(it’s not many of you that read this, surely I expect you to scroll right by, that’s okay)
In two days, it will be the fourth time in my life that I make a life-changing decision. I don’t necessarily feel its severity or importance, but I suppose it is in the nature of the decision for it to lack this quality about it.
This is because I’m tired.
Tired of pretending to be something I’m not. Tired of failing to Identify with a foreign and alien audience I had no business trying to fall in with. Tired of being overly depressed in my creativity and expression, or lack thereof. Most of all, I’m tired of compromising and meeting others half way, when in reality I’m bowing out and ceding to the needs of others, all in the name of cohesion. Sweet cohesion.
It wasn’t more than a year ago that I learned that the end was near. Things started to spiral downward and what was once an exciting endeavor, filled with endless potential, had become nothing more than an unfortunate failed experiment I’ve allowed to continue out of ignorance, pity, and comfort. It was too much for me to admit that, yet again, I’d failed. But here I am, writing to you now, admitting that I have. And I am proud of my miscarriage.
What I’ve learned in this go-around is that creativity and compromise are two things that should not be the premise of any art. Of course, in any group project, compromise will be necessary at one point or another; but it shouldn’t be the fuel propelling the whole thing.
In collaborative art, one thing is certainly necessary: collaboration. If a group of minds brought together to create wonders become stagnant, then these minds have been misplaced. They are disorganized, alienated, uninspired, and dull. Whatever is yielded from this collective will reflect these qualities about them. It is because of this very reason right here that I must yet again turn the page anew.
I’ve also learned a lesson in compatibility and settling. One should never take the first opportunity that rears its head and run with it. It’s taken me 4 tries to figure this all out so far and I feel as if I may just get it right the next time. I realized it’s only taken me this long because I took my time with it and crafted my art with many different minds, many unlike mine. Now, I’ve come to the crossroads where all four attempts meet and coalesce; in hopes that, together, my mistrials culminate to yield a successful bond.
As a result, I’ve learned who I am not as an artist and a writer. I’m not the brooding, edgy guy that needs to croon on and on about his failed relationships and how he needs to drink it all away. I’m not the punk guy that needs to scream about every time things don’t go his way. I learned this by seeing that I don’t connect with these people, they don’t share the same problems I do. Their problems are trivial and easily solvable. My mind is on another level, and the art doesn’t compliment my thoughts accordingly, resulting in a failure to express myself coherently.
Yet, I haven’t learned who I am in my writing yet. However, I know now that my art doesn’t need to consistently be melancholy to avoid being tacked as “cheesy”, or to express something of a melancholic nature. My art can be cheerful, yet tragic, all at once. The bounds shouldn’t exist.
This failure, for many, can be seen as a retraction, a step back. It’s a great reason to say “I’m no longer growing and have begun to recede”, turn around, and leave the whole thing behind for something that will be easier.
But it is indeed growth.
As a teacher of the arts, I’ve learned many things about learning. Many of my students waste eons of time ridiculing themselves for microscopic mistakes they continue to commit only because they fail to pay attention to themselves when they make them. This is especially true of the eager ones, for their excitement robs them blindly of their time and patience. From them I’ve learned the most.
It’s very easy to allow oneself to become disillusioned with something and to give up when it’s been a long time and results haven’t been yielded. The self-talk in one’s head, reassuring oneself that it was a silly thing/goal/idea to pursue and that one is better off without this pursuit. It’s not an easy thing, being an artist. It’s not supposed to be. There’s more failure than success; more disappointment and monotony than elation and spontaneity. But this is a necessary cause.
It’s what gives rise to refinement.
I aim to make a 5th go-around, and I expect it to be a shining success, as I did with all my previous attempts. It’s not prudent to let what little shining light is left in one’s life go out because of a little wind.
Passion is what makes life worth living.
It will be a long time before mine burns out, and when it does, I won’t be living anymore.
They make me fucking sick. Oh my god, stop trying to sell me shit, America.
we all have different experiences to face and hurdles to jump. no one struggle is any more valid than the next. be kind and supportive, dammit. you ain’t some special snow flake.
The big issue with any kind of activism is that it’s very hard not to get emotionally involved in an argument. As soon as you start spitting direct insults at a person because their views don’t match with yours, your opinion is immediately discredited. If you’re going to speak up for anyone, speak with your brain first, your gut second, and your heart last.
^ My problem with my dumbfuck generation’s idea of “activism”. Most of today’s Gender activists (Looking at most of you TumblrFeminists and all these other crazy people that try to make others swallow their ideology before allowing the other person to decide on their own if they care or not), Infowar conspiracy theorists (whose theories are all founded on a big load of caca anyway), and the wannabe commies in the Occupy movement all do the saaaaaaaaame exact shit:
1. Bitch/Attack/Insult/Belittle first.
2. Educate later.
It’s a garbage way to make a point. Most people would be open to a simple invitation for a discussion on the topic. But if you’re gonna fucking talk shit to my face or insult me personally because I’ve offended you in some way, then you are a weak being, your cause is weak, your point is weak, and you have given me free reigns to pulverize any argument you and your cronies throw at me. I’ll have no reason to believe a single word you say because now I know that you know your point is so weak and unrefined that you need to attack me verbally in order to make it valid.
It’s pretty obvious that no one’s gonna give a fuck about what you have to say if you’re opening statement is “WHAT’S THAT?! YOU DON’T BELIEVE THAT WOMEN ARE OPPRESSED?!?!?!? CHAUVINIST, LET ME SCHOOL YOUR ASS ON SOME FEMINISM.” You’re just an asshole, not a reputable source of information lol.
I can’t wait to get hate mail for this.