puellarina's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- instead i just want to draw pictures. I don't have any interest in writing. what am i doing? the old angst returns, about "nobody understands me". in a way i am tired of hearing myself say it. it doesn't sound authentic anymore, it sounds forced and muddled by my own dissaproval. nobody understands me. how could i not be interested in fighting for justice? what the hell is wrong with me? i feel as though i have joined a cult of hive dwelling worker bees, all buzzing together in monotonous harmony. diversity diversity, we are biased, we are the dominant culture, we must humble ourselves... i'm not feeling it. it's like the german kids i talked to, in Tuebingen. They all seemed so guilty for the crimes that took place in their country before they even were born. how does guilt help anyone? i'm not guilty for being white. i've been about as poor and dirty as americans can get and i think, even then, i was actually worse off than the brown folks in my same economic class - simply because i come from a lonely-ass whitey culture where not even your family wants anything to do with you if you don't have money. i don't know. i just miss the days when i was doing what really thrilled me. how easily i got lost in material. in the fabric of life. yes, okay, money is symobolic. money is important. oh, but i just love to paint. paint. listen to the music of the rain and the lack of rain that clarifies the bird calls. i just love to taste bitter black tea, hot, with nothing else in it. i love to feel hungry and to be painting. but instead. what am i doing instead? 5:34 a.m. - 2006-02-14 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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