FULL STOP.
I hate being with people and wanting to say stuff but not saying stuff because I'm afraid that the stuff I'm about to say isn't interesting and heard of.
I delete entire messages. I write hundreds of words then trumpet-call for the long black line that flashes every heartbeat to erase all that I've not said, to ensure nobody will ever read it.
But in real life it's impossible.
There is no vanguard. There is just failure.
In real life, there is no erase. I think that's why I don't TRY. I can pretend everything is a draft copy.
But regardless of perfection. I succeed in happiness. I will not leave a mark on this planet - even if I do, the mark is erronerous to the universe. At what scale are my 'achievements' worth remembering?
THREAD POINT.
Recap; we live for 100 years, in a good span of calculus. We have certain abilities genetically framed onto us; learn, speak, breed. While my main goal is essentially to produce a child that can grow into a better, smarter version of me, I hold no truly mesmerising (or, indeed, possible) worthiness for existense in the first place. I spend my time well-wishing and allowing others to stamp their mark of life on my blue-collared existence.
But I have dreams.
I wish to furnish my own house. I want to have a tree and maybe a bench dedicated to my rotting corpse. I'd like to have a large enough DVD collection where I could arrange it both generically and alphabetically. I want to have a blue plaque placed on every home I've been in.
But how? I'm not a notararyarayaysyary anything. I'm known for having a beard and drinking lots. I want to be known for my wisdom and my serenity.
So after this stupid essay... What are you known for? What would you say is your reputation, or your characteristics? How different are these to your actual being?
(sorry for long thread. I have words I need to let out.)