If you're reading this, you very likely know exactly who I am. That is, you probably bear some understanding as to what you believe me to be or you bear a concept of the individual I present myself as being. In any event, introductions seem unnecessary.
But I like introductions. They make me feel shiny and new.
Presenting yourself to new people is like a fresh start, and this little collection of musings is about fresh starts.
The name I choose to write under is Zeon. My reasons for choosing such an obscure moniker are confused, convuluted, and ultimately superficial, so bar them from further consideration. All you need know is that I call myself Zeon. I am a college student, a lunatic, and a genius.
I'm also a wee bit egotistical.
I have another blog that I closed some time ago. I tired of the online journal scene and chose to remove it from my life. I felt it was best to spend my creativity on more meaningful things. To work on the real website I had purchased. I had underestimated my need for a linguistic outlet. As college life constricts me ever tighter, I find that my creativity is the very first thing I sacrifice in favor of dull escapism and rest.
I need to write. What I am throwing together at this very moment is not the type of thing I intended to create with my spare time, but the fact remains . . . I NEED to write. I was a fool to believe that ending my blogging would yield more creative and respectable results . . . it put a halt to all results. When I find myself with time to spare, I no longer seem to write . . . I sit and vegetate. I squander the time I have relaxing. Escaping. I play video games. I watch cartoons. I read comics. I want to create them, but the very act of creation seems like a distant and impossible undertaking to be challenged another time.
I forgot that it was as easy as this. I forgot how it can flow. I forgot that my writing does not need to be impressive or intelligent or creative to satisfy me. It simply needs to be THERE.
To commit to something such as writing a play or creating a poem is a devotion of time . . . and such a devotion is attached with the weighty guilt of academic neglegence. The same seems true with drawing. I forgot. I forgot. I forgot that all of these things can just HAPPEN.
Time is not a concern when I write like this. Time is not a concern now. It hovers over me always, coaxing me to rest when I can and to study and to commit and to take advantage of what priveleges it oh-so-graciously bestows upon me.
But not now. Not when I do this. I am master, and Time is made slave. The louder it beckons, the less I hear, until I am so liberated that I can simply seize the bastard from its irritating perch at my shoulder and nail it to the wall. Writing is the only way in which Time is made to sit back helplessly and watch ME move beyond IT. I am master. It is slave. I can live forever in an instant or black out for a day. In this realm, I am law.
What I realize is that blogging is not, for me, a replacement for greater things that hinders my creativity. It is a starting point that ALLOWS for creativity. This is my outlet, this is my home. You are invited to observe, partake, and maybe even contribute. Welcome, never forget that you are the guest and that this writing is for ME.
This blog is for every aspect of myself that needs voice. Every drive and thought that needs breath. It is not a superficial breeding ground for entertainment. It is not a den for humor. It is not a desperate mask for personal problems nor a cowardly cry for attention. This is all of me that needs escape. This is the runoff of my soul. Here is my humor, here is my sarcasm, here is my wit, my genius, my stupidity. Here are my musings, beliefs, and feelings. Here are my dark secrets and forbidden thoughts. Here are my etchings. Here are the rough sketches of my life.
All as I choose to present them. Made for my understanding and appreciation. Released for my sake. Why public? Because I have nothing to hide, and much to gain from the insight of others. Just bear in mind that unlike what we offer each other in every waking moment of interaction, my garbled impulses are presented unpolished and without consideration for outside interpretation. Read at risk. Accept that publicity is a validation for writings too silly to be protected as private, and too necessary to not be created in selfish need.
Enjoy the show. If not, piss off.
I'm not a goth, I'm not emo, I'm not any other mindless label or even a stalwart nonconformist committed to distancing myself from these mindless estimations. I am a predictable human, as easy to understand as any bag of flesh on the street. Yet I am also a unique and incomprehendible mind that one should not presume to have a handle on. You will not learn to understand me. No human can ever learn to completely understand one single human being, including itself. So just watch, accept, smile in the insanity I know we all share, and leave judgement at the door.
Welcome. I'm Zeon.
