This is the power of taking wordplay as truth. I gave into something trivial and hoped that it was everything. That is a hard truth to learn but I haven’t learned it. I haven’t figured out why or how people suffer when I make up rules that are destructive to question forming. I become irrational, carrying things swiftly to the wrong conclusion and I say “The End” and the audience shakes its head and says I could have been doing my least favorite thing and not wasted as much time as I did just now.
I tried to say “I’m sorry,” like I’ve tried to say “I love you.” I spend my time saying “love” in a billion different ways hoping to get something creative. But, people just hear me ranting. They think that I am selfish and I’m trying to say, “I see beauty and it’s you.” And it’s me echoing what I want to hear, being a mirror when they don’t want it. Being a sounding board when there’s just the echo of my own voice filling the room and my desperate lonliness because I know I alone have failed and I thought it was enough to invent more people to suffer with me but instead I tried to pull in the people (real people, upon which I built models hoping they would translate perfectly). Nothing does. I feel guilty because I’ve spent a lot of resources and the one thing I could hold up to the world and say this, this is why it’s all worth it, my happiness, is gone. My process didn’t leave any room for me to review, any time for me to ask, “does this mean anything?” and it was fine when it was flippant but now it’s serious and I am wondering “what good am I with these questions, it it’s led me to writing continuous apologies for being inefficient, for wasting time, for everyone looking at me and just seeing a mess and wishing they could see the beauty, or something real but instead artifice, a simulation, a project with fake parameters, fake power, fake control. A heartfelt apology almost makes it worse not better. It confronts me twice, once with the crime and again with the confession that I’m not magic. I’m real and really disappointing to myself. I thought I could love my way through it, but in falling in love with process, I’ve fallen into the traps I set up for myself hoping that it would give me a reason to fly but it just made me realize that I wanted to hit bottom because I thought it would be helpful. It’s not. The lure of the bottom, the idea that it shows the limits, also dazzles. It shows me that something is stronger than me and I wanted to show strength but I was a broken twig. It’s not enough. I feel in two ways, broke.