"^_^"

2004-12-13 | 9:22 p.m.

There are many times when I ask myself why so many people use Xanga. Is it the comments? The relative ease of updating because of the assumed lack of thought or depth in updates? I'll admit I do possess one, but I never created it; merely gussied it up so the masses would have something to chew on. However, with that... faux-obligation comes a gradual lack of respect for that which I find to be truly engaging; the diaryland update. True, I often lose direction as I write, and I rarely have something of substance written because more people read this than I would like (even now), so the question begs to be asked: what happened? It seems that a while back everyone I knew used diaryland, Xanga being relegated to the uneducated and depressing. Despite my deliberate vagueness in my diaryland entries, I can be so much more candid or profound than I could ever be on this "Xanga" deal. Though people have misinterpreted my gripes about the X in the past, the idea is that it just seems too restricting in thought... not serious enough a forum for one's own personal feelings or thoughts. There will always be certain times(in fact, this is one of them) that I would love to just lay my soul bare and declare all my thoughts, feelings and opinions to the world, or to someone specific; I will still not do this on Diaryland, as it's not the reason people are reading this; people read to keep tabs on what the hell I'm doing with myself and maybe admire a big word I used almost-correctly (my own grasp of language is extremely deficient compared to what I hope to achieve someday). I would attempt to stimulate a resurgence in diaryland, but it doesn't seem like that'd work very well. Xanga has placed people in a sort of complacency, one that they will not be easily shaken from.
As stated before, there are those times I want to drop to my knees and scream out what I am thinking, hoping the gods or some curious spirit will hear and answer my call for what I believe to be justice; however, it's never in the cards for me. Any attempt I make to express myself in any medium inevitably becomes incomprehensible, weak or just plain muddled with ridiculous diction. What can I say? Well, to put things in vague terms, I am in one of the best places I have ever been in, life-wise, but I am still not satisfied. What is wrong with me? I see friends happy, enjoying themselves, but I also see the inherent problems, the personal neuroses. I see people creating an illusion of happiness, or so I interpret it, as the coming Sundering (as I view our graduation to be, in many ways) is ignored. This, to me, is unacceptable. Perhaps it's that hopeless idealist within me, surfacing again for a brief period of time, only to be sucked up by melancholia again, but it seems to me these final months must be spend in a near-constant state of revelry. Peoples mistaken perceptions of me or my environment are amusing, but depressing when I begin to wish that some of those mistakes were not mistakes at all. Personal development seems to be stagnating, the only element keeping it alive not even personal at all. Yet, despite all these bad bad things, I am in a vague state of euphoria. I know that soon all will fall apart, soon the bad times will come, but the illusion of stability is there, and until I ruin something on a fundamental level in all aspects of life, I will delight in that illusion.
Therein is the problem. I wrap myself in veils of music, games and other pursuits, just falling into the illusion. Is giving into an illusion, then, the best we can do? Or is it an existential cop-out? Either, if true, is slightly disturbing, though in different ways.

Maybe I just need to get laid.

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