10,000 spoons when I need a knife

What is it to bare our soul? Does it mean confronting our own fears? For so long I believed that self-honesty was the key to life. If I could be honest with myself about my shortcomings, about my faults, then I would be able to relax. Because there would never be any realizations that took me by surprise. I would never wake up in that alley. But maybe the realization I'm heading towards is that there is no solution. Maybe there is no hope. But maybe there is.

A girl asked me today if I could tell her about Spain. I went to Spain to study this summer. So what do I have to say about it? Maybe anytime you don't have to worry about anything you will have a magical time. But at the time I was discovering a love affair with cigarettes that helped me write. I had my first cigarette in months today. It wasn't as good as I remembered. All I could say to her was that I felt free. That although I always figured my priorities to start with conquering myself in the homeland, my time in Spain was happy. But I couldn't say if that was because of me or the country.

Why do we ramble? Is rambling just a cop out for me? Because I can form ideas I just know it. And yet, I cop out. I scribble this shit and call it art and hope someone will love me. I do so knowing full-well that everyone wants to be adored, respected, admired, hell even noticed. So do I deserve that? When other people put more effort and more heart into their writing, into their songs and lives than I do. They say my generation feels entitled and I do. But am I wrong? As humans are we not entitled to some admiration. I put in more effort than most but less than some. Where is the cut-off?

Somebody tell me...

I wish someone would tell me how much I have to write to cleanse my soul.

Maybe its forever.

I miss everything and I am utterly alone in more ways than one.

But sometimes I feel consolation. Because there is always solace to be found somewhere.

Thanks for the line Alanis, It IS ironic. Oh wait, it's not, it just sucks.