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i've been up these last couple of nights reading catch-22. i'm sick of watching futurama to fall asleep, but it's generally the only thing that works. i keep telling myself that if i just plow into heller's next chapter i will be bored to tears or lulled into dreamland, but only once did the veil of sleep fall over me. and just a few minutes later i awoke with a start, vexed by the idea that i could fall asleep reading and perturbed that i'd lost my place in the novel.

i'm endlessly setting the book aside to ponder such catches in my own life. additionally, i like to think of the names i would give to people i know if they were merely characters in the book of swell. but how can i compete with major major major major and colonel korn.

i try to imagine the interconnectedness of all my supporting characters so that i could detail the bizarre events and always come back to the baseline with some surprising coincidence that relates them all to one another. but i have no imagination for such developments. surely, they exist already, but, still, i cannot imagine them.

i sort of miss the days when i thought i was a writer. not because i thought i had a magnificent story to tell, but because i thought i could tell it anyway. i don't know what i think anymore. i get too caught up in the thought that no one really sees the words i write the way i mean them. fatalist, i know.

anyway, i wish i could sleep.

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ladyjay19
Oct. 4th, 2005 10:03 pm (UTC)
Poetry, Prose, and Silverscreen--Oh my!
I get lost trying to write my story; the most important aspect is that everyone is supposed to see their destructive youth (end teens early twenties) because I've decided my life, situation, and pain was far from unique. I think there is a story. What I hate is how afraid I am to write it; I might learn something I didn't want to know--like how fucked up everyone was or that I'm not actually a writer at all. Fear is so potent when it's looking at you in the mirror.

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