the pineaway

i have to say this: i'm struggling. with everything right now. or i would be, if i was trying. i can see how i'm avoiding but can't seem to be able to locate the swich in my brain to turn that around.

when i started this blog, it was because i needed an area i could have control over, a place where only good things existed. not necessarily to hide from the facts of life, but to hold on to the belief that beautiful things remain in this world. this has been a combination of good and bad, a confusing mix at times, and i have questioned the worthwhility of keeping it up almost daily. it bothers me that i can't keep it perfect, that other things sneak in. i don't have control, even though i'm supposed to.

so i have decided, although i may regret this (and end up deleting yet another blog), to try and write about the very things i wanted to keep out of this safe haven of mine. the imperfections and the flaws. not all the time and solely so, but i figured, why keep it all to myself? isn't the whole point of blogging to let others in on things they normally wouldn't get to know about? and i don't mean sordid, voyeristic secrets here... just someone else's life and how they think. what their lot in life is.

words to me are as aesthetic as pictures. overly visual is how i define my own being. my brain must be one of those that form lots of neural connections to the point where areas get muddled into each other. it also causes over-sensitivity, because seemingly minor things spark all kinds of memories and emotions, usually in excess. i enjoy sculpting sentences — writing, then editing. when text is varied and flowing, i am pleased. and it's not something i plan or think much about. to me, that's what writing is. and i've noticed that even though these writings of mine tend to be flourished and figurative, my intended tone is quite laconic. i'm telling it like it is. sometimes there just aren't words and it can be overwhelmingly frustrating. sometimes i make words up as i go. sometimes i have no choice because i forget the real ones, like a stutter one step deeper than speech.

the problem has been that despite this way with words, i've never felt like i have much to say. or let's make that anything. so i've relied on photographs, to point at things and say "see?" — it has been a means of trying to communicate, and will continue to be. but i'm also starting to see that i have issues to write about (pun intended) and they might actually be of use to put to words and reveal. and if not of use, then hopefully at least of interest. so that's what i'm aiming for.

next time, i'm going to talk a bit about artistic endeavours and letting go...