capturing moods.

i can't. fierce and fast approaching, each mood is a fleeting aftershock of a previous one. feeding on alternating states of self-loathing and frantic recklessness disguised as ecstasy, these moods seem to have more vitality than i. they suck the lifeforce out of me until i am drained, leaving me with less energy than required to properly self-destruct or ride the peak of a manic high.

(for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction... einstein was so bi-polar.)

fuck. even as i write this, my mood shifts. i'm not in it anymore. how am i expected to get it down, read it back and make sense of it, let alone explain myself to anyone? therein lies the problem. forget it. i choose apathy.


change of subject.

i've been feeling uninspired. everything i produce seems lacklustre. maybe i need to let the art seep out on its own. i need to treat art like a man or woman. i shouldn't smother, but i can't simply walk away. trying to seductively provoke life and beauty from within won't work. i have to remember what drew me in in the beginning because taking a photo is like a simulation of the spark felt at the beginning of a new romance, however brief (if only an exchange of glances). making it art is like trying to recreate what i saw, evoke how i felt in that first moment and make it last. a breakthrough? nah. reading over it now, it all sounds like bull. maybe i should try a new approach... like channeling every insane impulse and throwing it against the wall to see what comes out. yeah, that sounds spontaneous and organic.

sometimes i feel like a fraud. i have this sinking feeling others would jump at the chance to say, "you are. we've all been laughing at you." but that isn't really me talking, that's the mood. (the mood? why have i given my moods the power to be self- thinking and free-will possessing entitities?)

god this is depressing. i guess i'm still in a funk from the nightmare i had last night. hours of tossing and turning, jerking awake every half hour, only to return to the same damn nightmare in realtime when sleep would come again. the dream was too real. i can't think of anything more terrifying than a lucid nightmare that feels real even after you wake up. still, everything about it was too obvious; every element was a manifestation of the thoughts, fears, and antagonists that have been on my mind lately. i'm not ready to delve into any of it. i prefer to remain detached from reality for a short while longer.

sometimes we delay the inevitable because it's all we can do to see a few brighter days. but i dare not whisper the name of my villain for fear of spoiling the blissful ignorance i'm desperately clinging to.


i'm still not ready,

but i do want to go back here.




and soon.








the destitution of this place in winter is oddly invigorating.

a strange creature, am i.