I just don't want to do it anymore. I can't get myself to do it.
You know, pretend to be something? Just, something-else? Anything else?
I feel like writers are douches. I feel like every time you write something, you're pretending to be someone or something you're not. You're trying your best to be presentable. To seem witty, and smart. To have something extremely profound to say. To have something to say that hasn't been said before.
"We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won't. We're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."
Feeding into our narcissism. The want to be heard. The irresistible desire to be desired. The dire need for attention. What is the point?
It's what social networking revolves around. Our narcissism is the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat. All we ever do all day is whine and brag and pretend to be someone or something else. Everywhere. All the time. On everything.
And every single time I write something like this out, I end up deleting it or it ends up in draft hell.
For the sole reason that I don't want to come off as a hypocrite, because I'm doing it myself. Right here. Right now. Writing. It's like a viscous cycle, then, isn't it?
What I was going to write about, however, was childhood. I constantly find myself dozing off and remembering bits and pieces from "back in the day."
Like I remember not so long ago, summers in Riyadh. With absolutely nothing to do, and being so tired of being indoors all day that you don't even realize it, I would lay on the floor all day. And listen to things like How Soon is Now by The Smiths. Or Golden Brown by The Stranglers. My hair would be a complete mess, because I started rejecting the idea of a haircut for a few months. The red t-shirt that I wore for weeks at no end even had a hole in the bottom right. And I just walked around the house, looking like that. Not necessarily going anywhere. Not really don't anything. Just... you know, lurking.
I would go to the store every now and then. Just for the kick of it. And I remember getting stares from the shop owner guy. It was kinda creepy. He looked creeped out himself, if I remember correctly. Then I'd just go back home and repeat the process.
I learned about FServing around that time, if I remember correctly. You know, MIRC. That cool chat thing that all the cool kids use. It's so old, and it's still used by a good amount of people. There are societies that live on MIRC chatrooms to this day. It's crazy.
I also took out 8 hours of my very apathetic life, (over the course of 2 nights,) to create a 200 frame animation in MS Paint. I made an individual .gif in MS Paint... no, I made 200... and it was an animated short about a super awesome guy surfing a plane and then parachuting to the ground. I thought it was pretty cool, for such an original idea.
Then he breaks into some high-tech place and has a Matrix style bullet dodging scene. Which, arguably, might not be so original, but whatever.
Aah, yeah. Those were the good ol' days.
You know, pretend to be something? Just, something-else? Anything else?
I feel like writers are douches. I feel like every time you write something, you're pretending to be someone or something you're not. You're trying your best to be presentable. To seem witty, and smart. To have something extremely profound to say. To have something to say that hasn't been said before.
"We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won't. We're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."
Feeding into our narcissism. The want to be heard. The irresistible desire to be desired. The dire need for attention. What is the point?
It's what social networking revolves around. Our narcissism is the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat. All we ever do all day is whine and brag and pretend to be someone or something else. Everywhere. All the time. On everything.
And every single time I write something like this out, I end up deleting it or it ends up in draft hell.
For the sole reason that I don't want to come off as a hypocrite, because I'm doing it myself. Right here. Right now. Writing. It's like a viscous cycle, then, isn't it?
What I was going to write about, however, was childhood. I constantly find myself dozing off and remembering bits and pieces from "back in the day."
Like I remember not so long ago, summers in Riyadh. With absolutely nothing to do, and being so tired of being indoors all day that you don't even realize it, I would lay on the floor all day. And listen to things like How Soon is Now by The Smiths. Or Golden Brown by The Stranglers. My hair would be a complete mess, because I started rejecting the idea of a haircut for a few months. The red t-shirt that I wore for weeks at no end even had a hole in the bottom right. And I just walked around the house, looking like that. Not necessarily going anywhere. Not really don't anything. Just... you know, lurking.
I would go to the store every now and then. Just for the kick of it. And I remember getting stares from the shop owner guy. It was kinda creepy. He looked creeped out himself, if I remember correctly. Then I'd just go back home and repeat the process.
I learned about FServing around that time, if I remember correctly. You know, MIRC. That cool chat thing that all the cool kids use. It's so old, and it's still used by a good amount of people. There are societies that live on MIRC chatrooms to this day. It's crazy.
I also took out 8 hours of my very apathetic life, (over the course of 2 nights,) to create a 200 frame animation in MS Paint. I made an individual .gif in MS Paint... no, I made 200... and it was an animated short about a super awesome guy surfing a plane and then parachuting to the ground. I thought it was pretty cool, for such an original idea.
Then he breaks into some high-tech place and has a Matrix style bullet dodging scene. Which, arguably, might not be so original, but whatever.
Aah, yeah. Those were the good ol' days.
1 comment:
Regardless of what you say - you know hypocrite or not, I still enjoy reading what you post. Its almost as though you say out loud the things that I already know/have realised but in a way it's still different when its said by someone else I guess. *sighs*..It all made sense in my head.
In fact, get rid of draft hell and hit that "publish" :P
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