Life in a blog

"I probably still adore you with your hand around my neck, or I did last time I checked"
"You were never meant to belong to me"
"All that we can save will vanish like the flame that you lit your cigarette with and extinguished with a wave"

All words. All lyrics. All just variations of our alphabet, random letters put one after another. And still they make sense. For some people they make so much sense that they touch you in the deepest possible way. Words have the power to make you connect. With the writer. With the singer. With other people's lives and experiences. And most of all... with yourself.

With every song I love I find out more about myself, while discovering different layers of the author's mind at the time he wrote those lines.
I don't know what it is about words that fascinates me so much. There is so much different writing out there. Meaningless, shallow, boring and useless writing. And then there is writing that can touch you, move you, that can start a revolution and make change happen.
And then there is writing that comes from the heart. Honest writing. Thoughtful writing. Like this.

"With a thirst and a hope and a loss of control"

I always long to find out more. About myself, about others about the world and the meaning of things. I hope, I dream, I fantasise. And sometimes I lose control. I lose control over everything, over my own thoughts, over what comes out of my mouth, over my actions and over what I feel. In those moments I lose control, is it still my mind and my heart speaking? Yes. Because everything has to come from somewhere, everything you do and say is immediately a part of you, there is no way of denying it.

Usually I start a blog when I want to communicate something; I have to have a point, or at least a thought I can base my writing on.
In some ways, this blog is pointless.
But it is certainly not meaningless.

There is so much different writing. Writing for you - like this. Writing that other people can see and read and I have to be comfortable with putting out there because there is always a chance of someone reading it and asking me about it.
And then there is my writing, the one I keep for myself, the one I use to put myself together whenever I'm on the verge of losing control, my very own therapy sessions with myself, my thoughts and no one else.

This is neither.

Why does every romance look so much better when you put it in 19th century context? Why does every word, every gesture, every look mean so much more than it does today? Are we just modern or did we forget how to be gentlemen and ladies? Why do you have to go so far nowadays to be considered "available" when back in the days a simple look could be the start of an engagement?

My head is full of questions. Questions that aren't new to me, not at all, questions that in fact, were in my head years ago, months ago, and minutes ago. Every time I got the chance to dream and fall into my own fantasy world, of past times and past romances, I'd always end up where I am now. Why did our behaviour change so much that it's shocking?
There's many aspects to look at this. But one that has struck me the most is the loss of meaning in things.
If I look at somebody today, it doesn't mean anything.
If I forget how to be polite for a while, it doesn't mean anything.
If I touch somebody on the arm, it doesn't mean anything at all.
So have we forgotten how precious these things are or were we just too busy fighting wars to keep up with it?

Pretty much everyone knows that I'm not the most elegant and polite of creatures but it still bothers me; and now I'm thinking: am I maybe not the only one? Is there maybe someone out there that thinks exactly the same, whose understanding of the "progress" of our society past the centuries is questioned by the way we act today?

Can you really speak of progress when people not only become light-headed but sometimes drive themselves into things they know are emotionally unnecessary and painful just to get some affection? Can you speak of progress when seemingly, people forgot how to love and cherish life? Can we speak of progress in a world where marriage means near to nothing?
Who can we trust if we don't even trust ourselves?

Of course, I can already hear the voices, in and outside of my brain, going: this is the new age! We don't need labels, we don't need narrow-mindedness, we want to be free in our spirit and love life!
Well yes of course. I want to be free too, I don't think there is anybody in the world who doesn't want to be free.
But for me, freedom doesn't mean to forget what was once important, even more so because it is just more convenient to you and not because it was a terrible happening or a time in history the world wants to forget. I'm talking about love here!

So how did we end up like this? Is our complete ignorance of the lack of romance just the effect of living in a stress filled world, where you have to be fast and fresh and new and innovative to be successful? Did we, in our morning rush on the way to the office, just simply forget to cherish those little things, like we forget to take the trash out? How did the look and the touch and the smile end up so far down on our "important" list?

Every little girl dreams of being rescued from her very own Prince Charming on the majestic white horse and ride into the sunset and live happily ever after.
Then we grow up and we get told that life is hard. We get told that life's a fucking bitch and if you want to survive, you better start treating it like one.
And then all our dreams vanish in an instant, they disappear like the fog all of a sudden disappears from the hills and valleys and mountains and rivers, as soon as the sun comes out. They burst like a bubble, get carried away like the autumn leaves do, when the wind takes them on their final journey.

Is there simply no space anymore for good old fashioned romance in our world?
Is a proper Cindarella romance just a privilege of the past? Like dresses and dinnerparties and literature were?
When did we forget about reading, writing, communicating, actually listening to what the other has to say?

In a world where nearly nothing matters, can we really still speak of progress?