I actually have watcher(s). Plural! So I figure I should at least ... watch what I say or something. This is something that I put together for my last art assignment. I wasn't particularly satisfied with the way the project itself turned out, but I didn't quite mind the emo-prose that I composed.

God. I hate tagging things as emo.

~~~

We live amidst Adorno's culture industry, buried neck-deep in mass-marketed, mass-generated, mass-produced ideas, icons, logos and souls.

Anxiously, we listen as the professor lectures about our supply and our demands. Money. Monopoly. Monsters. Our world is being politely, but inevitably devoured by the Freudian forces of abstract domination.

Our parents wish upon us future happiness. We wish merely for good luck in the fleeting moments of the here and now. The present runs from us at a rapid pace, and we cannot hope to pursue for the sake of both our real and imagined pasts.

These are not the truths that we are looking for, but certainly these are the truths that are offered. Take 'em or leave 'em, but they envelop us quietly and threaten to smother without our ever being aware of it.

We search for our freedoms, casually, yet cautiously for fear of lost hope and lost loves. But the end is inescapable and we find ourselves trapped in the basement of our hearts, breathing our last goodbyes like warm gasps in the deepest of winters.

Let us stand upon this rickety old boat in the middle of the vast vast ocean and wave our slow farewells to the sinking obsolescent cities in which we grew up.

Let us sit upon the mountains of sand in the desolate, deserted desert and spin like pinwheels against the invisible swelling winds of our own regrets.

Count aloud the things we miss and we should either count forever or never at all. Pick and choose your reasons, but we shall never even marginally understand such nostalgia or lackthereof.

What we perceive to be true is only what we want to see ... but what do we want to see? We can hardly remember our dreams, but our nightmares make us shiver with exhaustion.

Our souls are but constructs of human history, but we cannot honestly shrug aside our emotions without the loss of our personalities. Still, let us ask, what is gain without loss?

We should write our stories with pen and ink, but sometimes all we have is blood and tears.

In all our years, have we learned something in the murky depths of our sentimentality? We believe so, yet we are afraid to test such forbidden knowledge.

Anxiously, we leave our seats only to find that our doors lead to possibility. They have not prepared us for this, yet we must jump, pride-less but confident. Are they asking too much of us, or are we expecting too little of ourselves?

I think, that perhaps it is the latter.

For a disclaimer, I'd like to announce that there is the sincere and prominent possibility that I'm crazy. What you (may or may not) read here is likely going to bizarre and distressing but most of all confusing.

My thoughts.

I have no rhyme or motion concerning what I'm about to say. Therefore everything is going to flow into and out of each other and there is the distinct possibility that I'll forget something and add it later, but this is going to be a weird compilation of the things that I've been thinking about for the last few days.

~~~

Concerning New Years.

I have a few short resolutions:

Going to sleep on time.
Managing my time even better.
Figuring out how to get into the real world.
And writing. More. And more. And more.
And in order to do that, reading more and more and more and more.

~~~

What terrifies me is the fact that New Year resolutions are becoming less of standards of possible goals that people reach. Instead, they are simply these meaningless jokes that people use and break days into the New Year.

Or people are setting up goals that are basically too easy to reach, leaving no challenge in their lives.

The fact is, New Year's is my favorite holiday. I don't drink much. I rarely party and the last (last last, I guess now), I managed to end up by accident at the same party as my parents so if that wasn't a traumatizing experience, I don't know what could be.

But the reason I like it is because it's refreshing. There is that idea that we are starting over. Most times I don't make resolutions not out of fear of breaking them, but the idea and chance of starting over is more than enough for me to strive to be something more of the person that I want to be.

That sounds terribly arrogant, but I don't mean it in that manner. I'm just scared that my favorite holiday is becoming senseless. impossible. obsolete.

~~~

I took an English class called Obsolescence and Sentimentality which concerns the dissolution of things in the world and writers' lament over the loss that occurs in the change of the world.

At the time, I hated the class. It was interesting stuff, but I didn't very much like the teacher. This, of course, became reflected in my grade, but the further I get from the class and think about what really is becoming lost in this world of digital culture I honestly get visibly anxious.

We, as people, are getting more and more separated by our technology. In a very Marxist view of the world, we are becoming more and more alienated by that which we create. Facebook and online dating frighten me to no end. Thus, my lack of a Facebook account.

What scares me even more is our dependency on this. We need this. To survive. to live. to become part of greater online community.

~~~

Obviously, even here at DeviantArt this is an issue. Do the compliments on each and every artwork really mean anything? What do we really know about art to say whether something is good or not?

Most of us are just a bunch of amateurs clapping each other on the back. But not even that. We're a bunch of kids (used loosely) looking for appreciation and love and finding it among strangers that also don't know better. What's truly interesting is that this isn't even real. These messages are coming at us from miles away. What does it really mean when some character from Singapore says in poor english, "grate work!"

Is it the same as hearing it from lips of a friend that you can touch, poke, or prod if necessary?

Has this distance that's been created been slowly or quickly annihilating the remnants of our human relationships?

~~~

Speaking of relationships. It surprises me that they are even possible. We walk through this world knowing what we want or thinking at least that we know what we want.

How do we match our expectations to what is actually there? How do I present myself as a person that might be who you want? Is this what has turned the possibility of online dating into a reality?

Now it's a matter of outlining our interests in an easy-to-read format for someone who may or may not actually love "Foo Fighters" as much as you do.

For me. It's like we've taken our fates straight out of God's hands and copy and pasted them onto little computer screens for everyone to read. I'm an agnostic, but it still terrifies me a little to be irreverent to divine Providence.

~~~

I think I'm just old-fashioned. I might be only 20 in real life, but I think I come off as a 60 year-old decrepit loser. Is this what I want? Is that the new me that wants to exist in the New Year?

Absolutely not, but the fact is, although I might do my best to combat my fears and worries about the world, I'm not so sure that

A. it'll make any difference.
B. I can even help it.

~~~

So thanks for listening, ya bunch of strangers. Mostly this is for my own records, but maybe one of you has found the time and energy to scroll all the way to here.

For that, I commend you.

I'm a writer, not an artist and really not much of a writer these days. I'm only here cause I love the art.

But the fact is, this is like a home away from home where I don't know anyone, but everyone is still friendly like hell. It's like facebook anonymous. I hate facebook, but I guess I'm a hypocrite for finding myself here.

I used to have a livejournal and then it got too personal because people I knew read it and people I cared updated theirs too often. It's an interesting dilemma, and difficult to explain without the details that I'd prefer not to provide.

Like I said. A home away from home. Starting over in a place where I want to belong.

~~~

I've tried my hand at art before. I've been a mediocre artist all my life and I don't suppose I'll get any better with the meager amount of time I put into it, but goddamn if knowing my limits doesn't make me appreciate even more what you folks can do.

I come here for inspiration. I'm sure a lot of you will agree that art and literature go hand in hand. Your art is the muse to my literature. I need some kind of jump start. Hence the new beginning.

~~~

If anyone that I know in real life should find me here, please don't let me know. That'd ruin this for me.