I always tell myself that I have nothing to say, that's why I never write here anymore. That's why I no longer write about my "feelings" and "emotions" and la la nyeh. But once I grab my stupid and self-indulgent leather journal with the gold spine, it's like I'm Bukowski, drunk as fuck, writing my thoughts as they flow and trying to find a prose along the way. And I wait days to read it again to decide whether it's good or not. I like the pieces of paper that I hide from myself with some words strung together. When I find them, I usually surprise myself. I always seem like a different person to me. When I read my own words, I use a different voice for myself in my head. I always become a stranger to myself.
Sometimes I make the excuse that I no longer write stuff here because I've made it too public. I shared too much. Exposed myself too much. Posted too many pictures. Refused to make a Tumblr for photo blogging purposes because no thanks Tumblr. When really Blogspot just feels so private. But this has become such a public page for everyone to see. I make myself feel weird when I think about it that way. No excuses. I'm just being a geek, that simple.
Sometimes I make the excuse that I no longer write stuff here because I've made it too public. I shared too much. Exposed myself too much. Posted too many pictures. Refused to make a Tumblr for photo blogging purposes because no thanks Tumblr. When really Blogspot just feels so private. But this has become such a public page for everyone to see. I make myself feel weird when I think about it that way. No excuses. I'm just being a geek, that simple.
