Wednesday, August 25, 2010

I have become so sensible.

I have become so sensible. I feel so detached from my ways of expressing myself. They have become formulaic, too thought out, careful, self-conscious, neurotic - but I lack the desire to express to people how I feel. I have become overly aware of myself. Disinterested in adding to a pool of creativity and expression that is lost in the over-saturation, the populous of human being's art and self-expression. The illegitimate existences, the illegitimate work, the illegitimate lives, the cheap, the flitted over. The usurped. I feel I have come undone, become unattached. Overly aware of the world, overly wary of myself. I have become schooled, professionalised in my desire to create. It has become about survival, not expression, self-protection, not art. What was once raw and urgent and free now feels completely absent. I have lost touch with myself in gaining control of myself - or making careful and thoughtful decisions, in being wise, healthy, wholesome, I feel I have become, absent. I struggle with my opinions, I struggle with my security in what I know, what I think, I struggle to be, acceptable. I feel sad that growing older has led me away from myself. Financial need and professional aspiration has alienated me from me. If boyhood represents absolute freedom, have I, metaphorically speaking, become a man? I find I cannot sleep. I find I am sad with the possibility or no possibility - imagine a conversation which can go nowhere, a longing which can go nowhere, is this an end? Then what is next? Continuously remembering youth? Is this where I am? I feel sad that the scatterings of the creativity of my early 20s no longer fits me. I feel sad that they didn't get to see much of the world because I didn't push it, or realise it. And now I have to deal with adult attitudes and expectations of myself - and still I search for my vocation - my eternal question; what will I become? What is it that I want to do? Being is foreign. I know what I am, can describe it with several vague words and indefinite labels, but where does my passion lie? I have been full, full of passion. I have been bursting at the seams with passion, but now, right now, I struggle to relate to my passionate self - I feel lobotomized - alzheimered - amnesiacted - I remember, but I have no attachment, no self-recognition, total alienation. Like I've been beaten numb, actually.

They say it takes 10,000 hours of activity to become an expert. I do not fit in an obsessional, autistic framework for learning and for practice, never have. I am industrious, but my weakness is time and indecision. And place - I cannot reach my full potential because I do not fit society's required characteristics for "worker". I think my aspirations are possible but I feel conflicted, alone, at a loss... I hear of success stories all the time with people who I can identify with but it always seems like they knew something I didn't, I missed the boat, or lacked a necessary skill. I often feel dumb. Like my self-indulgence which has felt so fruitful, can only ever lead to someone else's success at a stretch. The photographer's perhaps? And I wonder do I even have a master work within me to leave for recognition after I'm dead? (It feels unlikely because the passion feels long gone and the activity, anachronistic and mediocre, often) It would be nice to be recognised, and I mean, being seen valid, to sease pretending to be unproductive so I can survive, because there is no place for you in the recognised world. It's a devastating lie! A myth! And how is it that I work so hard to be honest with myself, in my work, to be authentic - no - truthful to my calling, because my self-indulgence is my calling, it is the only way I can be, IT IS ME! But the possibilities for that manifestation are overwhelming and sometimes they disable me. So little time, so little time to decide. Is it too late?

I can't sleep from mourning the loss. I can't stop, from mourning the loss, the bad habits and facts which separate me from my work, my art, creativity. From myself.

(Brought on contemplating past music making and personality. Particularly this video of me performing with Janey Mac on the 7/12/07)

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