[some outstanding title]

something translucent flits through my mind
as a gossamer strand
not quite on the borders of sight.
it's bound to be amazing
as soon as i can reach it

there's a subtle pain in remembering
tears at the skin a little
it's hard to look back sometimes
but necessary to go forward

blah blah blah
i'm no poet. these are just random thoughts tied together on a page. i am trying to do things for myself sometimes. this one's for me. it'll be one of those blogs i read 3 years from now and not know what the fuck it's ambiguity points to.

am i an artist? i don't know. i was given the title of "writer" a little while ago, but i can't identify with that. i'm not an author, poet, journalist. i'm not sure what that makes me. in the land-o-th'-blog, it's entirely too difficult to classify myself as a writer. though i didn't go to school for it, or anything really, what does that leave me with? what DO i label myself as?

i guess i'm a thinker. no philosopher here. i just think, and try to connect my past- present- future- selves. i hope we get along. as of right now, my past self was an idiot, i'm not sure how much i like her. don't think i'd be friends with her if i had the opportunity. but i have better insight than anyone else. i guess i'd call myself an actor. my past was mostly bit-part acting.