All Aboard the Fail Train! (Note to Newbies)

Welcome to Sporks are Useless! A blog of random, useless, spork-like spam spontaneously posted by 2 authors, Hikari and Dancing Toast, twin girls with no lives, cranky and sarcastic attitudes, chaotically insane minds, and occasional violent mood swings. We will be responsible for making your visit to XXYYZ-I as frightening entertaining as possible.
Enjoy your stay at Sporks Are Useless and check out the blogs we follow on our profile!
See you on the dark side of the moon!
~The Sporks Team, Hikari and DancingToast

Tuesday, December 20, 2011


I never allowed myself to truly write down all that I've wanted to about trust, hope, and growing up. Like, my purpose in life or whatever. I'm not the first or last to ask this. Nor do I really need an answer. I love movies and what they have to say, but they give this misconception that you need to know what it is. But still, what have I done to help someone? Who have I truly helped, who is truly better off because of me? Who can actually say that they'll miss me when I'm gone, or won't forget the person I was even after years? What can I provide the world with? I'm just a girl who delights in the impermanent. Another possible commitment-complex in this culture of people that think they deserve and expect more for themselves than what they already have. I don't have any realistic ambitions. I'm impulsive and don't have the attention span for over anything over an hour, much less keep a goal in mind. It's too late for me to be a director or an actress or a photographer. My friends have already started on the paths to these careers, and their early start just gives them that much of an advantage. Not to mention all the talent I'm surrounded by, constantly filling me with wonder and simultaneously reminding me that there is always someone better than me out there. And let's face it, people sometimes accept bad actors if they're pretty, as if beauty can make up for talent. I can critique art but not compose anything meaningful, so even if I get a super-expensive professional camera, I won't know what to take pictures of. I can't even get myself to look into knitting, much less movie critiques to enlighten me on what makes a good film, or even to teach myself piano. I don't have the courage to ask for ballet classes, and I yell at people for being concerned with their appearance and reputation, yet I hypocritically do the same. At least I don't feel that a relationship is necessary for esteem or existence. I read and watch inspiring things, and yet the feeling of awe doesn't affect me enough to change the person I am. I don't have a sob story, dedication to anything, or talent. I have no self-control, which is why I'm piling my misery onto an anonymous reader rather than just keeping it to myself. I always wish to be a better person, but whenever an opportunity presents itself for me to become that person, I predictably react like I always do. At least I'm aware of it. All I can do is try.
I know I'm probably not going to be successful in the careers I hope for, but I'm not going to stop hoping. You pass by people on the street and wonder what they did to get where they are, if they're happy with their lives, and if they're not, what their hopes and dreams were and if they were fulfilled, and if these people can be part of your life, as friends or enemies or competition or rivals. I won't let myself relinquish my dreams without something equally satisfying in return, even if it's reality kicking in because it only hurts if you've held on to irrationality for too long.
Comparing the material in this blog to another blog that I love, I wanted to delete this entire blog. But then I checked out the archive and realised how many memories are in here that I'm not willing to forget. Too much love that is important to me even though I know nothing lasts, including myself. Maybe that's why I aspired to be an actress, to be remembered. Or why being a director appeals to me, that I can still speak through my creations and be one in trillions for them. But even the most skilled are forgotten and more deserving people have little voice and so it must go in the relentless blanketing of time.
Becoming an authour's out. You didn't cry reading this, I promise. But maybe I can get into casting. It's close enough in film for me to love, and most realistic. But I'm not going to settle for 'close enough' without trying, even later rather than sooner.

0 people actually love us.: