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ShariQuan
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Interests: You and me versus the world.
Expertise: Explaining to kids the transient nature of life.
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Entertainment
Message: message me
Member Since:
9/11/2003
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| I continued the work on my picture wall tonight, and while I wouldn't
hire myself, it doesn't look half bad. Also posted big and blocky
today is the motto I aspire to live by: work hard play hard. Of
course, the former half doesn't really appeal to me as much, but I feel
better about living by the latter if I use the whole slogan. It's
pretty pimping, I'll not lie. Occupying a prominent spot is a
strange and yet not strange at all picture of my dear friend Zach, whom
I actually don't talk to much anymore but have always enjoyed the
company of. Queries about this odd picture and old friend have
rendered me nostalgic. Good old Prep '03. There were
certainly a lot of esoteric, glorious phrases, but there's one
particular one that's caught my attention at the moment. It
may be just because I'm listening to Belle and Sebastian and in a
tragic and silly mood, but I can't seem to get this image of Suz with
her feet in Zach's hair. Surely gross, but wonderful.
What made it great both then and now is that it feels like home.
"It feels like home"-that's the phrase. I don't know if I'm upset
because no one ever says that here, or because no one ever can say that
here because nothing feels like home, or because nothing ever feel like
home, but I think we should all try to say it a little bit more and
mean it.
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| Beastly. Yes it is. This forum for expressing my thoughts
is none other than beastly for both you, the reader, and me, the
writer. Many things I feel have occured over the past few weeks
and yet sadly, a chronicle of such goingons has not taken shape
here. It seems sadly that only the more unfortunate, but
rather tame moods o mine make it to the public online venue. I
shall have to make a concerted effort to update this more
liberally. However, this cannot occur now, for despite my decent
typing accuracy, I'm in no condition to communicate effectively by way
of the written word. Fare thee well, my friends. I miss you
and tonight, I wish you were around or awake, for what a lonely time 5
am can be. It's all right though--I'm more okay than I've even
been.
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| What's going on here? This isn't right. Something's got to
change. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Am I
painfully mistaken? Self-awareness is surely not my strong point,
but am I truly that off?
Ew, who has time to have a crisis?
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| A point of clarification because clearly I cannot express myself: While
I am having a mild and sophomoric existentialist crisis of sorts,
mostly I'm condemning other people for not existing as they
should. For playing the wrong game, if you will.
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| If, despite my intentions, I was too hard on myself in the previous
entry, allow me to be unforgivably critical of many of you.
Perhaps this will alienate people and I will find myself increasing
alone and friendless. It is with this in mind, I shall now abort
this mission. In any case, I think the discontent that's
currently coursing through me is more a reflection of my well disguised
learning disorders rather than your stagnancy. But there is
it. I'm restless as hell. I used to despise ceremonies for
their slow pace and pretension, but I've gotten used to them and in a
way am sort of fond of weddings, graduations, and the like.
Unfortunately, it's possible my previous hatred of ceremonies
proper has simply abstracted and expanded into a supreme impatience
with the Ceremony of life. I've no grand aspirations or
dreams to chase down at the moment. I certainly want to hit the
ground running, but towards what I know not. It's not even
important. I just want very much to do something. Do the
things we think of doing but never do. This is your crime.
Paralysis. Hesitation. Fear. Complacency. Do something. Do something with me.
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