Because I need to see with my own eyes.
Something tangible that I can nod my head in agreement with, or walk away from disturbed.
But just to know, and acknowledge.

Creativity is a word that I can't get out of my head lately. Sometimes I stop and ask myself "Am I a creative person, really?" Everyone seems to think that being an actor makes you a creative person. But if you're never acting, what are you creating? Creating opportunities, I suppose. Creating relationships. Creating hope and trying as hard as humanly possible to maintain it.

I used to consider myself a writer. I used to think I had something to say. But maybe I don't have a story, or a message, or a point to make- I only need to see these thoughts and feelings unfold in front of me. I need to create letters, strung together on a page that somehow amounts to what was inside of me once. But a story would be nice. A few characters. A plot. A beginning, middle, and end. That would be nice.

Then to take that story and roll a camera in front of it. Chop it up nice and call it a movie.

Now how to make that happen.

it's been a ridiculously long time since i've written anything. not a journal entry. not a poem. not a scritch scratch piece of shit. so now i've forced myself to find a medium, and write. Now that Tim and I live together I have access to his computer much of the time, so I want to get in the habit of typing, so I can do it faster and more often, as opposed to just freehand journaling.

Maybe something will come of it; I mean, stranger things have happened.

strangest mood lately. somber, but not unhappy. quiet, but not sad. empty-minded, but not bored. Like I'm growing and changing and the only thing I can do is watch myself from a safe distance. Past-times that used to interest me, and captivate most of my interest at that, no longer have the same hold. wine is nice in the evening, but i find myself happy to stay sober throughout the day, and drugs....o drugs.....I see now that they were an escape for a purpose of escaping. Pure, sober reality, for most of my waking time, is somewhat new, and maybe that is why I've been quiet and more contemplative lately, it's not at all like depression or anything of the sort, it's more of a curious observance. Seeing the way things can be calm and still somewhat satisfying in the proper state of mind.

Yes, sometimes it's boring, watching 8 pm roll in, knowing that the hours will tick lazily by until it's time for sleep, but the boredom is more just the fear of it coming, and not really the actual arrival of it.

it's sad that the two art forms in which i've identified myself: I'm an actress, I'm a writer.

they've both grown so far from being true. when was the last time i actually wrote something of significance? something at all? When was the last time I auditioned, much less performed? February of this year was the last time I acted in something. Long ago. I am my own worst enemy, the procrastinator of all procrastinators, I might as well of made up the word 'lazy'.

I'm constantly trying to force myself to do things that I frankly, have no interest in: excersize, well...yeah, excersize. I guess that's still good, interest or not...but yet, i don't force myself to hurl me back into that terrifying world of rejection and terror, with the end result of hopefully performing, but most of the time just smiling nicely or saying something stupid.

I don't force myself to write, to sit in front of blank space and summon something up, something that will hopefully sound good and make me more interested in myself.

growing older and each subsequent phase in life is as hard as the one before; somehow I always thought it would maybe get easier, would maybe all make more sense. I guess it doesn't. 24 now and even this seems far away from 21 and 22. it seems less confusing and at the same time more complicated and easier to make huge mistakes.

there's the money issue, and not having it. going to work everyday for the main purpose of getting some cash or a paycheck to help me through, help me pay the bills, feed myself, keep myself sheltered, keep myself mobile, keep myself available to the world, the world we live in, even more so now that we're in beverly hills, the world of money money money.

it's funny how you can forget why you go to work. you find yourself liking it, it's something to pass the time, it's somewhere to meet new people, it's somewhere to make money and spend it on bills....but you forget that you're there as a transitionary period before you make it big, before you start making money doing something that really excites you.

i forget that. a lot.

anything is easy to get sucked into, if you forget enough. lose your motivation enough. if you get comfortable too quickly.

things don't come as easily as i always thought they should or would, or as they always did.

you start to drift into the background, you become old news, you're 24 and the world doesn't give a shit about you anymore.

so now it's your turn to make shit happen.

today i want to hide myself in pages
behind and between shelves
i want to duck under tables
with paper and pen

got my coffee and my cigarette

got a beautiful morning

and a beautiful man

got opportunities a knocking

and i'm unbolting all the locks

It changes so frequently, doesn't it?

perspectives

wants

needs

moods

the need for responsibility shifts in and out

the force that keeps me moving forward lifts my heels and frees me for short moments

and then violently leaves me

crushing my chest as it shoves off, leaving me to sleep

for hours and days and weeks and months

and then comes again!

lifting my eyelids from sleep and attaching again to my heels

lifting me out of my slumber and directing my course

although, the course is just a matter of movement. In this state it doesn't matter where I'm headed, or with who, just that I'm here and that I'm moving and that I'm not stuck anymore, at least for this moment.

That I can't keep up with my lips and my hands is a sweet relief from the heavy weight of a silent tongue and the restless exhaustion of clenched fists.

Fists that curl and uncurl in sleep as well as waking hours, preparing for a hit and looking for an easy target.

That I can keep the force at my feet and out of my brain is my wish.

I wake in dreams

wake and rise

take baths

in strange bath tubs

survey the scene

but not well enough

to believe I'm still sane

I always love October.

Goodness happening.