i often wonder if i am really an artist/writer or an expressionist. i use characters to express what i am feeling and i rarely step outside the realm of my emotions. i feel that the emotion and all around odd, raw, and often disturbing content and metaphors i use are the backbone of my style. i dont consider myself a good writer or rather a "user of the english language" as much as i used to. i find myself playing with words less and playing with concepts and shocking imagery more than anything else. many times i find the things i write to be very awkward and disjointed. sometimes i like the disjointed feeling and sometimes i dont. it depends on w/e works best with the piece.
i chose the name "this crushing metaphysical crisis" because feel it best describes what my writing consists of and my over all writing style. i write using many metaphors and symbols and it is often very ambiguous and is not grounded in reality or what many consider "real" or relatable. the stories are not structured in a traditional way. many times i like to give snap shots of moments and then bring them together as a very disjointed whole. my blog name is also the name of one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands and i actually posted it as my first entry.
i am not a real writer in the sense that i am writing all the time. however i do seriously consider myself to be a storyteller. lol i dont really know what im doing anymore. mostly i was bored and wanted to procrastinate a bit so i thought i would do somewhat of an autobio thing about the things that im going to post here. hopefully i will e able to capture things more smoothly as i go on and continue to do what i do. its been almost 2 years since ive written anything and ive just found the confidence and the soul to start again. in the recent past i had lost my identity and i didnt have any substance or well of inspiration to draw from since everything i do comes from me.
so thats that story. i really need to start hw now.
peace.
Monday, February 22, 2010
lonely city
Looking at him was like staring directly at the sun. blinding, irritating, bright, and afterwards everything seemed a little darker.
a little colder.
but not enough.
not enough to be used as an excuse to keep staring.
*****
his heart was grey and icy. a death poison that spread when he smiled. a lot like this city that towered above you. as you strained your neck looking to the skyline a chill crept into your heart and you knew you would never escape.
*****
eventually the words meant nothing. they fell from their mouths like shit fell from they're asses. it was all to make sure the circle would not be broken. Their biggest fear.
they werent living anymore. they were just existing.
*****
he had died a long time ago. you kept him under your bed so he knew he would always be beneath you. you wouldnt let yourself think about it too much, but there were times you've woken to find yourself lying under your bed next to the bones and stench. you spit and grimace.
you are sure it means nothing.
*****
when you come to this dead end you can do nothing but fall to your knees and eat your own feet off.
you walked all this way.
End.
a little colder.
but not enough.
not enough to be used as an excuse to keep staring.
*****
his heart was grey and icy. a death poison that spread when he smiled. a lot like this city that towered above you. as you strained your neck looking to the skyline a chill crept into your heart and you knew you would never escape.
*****
eventually the words meant nothing. they fell from their mouths like shit fell from they're asses. it was all to make sure the circle would not be broken. Their biggest fear.
they werent living anymore. they were just existing.
*****
he had died a long time ago. you kept him under your bed so he knew he would always be beneath you. you wouldnt let yourself think about it too much, but there were times you've woken to find yourself lying under your bed next to the bones and stench. you spit and grimace.
you are sure it means nothing.
*****
when you come to this dead end you can do nothing but fall to your knees and eat your own feet off.
you walked all this way.
End.
Friday, February 12, 2010
about living in the moment or living in reflection
is it wrong to want to be the savior? is it weird? whats the right way to live this life should i stop and stare the whole way through or should i just run and feel my legs falling apart, but im too preoccupied with he wind in my face to know the difference
should i just let the words come or should i stop to think
do i know anything at all does anyone know anything at all those wise men who spill black from their mouths have rotten their taste buds. they cant tell whats good and what isnt. all i know is my heart is over flowing with the consciousness of death and suffering, the suppression of of a burning fire eating away inside
caught in a whirlwind of everyhting and nothing
everything is nothing and nothing is everything
i forget my name but i remember the
7
7
7
does it even mean anything? tell me yes tell me yes
the smell of her hair, the sound of the birds, the chill on my cheek
if you make it the right way it will take you back
are u dead if all that u live for is the part that wasnt so broken
u cant write down everyhting it is impossible
if you look above you miss the below
if you look anywhere youll miss the otherwhere
what if it was important
what if missing everything is important
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i did not stop to edit this or anything. this is just the way it is.
should i just let the words come or should i stop to think
do i know anything at all does anyone know anything at all those wise men who spill black from their mouths have rotten their taste buds. they cant tell whats good and what isnt. all i know is my heart is over flowing with the consciousness of death and suffering, the suppression of of a burning fire eating away inside
caught in a whirlwind of everyhting and nothing
everything is nothing and nothing is everything
i forget my name but i remember the
7
7
7
does it even mean anything? tell me yes tell me yes
the smell of her hair, the sound of the birds, the chill on my cheek
if you make it the right way it will take you back
are u dead if all that u live for is the part that wasnt so broken
u cant write down everyhting it is impossible
if you look above you miss the below
if you look anywhere youll miss the otherwhere
what if it was important
what if missing everything is important
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
i did not stop to edit this or anything. this is just the way it is.
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