Where have you been?

You know those states of mind when you feel like if only given a chance you could conquere the world with something that you created? That your words could possibly define a single person or even a single moment?

And those unwritten words are just pressing at your heart begging to be let out but you simply can't let them go.

Maybe your afraid to put them down because you don't want to taint the feeling with something that doesn't quite measure up. Or you simply can't put them down because it isn't meant to be put down. It's like an acid burning you up inside but you just can't get it out quite right.

I always find those moments of creative crisis to be the most frustrating. hm. I always said that I don't believe in writers block; that it was just an excuse for not continuing a story or whathave you.

But when I have those times when I feel like what I have to say could potentially be the most beautiful thing ever written but I can't actually say it it's so disheartening. And i'm ashamed to even call myself a writer.

And I actually happen to be going through one of those little "episodes" right now. It usually occurs when i'm sitting in my dimly lit bedroom late at night (if a little past 10 o'clock could even be considered as late at night) while listening to thought provoking music that makes me envy the song writer.

The song i'm listening to on repeat right now for instance is called "Where have you been?" by Manchester Orchestra. and it's a beautiful song. But it doesn't really make a whole lot of sense. My favourite lyric is "And when you look at me/I'll be digesting your legs"

Not a lick of sense. But it's my favorite part of the song, you know why? Because I spend hours (exaggeration, but still) thinking about the song and I try to figure out what it means. What the ultimate message the band is trying to convey to the audience. But I don't think it is suppossed to mean anything...but still. I want to know.

And it makes me laugh, beacuse a lot of the time we all over think things. We are so convinced or trained or whatever to believe that everything means something. That every abstract thought is some reflection of our subconscious psyche. Or that Mona Lisa is smileing at something. If only we knew what it was. Or even that this certain tree represents a mothers withering love for blueberries or something equally absurd.

We all are always trying to disect things. And all we ever do is muck things up with all the red tape and suppositions.

sigh. It's rather hard being human ain't it?