The Aftermath

Sometimes I wish my life were interesting. I mean it's good and all--but mundane and unartistic, really. I think it's because I make it that way. The most I can usually say to someone about myself is something along the lines of: my day was normal--the radiator was really obnoxiously loud last night and all through today... I feel fine. Shit like that.
That just doesn't cut it. Fuck, today I realized that what is real cannot be communicated. I constantly fight with my words and battle with them to send messages that people just misconstrue. Not everyone, but people. It isn't in what I say but in what I don't say--and my riddles that perhaps will be lost in translation for centuries. You're only human. But the way i express myself--the very lack of expression is what is indeed artistic. I treat life as art, I want to be alive, make things alive--but at the same time I am just the observer, just the pawn. I should be writing a paper on this subject right now but I'd rather have a conversation--and no one can be found. This is a dialogue between me and the reader.
There are things in life that I get really excited about, and literature, poetry, words are some of them. But at the same time I hate them. I hate that people think that what someone writes has to have characters, a beginning, middle and end in order to have any significant meaning. People look for answers, when after one moment has passed the truth is changed. You cannot freeze any moment in time--really freeze it and remember it how it "was," because what it was is just your interpretation on it. Thus, life is namely based on pure interpretation. This angers me. My interpretation is different from the ones I love--so how do I protect them? Can we grow in our interpretations of the world together? This is a hard thing, this is something you have to be committed to and to honor with utmost faith in self, in the other and in God. For it is He who is the essence of love, and if you have loved, it is in Him that you have loved and in Him which you will grow.
I'm a hypocrite in life. Sometimes I think I'm better than certain people because I don't have addictions, lust, ignorance. I don't want to be involved with these people, but my lack of interest into these face-value things makes me naive to my own beliefs. I am lame.
Rimbaud once wrote, "The Poet makes himself a seer by a long, gigantic and rational derangement of all the senses. All forms of love, suffering, and madness. He searches himself. He exhausts all poisons in himself and keeps only their quintessences. Unspeakable torture where he needs all his faith, all his super-human strength, where he becomes among all men the great patient, the great criminal, the one accursed--and the supreme Scholar."

I want that. Is it crazy to want that? Probably.