Thursday, 03 May 2012
The following is an excerpt from my journal. This is the second "post" (post here meaning, "set of pages filled out for the day"). The subject usually ends at the end of the post and a new subject is begun the next day. Occasionally the post will not end with the typical period but with half of a sentence or incomplete thoughts, this is most often caused from me putting the Journal down and either not continuing or forgetting I didn't finish.
Some originals of poems that are contained in earlier posts in the blog might be included if they are part of the text of the Journal, which they often are.
The following contains the entirety of posts from three different days and will be labeled as such starting with Day 2. Day 1 will not be included due to some content issues but may be submitted at a later date. Segments might also be omitted because of lack of consistency this includes references to posts that have been discarded or things that would make no logical sense to the reader.
Now, it is my sublime honor to present to you original posts of the Journal belonging to one Laura deLuna (sure its not my real name but did you honestly think I would put my real name up here?)
My head is so full of names and faces, events and lists of things. These things, they make up people. It seems like there is a world of people inside my head. But none of them are actually real.
There are people who have seen past the pasteboard masks we call our faces. There are people who know things aren't always what they seem to be. there is a world that exists just behind the one you see now. If you look you won't see but when you aren't, it just appears. It makes everything that used to be amazing boring, this world that exists. And under streetlamps on dark nights, it shines with a glitter, unlike anything you've ever seen, but in the light of day, it turns to so much dust and ashes. This is the world i see only in my mind. This is my Glamour.
I had no world, so I created my own. And in this world I've created for myself, everything is right, everything is how it should be and everything is as I would have it. And because of this I have become so engrossed in my own world that all the others cease to matter.
I've written so many poems, the all seem to lead up to one thing. My Grand Revelation, my Great discovery. My Glamour.
Imagine, I have finally found a way to describe what has been indescribable to me for so long. I can finally explain it all to people, how I feel, what these things mean. In one simple word, no two, the Glamour.
What is the Glamour?
It is the want it, need it, have to have it, can't live without it. Its the dirty nitty gritty you just have to have. Its Stephen King's "gotta." Its everything you want and some things you don't. Its the glitter you see that covers the sweat.
That's my Glamour and even though I think its killing me, I can't put the book down, can't drop my pencil.
(end of Day 2)
I have decided to make something out of these pages by turning them into a type of unofficial diary. I say unofficial because if I make it official I won't always write in it, this way I might write every day, then again, I might not.
(end of Day 3)
Its killing me and I love it. If this is what Death is then I want to spend my life dying. How many ways to explain the seductive beauty of this world I have. Thes things I've invented. Over and over again I'm struck by the magic, the wonder of it all. Over and over again I crave it. I've come so far into this depression that I can't imagine living without it, it would be impossible.
I write about it every day. Songs, poems, stories, but its not ENOUGH. When will I finally be done, when will it be enough. I'm worried about when tht does happen because then I might find a reason to end
(incomplete end to post)
(end of day 4)
Looking back on these posts I realize I should have started this journal earlier, more towards the begining of my infatuation than at one of the many peaks. I see parallels in these journals to the intense feelings of the other day and my most recent depression. Posts that predated even these might help to even further sort out my feelings.
As it is I will continue to search through the Journals to find causes and effects and to see if there is an easily predictable end in sight that does not involve more drastic measures. I am also curious as to the opinion of any reader who has happened upon this: I have had suggestions from friends who know of the Journals that I should publish them as a sort of fictional document. Due to previously assumed inconsistency of said documents I decided against the idea but now, looking back upon them, I am curious to know if it would make an interesting book. Some privacy issues I have would not be a problem because the book would be published as adult/teen fiction.
Any opinion would help in making the decision.