Young Writers Society

Journal Entry

1-14-06

I’m so full I want to burst, thank God. I’m saturated, filled to overflow and then some. The feelings that mark a human life and wealth churn within me, massage me and caress me, and I feel like I’m a guest in someone’s grand hall...
And I think over this music that is giddy and streaming, conjuring oyster shells and beaches and nights spent dancing through warm subtropical streets, kisses of steel drums in the heavy, perfumed air, the streets shiny and moist after the earlier rains. It’s Santana, but it could be a million other musicians, telling a million other stories. And when this music lulls over me, I feel, with the burgeoning weight of tears, readying for sweet release, that I’m just basking, and this is the meaning of life–this! Feelings...the kind of feelings that bitter people put no weight into, and don’t and can’t massage stronger...

and then you get in the phase where your hands move for you, and your eyes are barely open, and you literally are your computer, and things just sort of happen before you, and it's sooo lazy, but so wonderful...and it is just basking. In colors, in music, in wired friendship and in words and ideas that color pages, and you know that basking is happiness.

Yeah, feelings are the meaning of life. But they’re more than that. I remember when I was fighting under the weight of joylessness, months on end in that wicked raincloud-is-following-you situation called depression, and I could imagine myself as a king, standing on a stage and being molested by screaming, adoration, and then twisting music out of the electric axe and starting it all over again–and getting nothing from it. No joy. I remember the philosophy that I turned these severe situations into, asking myself whether this wasn’t the way things really are, if things aren’t actually really just this godless, joyless stupor, and we usually just see the world through perverted eyes, and that’s a natural human bias. And so then, if that were true, wouldn’t it be wiser, more truthful and honest, to feel nothing at all? None of that sweet embrace of exquisite screaming and pounding of rockstar fame or a writer’s humility and secret godliness?
Well, I realize now, now that things are mellower and the lights a little bit darker and my bed just that much more tempting, where I’ll meet dreams that I’ll believe in more than reality, where I skewer my own self in absurd possiblities or impossiblities, that feelings are all the joy we find in things. We aren’t ever looking for anything in anything, we’re just looking for less physical pain or discomfort, or more mental massages and mellowness. We’re just looking to be affected by the music of our minds, and our human-created music taps that, a human connection of feelings and minds that makes it proudly through the maze and realm of arguments that say that such stuff is nonsense. But what do they know?
I believe in this at this hour. I believe that the real thiing we’re looking for is that feeling, that rockstar feeling that can exist even if you’re not a rockstar, just if you believe you’re one...
And I say that they’re the meaning, so I bask. I’ve searched for higher meaning in this temporary happiness, and found none, because happiness is a unit of importance, and you can’t dissect it further and have it still be happiness, just like you can’t dissect a beautiful squirrel and have the result be a beautiful squirrel.
Ew, I’m sorry.
But I’ve balanced my emotions for now, I’ve reached this place, and so for now, I’m wise and finished, and I’m on a plateau that I think we all understand. Goodnight.

Yes, you are wise. And very eloquent. On a literal level, this was beautifully written. With phrases such as "nights spent dancing through warm subtropical streets, kisses of steel drums in the heavy, perfumed air..." and "In colors, in music, in wired friendship and in words and ideas that color pages..." the imagery hit hard and hit home and it was so so good.

On a personal level, I liked this because I could relate to that euphoric feeling--so "full I want to burst." And then coming home in a haze and pounding out feelings on a bright computer screen. And then the second guessing--am I really happy? Or is this temporary? I've felt it all, and you wrote exactly what I felt.


My only complaint was that this sentence read awkwardly:

Well, I realize now, now that things are mellower and the lights a little bit darker and my bed just that much more tempting, where I’ll meet dreams that I’ll believe in more than reality, where I skewer my own self in absurd possiblities or impossiblities, that feelings are all the joy we find in things.

I would reword it to say: "Well, I now realize that things are mellower, and the lights are a little bit darker. My bed is just that much more tempting now--I'll meet dreams that I'll believe in more than reality, where I'll skewer my own self in absurd possibilities or impossibilities"...etc.

Otherwise, fantastic job. A very enjoyable read.