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reenkait seems that my life consists largely of spiralling moments of ever-greater insight, except i seem to lose it all the time, like glass marbles falling out of my grasp, as if i could only hold so much. every day, every hour, something happens, i see something and i'm like, yes, yes, this is what i meant, this is what i was really looking for, this is what i've been missing. and then, as i turn my head to look in that direction, inevitably i miss something else yet again.
it seems that no matter what you do, you can either see more or less-- go deeper, more tightly wound around a single idea, and realize there are depths upon depths in everything, or realize that you've been missing so much, and really you've been going about it all wrong, and you haven't even started.
if i were to talk about "real life", i'd lose all coherency and tell you about the leaves and the sunlight and *wibble* and *guh* and *argh* and *iiieeee* and *aeeergh*, etc. the more i approach my actual body, my actual self, the more lost i get, the less i know anything. i dissociate easily. i can talk about myself easily, but i think talking about the universe is also talking about myself. it's the part i want to share. who wants to know just how horrid it all looks in bright merciless light? i don't know if -i- can bear it. myself, in merciless light. i'm afraid i'll just melt and turn into a puddle, my only significance in the dream-bubbles i create. and i know this is just what i bring upon myself-- if i started actually acting upon my dreams and ideas, i could bring these two selves together-- my knowing self and my frozen self that still manages to be liked, but barely.
there's a certain divide, isn't there? between having interesting thoughts, and being interesting, just, naked, without any of the embellishments of your superego, of the best parts of you, your creativity, your spirit, the things that exist outside of time. the things no one sees because you're too locked in and introverted to project them. i'm still young of course, and i'm not doomed to a life of anonymity or anything. but really, if i were to start being even -more- myself on this journal, if i allowed myself to make friends and actually seek out contact-- i would run the risk of totally losing myself, the things that keep me grounded.
i always used my writing to express my imagination and to exercise my incessant analytical frenzy, to babble and to become more clear-headed about what it is i think. i cannot, for the life of me, imagine talking directly about myself without losing this separation of real me and writer me. 'course, the writer me -is- the real me. i am this. this is me, right in these words, more than this girl at the computer someone might pass by-- she's got a blue shirt on, and a too-warm hat-- she looks slightly uncomfortable-- her hair's a mess-- she looks lonely-- or maybe just thoughtful. she is, both lonely and thoughtful and afraid and confused and....
it hasn't occurred to me to be more of a person.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lasultrix got me thinking though, of real-life posts and such like. do i write for an audience? no. am i aware of my audience? yes. would either i personally or my audience be interested in what my day's like?? well, probably not. i should be more interested in myself. but i'm not. if something really beautiful happens-- the way it does any time i pass by that fountain-- i want to capture it, true. with images. or maybe it just inspires me. or maybe it's just that i have no life to speak of ^^;; this is also true.
also, there's the thing that if there's something that really touches me, i tend to wnat to make art out of it rather than just -talk- about it. usually, something is either beautiful or thought-provoking or annoying. or completely, utterly, deadly boring.
~~
christina chen's art, and the depths within it, is what inspired all this. i mean, i squee and i rant about fan-art, and then there's this-- and this-- and i just, remember. wake up, smell the roses. i'm just playing in a tiny little sandbox and i forget sometimes. and even that is a tiny little sandbox compared to some other things. i squee over sketches, as if they're the most amazing thing ever, just because i don't draw like that and i can identify-- or at least get to know-- the artist, unlike with more well-known famous people.
*sigh* what bollocks.
i've read so much fanfiction recently i've forgotten (almost) that there's real, honest-to-goddess genius writing, that i'm not reading, that would be to us as the world-eating whale from Magic: The Gathering would be to a goldfish. roughly.
why does harry like draco, indeed.
so i've been running out of Grand Epics to get started on, and that's a bloody good thing. reena needs a break.
let's get this straight (in my head, not implying anything about anyone else's head). harry likes draco because i'm a bloody romantic idiot, and opposites attract, and light meets dark, and snarkiness is sexy, and the underdog will get his in the end, and also because i'm just perverse that way.
and like i said toskysorceress:
and how could jadedness and darkness -not- play a part in a harry/draco romance? it can't. on some level, i don't know if harry would ever embrace it just because of that. harry has enough darkness without needing draco to make him feel even more pathetic about it.
there's just this, tension. remaining yourself in spite of everything. finding how to be you and only you, in contrast to another, and because of that contrast and in spite of that contrast. being normal, and falling in love, and not needing reasons. growing up and realising nothing is like you thought it was, and no one is who you thought they were, but you are still yourself, and maybe that's enough sometimes, and maybe you're strong enough to see another in a clear, bright light-- just how they are, and still want them. and maybe they'd still want you. and maybe it'd kill you but maybe you're just learning how to live.
~~
urk. i sound lame ^^;
Which Sexy Comic Book Woman Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
~~
in other news...
*sobs* `big deal', my stupid little snoglet/ficlet now officially has the most number of reviews of any of my fics at ff.net(7). what do i learn from this?? well. um. *thinks* i should have more smut. also, funny smut would probably be good. also, [ff.net] PEOPLE SUCK. fluffy ooc stuff gets 300+ reviews (though it's funny, i mean -really- now, that's a lotta loff), whereasishuca's `plague of legends' (*plugplug*) gets 16. the world is perverse. also, it likes fluffysnark!draco, which means if i post `my favourite things' at ff.net it'll get 8 reviews. muwahahah. that would be funny. also, i could add a smut epilogue and see the reviews skyrocket to 10, heh. /whining.
it seems that no matter what you do, you can either see more or less-- go deeper, more tightly wound around a single idea, and realize there are depths upon depths in everything, or realize that you've been missing so much, and really you've been going about it all wrong, and you haven't even started.
if i were to talk about "real life", i'd lose all coherency and tell you about the leaves and the sunlight and *wibble* and *guh* and *argh* and *iiieeee* and *aeeergh*, etc. the more i approach my actual body, my actual self, the more lost i get, the less i know anything. i dissociate easily. i can talk about myself easily, but i think talking about the universe is also talking about myself. it's the part i want to share. who wants to know just how horrid it all looks in bright merciless light? i don't know if -i- can bear it. myself, in merciless light. i'm afraid i'll just melt and turn into a puddle, my only significance in the dream-bubbles i create. and i know this is just what i bring upon myself-- if i started actually acting upon my dreams and ideas, i could bring these two selves together-- my knowing self and my frozen self that still manages to be liked, but barely.
there's a certain divide, isn't there? between having interesting thoughts, and being interesting, just, naked, without any of the embellishments of your superego, of the best parts of you, your creativity, your spirit, the things that exist outside of time. the things no one sees because you're too locked in and introverted to project them. i'm still young of course, and i'm not doomed to a life of anonymity or anything. but really, if i were to start being even -more- myself on this journal, if i allowed myself to make friends and actually seek out contact-- i would run the risk of totally losing myself, the things that keep me grounded.
i always used my writing to express my imagination and to exercise my incessant analytical frenzy, to babble and to become more clear-headed about what it is i think. i cannot, for the life of me, imagine talking directly about myself without losing this separation of real me and writer me. 'course, the writer me -is- the real me. i am this. this is me, right in these words, more than this girl at the computer someone might pass by-- she's got a blue shirt on, and a too-warm hat-- she looks slightly uncomfortable-- her hair's a mess-- she looks lonely-- or maybe just thoughtful. she is, both lonely and thoughtful and afraid and confused and....
it hasn't occurred to me to be more of a person.
lasultrix got me thinking though, of real-life posts and such like. do i write for an audience? no. am i aware of my audience? yes. would either i personally or my audience be interested in what my day's like?? well, probably not. i should be more interested in myself. but i'm not. if something really beautiful happens-- the way it does any time i pass by that fountain-- i want to capture it, true. with images. or maybe it just inspires me. or maybe it's just that i have no life to speak of ^^;; this is also true.also, there's the thing that if there's something that really touches me, i tend to wnat to make art out of it rather than just -talk- about it. usually, something is either beautiful or thought-provoking or annoying. or completely, utterly, deadly boring.
~~
christina chen's art, and the depths within it, is what inspired all this. i mean, i squee and i rant about fan-art, and then there's this-- and this-- and i just, remember. wake up, smell the roses. i'm just playing in a tiny little sandbox and i forget sometimes. and even that is a tiny little sandbox compared to some other things. i squee over sketches, as if they're the most amazing thing ever, just because i don't draw like that and i can identify-- or at least get to know-- the artist, unlike with more well-known famous people.
*sigh* what bollocks.
i've read so much fanfiction recently i've forgotten (almost) that there's real, honest-to-goddess genius writing, that i'm not reading, that would be to us as the world-eating whale from Magic: The Gathering would be to a goldfish. roughly.
why does harry like draco, indeed.
so i've been running out of Grand Epics to get started on, and that's a bloody good thing. reena needs a break.
let's get this straight (in my head, not implying anything about anyone else's head). harry likes draco because i'm a bloody romantic idiot, and opposites attract, and light meets dark, and snarkiness is sexy, and the underdog will get his in the end, and also because i'm just perverse that way.
and like i said to
skysorceress:and how could jadedness and darkness -not- play a part in a harry/draco romance? it can't. on some level, i don't know if harry would ever embrace it just because of that. harry has enough darkness without needing draco to make him feel even more pathetic about it.
there's just this, tension. remaining yourself in spite of everything. finding how to be you and only you, in contrast to another, and because of that contrast and in spite of that contrast. being normal, and falling in love, and not needing reasons. growing up and realising nothing is like you thought it was, and no one is who you thought they were, but you are still yourself, and maybe that's enough sometimes, and maybe you're strong enough to see another in a clear, bright light-- just how they are, and still want them. and maybe they'd still want you. and maybe it'd kill you but maybe you're just learning how to live.
~~
urk. i sound lame ^^;
Which Sexy Comic Book Woman Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
~~
in other news...
*sobs* `big deal', my stupid little snoglet/ficlet now officially has the most number of reviews of any of my fics at ff.net(7). what do i learn from this?? well. um. *thinks* i should have more smut. also, funny smut would probably be good. also, [ff.net] PEOPLE SUCK. fluffy ooc stuff gets 300+ reviews (though it's funny, i mean -really- now, that's a lotta loff), whereas
ishuca's `plague of legends' (*plugplug*) gets 16. the world is perverse. also, it likes fluffysnark!draco, which means if i post `my favourite things' at ff.net it'll get 8 reviews. muwahahah. that would be funny. also, i could add a smut epilogue and see the reviews skyrocket to 10, heh. /whining.
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no subject
Date: 2002-10-12 12:18 pm (UTC)hmm. i guess i just blabber on without thinking most of the time ^^;
i mean, first impressions are ok too, plus my mind sort of spews out random observational nonsense like some sort of ancient crank-up machine-- the fics crank me up, and i crack up. or something like that.
plus, if i put things off it pretty much means i'll never do them :> but i realize other people are more mature than that. personally, i have no faith i'll have any more Deep Thoughts the day after tomorrow than i do today. ok, i'm sure i won't ^^; gotta catch 'em while they're fresh, y'know. they get away and spoil, all that.
*sighs* now, if only i could cook 'em...
~reena