Journal Blurb

There are no pros and cons to being a clown.  I can ask, “why am I this way?” or “what does being a clown even mean?” but I’m not able to say if this method of dealing with social interactions is a good one.  I am the kind of clown who is highly aware of his clowniness.  While I realize I am capable of being a polite, reserved, belonging member of a culture, I feel that my thoughts are always possessed by an omniscient sense of awkwardness that keeps long lasting peace at bay.  A white noise of misplacement fogs my consciousness.  Nervous, carbonated energy builds and releases pressure in a restless, unpredictable progression.  This awkwardness is not regulated by the physical presence of others.  The apparitions of other humans populate my own constructed invisible jury.  This jury may also be labeled an organization with access to all of my vulnerabilities whose ultimate goal is to build anxiety within my soul and exponentially increase that anxiety every following year.  No real person is at fault for being a member of the organization, yet I may blame them when we meet.
This organization of mine reminds me of T.V. news.  The news and the people who know me are both vague, perpetually shifting organizations.  They are more alive in my mind than they are true and accountable.  Both find satisfying energy in confrontation.  Both draw judgments from me naturally.  Both have deeply confidential motives and connections.  I am ready to reject both, but unable to define what I am without either.
If I feel it, it must be real.

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