Great aspirations, pisspoor goals

(another post from my collection of letters and journals)


When and If you decide how you want to live-
How and why you try to feel-
It all becomes a matter of what you wish to give,
Your fear must not overcome your will.
The truth of the soul is what is at stake-
Hidden behind those many veils,
That life is only of what you make-
Is only one of many Hells.
Nothing is certain, that is for sure,
Do as thou wilt, wisdom as false has been shown-
and think not too much, think not of a cure,
There’s no right way to live -You got to live your own.

I am plagued by great aspirations of conflicting goals. I want both sides and I want neither. I spew forth melodramatic fragments of thought and complete nothing. Is my inability to maintain one continuous flow of thought due to this age of procrastination and fickleness of desire, or my own failings as (may I call myself a 'writer'? - well no one else is looking, so why not?) a Writer? Faith! I cannot even complete a paragraph without changing the subject at hand.

I feel that I have so much to say and not the time, or not the ability to put the words together properly. I try so desperately to express what I really want to, but the correct phrases disappear as soon as they cross my confused mind's eye. I fear that I have addled my mind with the drugs and alcohol consumed in such haphazard fashion, romantically emulating my adolescent vision of Poe, courting tragedy as desire, and foolishly expecting glory all this time, still expecting it. Fool that I am, uneducated save by the books that I read so voraciously, not that I would not seek out such education- It is just that I am bothered by such whimsical tomfoolery such as Working, supporting my son/s, (Oh don't lie to them, Kirk old boy,) Oh, very well, I have been living and making love to women and romancing life and doing everything that I seem to think that I have not whenever I sit around and think too much. But still where is my greater meaning? Am I just a beast? When I let myself be, I suppose I am - Feeding my sense of pleasure instead of my sense of well-being.

Even now, I haven't answered the phone all day and I got up to answer it in the chance that it was Angela, my fiancee'. But no- It was Doyel, and guess what? He wants me to drive over and pick him up so we can do god knows what (Hell, I think we even surprise HIM once in a while) And guess what else? Yes- I said that I would be there in fifteen minutes. Me with negative 29 dollars in the bank and not even a checkbook at hand to fling those burning pieces of paper at the cashier at the local liquor store or restaurant. Oh boy- gotta go I suppose. Do I want to or not? I guess that I'm a masochist after all cause I am on my way.
place appropriate self-derision here)
9:30 pm
Later)

Well, that was a waste of time, but not as much of a waste as it could have been, I suppose. We just came back to the house and watched some movies and went to sleep. Not much else to do as broke as we are, not to mention exhausted.
7/7/95