since we're kinda lost and unable to dream our future out (quite sure english doesn't have such expression, but "i'm a poet, i have any expression"), let's make an assumption i wanna be a journalist. for example, i want to become the editor of "rolling stone". maybe that will do, considering i really feel like it sometimes. sometimes, right.
also, i have this wierd attitude towards writing. basically, i hate it. i can't even think about it without a groan of suffering. but once i sit down, have a cup of coffee and write my first paragraph, these things become much simpler.
nevertheless, i do doubt journalism. not because OMG, I CANT WRITE, no, not at all. journalism is a profession i' always regarded as... hell yeah, i don't know a word for коньюктурный in english :D PHONY, right! that's unbelievably, fervently PHONY (the sense is totally different, but at least i've defined my position).
well, this is one of the persuations i've come across lately - it is rather irrational, but so ancient and comfy that changing it requires severe struggle.
the other issue that conserns me is that i've forgotten how to... fuck that, i've forgotten how to dream. the only picture appeared in my mind recently is this dark room, maybe in an attic, full of cupboards with books, magazines, old photos, postcards, someone's letters, notebooks with scribbles, etc. i'm sitting at a massive wooden table, heaped up with books and notes, and on my right there is a bright window and green foliage, but the sun is up, so the light doesn't reach my den, it's always twilight in here. oh yes, and there's a couch! a classical psychoanalytic couch :DD
what's wrong, i might be sleeping on it sometimes... мало ли :)
by the way, i also know there are stairs behind me leading to a spacious sunny hall, where my family waits for me. the difference between the place where i work and the rest of the house facinates me the most. i'm quite sure i wouldn't let anyone inside my study, especially while working there :D that's the law.
anyways, мечты мечтами, кушетки кушетками, but now we're heading towards finishing article for the crappy school magazine. alright, it's not that crappy, just abit immature and therefore pathetic. well, we all started it from a scratch, right? i started from an inkdrop then :)
also, i have this wierd attitude towards writing. basically, i hate it. i can't even think about it without a groan of suffering. but once i sit down, have a cup of coffee and write my first paragraph, these things become much simpler.
nevertheless, i do doubt journalism. not because OMG, I CANT WRITE, no, not at all. journalism is a profession i' always regarded as... hell yeah, i don't know a word for коньюктурный in english :D PHONY, right! that's unbelievably, fervently PHONY (the sense is totally different, but at least i've defined my position).
well, this is one of the persuations i've come across lately - it is rather irrational, but so ancient and comfy that changing it requires severe struggle.
the other issue that conserns me is that i've forgotten how to... fuck that, i've forgotten how to dream. the only picture appeared in my mind recently is this dark room, maybe in an attic, full of cupboards with books, magazines, old photos, postcards, someone's letters, notebooks with scribbles, etc. i'm sitting at a massive wooden table, heaped up with books and notes, and on my right there is a bright window and green foliage, but the sun is up, so the light doesn't reach my den, it's always twilight in here. oh yes, and there's a couch! a classical psychoanalytic couch :DD
what's wrong, i might be sleeping on it sometimes... мало ли :)
by the way, i also know there are stairs behind me leading to a spacious sunny hall, where my family waits for me. the difference between the place where i work and the rest of the house facinates me the most. i'm quite sure i wouldn't let anyone inside my study, especially while working there :D that's the law.
anyways, мечты мечтами, кушетки кушетками, but now we're heading towards finishing article for the crappy school magazine. alright, it's not that crappy, just abit immature and therefore pathetic. well, we all started it from a scratch, right? i started from an inkdrop then :)