No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2001-10-04 - 4:04 p.m.

Courage equals the inverse of Desire

"Had they but courage equal to desire."

-- Yeats (or so the Cranberries would lead me to believe)

So I've gotten back into my habit of talking to myself. I do this sometimes, usually when I'm down. I have little phrases that just come to my lips, and I find myself saying them. These days it's "Have you ever been so fucking lonely...?"

Then I just trail off. I never know how it finishes. Certain Blues lyrics suggest themselves, but they're trite coming from a white boy.

I don't know how it ends. I don't even really know what it means. Okay, I know what it means. It means I'm fucking lonely.

Had I but courage for asking out women that could equal my desire to cease my loneliness.

I'd be one courageous mofo, let me tell you.

Instead I seem to have a inversely proportional relationship between my courage and desire. The more I desire to ask a woman out, the less courage I can muster for the deed.

Wait a second, wait a second.

Anyone else around here sick of my bitching?

Cause I sure as hell am.

Anyone out there wanna drive to Denver and give me a swift kick in the ass?

On the upside, I've already worked out three times this week, and plan to do so again today, and maybe tomorrow as well. Another way I've been talking to myself (or more appropriately, to a part of myself) is that I stand in front of the mirror in the morning, and I poke myself in the love handles, and I say "Your days are numbered."

And here I am nearing the end of another entry that has no. Fucking. Point. At all.

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