Showing posts with label emotions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotions. Show all posts
28.3.11
12.2.11
I am rarely completely in my state of ease.
A few places of ease and really free.
1. my room (for the most part)
2. a show of a music artist that I like (so deprived)
3. staring off into the scenery as a passenger
Growing up I used to be very crafty. I used to try very hard to make things with what I had. If I had a homework assignment with little room to be artistic I would flourish. I won grocery store coloring contests and got disappointed when I didn't. I had gone to the printers convention (because my dad's a printer) twice already and collected many papers of which I still have buried under the second draw to the right under my bed. That was where my imagination has stayed put. Suburbia.
There was something about mundane suburbia in sleepy southern california that allowed it to happen. And as I spent the following years after high school trying to move away from the stifling squareness of the inland empire suburbia I sort of miss the hours when my thoughts would run loose because I had nothing else to do. I lived for TGIF. Bobby's World, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and Teen Angel. There is something about trying to escape, that I think everyone can relate to. Everyone tries to escape - wether it be through the computer, the tv, the radio, something. Some do more harmful things than others - drugs, alcohol, sex. Escape from our seemingly mundane existence. Our existence is only relevant in relation to one another. If someone else knows our story. For those that are extroverted, they want everyone to know their story. Their validate their existence on the reactions of others. This is how they are satisfied that with each day they spend living, they spend dying.
As for the introverted crowd (I am borderline introverted, extroverted, I bounce between the two depending on settings, but as of late have been introverted because people aren't that great. honest talk.) We gain validation through internal things, and this is not restricted to objects or things like music etc. Our story doesn't really need to be told, nor do we need to share our thoughts about something in order to process it or make a decision about it.
But introverts can be very emotional. And extroverts can very well be emotion-less. I'm an emotional introvert? Or maybe I'm a walled extrovert.
Or or...I'm just speaking nonsense for this sunny Saturday afternoon in urban metropolitan city where my imagination does not stay put.
1. my room (for the most part)
2. a show of a music artist that I like (so deprived)
3. staring off into the scenery as a passenger
Growing up I used to be very crafty. I used to try very hard to make things with what I had. If I had a homework assignment with little room to be artistic I would flourish. I won grocery store coloring contests and got disappointed when I didn't. I had gone to the printers convention (because my dad's a printer) twice already and collected many papers of which I still have buried under the second draw to the right under my bed. That was where my imagination has stayed put. Suburbia.
There was something about mundane suburbia in sleepy southern california that allowed it to happen. And as I spent the following years after high school trying to move away from the stifling squareness of the inland empire suburbia I sort of miss the hours when my thoughts would run loose because I had nothing else to do. I lived for TGIF. Bobby's World, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and Teen Angel. There is something about trying to escape, that I think everyone can relate to. Everyone tries to escape - wether it be through the computer, the tv, the radio, something. Some do more harmful things than others - drugs, alcohol, sex. Escape from our seemingly mundane existence. Our existence is only relevant in relation to one another. If someone else knows our story. For those that are extroverted, they want everyone to know their story. Their validate their existence on the reactions of others. This is how they are satisfied that with each day they spend living, they spend dying.
As for the introverted crowd (I am borderline introverted, extroverted, I bounce between the two depending on settings, but as of late have been introverted because people aren't that great. honest talk.) We gain validation through internal things, and this is not restricted to objects or things like music etc. Our story doesn't really need to be told, nor do we need to share our thoughts about something in order to process it or make a decision about it.
But introverts can be very emotional. And extroverts can very well be emotion-less. I'm an emotional introvert? Or maybe I'm a walled extrovert.
Or or...I'm just speaking nonsense for this sunny Saturday afternoon in urban metropolitan city where my imagination does not stay put.
28.10.10
They collapse, and she falls.
And sometimes somewhere in the middle of long stalks of spiteful weeds and tilted cement we find something that we thought we had lost. Floating along the lines of questions and confusion, she finds herself in a place familiar. Familiar because when she stands there time lets her know that he will not wait for her, a feeling ever so similar to a halted beat. Because suddenly a peculiar realization surfaces, one that is mixed with a dizzy cloud of the past and fictional memories. It is painful. The seeded fruits wilt to its side while the toes of children remain shoeless, unprotected and unsafe.
Then the wind decides to whisper so she dreams. The pathway seems to narrow itself, slicing the wind as it tries to escape. The walled windows gray from the miserable air of contempt and regret seem to stand upon itself in order to find what little light the surroundings had left. The smiles that remain in the small town are but of the echoes of children, too naive to realize that they soon will be unable to find that place of ease that currently filled them.
Then the wind decides to whisper so she dreams. The pathway seems to narrow itself, slicing the wind as it tries to escape. The walled windows gray from the miserable air of contempt and regret seem to stand upon itself in order to find what little light the surroundings had left. The smiles that remain in the small town are but of the echoes of children, too naive to realize that they soon will be unable to find that place of ease that currently filled them.
