To Know
When I was younger I searched history as an exploration into the why of humanity. Why are people so evil? Why do I not have any friends? Why don't I have any power?
I must have been in the 7th or 8th grade 11 or 12 years old and I have written about this before on paper, in digital form and in speech. Every time I write about it, it seems to gather more meaning with the same conclusion. It was I who had caused this evil, it was me...Something was simply wrong with me. I blamed myself and out of that a tumultuous flow of emotion brought me to tears.
I didn't tell anyone till years later after this shroud of gloom began to escape me. I opened up and sometimes I look back and think well what if...what if I had continued to keep my mouth shut?
There were so many different ambitions, at first I wanted to be a marine. I wanted to serve my country like John Clark in those Tom Clancy novels I idolized.
Then I wanted to be a perfect representation of saint hood, a Jesus like figure sometime during highschool.
Then I wanted to embrace film and direct. I started small and thought it could lead to big things. I got distracted again.
Writing became the focus, now I wanted to write a Best Seller. Some sort of glorification of my own life that could be seen as an incredible piece of literature.
But career goals interfere with social asperations and vice versa. There is always the desire to be happy to some extent. That is what our society teaches us and there is nothing wrong with this but it divides us each by our own ambitions.
When I finally had solved what seemed like a high social aspiration to me at the time, namely sex with the opposite sex. I will not deny I cherish this moment because it did free me to some extent. When the rush of being with a woman had dimmed I went back to my writing. Instead of trying to portray myself, I internalized other people. I adapted them into the various characters, my suspicious about them, and myself. My own history became something I could extract from and draw on into these short novellas. Again my ambitions were high but I was more determined to get the ground work done. I wrote almost everyday, I planned everything meticulously to what seemed to me a solid sort of pulp fiction.
Two novellas came out of these random memories and mysteries in my own life. I enjoyed writing every word. I hustled and did my best to get my work out there. I didn't make much money that was probably the good thing about the writing because it allows my mind to continue exploring for plots, story, characters and meaning. Though as hard as I try I may not reach the truth itself. I think that is an impossibility even to the most evolved mind.
That is my personal history the large scheme of history seems to take a different course. Trends, empires and republics rising and declining, development of technologies and inventions. Such interpretations can be made on such little documentation that we have. I personally believe that history itself is hidden in the nuances of details left unknown. The dialogues, the last words of a dieing man, the final embrace of a lover before a divorce that does not get documented in court. Things like these escape our understanding of history itself.
I think of the Count Saint Germaine to some a miracle man of an undying nature said to be even a vampire but it is almost obvious to me this man was a in fact a time traveler. Perhaps even close to our own time, part of me knows who this person is but the other part of me knows I have yet to meet him.
I want you to know kid I am crying right now.
I want to say more but we will have this conversation later.
There are so many aspects to history and most people ignore history. Yet it is vital to our understanding of our world and ourselves.
I remember walking into a bar once and I brought up history. "What do you think it means?" I asked.
"Oh...well its HIS, STORY." there was a laughter amongst the bartenders.
I frowned inside, no it means to know.
To know.
I must have been in the 7th or 8th grade 11 or 12 years old and I have written about this before on paper, in digital form and in speech. Every time I write about it, it seems to gather more meaning with the same conclusion. It was I who had caused this evil, it was me...Something was simply wrong with me. I blamed myself and out of that a tumultuous flow of emotion brought me to tears.
I didn't tell anyone till years later after this shroud of gloom began to escape me. I opened up and sometimes I look back and think well what if...what if I had continued to keep my mouth shut?
There were so many different ambitions, at first I wanted to be a marine. I wanted to serve my country like John Clark in those Tom Clancy novels I idolized.
Then I wanted to be a perfect representation of saint hood, a Jesus like figure sometime during highschool.
Then I wanted to embrace film and direct. I started small and thought it could lead to big things. I got distracted again.
Writing became the focus, now I wanted to write a Best Seller. Some sort of glorification of my own life that could be seen as an incredible piece of literature.
But career goals interfere with social asperations and vice versa. There is always the desire to be happy to some extent. That is what our society teaches us and there is nothing wrong with this but it divides us each by our own ambitions.
When I finally had solved what seemed like a high social aspiration to me at the time, namely sex with the opposite sex. I will not deny I cherish this moment because it did free me to some extent. When the rush of being with a woman had dimmed I went back to my writing. Instead of trying to portray myself, I internalized other people. I adapted them into the various characters, my suspicious about them, and myself. My own history became something I could extract from and draw on into these short novellas. Again my ambitions were high but I was more determined to get the ground work done. I wrote almost everyday, I planned everything meticulously to what seemed to me a solid sort of pulp fiction.
Two novellas came out of these random memories and mysteries in my own life. I enjoyed writing every word. I hustled and did my best to get my work out there. I didn't make much money that was probably the good thing about the writing because it allows my mind to continue exploring for plots, story, characters and meaning. Though as hard as I try I may not reach the truth itself. I think that is an impossibility even to the most evolved mind.
That is my personal history the large scheme of history seems to take a different course. Trends, empires and republics rising and declining, development of technologies and inventions. Such interpretations can be made on such little documentation that we have. I personally believe that history itself is hidden in the nuances of details left unknown. The dialogues, the last words of a dieing man, the final embrace of a lover before a divorce that does not get documented in court. Things like these escape our understanding of history itself.
I think of the Count Saint Germaine to some a miracle man of an undying nature said to be even a vampire but it is almost obvious to me this man was a in fact a time traveler. Perhaps even close to our own time, part of me knows who this person is but the other part of me knows I have yet to meet him.
I want you to know kid I am crying right now.
I want to say more but we will have this conversation later.
There are so many aspects to history and most people ignore history. Yet it is vital to our understanding of our world and ourselves.
I remember walking into a bar once and I brought up history. "What do you think it means?" I asked.
"Oh...well its HIS, STORY." there was a laughter amongst the bartenders.
I frowned inside, no it means to know.
To know.
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