Perceptions of Faded Architecture

I’m going to be extremely candid here.

Frankly, I’m quite perplexed about the state that I’m currently in. As I write these shenanigans, I am suffering from a mysterious bout of insomnia that has kept me awake in the devil’s hour. I’m not sure why, but after hours of mental negotiations I’ve given up prospects of sleep in this early morning.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I had spent almost 4 days sitting around for an idea to come after finding some much needed motivation to actually write once more. Dear reader, I realize my little schtick of finding beauty in the banal and finding inspiration from negativity is my traditional albeit approach that resembles the sweet irony and counter-productiveness of conservatism. I can’t help it! I emotionally invest time and energy trying to find something encouraging in my daily life that is both entertaining and emotionally rewarding for those who do bother reading my ramblings (I’ve done the word count – and boy, do I ramble! You are better off reading all three Lord of the Rings and would be thoroughly entertained and would have invested in much less time rather than reading one of these oddities). I know for the purpose of readership, sometimes bringing out boulders of truth is harmful for the reputation, but I’ve never been one to sustain a very good one to begin with. Take this as a forewarning that you will not receive my happy inspirational messages that my dear followers or strangers that happen to pass by will traditionally get! I’m putting my heart on my sleeve for this.

After all these four days, I was able to write a sentence. Actually not even. Three words

“Look I…”
“Stop”

My prologue is far from finished and I had even contemplated scrapping it completely despite being incredibly in love with it. See, as I was waiting for ideas and working hard to actually find time to write I remembered my post a few days ago about finding the motivation to write again. And I felt so ashamed come the first few moments realizing both my mind was blank and my fingers were paralyzed yet trepidatious (do not argue with my usage of the word here) from writing anything. I began to become incredibly despondent, realizing what a hypocrite I had become as I couldn’t take my own advice. I know hardly anyone comes on this blog, but on the instance they did – I had become deceptive. My inspirations weren’t true and there’s nothing worse than not only letting your heart ride on a lie, but for that to insidiously feed onto others. I’d like to acknowledge I don’t set out to be. Sometimes even a page of a post can take a whole day. I fall under the stream of consciousness school of blog writing, since that’s what journals are for right?

Knowing full well that these notes I consciously write will become the ether of the internet for eternity, there is much more at stake and for my own sake, whatever I choose to record and share should be something completely honest and representative of me, with my approval and being in-line with my intent.

Trying to sleep in my bed, I was riddled by what I had gotten myself into. I had already disappointed the 1 person who actively comes to check back in this blog, myself and had wasted four days of trying to find time to write and to actually do it. Being upset is only natural for creative types. It’s almost as if you’ve lost your soul, purpose and ability to do something that should only seem natural for you.
A writer who can’t write is no better than an amnesiac who has no memory of their life in the past.

This may seem dramatic because it sounds like a poor case of Writer’s Block. However I have all the ideas in my head. But there’s a stinging doubt, almost cancerous that’s stopping me from elaborating or even jotting them down as brainstorms. There is such an abundance of inspiration that I have to draw from, but it’s almost as if my conscience is actively ceasing whenever I find motivation.

I should warn you, I suffer from extreme social anxiety. I credit this as my uncanny ability to find beauty in absolutely everything. Even more pretentious than that plastic bag from American Beauty.

I have this idea for a character (not the main) where their back story explores pretty much the social anxiety I have. But leads to this absolute regret of one moment in time that has caused them their life to spiral down with bad indecision. That’s my life in a nutshell but just placed in a fictional setting. I have an abundance of real life scenarios that go with that. The fact I didn’t pursue music, the fact that I didn’t pursue anything I truly wanted to do, all the bad life decisions that has dramatically culled my life expectancy and a back catalogue of things I’ll forever doubt that’s enough to fill a Yellow Pages phone-book or Atlas Shrugged (I am a bit like Ayn Rand right? Not the ideology… just the long-windedness).

As I silently tried to find solace in self-imposed silence and drive to sleep, my mind wondered about a certain individual in my life. I never realized the reasons why I was so distinctively drawn to this person. I had been for five years actually. Two of them (almost becoming three) was grieving from the fact that they aren’t in my life anymore. Actually it’s sad to realize as I spent a lot of time pining for some sort of sacred sign from them and they went off happily being engaged, successful and not even realizing that they weren’t just a number on my facebook list, they were something incredibly special.

A basic crush really. But I’ve come to the conclusion that the reason why I was so drawn to the person in such a surreal and almost intangibly but beautifully and spiritually connected way (not in the same way I’ve been drawn to peanut butter in my dishes – I’ve kissed many frogs that only left that impression in my psyche and my mouth) was because in the very small moments I’ve had with them they had this uncanny ability to make me feel beautiful and worth something. Women, you need to listen up and listen carefully. As much as you protest objectivity with your feminist regimes and bra burnings, men too need to feel beautiful and worth something.

I think the gender disparity from such a universal, human desire is from the fact that we’ve always viewed the world as a utilitarian perspective. Men are doers, women are presenters. Therefore men only need the assurance of capability and bravado and women just need to conform to unfair social standards. This is far from the truth. Yet I still think conservative views still are upheld albeit in a more malleable and less conspicuous fashion. But the end result really is the longing to be wanted. And having such an ability to give fulfill another person’s void of isolation is such an underrated and undervalued but humanly capable action. But a lot of us choose to not do it. Or choose to quickly ostracize and create an emotional class system that overrides any sort of rationality whatsoever.

Let’s face it though, even through those emotional realms, there is a large inequality of distribution. But I didn’t feel that when I was in those moments. Even when I vividly remember those moments, to the point where that’s all I would see in front of me – I didn’t feel unequal. I didn’t feel disconnected. I felt like I was worth something.

In those four years, I’ve aimed to create the perfect story. The perfect story to explain all those emotions and the ones I feel now. I have to admit a few months ago, I almost went away with it scot-free. I didn’t think feel empty at all! Can you believe it? The only way to go was up from there. Well that’s what I thought. And I’ve failed. Failed miserably. Here I was, an architect of words, emotions and art not even able to recapture something that constantly haunts me to this day. A thought that seems that would never erase from my mind.

Then as I thought about about how I’d feel about that person for the rest of my days, a strange but wonderfully apt song came on. Buckminster Fuller by Nerina Pallot. Only a little over a minute and thirty seconds. Wonderfully apt. I’ve known this song for quite awhile. I initially didn’t know what Buckminster Fuller was. I actually thought it was a building or a place. But Buckminster Fuller was one of the greatest architects, inventors, systems theorists and writers of all time. Funny… I never took much notice of this song at the beginning. It was quite cute sounding, had a poetic ring to it and Nerina’s voice beautiful as always.

But as I began to research more into Buckminster Fuller and Nerina’s interpretation of the song, I both was hit with fulfillment and tragedy. The fulfillment was knowing the emotional resonance. The tragedy was that what I longed for, my own Buckminster Fuller was gone forever.

See Buckminster Fuller was amazing at many things (including the ones I’ve listed) but he was also a great philosopher. From what I’m aware of Nerina Pallot (who I admire greatly) told that an inspiration that led her to write the song was this monumental but incredibly profound quote.

There’s nothing in a caterpillar that says it’s going to be a butterfly

And that was it. I had undermined not only my own emotions but how important this person was to me. I have to admit – I did mistreat them a lot on the occasions I could have been more accommodating as they have already flown, I’m still waiting for my wings to grow. Although Nerina’s song is actually quite optimistic with this message, it had touched me in a different way. What if I was deviant of this phenomenon? What if I’ll never grow wings?

Architects are amazing people. People are natural architects. But it takes a talented architect to show the world their vision of how things should be and they should be built. It takes an amazing person to let you envision for those small moments – that you are beautiful and worth something.

People don’t realize that grieving also involves people leaving you. I’ve grieved for four years. And it’s only about now that I’ve come to terms that nothing is bringing them back. And that I’ll never ever get that sacred sign from them. And I doubt I’ll ever feel that way again.
I almost bawled my eyes out. Not until Will You Still Love Me came on. Now that just killed me.To this day I still wonder if I meant anything. And if I’ll get my happy ending.

And that’s what made post this post. It’s now 4am in the morning and I’ve realized all my day plans are ruined because I’ll need to make this lack of sleep up for something.

Someday, I’ll be able to show the world what I see. But for now, sleep deprivation, heart-break and Nerina Pallot is keeping me up.

I don’t know when I’ll catch a break. And screw my limited articulation.

I apologize. I was trying to laugh at something. A self-confessed person with social anxiety and depression is always the life of the party.

C.

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