Totally Pointless, and I Mean Totally Pointless

This isn't the place for this, but I guess I just need it.

Those who have spent periods of time single, longer periods, 6 months to several years will probably understand this. It makes no sense. Some days you just feel it, you feel love. It involves nobody, it is directed nowhere, and as far as I've ever been able to tell comes from the ether that is nothing.

I don't know why I feel it now.

Maybe after realizing how bad, how evil, how horrible women can be (and let me stipulate here, men are just as bad, I just don't deal with them on those terms, so for me it's women), over the past few months I've had so many experiences of kindness, and wonder, and joy, of generosity, friendship, caring, concern, interest, and so many other wonders. These have come from friends old and new alike, strangers as well. Nothing all that unusual really. Nothing that happens out of what I'm guessing is the ordinary. (I really don't know what ordinary is, so I'm guessing there.)

It is also a great inspiration. It is my current source of wanting to create. Damn, I wish it wasn't going to rain tomorrow. People don't dive into pools in the rain, I think.

The simplest of sources, happiness, love, hate, depression, seem to give me the most creative ammunition. Always has. Maybe the simplest, the basest of emotions are what we can all understand, what we can all share the easiest. As a wise man used to tell me, "That which is most personal is most universal." It's cliche crap, and it's true. Maybe those emotions are the simplest to let flow, let fly from within. And hence are the clearest, and the easiest for people to grab, to understand and relate to. Maybe I just need to be able to get lost in my emotions, to forget how to think, to forget to think, to let it flow, and to let people relate.

This is all great and dandy for art work. Journalism is, happily, a different world. That is what much of tomorrow is, thought, and relation to subjects with purpose. There is little to no place for emotion, but it is still there, underneath. It's easier to work in a world of thought, there is less risk, less exposure, less chance for failure and rejection. And yet the world of those chances still calls, on that slim hope of success. That slim hope that letting loose will succeed in helping someone feel, just feel. Maybe the feeling they share won't be the same as mine, but maybe it will touch something in them. If that's all you can give the world, well, for me at least, that's enough.

Or maybe I've just listened to too much Jeff Buckley tonight. That's probably it.