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On Dreams

As I walk these streets tonight, surrounded by the summer breeze and the sound of music from my Walkman, I start to dream. I am somebody special. Sometimes I am a writer, an artist. But most of the time, I am a musician. I often wonder if I am too old for dreams. Perhaps they should have disappeared along with my childhood. Or followed the normal process of growing up into adulthood, and transformed into goals. What is adulthood anyway? Is it the ability to reason, rationalize, and make decisions? Or is it simply the act of supporting yourself financially and emotionally? My brain constantly tells me that a person who constantly spends his time on dreams cannot possibly be an adult. Perhaps I am totally wrong simply because my judgment is only based on my own reality. But then again, are human beings evolved enough to learn from the mistakes of others? If so, why do we still repeat them? Therefore, I am convinced that our reality is only based upon ourselves. And everything else, our surroundings, or the people that we know, are simply gimmicks in the revelation of self-discovery. If one spends his whole life dreaming and not making these dreams in to goals, then is it safe to say that one is not really living? But what if deep inside yourself, you couldnít accept reality? Can you then live obliviously in dreams and turn that existence into reality?



I feel that I need to mature, to grow up. But honestly, I donít know how. Inside myself, a child sits in his corner crying for reasons he cannot explain. He does not know where he is or where he belongs. All he knows is that he is hungry. He has been fed with his motherís milk, but this insatiable hunger and this pain in his stomach is still incurable. So he continues to crouch in his little prison corner, dreaming. My dreams are both the heavy chains and the angel wings that dominate my existence. They carry me off to the places I want to be, but at the same time, the reality of those places being unreachable tortures me. They trap me from living life. I am not alive, not really. I am simply inhaling and exhaling the mixture of oxygen, carbon dioxide, and cigarette smoke day by day. Is this truly living? They say that dreams can come true if you put everything youíve got into it. But what happens when you donít feel motivated to take action? How do you solve that problem? Am I simply just lazy? Perhaps I need some sort of calamity to teach me a lesson about life. No, this isnít Hollywood. Things are never easy; they never turn out the way we want. They say that everything in life rests within the palm of our hands, but I am convinced that the Earth is one big ball of chaos. We are simply Godís vomit. Everything is spinning in motion, and there is no time to stop. Life offers no time to dream. You simply live, or you miss out. I would love to think positive, but something tells me that I am losing this battle. I fear that if I continue this fight, I will end up like that boy, crying of hunger in my lonely corner. And most important of all, I would be letting the people who love me most down. I truly donít know if we are living for ourselves, or sometimes for others. But I have a hunch that we are living for both. Does any of this still make sense? I guess not, but then again it doesnít really have to.



As I drift back to dreaming, I am aware that reality is just a doorstep away. The problem is, do I really want to go there? Life is always confusing, but my dreams are somehow stable. I know that if I am to survive in this world, I must learn to balance the two worlds. Perhaps I should just give myself a slap in the face so that I can wake up. Is it worth it to hang on to dreams? Or should I just put on a business suit and hope that one-day I can hop on that train ride that will take me to the success of adulthood? I donít know really. What do you think?




Comments

The following comments are for "On Dreams"
by pengster13

Dreams
This would maybe have been more appropriate as a post on LiveJournal than a rant. A sa rant it is pretty low key, but c'est la vie.

I like the way that you use words and address your own personal bout of existential despair.

As to your question, do what you like on the condition that you can look yourself in the mirror afterward. The world already has too many armani'd assholes but if the suit is the armor you think you'd be happy in then more power to you.

Take care man.

( Posted by: enforced bliss [Member] On: July 31, 2002 )





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