You know, I look back on alot of what I've done all these years.
Who I was.
How others might see me, judging me by how I act, what I get accomplished.

(by the way- this is me thinking things out. I've really had quite the epiphany. So this is going somewhere sometime in this era)

I admit...it's not always something to be proud of...
I regret that I couldn't show others who I really was, what I can do.
It gets hard to keep the optimism.
It gets hard to keep fighting 24/7.
It seems stupid to always be the shoulder to cry on.
To be the one with kindness and hope, tacky and cliche as that is, to offer.

Hahhaha...but I've always wanted it hard.
Really.
Now isn't that stupid?
I. Love. A challenge.
It could be the dumbest fucking thing on the planet, and I will argue the point.
I will fight you for it.

Here's a good example.
All my life, I purposefully slack on pretty much everything- just so it'll be worth doing later.
School, I get mediocre grades.
Private school, yes.
I got just under honor roll.

Public school, I got just enough to keep everybody quiet.
Going into honor classes to keep me in school- because it was so damn depressing and dull.

Work, I do just enough to keep the bosses quiet.

Doesn't that sound lazy?

But wait- here's where it turns around.

Private school...I never even tried.
I was too busy trying to keep myself in check.
Everyday, I hated the people I was around.
I couldn't take all that deception and prejudice and hatred.
No, I went to school and did homework because there was nothing else to run to.
I was on several basketball teams-those...I put everything into.
My rage was let loose, and I was quickly known as the toughest one on the team.
I was one of the quietest, one of the smallest. But I could hold my ground with the best.
..And all because of that anger that fueled me.
The love of a challenge.
To put everything you have into something.

I bring up basketball...yes...something odd. Something trivial. But ultimately, if life hadn't thrown me a curve ball or two, I probably would have ended up playing professional. I was offered a scholarship and a reserved place on the team of a college team.
...I wouldn't have become an artist.

...Some things really change people, and the way things are perceived.

Where was I.
Blasted memories get in the way of this.
My school. My mediocre grades was all because I didn't care.
It was unimportant to me.
There was no challenge in it unless I put it there myself.
Unless I made it a game.
And I don't like games.

In basketball, you were playing with everything you had- running as fast as you can, until you felt like your heart would burst. Until you breathed your own sweat.
your team...you had to work as one.
If just one person thought of themselves...of their own glory...everyone would lose.
In a good team, which I've been in a few, everyone thought as one, working perfectly and magnificently in time with each other- like it was all choreagraphed.

The raw edge it took to want to stay in the game after your face was crushed into the court...to push yourself. To ignore the broken leg. The bleeding and the abrasions and the bruises.
To get up and keep playing even after your mouth was busted open- to go home after, and say, holy shit that was fucking fun.
Then pass out from exhaustion...
hahha.
That.
To know that you're going past what your body can take and you're really just pushing yourself with sheer willpower.
...And it means something.
You're going somewhere.
Because your everything that you put into it...is incredible.
It was something that somebody needed and wanted.

...*sigh* The game...was freedom.
The freedom to be myself, and be the best at what I do.

...But I've always been...out of place.
After he died, my introverted ways were noticed alot more.
I didn't try to conceal anything after.
I wasn't accepted on the high school team because I wasn't like the rest of them.
My bridges were burned for a college team when we moved.
But I didn't want to give up the game...
But they wouldn't accept me.
So I never played.

I took to drawing alot. notebooks full of sketches and doodles. Writing. I bought two guitars.
I carried my electric nearly all the time.
Played in class on my desk.
Really...I was quite lost to anyone.
Music became my one and only savior.
Because I couldn't see what purpose was left.
How anything good can exist when there was so much cruelty out there.

*sigh*
I've ranted endlessly since...
Just trying to understand...trying to quell that rage inside.
Nobody really could say anything or do anything that could make it stop though.
Not that I could possibly think of...

Until recently.

It really is so incredible to feel understood.
To meet new people, people that know different things from what you grew up around.
People that don't think everything you love is stupid.
Just. People.
New people.
Outside of your religion, outside of your city, outside.

It.
Is.
Fantastic.

Some idiots think it's dangerous to be so accepting of everyone and everything.
To be so liberal.
But I can't explain the feeling of how incredible it is to learn something new.
To feel...stupid because this culture, this person, this place...is so different from what you knew.

...I can't stop asking questions!

I can't stop listening.
I can't keep from coming back.

This is what I've seen- and it's just a little bit.
Can you imagine?
Just a small, tiny bit.
I want to know more!
More people, more roads, more windows, more, more, more.

Sure, it's fucking frightening and intimidating...
But that is okay.
Why?
Because there is always a way to get where you want to.
Always.
The fantastic thing about highways and all its' little branches.
They will take you there if you're aiming that way.

...If you want to get there.

It may take a few detours sometimes, but you'll find yourself there.

...Just never stop trying.
Never let yourself run out of gas.

Hahha...just trying to find something.

Well, I do have a point to all this.
I think this may be the last time you see a rant from me.
I know that I've said this quite a bit.

But..
I really want to start trying.
Up till recently, I haven't really put my all into anything.
But really.
Stop complaining. It just leads nowhere.
My endless tearing down and piecing back together in a different way always goes on in my head anyhow. It never ceases once the argument is past.

No, I'm planning on filling up as many sketchbooks as I can.
Just drawing even when I have nothing to draw.
Even when I feel it's a waste of time.
When I feel it will never be good enough.
When the idea is stupid.
I want to ace all my classes and stop settling for mediocre grades to scrape by.
Stop putting what matters to me last in line because some morons say they aren't important enough.

Because...
I love this just as much as I loved basketball.
...If not more.
Here...
You see...
I can speak.
I can give people the truth.
I can change things.
...I can show them how incredible we all can be.
...I can give others...and myself...hope.

Once I find my way...
Once I use up everything that I am...
Push beyond what I should...
Maybe...just maybe...that rage will go away.
Because it will be enough then.
Enough to make some kind of difference...
It will be enough...


It just has to be.






...So...a song...isn't that what I usually do?
Hehhhe...Well...
I think I have the perfect one for you.

This one gave me hope when I had none.
It's gotten me through many nights.

Go find it.
Please.
Google and youtube it if you have to.
Just go check it out.
Just once.
Please-keep it close if you hear what I hear in it.
It really is beautiful.

...and explains my trivial title. XD



...Fluff, by Black Sabbath.


Adieu, my friends, my brothers in arms.
I will be bringing some more arts to you all.
This I promise.