Imported Poems

I have often wondered what the purpose of blogging is, seeing that my blogs on other sites are filled with only my creative writing. In reality I am, perhaps, the most tedious person alive - quiet and shy, I tend to adapt well to those around me, adjusting my language, dialect and subject matter to match theirs.

I am painfully aware of my own social inadeqacies (I am scribbing this whist the man outside blows leaves off the walkways, the sound of which is extremely irritating to my hypersensitive nature), especially in the realm of small-talk. I really wish I could engage in such rapport, but the fact is, I find it terribly boring - "the aunt with a penchant for purple-feathered hats" does not hold my interest. Therefore, during such conversations I find myself drifting away inside my head to ruminate upon some other topic - a terrible habit, one that leaves me with huge voids of information, and sometimes I ask a question that has already been answered.

(This is one reason I avoid social situations, although the following delineations contribute greatly as well.)

I prefer the internal universe to the external, and value the abstract over the concrete. Right now my life has been reduced to meeting the basest and meanest of all needs, the physical. It's extremely difficult for me to live on this level because my consciousness prefers soaring to yet unattained heights of awareness or creating alternate universes preferable to my own.

As a child - to deal with trauma - I developed a talent for whisking myself away to another reality; I could "go away" for hours at a time and watch novel dramas unfold, ones that contained fascinating characters living on higher levels, either emotionally or spiritually or both. This ability has always been a great source of relief for me, but since I prefer it over reality, I am always disappointed when I return to discover myself once again poverty-stricken, loveless and alone.

Most people haven't any clue the layers that exist below my surface, mostly because if I were to reveal them no one would understand, so its a moot point. Sometimes I will test a person with a question to see if they are capable of conversing on my level (whatever that is), which is always a risk because if not, the question itself will appear strange. I've always known that I am generally different than other people, but it's been confirmed numerous times in various ways, perhaps most poignantly in the good-natured teasing I have endured for using poly-syllabic words.

Strangely enough, the people I generally get along best with are theologians or philosophers, but it isn't every day I stumble upon a classroom of people with PHD's in Theology discussing free-will versus pre-determination, and I rarely meet any philosophers: there are no coffee houses here with that kind of atmosphere.

The internet has been a life-saver for me because through it I have managed to connect to a few people whose mental paradigms are similiar to my own.

A final comment: there are different types of loners in the world. Some are violent like VA-Tech psycho man, but most are not. Some of us are hermits because we are sensitive to our own uniqueness and don't like putting ourselves out there for ridicule and abuse. The difference between the two is this: Violent loners think "Everyone is mean to me; therefore, everyone else is the problem" while we - the masochistic group - think "Everyone is mean to me; therefore, I am the problem". There's a rationale behind our thought, because probability lies on our side. Of course, we are also likely to kill ourselves, but at least no one else gets hurt in the process.

I need to drink coffee.