Every time I come back here I look at the 30 Deviations that I haven't contributed to since... well, since the last one, I guess, whenever that was. Feels like an eternity. I look at the 30 Deviations and 10 Scraps and go, "What happened?" The other day, just out of nowhere, I put together this 16 line piece for some girl I hardly know and the entire purpose of the little "poem" was to say hey. I just did it because it was fun, and I haven't written in a while.

So I ask, why can't I write another full fledged poem of awesometacular style and grace like days of old? Aside from the 16 line thing a few days ago, my thoughts don't come to me... like that, anymore. Now it's just little pieces of mental commentary about my surroundings which probably features a bitter apathetic laugh in there somewhere, or a heavy sigh as the weight of my observations sink in.

I feel very detached... from everything.

Maybe, the problem is looking backward. Looking back at my deviations and scraps and wondering why I don't write -like- -that- anymore instead of looking forward and letting the "new" way of writing make itself known to me. Whatever that is.

Like I said in some poem or other, and some journal or other... this can't be all there is.

I look at the various communities I'm on the outskirts of, and always say to myself, "This can't be all there is." I've recently stopped playing World of WarCraft because of that mantra alone. Whatever it is, people will devote hours to it because they enjoy it. WoW, dA, MySpace and <insert> and <insert> and <insert> and all the while, it's like their insides may flourish in those places but their outsides are... just silently trodding along. And even then, their "insides" are just trodding along inside a universe created by someone else and subject to someone else's interpretation of what said universe should be. But rather... instead of "trodding" you're allowed a little hop skip and jump, because these universes we cling to aren't supposed to be as dull as the universe of "real life" that we're turning our eyes away from.

The education system breeds you to work for someone else. Kills your creativity as a child, and suits you up to be a cog in the machine. And people walk through that like an assembly line as "the system" attaches its parts. Part E106 - "High School Education". Part PSE2859 - "Post Secondary Education". D0294 - "Mortgage, Credit Cards and Debt". F1 - "Media Induced Fear". SCP612 - "Workplace Politics & Workplace Reliance". And before long, the little cog is finished and self repeating. Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Get their little joy in their respective community and go to bed. Rinse repeat.

That's life?

That kinda sucks.

What's worse, is you ask people WHY they do their day to day, and most can barely give you an answer that's fully thought through. Just sorta trapped. Or, do it just because "that's life". Do it because they KNOW, that SOON, it'll get better. ... Meanwhile they've been saying that for years and will say that forever. My favorite, "Oh, it's not permanent... just temporary." ... I've seen people say that for far too long.

To me... that's not enough.

That can't be all there is.

People carry on and on and on, and before you know it they're 50 and "making ends meet" just as much as they were when they were 25. Nothing has changed. Sure, they might have a family or something... or maybe a new job... some promotions... new car... new friends... whatever. But in the grand scheme of things... has anything really changed? The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Where am I at 50? Am I gonna be working till 65 and hoping these new 401k retirement plans will take care of me? Or am I gonna have to be one of those old people working part time at McDonalds to supplement their income? But... wait a minute... didn't we already -do- that shit when we were 16 years old?

Go figure.

So... in searching for "more", I feel I'm finding "less" and as a result of all this... my muse is gone. I feel like I -can't- write, sometimes. Not like, "Oh, I don't feel like it." or oh, "I'm not inspired." no... I feel like, "I don't know how to write poetry or prose." and now I remind you of the Subject of this journal; I wish I was an artist.

By no means am I saying it's easier... but at the very least, I can take my mental image, and transpose it onto a medium, no matter how hopelessly fleeting and dismal my outlook might be. At least I can make a beautiful/intriguing/provoking image out of it. Words are just... eh. Words are words. You can read words and still have those words say nothing to you. I do it with textbooks all the time. People do it with just about everything, without even noticing they do it.

Am I saying anything to you right now?

Are you even LISTENING?

It'd be a whole lot easier if I could turn this journal into a picture and put up that picture and then leave it. I wish I was an artist.

Have a great day.

..:: D ::..