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Last night I cried. I wasn't really crying because I was sad, although the tears were tinged with sadness, but I wasn't really crying because I was happy, although the tears were tinged with happiness.
It feels like a big lump inside my chest that's pounding away. It's like my heart is breaking and I can feel every fibre tearing. It's feels as if I can't catch my breath properly.
I've lost something, and I miss it. It's not a person that I've lost, Its not even a place. The people and places that I've loved all my life are still there. I can visit them if I want to. I'm not crying for an object, anything solid that I can properly express, what is it that I have lost? What am I crying for?
Probing at my feelings is like picking off a scab, Its hurts, but there is a kind of grim satisfacation to poking it and seeing it bleed. In the end I discover what it is I have lost. Its the freedom of childhood, the freedom of imagination. I've lost the ability to create new worlds in my head, I've lost the love of playing games in the garden with nothing more than a patch of grass and a tree stump allowing my mind to go wild with possibilities. I've lost much more than that too.
Whan I was a kid all the problems I had which seemed unsurmountable, were easily put right by telling my mum about it. I might have been scared to tell her things, but things were invariably better once she knew about them. peace of mind.
I knew I had a good thing when I was a kid. I knew that I never wanted to be an adult with responsibilities. I couldn't understand why adults never wanted to play games of pretending things. I made a promise to myself that I would never be like that, I would never grow up, I would never forget how to play. But of course I have. I can't recabture that magic that things held when I was a child. I can invent new worlds in my head anymore. My bed isn't a boat floating through the sea at night anymore. I have more important things to worry about
It feels like a big lump inside my chest that's pounding away. It's like my heart is breaking and I can feel every fibre tearing. It's feels as if I can't catch my breath properly.
I've lost something, and I miss it. It's not a person that I've lost, Its not even a place. The people and places that I've loved all my life are still there. I can visit them if I want to. I'm not crying for an object, anything solid that I can properly express, what is it that I have lost? What am I crying for?
Probing at my feelings is like picking off a scab, Its hurts, but there is a kind of grim satisfacation to poking it and seeing it bleed. In the end I discover what it is I have lost. Its the freedom of childhood, the freedom of imagination. I've lost the ability to create new worlds in my head, I've lost the love of playing games in the garden with nothing more than a patch of grass and a tree stump allowing my mind to go wild with possibilities. I've lost much more than that too.
Whan I was a kid all the problems I had which seemed unsurmountable, were easily put right by telling my mum about it. I might have been scared to tell her things, but things were invariably better once she knew about them. peace of mind.
I knew I had a good thing when I was a kid. I knew that I never wanted to be an adult with responsibilities. I couldn't understand why adults never wanted to play games of pretending things. I made a promise to myself that I would never be like that, I would never grow up, I would never forget how to play. But of course I have. I can't recabture that magic that things held when I was a child. I can invent new worlds in my head anymore. My bed isn't a boat floating through the sea at night anymore. I have more important things to worry about
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I miss that feeling, when you were a kid, about 8 years old, and you'd be planning to spend a day out.
The day out would probably be you, one friend from school and maybe his parents or grandparents, and theyd meet you somewhere and youd go to maybe Thorpe Park type places or more often you'd go swimming.
I miss those kind of carefree days as a kid. At that age you didn't worry about how you were perceived, what would happen if yuo were seen out with some kid and his grandparents, yuo didn't wonder what girls thought of you wehen you walked past and if someone looked at you you didn't wonder why, you just carried on your jolly little life.
I miss that soo much, and the hardest part is that I know I'll be a cold corpse before I ever feel like that again.
Life is cruel.
The day out would probably be you, one friend from school and maybe his parents or grandparents, and theyd meet you somewhere and youd go to maybe Thorpe Park type places or more often you'd go swimming.
I miss those kind of carefree days as a kid. At that age you didn't worry about how you were perceived, what would happen if yuo were seen out with some kid and his grandparents, yuo didn't wonder what girls thought of you wehen you walked past and if someone looked at you you didn't wonder why, you just carried on your jolly little life.
I miss that soo much, and the hardest part is that I know I'll be a cold corpse before I ever feel like that again.
Life is cruel.
Well this is an interesting one, isn't it?
My bed was floating through the night a couple of weeks ago, although that might have been due to excess alcohol.
In a way, I think you answered your own quandry. Pretending your bed is a boat doesn't seem so fun anymore. As you get older what is "fun" has become less simplistic and more sophisticated. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?
The fact is as you grow up your gain responsibilities, and worries to go with them, and you yearn for that simplicity once again, but that simplicity is no longer satisfying.
It's interesting too because I'm kind of at a juncture too. Do I take the simplistic path, or do I risk the unknown field?
"Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of
fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the
ugly parts and recycling it for more than
it’s worth." :- Baz Luhrmann
I like that. The concept of nostalgia, it rings true to me. It looks bad, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth. It sounds a bit like changing rooms, covering up the crap and making something more than it ultimately is, so that it can only disappoint. I see it more like bargin hunt, finding something that is discarded, but with a little care and attention is genuinely worth more than it was.
end of ramble
My bed was floating through the night a couple of weeks ago, although that might have been due to excess alcohol.
In a way, I think you answered your own quandry. Pretending your bed is a boat doesn't seem so fun anymore. As you get older what is "fun" has become less simplistic and more sophisticated. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?
The fact is as you grow up your gain responsibilities, and worries to go with them, and you yearn for that simplicity once again, but that simplicity is no longer satisfying.
It's interesting too because I'm kind of at a juncture too. Do I take the simplistic path, or do I risk the unknown field?
"Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of
fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the
ugly parts and recycling it for more than
it’s worth." :- Baz Luhrmann
I like that. The concept of nostalgia, it rings true to me. It looks bad, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth. It sounds a bit like changing rooms, covering up the crap and making something more than it ultimately is, so that it can only disappoint. I see it more like bargin hunt, finding something that is discarded, but with a little care and attention is genuinely worth more than it was.
end of ramble
Well it's currently 2003, which is your bedtime.
ta.
Comedy is all about the timing, see?
Comedy is all about the timing, see?
Goatboy wrote:
> Who is Grandprix?
That did actually make me laugh out loud. Here's your zimmer, by the way.
> Who is Grandprix?
That did actually make me laugh out loud. Here's your zimmer, by the way.
I'm surprised you don't make that your tagline and have done with it.
Nostalgia is cool.
Letting it take the wind out of your (bed)sails, isn't. Imagination doesn't dwindle with age, it just gets clouded by reality.
When you were a child, you could imagine fanciful things because you lived a life full of cartoons, fairy-tale heroes and animals that can talk.
But at the end of the day, all those things are just fuel for the imagination, not your imagination itself. Imaginative spark is like a pilot light. As you get older, it sometimes goes out. That doesn't mean you can't imagine anymore, only that you need something to light the flame again.
I don't doubt that you can find whatever that something is.
Letting it take the wind out of your (bed)sails, isn't. Imagination doesn't dwindle with age, it just gets clouded by reality.
When you were a child, you could imagine fanciful things because you lived a life full of cartoons, fairy-tale heroes and animals that can talk.
But at the end of the day, all those things are just fuel for the imagination, not your imagination itself. Imaginative spark is like a pilot light. As you get older, it sometimes goes out. That doesn't mean you can't imagine anymore, only that you need something to light the flame again.
I don't doubt that you can find whatever that something is.
Who is Grandprix?
Oh nevermind, you old codger.
Back on?
Eh?
Pirates?
Eh?
Pirates?
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