The eyes...

The eyes see. They are living, breathing glimpses into the human. Someone can know someone's entire past by merely looking deep into their eyes. And these eyes.. these eyes are by far the greatest. Framed by the softest, longest of black feathers and encapsulated in a head even more so gracious, they gracefully glide from object to object in her life as they scream by her conscious. The blue-green globes transversing a world it cannot possibly keep up with. Yet, these eyes, they try their hardest. The velvet charcoal circles absorb all that is surrounding, reflecting the specs of light attempting to blind, and uses this light to create vision. She can see the world, but fails to undetstand it. Yet. As her eyes develop more and more, the understanding also evolves. She will never truly comprehand it all, what she sees, but one day she may attain a grasp on what the plausible world really stands for. She won't be obstructed by the glareof popular culture and politics like so many other eyes in years past. And now, she envisions this world, a world her eyes cannot see. And we can only hope that one day, the vision materializes before her and she can look out, at the children, and know that she had created this world. She only had to see it.

The first..

The first is always the hardest. You have to take the time to realize that the idea that you are forming are going to be read, at most, by someone, somewhere, who will inevitably believe you are an idiot. But that is the risk you take with this. I wrote something earlier today because I find myself becoming more depressed the less I write. I believe this is because the less I write, the less I know about myself. But also may contribute to my lack of self esteem and self worth. The less I write, the less I think I am capable of. And there are the time when I feel as if I can't write anything of interest. I wonder if, through the ages, great writers have gone though the same type of emotions. But perhaps it is far too conceited to believe that great writers experienced that same trials that someone such as myself has. But, I digress.. Here is what I wrote today:

I'm having trouble reaching the point in which I feel as if I'm successful. I write things, but am constantly questioning their validity and whether they are actual pieces of art or whether I'm delusional to the point of getting myself hyped up over small things I consider monumental successes. When this realization comes into effect, I notice that my confidence level drops tremendously and I fall into a depression I find difficult to escape from. I spend a lot of the time reading and playing games, because they are things I am generally good at. And when those past times fall through, I am left with an empty dizzy feeling of nothingness. Like I've failed at some great cosmic task I was supposed to achieve. I wonder, sometimes, if I'm putting too much stress on myself.


And that's about it. It felt good to write that because it flowed from my fingers relatively well and I did not have to search for words at thesaurus.com when they failed to manifest in my head. Hopefully, now that I have started, I will be more motivated to write everyday. I hope, at least.

I found this interesting...

Something very interesting happened tonight. It involves the post you see above. I had spent some time writing and upon performing a spell check, I accidently right-clicked and went back within the text box. It sent me to the last Google page I went to and when I returned, the text I had written was gone. I spent very little time writing on the disappointment and loss I felt for the text no one would ever see, mostly because I knew I could not live up to the original post. But, after I finished the second post and published, I found that the first, suspectedly missing post ended up being posted and the post I had made to replace the missing post became the non-existant post. The sense of loss I experienced was transferred from the first post to the second post. Now, I feel a loss for the second post that you will never see. It must be a horrible thing to exist and then to suddenly not exist. But, is life.