More (Distracted)

Can you buy contentment in a store? Can you order it off the internet? I think not. One of my all-time favorite shots in a film comes at the end of Citizen Kane. The camera pans overhead from a bird's-eye perspective across this enormous warehouse-type room where the deceased main character (one of the world's wealthiest men) had collected an immense fortune's worth of statues and treasures and toys. Most of them were never even opened, still hidden away in a big wooden box. It's a pretty haunting shot, and beautiful because it evokes such a profound and ironic sense of emptiness.

Sometimes I feel so infected with this desire to have more. I'm not obsessive or unrealistic. I really don't actually buy a lot of things, but I spend a fair amount of time on the internet looking at stuff that I wish I had. There's the things I have already that I'm not using (and that's complicated). And I'm already so sick of living in a messy house and a cluttered bedroom.

Why is my life so distracted when I live at my parents' house? Why do I put up with the TV being on so much around here when I feel that I should detest it? What happens to my brain and my soul that I end up feeling like a zombie sometimes? Every thought that I end up thinking about this culture is a disturbing one. It's overwhelming. But I feel like I can't do anything about it.

I've spent a lot of the past few days playing this old RPG on the Playstation. To me, I treat a videogame like a story and an experience. Which means that I become a little obsessed with finishing games that I've started. I have to finish a game, even if I get sick of how much time it takes, simply because it's an incomplete experience if I don't. I'll get in these phases all the time, where I spend all this time contemplating a certain series of games. I read about them online and look at pictures. I think about how much I want to play the ones that I haven't yet played, and probably never will play. I have these strange fond memories of video games from growing up. They have always filled my mind with wonder and amazement. But nowadays I play video games for a long period of time and end up feeling kind of wasted and ridiculous.

I always want to watch more movies and read more books and play more video games. I guess I'm addicted to stories. It could be worse. Perhaps. I've seen people who are preoccupied with obtaining more strictly material things. Last Friday I went to the mall in a very rich and classy neighborhood called Bellvue. More than you could possibly want. From a myopic perspective, wow, I see things I wish I had. Shiny matching shoes. Pick the color that best matches your season. Shiny iPods and iPod accessories galore. Spend a little extra and get the coveted 40 gig player! But there's already this sense that I am secretly suffocating. This whole building, this whole commercial district is clutter! If I were Citizen Kane and I decided to up and purchase the entire contents of the Bellvue mall, wouldn't I look silly in about ten years, maybe less than that. Style always has to change. Technology creates new technology and sneers at its outdated ancestor.

I think what I'm getting at is that I have too much of this on my mind. I can look around my own bedroom and just think about how ridiculous it is to have all this stuff. I see a box full of the books that I had to read in college. I'm pretty sure I read most of them. And I get such an inward pleasure in knowing that I have experienced all those stories and lessons. BUT THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH! I want to read them again! And in my mind I become this pathetic whiny thing, crying over what I can't have. I can't have enough time to indulge in all of the things that I want to experience. It saddens me that I'll probably never have the time to re-read that Victorian novel or replay that Zelda game again. Because I'll always want to play the next Zelda game and read another Victorian novel. I've also got a box full of DVDs over there. There's some I still haven't watched yet. And I'm already thinking about getting my hands on more.

I know that there is something I'm getting at beyond this cluttered warehouse. There's a REAL outside world that I haven't even touched on yet. This is like the tip of the iceburg. To every rich and shiny metropolis, there is a polluted and decaying slum (and I sometimes have this twisted feeling that more of America, more of the whole world for that matter, is going to be more and more of a slum, but that's another rant altogether). I just can't figure out what happened to my mind and my soul. This isn't me! I'm being held hostage somewhere else! But I can't get out of this predicament. I don't feel like I'm loving very much. Everything is a distraction to loving. Everything I describe is too vast and towering to do justice. If only there were a way to leave it all behind. And DON'T LOOK BACK! Sometimes that's what really kills.

Perhaps there is a desert wilderness called eastern Washington where I can soon go and spend more time actually THINKING instead of OBSESSING. Maybe everything is better over there. Maybe it's good to spend most of your time out in the middle of nowhere.

It's about 8 minutes from my 23rd birthday. Make that 7 minutes. I was blogging at this time last year. Funny how I find comfort in that. I was writing on this computer onto this blog a year ago today, contemplating the swicth from 21 to 22, writing a poem. This silly little piece of ground out in cyberspace is more of a haven than most real places I can think of sometimes. I'm already thinking about what will happen when I leave this work station. What will I do? How will I not end up wasting my time? Will I worry about my job interview this Thursday morning?

I am 3 minutes away from being legally 23 years of age. I remember in 1st grade when the 6th graders on the bus looked like grown-ups. I'm moving away. My being is altering. 1 minute away. I'm nervous. I have to look at the second hand clock! 20 seconds!

It's happened. It is accompished.

This has helped something. But I need a dose of something stronger yet. Something potent and cathartic. I think we've all unconciously attempted suicide by swallowing bottles and bottles of drugs. Their not so bad when we have a little bit, but we've gotten addicted to them to the point that we are sometimes closer to dying than to really living. Feeding ourselves so much bull. I want it out of my system. I want Jesus to wring me like a sponge and to fill me with Holy Water, water that won't eventually leave me poisoned and bloated or all dried up.

To the people that I love who are reading this, I can't believe that you are reading this. But I guess it's public and I guess you're all welcome. And I love you all. I hope that I'm not the only person that feels this way. If I am, then I guess I've got some issues to work out. Peace.

One more thing. I think I put up with the TV because it blocks me from having to deal with other stuff around me.