I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing on my blog this year. I’ve never blogged before, but it’s always something I’ve wanted to get into and I’m glad I got the opportunity to write stuff and see people’s reaction to it.
For the most part, I’ve been writing about either A) my frustrations with my general incompetence or B) people’s success and subsequent failure, AKA The Bends. I love writing The Bends, because for the most part those are my raw emotions in a creative way. It’s very tough to emotionally express myself sometimes, and The Bends really helps in that regard. Via creative writing, I’m able to accurately portray myself without sounding too cheesy or ridiculous. And besides, it’s just a ton of fun to write exuberant stories about people drowning in excess. I genuinely enjoy The Bends, although I think I’m going to put an end to it soon.
Besides The Bends, I’ve also enjoyed simply discussing my life. I’ve been pretty open about myself. Vulnerable at times. My favorite ramble about the inevitability of nothing significant ever occurring in my life is Somewhere Now. I wrote this on the verge of tears, frustrated with myself and with my future. In this blog post, I’m at rawest and most emotional. And honestly, I love re reading this one. It reminds me I’m useless, which I love. Nothing is better in life than understanding your place in life. The most common theme of my blog is definitely failure. I’m obsessed with this idea of failure. I feel it on the tip of my tongue. I know it’s coming. I know I’m going to crash and burn, regardless of what I pursue. I am destined for nothing, and that’s fine.
I have all the ambition in the world, but I believe that it’s important for me to let myself know I have no potential. Potential and ambition are two completely different things. Ambition requires insanity, bravery, and stupidity. Potential is a combination of intelligence, guile, and competence (none of which I possess, unfortunately). I don’t pity myself, because pity is stupid. I simply understand that I will ultimately achieve nothing superficial, like making a lot of green paper with American historical figures printed on both sides, accompanied by man-made value, nor will I achieve anything significant in terms of anything worth something. And that’s fine. I’m fine with being another brick in the wall. I’d prefer to actually be worth something, but I suppose it’s better to accept my destiny of incompetence than to deny it.
I think I could expand The Bends pt.8 even further than the 1500 words I put into it. The idea of the process of death can be explored 1000 different ways in a creative, abstract fashion. If I was to write a book, I’d base it off of that post.