Posts
I have been schooled to take my feelings with a grain of salt. In fact, the term of resonance is, “fuck my feelings.” They lie to us, or at least to me. The more I listen to the monsters and demons in my head the more perplexed and diluted I become. The dismissal of your conscious emotional state is the exact over-exaggeration that you succumb to. It would be like ignoring the check engine light of your car, claiming bullshit! What does this car know about its engine? Feelings are a response to something more substantial. So, of course you have to listen to how you feel sometimes. Here is where it gets tricky. What about the ever misleading term, “follow your heart”? Follow it where? There are plenty of studies siting the unhappiness of current occupation and the rise of suicide. Suicide. Scary word. If you have experienced this in any capacity you understand that it’s the most confusing, and backwards grief one can ever experience. To us artistic types, suicide is quite romantic. Cowardly to the religious, but putting a stop to whatever madness plagues your waking hours seems like a noble retreat from breathing. It isn’t a retreat, it’s retirement. That part is hard to grasp. Maybe there is a fairy tale belief that you will be hovering around while your friends and family try to comprehend the whys and hows. That is unlikely. You’ll probably just be fucking dead. No more racing thoughts, no more disenchantment, and maybe not the peace that we always associate with death. It is likely just a cold nothing. From dust to dust. The Bible might of gotten that one right.
I like movies about anti-heroes and rags to riches cinematic sonnets. Pursuit of Happiness, Ray, Social Network, The Middle Men are a couple that give me goosebumps. I relate to these anomalies and find myself daydreaming my existence into the same circumstances or bigger. It’s the obsession of the movie metaphor that gets my wheels turning at an unhealthy pace. As much as I adore day dreaming, I am pretty sure it opens the portal for the other psychological self-banter. Pity. Self-pity. There is my dilemma. To dream or not to dream? My overall experience and personal ailments place me in a low statistical category to make anything of myself, but I have. Maybe that should be good enough. Maybe I should be content to be the person I am today and appreciate the things I have. Those notions seem preposterous to me. They seem like a cop out. The compromises I made in the name of “doing the right thing” make me nauseous. It has nothing to do with people in my life. I dearly, dearly love everyone that is so kind to give me the time of day. God knows I don’t always deserve it. The pressure is on. It is on earlier for our children and youth. Do you tell them to follow their heart or do the right thing? Throwing cliches at people, and calling it advice, is by far the most irresponsible dialogue we could ever have with a loved one. All and all, everyone mentally masturbates a little different. I hope we all find the gold at the end of the rainbow after traveling the road less traveled. Know what I mean? If first you DON’T succeed - Try, Try, Try, Try, try again. I will leave you with this thought. Pablo Picasso tells us, Art is a lie that makes us realize truth… and he was the epitome of mental health.
