Should I give up, or should i just keep chasing pavements even if it leads nowhere? (Day 165)

I've decided a few things. First and foremost pertains to this blog.

Each and every single blog has a song lyric in it, and I choose those lyrics because they either closely mirror what the blog is about, or on a deeper level, how it is that I'm feeling at that direct moment. So from now on, I'll try my best to post either a video or just audio version of the song on the page, because these songs really do deserve to be heard in one way or the other. At least I feel that, truly.

At the very, very least I'll be giving the name of the song and the artist. Such as today's song. It comes from Adele, who, I'm not sure how I slept on her for so long because her voice in magnificent. The song is called "Chasing Pavements" and chances are, you've heard the song, or at the very least when you listen to it, you're going to feel like you've heard it before.

It's one of those songs that has that feel to it, you know? That feel that leaves you thinking that this song had never at some point in the history of existence not existed. Me grammar you good.

But her voice, I can't get over it. So enjoy!



Secondly, I need to start generating cash. I hate doing anything remotely capitalistic, because I don't feel anything I'll ever offer the world is worth any money whatsoever. But I'm seriously debating monetizing this blog, because for some reason it will see dips for a little bit, and then surge back up in viewership, and I'm so fucking happy about that I just can't iterate it.

I do feel that the recent decrease has been because my mind, and my heart have been other places. I don't know how to deal with certain happenings in my life, and because of that, I feel that some of the overall quality has dropped here, because I don't know what to say, or how to say it. But honestly, this is still something important to me, because it will always be the documentation of the day to day with someone who struggles with his own mental walls.

The recent bout with depression has really taken a lot out of me. The medication has ceased working whatsoever, and I find myself slipping more and more into a reclusive and withdrawn state. I'm not too sure I'll ever be able to get out of it, honestly. But it always feels that way, too, when you're down in a hole with absolutely no idea on how to get out of it.

Truth be told, I've started to run out of strength completely. The strength to fight, the will to push and keep running. The things I want in my life never work out, and I still fight like Hell for lost causes, and in the end I miss the boat completely on what I should be looking for.

The personal changes, honestly, have been numerous and plenty. I used to be able to pick a little bit of fun about myself, but still feel that who I was at the core was someone I was proud of. Two months ago, nearly three now, I everything came to a crashing head. While I feel that the book I wrote at that period of time, "Open Roads and Brick Walls" was the best that I could personally ever do with whatever I had at that time, and I still feel proud and excited about it, I've just kind of lost the will to keep pushing pen to paper. I find it hard to differentiate what's a joke I'm making about myself, and what a joke I really feel like I am.

I've never been an open person. Not in the least.

But I get absorbed in these books. As I've mentioned a lot here recently, I reread Catcher in the Rye.

Finishing the book, it was like a well broke somewhere inside of me. I've felt lost my entire life, without one semblance of purpose or direction. Just a general idea. The irony is some people would tell me, "Why worry about that?" when I've always been so impulsive. The thing is, I can't afford to anymore. I get careless and sloppy with the wrongs things, and in the end the only thing left is my own personal wreckage, and me staring at the edges of it all wondering what the hell just happened.

As easily as I used to jump into situations, I'd turn my back and run the moment something reared its ugly head.

To say I've burned a lot of bridges is a bit of an understatement. But in the end, I think I wind up doing it because with so many things in my life, I just don't get an amount of closure. So much of my life is an open end I've been wanting to shut, but those pages keep blowing in the breeze in the back of my mind, reminding me I don't even get the privilege of a book marker.

So Adele raises a good question:

Do I give up, or do I keep chasing pavements?

Either way, you're bound to crash. So in the end, whats the proper course of action?

I think first to go is this beard. Every time I touch it, or accidentally catch a glimpse of it in the mirror, I'm reminded how much I've generally stopped caring and have given up. I can't afford to keep doing this, not when I'm pushing (egads!!!!! end of the world as we know it...) 24.

I know it seems dumb. I really do. But it really does feel like a reminder of life gone to hell in a hand basket.

The second most important thing is I'm going to push really hard to find an agent. Honestly, if anyone can help me, or at least push me in the right direction...it would be so much appreciated. This is what I want, this is all I know, and I'm not even that good at it, but honestly I can't work in fast food anymore. I will spit in every motherfuckers burger.

Thirdly, it's time to end this wagon wheel. Every single time I get my heart hurt, I fuck everything. I still highly doubt I'll ever pursue a relationship again, and that's fine. I guess at this point I'm just looking for fun, and to forget. But that doesn't excuse being an asshole about it, and taking a mile when I was only permitted six inches (hey yo! I made myself sad...)

Fourthly, I need to get out of this place. Maybe for a week, maybe less, maybe longer.

You ever get a draw? Like, being drawn to something compulsively, and not know why? Lately two things have been like that in my life. A person I barely even spoke to (and not remotely sober on my end, mind you) and a place I've never been.

That place is England. I've always wanted to go. Something about the constant rain, and just...the pure vibrancy that country exudes. The history. Especially London. I keep watching movies like "Shaun of the Dead" and I wish to God that that was me swinging a cricket bat at some bloke zombies head. I realize that statement might be a bit much for people, but it's honestly how I feel.

When I was a kid, and it's only grown since then, I've seen myself one day winding up in Europe. I know now that that is something I want to work for, and try out for myself.

I'll always be Captain America, mind you. But my mindset has never been that of a particular American, mostly because even though I'm half Hispanic, and half Irish, I still regard England as the motherland. At least the step-motherland. Truthfully, the motherland would be Mesopotamia or Egypt, wouldn't it? Digression! (Catcher in the Rye reference, sorry.(

The point is, when I day dreamed as a kid, I always wound up on a rainy day in London, just walking endlessly. Or even now, it's either there or Madrid or Paris. I refuse to die on American soil, and I refuse even more adamantly that my carcass not rest on American soil. I demand my ashes be poured on shit-fuck Shakespeare's grave; cause fuck him. That's why.

I also refuse to let my final resting place in pieces be the same country that has Kurt Cobain, eventually Dick Cheney (time's ticking, motherfucker) and GG Allin.

But the ambiance is what I've always dreamed of. It's why one day I'll live in Seattle. I've lived in the desert so long, I've lost what it was too appreciate rain, and that's something I really miss.

I want to wind back up in Albany in the near future. To take pictures, and get an amount of closure I never allowed myself. It seems weird, and trite, but it feels like it didn't happen. So much of my life feels like it didn't fucking happen, and I cannot stand that in the least.

Albany...

Earlier today it got very dark and cloudy, and you could smell the rain in the air. Immediately my mind was taken back to this day where I was spun outside of a Church on Central Ave. It was only four in the afternoon, but the clouds covered the sky in this black sagging cotton.

I sat on those steps for hours, and let the rain wash over me. I still remember how cold it was, and how acutely you could feel the electricity in the air, as those cottony clouds ripped alive with veins of blue and white, and in the same breath those veins disappeared forever. I wish like hell you were there with me.

Life is like lightning. It happens so quickly, that if you blink you just may miss it. But if you happen to see it, and hear the thunder rolling afterward, then you should consider yourself lucky.

See, it's over really quickly. But if it hit you, I guarantee you, you'd never forget it.

So do we keep chasing pavements? We know we're gonna eventually catch up to it, and smash our teeth out on the ground. But maybe it's not the crash, it's the fall that has the most character of the trip in itself. And maybe that's something I need to really, really learn.

I've been lucky in a lot of ways. And very, very unlucky in some. In the end, it's left me scratching my head. You don't get out of this life without a scratch, so maybe that's why you kick and scream so damned hard when you're born. You already know what's in store, in a sense.

It's been an amazing ride, though. I'll give it that much. But there's a lot more of it left, and I need to figure out how to reserve my energy and not wind up out of breath before I even really start.

Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing pavements even if it goes nowhere?

Hell yes.

-Until tomorrow.