~~ mopey meta, man. oh yeah.

[reenka]

I keep talking in third person, even if I say "I" all the time. I pretend that if I try to take the higher ground, I can magically explain everything and it'll be okay. Except it won't. The questions remain.

I feel things-- I read stories-- I like them or dislike them. But then my mind goes over it and over it, asking "why". And it's like, the person who answers the constant whys isn't exactly me. It's some construct of my mind, imbued with my opinions but stripped of a lot of my personality-- if that makes sense. Why is it so important to me that I like -this- story but not -that- story? And why do I keep asking myself that question? See, there I go again. It's layer upon layer of distancing and third-person observation of myself, all the time.

I used to think that this meant I should be a scientist-- something in psychology, maybe. It's like every story is a mirror of both myself and the world, and yet I use them to escape both. I think it's all about that certain emotional charge some writers have-- they're still writing about relationships, the same characters in relationships, even, but it's different. It's not as empty. It's got its own heart, not just something implied in the characters. It -glows-... warm and filling and -real-. People don't seem as real to me, a lot of times-- they don't give off this heavy of a burn. It's like... they're not on all the time.

A good story is like falling in love-- there's just you and the world you're drowning in, the emotional landscape you recognize, that sense of danger and safety all mixed together. Music and art can be like that, too, except it doesn't engage my conscious mind as much-- it draws me out rather than occupying me, weighting down my mind with foreign ideas and emotions at once. Right now, I'm in love. I feel like the world is far away, and I'm just looking for that same high of -touching- something real again, the way I did with -that- story. Reading another story about the same characters-- even a good one-- that doesn't always give me the same rush-- which is just... frustrating.

That's probably why the right sort of intense language & the right characterization are most important to me. Plot isn't something I can get emotionally attached to. It's background, it's a mental exercise, like a strategy game. Maybe that's why I read love stories more than a lot of things. I've always used stories the way most people use rock music, I guess-- as an emotional outlet. It just has to hit the right notes, has to get to me the right way, has to give me the same high.

It's funny, thinking that I'm often seen as a thinker, as someone who-- I dunno-- processes things logically. I guess I do. I take the tangle of emotions and try to untangle obsessively, just 'cause it's something to -do-, to distract myself, to make the whole riot of feeling more bearable. I think because otherwise I'd drown. But my constant question is "why", not "how". The people who ask "how", "when", "where"-- those are the usual sorts of thinkers. Order in the chaos of one's thoughts-- that can be therapeutic. Is therapeutic. Without the pretense of analytical thought, I'd probably have thrown myself off a building by now, music & art & writing be damned. There's only so much drugging you can take before you burn up, I think. But. Anyway.

This reminds me of the question going around LJ at one point: what's your One Story that you always seek out or write. Mine would probably have something to do with the way our passions can save us or destroy us or both. Something about how important it is to let go and really live out your dreams, accept the fear and -do- it. The choice between fear and passion-- stories about choosing passion. That's what I read, anyway. It doesn't have to be a lover's passion-- it can be passion for knowledge or magic or art. I think most of my stories are about how passion can nearly destroy you, and the stories I seek out are about how passion can save you, because that's what I want to believe.

Funny, because I don't see how passion can save -me-. From all indications, it's discipline and hard work that'll let me have what I want, whatever that may be. It's not enough to -want- things, that's the lesson life teaches you. It's not enough to -feel- things. It's especially not nearly enough to -know- things. You have to -do- things. And those things have to be the -right- things-- not just passively creative-- they have to be actively goal-oriented. Life laughs at dreamers who don't fight for their dreams.

Anyway. This bout of angst brought to you by the letters B and S, and way too much angsty smut for my peace of mind-- and also the knowledge that I'm procrastinating to the point of criminality. And now every time I say "angst" I hear layha saying "it's what's for dinner" in that H/D vid. Okay, now I'm laughing. Ah, the cycle continues.

Comments

[yourpoison.livejournal.com]

*hugs!* Thinking-- knowing-- that you get me gets me all happy to the point where I don't know what to say~:)
I mean, I get that feeling a lot-- of really understanding people-- well, dead people who don't exist, even. And like, I do believe it (I feel like I get Oscar pretty much all of the time), but well-- if you've never talked to them, it's not as good. You could always be delusional. You make me feel less delusional, in other words :>
<3

Yeah. I think that passion is related to happiness in that way-- in that, I mean, just because you're happy doesn't mean anything in practical terms (and often for me, it means I don't actually do the things I'm supposed to be doing, in terms of survival, 'cause I'm just that distracted). But isn't that what most people want, anyway? Happiness? Intense happiness, distracting happiness? Heee. Life is so contradictory. It's like, it's set up with the parameters configured in such a way that it can never really be -balanced- and -resolved- and -okay-, exactly. It just -can't- be okay. Something will always be wrong. Like the Rubic's cube from hell.

But yes. There are still the good things, the smiley things and the teary things. The worthwhile things, I guess~:)