Monday, June 13, 2005

it's true

i don't want to be here. I truly don't. I think I have nothing to say...yet I figure the only way I can find out whether or not I have anything to say is to begin saying some things. So I shall begin in this way, the only way I have spoken openly all my life.

I have what might be defined as the soul of a poet. Reclusive. Introverted. Extremely so. I strive toward excellence in my meager scribblings, but always find them to be no more than that--meager scribblings. I can fool myself for a while, but in the end I know it's only a lot of paper. Rubbish. And my soul is written on the pages--glimpses of it, pictures of it, representations and misrepresentations--that which I see or think I see, and most of all that which I cannot see and long to see. It's all here or there or nowhere. That--this--is my speech. For now. Someday I wonder, will I blink out of this cave into the sunlight? I don't want to be here, and for now I really don't want anyone to know I am here. My words, I think, count for nothing. What can they do? They serve only to explain what is, or to fabricate what is not. I know so little...of what can I speak?

No, i don't want to be here.


antigraviton said...

The existence of your blog puts the lie to its "i don't want to be here" title. ;-) Something in you, methinks, craves the light, and drives you in its direction, despite something else inside that doth protest too much.


HSD said...

Do I know who this is? I think so...and I think you're right. :)

antigraviton said...

It occurs to me that your title may mean more. Hmm.

I, too, felt that way, once, in a broader sense. Interesting. Hmm.