journal entries 1997

just certain parts of this this one because it's so long...
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"No matter where I am in things, I feel like I s hould be somewhere else. It seems like not everyone, but a great deal of people are where I want to be, so why am I not? This could easily become an exercise in self-pity, but it could also go merely into ponderings. I think the problem is that my idea of how life should be, and how I want my life to be, is based on the extraordinary, rather than the ordinary. Sidenote: I don't think people necessarily are naive for giving money to homeless people.
I look at people like Henry Miller, Anais Nin, Jack Kerouac, Thelonious Monk, Tom Waits, Paul Gaugin, you name it. I see that wonderful artistic, passionate, romantic, unlikely, excruciatingly difficult, challenging, competitive lifestyle as the norm. But then I get discouraged for two reasons:
One reason is that I don't think I have anywhere near as much talent as any of those people. The second reason is the realization that nobody is just given those gifts; they work damn hard for them. A kind of work and dedication and motivation that I've never known. So it's like, could I ever do it? then WOULD I ever do it?! I guess my favorite kind of writing is just about life, autobiographical, and just thoughts, observations, personal stories, personal ideologies, etc. So that's how I'd like to write, but I think in order to write a book like that, you have to actually be interesting...DAMN!
The only other two options are either knowing interesting people, or already being famous so people care about anything you have to say. Jack Kerouac, for instance, now true, I've only read one of his books so far, but from that impression, I don't think HE is all that fascinating. It's the people he knew who were interesting. (that's not completely true, but to a point it is).
...bla bla bla about Kerouac and Nin and Henry Miller and my boring friends, reclusive lifestyle, and how in order to meet the fascinating people I like, you have to go out, and then they give you the courage to go out and do stuff...

What I would like to know is...why is it that when I'm just writing, or reading, or thinking, or whatever, just being myself BY myself, assuming that there are no circumstantial interruptions/annoyances, I invariably fall into this really weird state of mind? I just stare at stuff (anything!) and am just awe-struck; fascinated. It's highly idealistic or humanistic or romantic..I don't know a word for it. But for example, I'll be looking at the EL, and just feel warm and happy and excited all over. I'll start thinking how it could be anywhere in the world. I can put myself somewhere totally different. It really IS like that train on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood where he pushes the toy train in his living room, and it transports him to this fantasy world with castles, and talking cat puppets. The same is true looking at the EL. Suddenly, I'm not inside a cafe in Evanston, IL looking at the EL go through the dreary sky illuminated only by yellowish interior lights. RAther, I'm in Paris, or Amsterdam, sitting at an outdoor cafe watching a train maybe go through the mountains, or a trolley go through the bustling cobblestone streets. I picture tulips, in all different colors, nestling cozily into a flowerbed outside a small window. Then I picture foreigners from all over strolling leisurely through the streets, wrapped in conversation as they window shop. They have hats, and long coats, even if it's sunny and warm. Instead of cars going by that all look the same, I see eccentric convertibles, taxi cabs, old cars, bicycles. That's not the point, it just gets me all happy about life, and people. Everything seems better, simpler, like everything will and is working out just fine. "

I'll write more of this post later...my gosh, it's really long!