I used to fancy myself a musician. Trained in the classical forms, adept with a keyboard, with a knack for improvisations.

We know how that turned out.

I used to fancy myself a writer. Comfortable with words, eloquent and creative.

We also know how that turned out.

Now, I fancy myself a photographer. One who manipulates light, an artist of both digital and analogue.

How that would turn out, only time would tell.

However, we all can see a trend growing now don't we?




One has never really been successful in, well... anything. One has never won anything except the half of me that essentially won the first race of my creation, but other then that, one has had to settle for second. At best.

One always get the feeling that one is perpetually the "number two" guy. Never the one others turn to immediately, but the fall guy, when the "first" choice is unavailable.
Sometimes the things one sees and the things one hears seem to be in complete conflict with each other. At times, it truly makes me wonder if others are going out of their way to reject and avoid me. Or is it simply my poor fortune that almost every occasion i suggest something, it would ultimately clash with the timetables of the whole world.

And it worries one so.

This shadow of doubt, the ghost of failures and the burdens of rejection weigh so heavily on one.

And once more,
as the music fades,
as the lights dim,
as the ideas degenerate to raw emotions,

one can only find solace these words.

Once more.
As one relives the days of a more prolific writing past,
where emotions translated seamlessly into words.
As one laments ones own shortfalls to whoever who cares,
whoever who remembers,
whoever who visits,

This lonely blog of mine.


Thanks for reading...