and then my question is answered for me and i see that i am alone and i am somewhat belittled by all that surround me in this world where passions run high and most are over looked by those who hold theirs in their very pockets. i am hidden in a way that keeps mine precious in the grand scheme of it all but i am also hidden to make myself seem illegitimate and without life. i see the world around me differently than most but it is unknown and unclear to myself and therefore everyone else. i say it over and over again. i have no idea what i am trying to convey yet i continue to attempt it. most of the time my yopp goes unheard and the bubble will not burst. i am here but i am seen as silent. i have so much built up inside me and it can be revealed in the most absurd of moments. i hear Eli Wallach say the word “gumption” and i just think “i am with you. i get it.” but i am alone and i am so fired up with zealous emotion yet i have no one to share it with or be appreciated by. i have worked hard in my element because i am so drawn into it. i am devoured whole by the words of roger ebert and taken aback by the vision of david lean to the point of being paralyzed. walking back after a film i often times have to stop in my tracks so that i can record the thoughts that come to me in those fleeting moments of inspiration. i must write it all down for the sake of my “immediate experience.” these thoughts cannot be interrupted because they are all i have and the only proof of my beating heart. it wells up inside to the point of tears and my fingers fly across the keyboard, numb to the errors and typos that are being made. i simply have to get them out and put them into the world before they escape me. if i let them get away, then i am completely at loss and my distraction leads to the death of the only thing i can call my own. ebert said it best, “When I am writing, my problems become invisible and I am the same person I always was. All is well. I am as I should be.” these thoughts remain hidden away and locked inside my laptop or loose pieces of paper. they aren’t really for anyone and that is what breaks me apart. i attempt to share these thoughts with others but no one seems to see it the way i do. wallach, ebert, and lean are all dead and there is nothing left for me to do but reach out to their ghosts through references that no one else will catch. they died long before i had the chance to learn their names and now that i am gorging myself on what they have left behind for me i wish so badly to be able to sit with them and tell them that i could have been that gumption and i could be those ears that listen blindly and they could be the ones that i talk to. ebert said ““I'm told we movie critics praise movies that are long and boring.” but i want to sit with him and talk about these movies that people see as “boring” and just rant about how incredible they really are. i am so inspired by that which is overlooked and that is why no one else can see it but me. and sitting at a table surrounded by dancers and musicians…i am misunderstood and cast aside as barren and unresponsive. i have a life within me and i have a spark that ignites into an inferno… it happens in the solitude of my room in the plainest of circumstances but i too am brought to tears and pushed to my knees in awe of the beauty in this world and the unspeakable way that we can subconsciously be reached out to by th strangers who see what we all see and know how to convey it—- an art i have yet to achieve. my passions are as real as yours. you just cant see it the way i do. and though i often doubt if these feeling are real or if this passion of mine counts as a passion at all… and then i remember that i may be alone but at least im not the only one.