doubt(full) thinking

i think i've lost my voice

nothing
i repeat nothing
seems worth writing about

at least
not worth writing about on the internet
for everyone to read

there's probably nothing worse in writing
than self-involved
navel-gazing
and that, i fear, is what this has devolved into

when i started writing this blog
on october 22, 2005
to attempt an experiment in writing every single day
for an entire year

it was to document
to set down memories and experiences
i likely would have otherwise forgotten

but it also felt
at the same time
that i was saying something
that others could essentially relate to

that i was saying something
in essence
for everyone

but ever since matt's death
he's kind of all i want to write about
so when push comes to shove
and when fingers meet keyboard
i usually, often do

i don't know
cause it's not like that in real life
i don't regularly burden my friendships with sordid tales
of a love gone horribly awry

we laugh
we party
we drink
we socialize
we have sexual encounters
we meet great, interesting new friends

we simply fucking live

and, when i started this experiment
that's what i would have written

that's STILL what my life is today
not matt
who's unfortunately no longer here
who i technically wasn't even dating at the time of his death

i think i've lost my voice
because
i don't want to inflict this mess
on anyone else

i don't believe that others should have to feel the longing
to call someone who will never answer again
(especially if he was the first person on your speed dial)
just to talk
across state lines
about politics, work or reality t.v.


the british singer corinne bailey rae
known to lily allen as corinne "boring" rae
apparently had a husband
and that husband apparently died of a drug overdose
this past weekend

when i first read the news this afternoon
(catching up on my perez hilton)
i immediately thought
"my god. how sad"
"that must be so awful for her, and of course so tragic for him"

but my next thought was
"well, her next album is going to be AMAZING"

it's different
somehow easier
to navel-gaze
to be self-involved
to moan about heart-ache and loss
when you're doing it in song

there's something about a melody
and chorus
or a hook
that instantly turns the difficult, or the uber-personal
into art made for the masses

it's harder here
for a young writer like myself
to convey what's happening in my life
and my head

because it shouldn't make sense
that out of all the experiences in the week
that out of all the times i've laughed or all the stories i've been told
that out of all the LIFE experiences i've engaged in

when i sit down in front of the powerbook g4
my mind just races towards "him"

i'm sorry
that i can't put this into song
more often than not i wish i could

but
maybe
it might help
if you play a little something
instrumental
in the background
as you sort through the rubble that remains