Winsome.

One thing I desire is to become a better writer. Hopefully good enough one day to make a living out of it.

Unfortunately the only time I ever truly am in the mood to write anything worthwhile is late at night, when I can't sleep. There is something about the darkness that makes my mind start whirling. It's a wonder I ever get any sleep. I wish I had more friends who liked to stay up late.

Writing really is just the symptom though. There are so many things I wish to do with my life. Yet it always seems I am never going to be able to do them. It's that which usually inspires me to write, and the night time is the only time when my mind isn't so distracted by the happenings of the day that it has some time to contemplate itself. And as such, usually, any serious effort towards putting words onto page results in something I don't like, because it is too self-centered and self-pitying.

Which seems to be the Direction this is going too.

The internet is an odd thing. It allows us to connect to others more so than any other time in history. And yet somehow removes all ability to see someone as they really are. It takes the person out of personal. Everything becomes information, text, Ones and Zeros, and the humanity is removed. Unless of course you are one of the few who know how to truly transfer your emotions to page. Which is one reason I wish to write well, to be able to jump the hurdle that text puts in front of our social interaction.

It's that same reason that I have never liked Poetry that is written for the purpose of being poetry. With the exception of a few. And all of the Psalms.

Most of it isn't real.... isn't unadulterated.
Most of it is made with the effort to sound or poetic, and with that effort the reasons behind the expression often times get lost in the text. The best poetry is the kind that just happens. The kind that in the middle of a conversation someone expresses something heartfelt that is worded in a way that no one else has ever worded it, and it hits you right in the middle of the your chest. The same applies to non-prose literature. I feel it's the best form of poetry, because it isn't altered by the desire to be poetry.

It is pure.

I feel so lost in translation. And not the movie.

What is the meaning of all this rambling? I'm not entirely sure. But metaphorically speaking, my desire to write, but not yet being able to, as effective as I wish I could, is really just a parallel. Everything I do in life ends up being sub-par. I have become a Jack-of-all-trades. Decent at many things, but not really good at any. Lots of Knowledge and Understanding about many subjects, but never being able to effectively put it to use, to effectively put it down to page. Always striving, always Desiring, but never achieving.

You would think My broad interests, and my time spent trying to understand Human expression in all it's forms would benefit me somehow, to give me some kind of key wisdom of how to obtain what I desire. It doesn't.

I have always, as far back as I can remember, wanted to travel. Yet I have only been to 5 states, and never out of the country. Never have seen the sea, or the coast. Never have seen a foreign culture first hand.

I want to be a musician. Yet while I have played a few instruments in my past, I have never mastered one. I have never written my own songs. I have never sang my own words.

I have always wanted to be the kind of person other people could lean upon. But with the pathetic self control one learns from having a father who was an alcoholic and a drug addict, I can barely lean upon myself.

Someone once said I write winsome words. The definition for winsome is "Charming, Often in a Childlike or Naive way".

And the word's History is this:
Winsome people easily win friends, so it is not surprising that winsome and win have a common root. Their shared element win- comes from the Indo-European root *wen-, meaning ‚“to desire, strive for,” and has a number of descendants in the Germanic languages. One was the prehistoric Germanic noun *wini- meaning ‚“friend‚” (literally, ‚“one who desires or loves‚” someone else), which became wine in Old English and is preserved in such names as Winfred, ‚“friend of peace,‚” and Edwin, ‚“friend of (family) possessions.‚” A different form of the root with a different suffix became Old English wynn, ‚“pleasure, joy,‚” preserved in winsome. Finally, the verb win itself is from this root; its meaning is an extension of the sense ‚“to strive for,‚” namely, ‚“to strive for with success, be victorious.‚” Outside of the Germanic branch of Indo-European, we see the root, for example, in Latin venus or Venus ‚“love, the goddess of love,‚” and the verb venerre, ‚“to worship,‚” the source of English venerate.

The words in bold describe the roots of Win. We all know what it means to win. Yet, this word, Winsome, is coupled with naivety, childishness. Basically inexperience. Is that what is holding me back? Not being exprienced enough, not mature enough, to accomplish the things I desire? If that's the case, why does My mind seem to think more maturely than most people I know my age? Am I just arrogant?

It's interesting the link this paints with my writing. The Irony that the one monetary Career I would want to do in this world more than any other, within it's own structure, describes why I will likely never have it.

Oh well, at least being Winsome can, as it's history shows, easily win me friends. And apparently, according to the definiton, I've got charming going for me.

Too bad it doesn't say anything about easily winning Love.

Sorry to bore all of you with this. That is another thing about the internet. It makes us feel safe in our expressions, and so things we might not go on about in regular conversation, come out here. Because who is here to judge us but our computers?