the chevalier hotel from lukas zinnagl on Vimeo.
I don’t want to write about this as if were some kind of significant happening. It is mostly my delusion that creates these narratives. I would almost go on to say it is unfair to encounter someone in such a way–I think I would be better off not knowing. The distraction wouldn’t hang over me and I wouldn’t be expecting to run into * around every corner. I wouldn’t be making up these stories in my head about a life that is quite different from how it is now. I’m in a point in my life that’s actually good without the thoughts of another and it was good until. I keep trying to put myself in a situation that makes sense but I feel stupid every time. I’m not so sad when I drink anymore, I certainly don’t drink to hide anything. It feels like I’m being honest. I feel like I’m not being so reserved. It’s just too bad I’m not in a situation to make use of this freedom. I want to believe its the same on the other side and stupidity has gotten the best of me.
There are people I don’t want to let down, including myself. But sometimes I wonder when I’ll cave and just take off. It always seems as I’m doing the same things. Get something good and leave it behind, because I’m probably afraid of losing it in any other light. Its no surprise I am not a risk taker. I can’t feel normal without knowing where the outcome lands. I hate it when things I love are taken away from me. I don’t like not being in control of things but it seems I will never take the lead. I’ll just keep writing and writing, till eventually it might make sense.
I often have imaginary conversations with people I hardly know. I’m charming in all the ways I’d want to be, something like the characters of the movies I love. For hours it goes on and on. It should be written down it is so sweet and the rhythm is perfect. The rhythm is most important, like stepping on toes during a dance, conversation must carry with a flow that is uninterrupted. Fluid. Today in a flash it was so fast. I was eating I guess, mostly just trying to get the pains in my stomach away enough to get by. I keep imagining the encounter because I can’t make it happen. Or I don’t. I can sacrifice myself for work but I’m not willing to sacrifice myself for this, its silly. I’m married to the work I do maybe, someone today said they could see how much I love what I do. In my mind I reply, I don’t feel the same. I don’t know what I rely on, I don’t know why I function the way I do. I would offer it if I could, but if I knew how it worked it would be easier to fix.
In all actuality you are a placeholder for every situation I cannot approach. Every truth I am not willing to accept. The reason I drink alone and write these silly letters to. I do what I do in a manner in which I can’t even form into sentences and it troubles me to no end. I feel sometimes as if I were meant for something amazing but it is counter-intuitive for me to believe in such a thing regardless of the praise I get for things I have done. As a human it is natural for me to love the idea of acceptance, but I feel like there is little of me to put into my work. My work is this shell of space i fill with a persona that I made up. It’s all just a prank really. I could be happy just the same without the work, without the pressure.
And in any given opportunity I will run, its natural for me. I’ll just avoid it because the very work ethics I have do not translate into the work I create. Something I’ve yet to learn. I don’t believe in fate but I would love to. I would love to think it was always supposed to be like this.
It has come to my attention that most of my twitter posts and such are 90% about drinking…
Yeah so what? Wanna fight about it?
I’m kidding, I love you. Let’s go get breakfast. It’s on me.
Love,
Tom