Morning coffee and complaints.

I’m not a book to be read and devoured. Page turner. Chaptered. Preface. Prologue.

If I was I’d be paper back. You can see the use easily. Wear and tear.

Wouldn’t that be easier for you? That way what you interpret me to be I would then be. Making me amount to some desirous interlude. Something you escape from the reality into. I’m fictional.

If a book could somehow glare at the reader that would be happening momentarily.

Dear reader, fuck you and your insurmountable stereotypes. It is fun to imagine the world as simple as you make it. Hearts and flowers. Successes and triumphs.

Your gross naivety drives me to insanity. Sickness. Food poisoning.

What you produce in your thought bubbles is romantic and ridiculous. Temporary and incorrect. You misinterpret the information set in front of you.

It would be so nice to live in your world. A world where what you want things to mean, they mean. Truly, “the world is what you make of it.” Hearts and flowers.

Rose-colored glasses my ass; you live in a comatose state. I want to smoke what you’re smoking, oh reader. Please. For it doesn’t matter what the words say. Pages blank, you read what you want.

Because apparently, you’re imagination is greater.

Quotant Quotable

“I discovered that what’s really important for a creator isn’t what we vaguely define as inspiration or even what it is we want to say, recall, regret, or rebel against. No, what’s important is the way we say it. Art is all about craftsmanship. Others can interpret craftsmanship as style if they wish. Style is what unites memory or recollection, ideology, sentiment, nostalgia, presentiment, to the way we express all that. It’s not what we say but how we say it that matters.”

– Federico Fellini

Communicator

I spend a good part of my days trying to conceptualize who I am. It’s because I feel so confused. Seems there’s a large part of me that can’t comprehend the complexities of others. Therefore, by conclusion, I find I do not understand myself.

“Everyone hears only what he understands.”

–Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Maybe the puzzle begins there, if I can grasp some sort of self-realization I can then make my way through this maze. Life is complex because of people. If you break it down to days, minutes, seconds, where are the key moments located? In instances of interaction, social, or otherwise.

“To understand the heart and mind of a person, look not at what he has already achieved, but at what he aspires to.”

–Kahlil Gibran quotes

From there would behaviors feel so irrational? I would assume not. My question really, however, is what happens as we grow and change? Then what, does all the research get thrown out the door? Or, with the insights granted, we still have some comprehension as to why behaviors are occuring? Then we can never say we are surprised but that we saw something ignited.

“Get in touch with the way the other person feels. Feelings are 55% body language, 38% tone and 7% words.”

-Professor Albert Mehrabian

As one can probably tell I have reasons for wanting all this “knowledge.” Some days it feels worth the effort and others, well I just want to throw everyone into a pit of fire.

Being that I’m human my patience is wearing thin. As I strive to “give the benefit of the doubt” or to strictly “get people” I become less patient with their…limitations.

Granted you can see I am not a perfect communicator but I do value that I try, honestly. There is no day I want to pass with someone being confused as to what I meant by anything, spoken or otherwise.

Free Translation

World traveler. Artist. Writer. I want to be a winner of the spoken and or written word. I want to spin a web of images that are so vividly painted they are 3D. Attainable by all. Fad. Because like the fad it is addict-able. Able to become addicted to. This web.

Spinning. Spun. Just as worth to see the finished product as it was to create it. Each individual fiber like blood in the veins, giving it life. Oxygen.

To be understood is my heroin, each injection more needed then the last. But not to be understood by anyone other than myself. Self comprehension. Emily Dickinson. But if you find some meaning in it all, kudos.