization is a myth.
we so often think we know who we are, when all the world has such a different idea.
my roomate thinks of himself as extremely laid back, wherien i (as well as the others living in the house) consider him to be the complete polar opposite.
which one of us is right?
why does it matter?
and arent we constantly changing anyways?
the me that i am aware of tonight will more than likely not be the me that i am perplexed by tomorrow afternoon.
what does this have to do with the poetry reading?
good question.
frankly, i dont have an answer.
i dont have any answers.
which is kind of my point.
which is kind of my liberation.
maybe not knowing who you are is the best way to be who you are.
because you'll never get in the way of being you.
the ryan that i know will never, and i mean never, ask a girl out.
but if i dont know that ryan anymore...
well, the possibilites are endless.
dont you ever feel trapped?
imprisoned inside your own body?
what if you could free yourself from you?
remove all analysis, all questoning and conditioning out of the equation and just be.....
i dont know.
obviously, i am just rambling.
dreaming of truly becoming an artist,
truly becoming human.
i am tired of being in this "holding cell that is my self".
i wish for more.
for words that matter.
for actions that impact.
for a short life well lived.
i just dont know how to do so.
maybe the answer was in the poem that i left before i heard.
maybe thats why "we dont do that here, man."
guess i'll never know.
9:48 p.m. - 2004-05-18
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
I remember me. - 2014-10-17
The Paper - 2014-10-13
A Post About Not Doing Anything - 2014-10-12
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