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Three A.M. is a bad time to start questioning oneself.
Here I am: Me, one Jonathan Alan Titchenal (Beckett Grey to all of you), a human being, aged nineteen and a half years. 90% of my life has been spent making an ass of myself. The other 10% I probably slept through. All things considered, I have come through well. I am attending a moderately respectable college. I have a few good friends with whom I play Dungeons and Dragons every Saturday. I like to write.
I feel empty.
I started writing for two reasons. One, the main reason, was to tell the story. I have these stories, you see, and I wanted to tell them. Simple. Yeah... The other reason was because I had been affected, changed by those things that I have seen and read that seemed to me to MEAN something. Yes, just like that, in big capital letters. Certain movies, certain books, things that reached out and grabbed me by the goolies and screamed 'LISTEN TO ME, YOU LONG-HAIRED LITTLE FUCK!'. I wanted to do that. I wanted to write things that MEANT something to someone. I wanted someone, even if it was only one person, to be affected in that way by something I had written. That would make the lies that are my life all worth it.
But I cannot.
I am not a bad writer, of that I am sure. But I am also not a good writer. I write stories, people read them, I write some more stories. Some are good, some are bad, but they are all just that. Stories. Two-dimensional and flat. They just lie there, on the coffee table, decomposing. I cannot write anything that MEANS anything. I cannot change anyone. I am coming to realize that I am simpleminded. My views are not views at all, but excuses not to have views.
My view on religion: I'm agnostic.
My view on politics: None of my bloody business
My view on economy: Not my field of expertise
My view on sexuality: I want to leave all my options open.
I don't do much except write, and I don't write as well or as much as I ought to. So, in the words of the great depressive band Radiohead, what's there?
I dunno. I'll tell you when I find out. If I find out.
I like the word 'cleave', you know why? Because cleave is one of the few words in the English language that has two conflicting definitions for itself.
Cleave: To separate
Cleave: To come together.
I LIKE that. I'm sure there's a deep underlying psychological reason why I like that, but honestly, I just don't care. I'm going to go watch The Exorcist instead.
...my head hurts...
"Quit this world, quit the next world, quit quitting!" -Sufi proverb.