The cake is a lie...

For me, being a "writer" means sitting alone in a room and working out my grief, my rage, my imagination and my deep desire to make people laugh. And every now and then I'd like to think that I make a work of art, which then transforms my world with the truth, because in the end that's all we want, that's all we really need. But the thing about the truth, is that it makes everything else seem like a lie...

You know there are some days, when I think to myself, how things would change if I had chosen differently, if I had the courage to wear my heart on my sleeve and say what I feel. Things aren't going the way they should, the way I dreamt they would go and for the first time I lost my sense of right and wrong. You know that fear I told you about awhile back, the fear of being forgotten, it seems that my worries might have been justified. Life is strength. That is not to be contested; it seems logical enough. You live; you effect the world around you, but when you pass away do you fade within the shadows of greater beings? The ones that weren't afraid to truly live...

It just frustrates me sometimes, that I can't control the outcome of certain portions of my life. It's as if we're just suppose to stand back and let our life play out, acting as a spectator not a player. It feels like the refeeres always side with our opponents, the crowd always cheers our failures and quickly forgets our accomplishments. I lost many points during the game, but I also scored a few as well. The questions is, were they enough to make it all worth it?