You’re the only person I talk to about these things. Not because no one else cares, but because no one else knows exactly how I feel.
We write our cryptic notes. Cleverly titled poems, full of hidden meanings, subtle references, and double entendres. We hide behind anonymity and equivocality in hopes that no one will understand what we’re saying, because expressing it is at once cathartic and mortifying.
In Chelsea Hotel No. 2, Leonard Cohen sang about how Janis Joplin would “[clench her] fist for the ones like us who are oppressed by the figures of beauty”. That’s us. We’re the ones oppressed by figures of beauty, but we clench our fists at ourselves.
We want to brush off our emotions as frivolity, but the fact is that we can’t. It’s a struggle between the heart and mind. I’m no champion, I simply can’t fighting against it anymore.
cathartic and mortifying then eventually if not untethered then the elastic sprung longer and thinner.
Old notebooks are odd things. I had never thought to buy a new one when a phase is over. Diaries I typically leave the last few pages blank for future years’ commentary tho.
I believe my life has been made difficult by the fact that I have stood by my emotions, refusing to brush them off, because they have never been close to frivolous.
I don’t know anyone that does that.
My journals (so many of them!) are therefore that much more difficult, both to read or to let go of when I can’t read them.
@Pearl — I don’t think I can ever define parts of my life as having specific phases (ie. a specific beginning and end). Notebook changes only come when the time feels right.
Leaving a few pages blank at the end of a diary is a great idea.
@Xibee — I know people who have the ability to brush off their emotions. I’ve always admired their ability to do so, but I’m slowly realizing that I wouldn’t be the same person if I could as well. Some of my friends define me by my emotions. Some of my most best work, written or visual, has come from them.
I often do stand by my emotions, but there are certain ones that go against my will or logic. The fact is that I’m human, and it’s a hard fact for me to accept. But I’m trying, and this trip has certainly helped me figure that out.
champion
Hahahahahha.
You’re the only person I talk to about these things. Not because no one else cares, but because no one else knows exactly how I feel.
We write our cryptic notes. Cleverly titled poems, full of hidden meanings, subtle references, and double entendres. We hide behind anonymity and equivocality in hopes that no one will understand what we’re saying, because expressing it is at once cathartic and mortifying.
In Chelsea Hotel No. 2, Leonard Cohen sang about how Janis Joplin would “[clench her] fist for the ones like us who are oppressed by the figures of beauty”. That’s us. We’re the ones oppressed by figures of beauty, but we clench our fists at ourselves.
We want to brush off our emotions as frivolity, but the fact is that we can’t. It’s a struggle between the heart and mind. I’m no champion, I simply can’t fighting against it anymore.
cathartic and mortifying then eventually if not untethered then the elastic sprung longer and thinner.
Old notebooks are odd things. I had never thought to buy a new one when a phase is over. Diaries I typically leave the last few pages blank for future years’ commentary tho.
I believe my life has been made difficult by the fact that I have stood by my emotions, refusing to brush them off, because they have never been close to frivolous.
I don’t know anyone that does that.
My journals (so many of them!) are therefore that much more difficult, both to read or to let go of when I can’t read them.
@Pearl — I don’t think I can ever define parts of my life as having specific phases (ie. a specific beginning and end). Notebook changes only come when the time feels right.
Leaving a few pages blank at the end of a diary is a great idea.
@Xibee — I know people who have the ability to brush off their emotions. I’ve always admired their ability to do so, but I’m slowly realizing that I wouldn’t be the same person if I could as well. Some of my friends define me by my emotions. Some of my most best work, written or visual, has come from them.
I often do stand by my emotions, but there are certain ones that go against my will or logic. The fact is that I’m human, and it’s a hard fact for me to accept. But I’m trying, and this trip has certainly helped me figure that out.