It's finally somewhat quiet in my world, and in my head. The steady procession of thoughts through my mind like ants on a path has slowed to a trickle, and I feel a break in the momentum. Mind you, this isn't enough to bring sleep my way. That has many miles to go before it reaches this residence (for reasons quite intimately known by myself, and no others).
The substance leaves me hollow, but at least the words can flow through now. It's so contrived to say that self-destruction is often the facilitator for good writing, but all the same to say so would not be a lie.
Inexplicably my shoulder-blades ache, and the recently omnipresent pain in my chest hasn't lessened-- symptomatic, I suppose of the abuse I've been putting myself through this break. But all things worth having require tribute of some sort, and during these static days, I have only and all of myself to give in destruction to the cause. Time feels at once too short and indefinitely long, which makes me feel oppressively heavy in this world through which I trudge. Though it would be the easy choice,I refuse to stand still; and so to combat the weight of the times, I let Ms. Sontag's sensibilities sweep me away in a whirlwind celebration of the artificial, the banal, and the brave.
That being said, it may seem as if every line, every phrase-- every word is a chemical fueled blathering, this is not so.
It has been a struggle--and not a mindless one.
The combing over of every detail of my life has been ever-present in the background of these events; it has been the impetus for changes I have made, and the changes that are yet to come, and I find it frustrating when such due isn't given, even in retrospect. Because of this, for posterity I will state that this winter will be dedicated to the (oft painstakingly detailed) labour of building up the self I wish to become.
It will be a winter unique from any time previous to now, and at its completion I will stand stark and without need for exposition, a creature made and self-evident for the changes. I make my way now under the wings of a kind (and sometimes smirking cherub) with a new guiding light and a new creative force.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Things change and people change, just as naturally as the seasons change- stasis is unfamiliar and wrong to me. This season came with the loss of an old friend, a sweet-- but overdramatic kid I used to be close to.
It seems now he's too caught up in teenage angst to take responcibility for his actions, and for the people he's hurt. He is in his 20's. I say that to illustrate that, in my eyes, he should know better. Somee people never grow out of it, I suppose. To think the he hasn't, and might not dissapoints me.
I can understand why he is attracted to that coping mechanism, even though I don't approve of it. It's comforting to knee-jerk forgive oneself of all actions by passing on the blame. It's easy, and comfortable to blame the world for ones problems, and it hides any hint of responcibility in the blame.
He isn't by any means the first person I've known to fall into that pit of blind self-absolution, but he is the most recent.
From where I am sitting, he is a pittiable creature, and also he is enviable.
I pity him, because he lives a brutish life more akin to an animal than a man. He exists without introspection or careful thought-- without having to feel the weight of his actions. His choices are by instinct and the consequences are of no object to him. Any malign side-effects are easily passed off as being the fault of another. After that all that is left is to bear them as a victim does. This allows him to justify being powerless, and frees him of responcibility. Simply, that is how he lives.
I also envy him, to a very small degree. It must be nice to live the life of the guiltless, and passive victim, and to never face one's demons.
That isn't the life for me, obviously. I can't cry about how "she left me" or "he crushed my soul"-- and prostrate myself in righteous self-pity. I can't blame away my consequences, or force the burden of my brutish existance on another. I can't blame others for where I am, nor would I want to.
It's sad, but these ideological diferences are seperating us. The outcomes are regrettable, but I can't regret who I am or what I believe to be right. I won't. So I will take my losses as they are, and sing.
Monday, December 27, 2010
The Lover in Your Songs
The beautiful thing about unreal men is the simple fact that they will never disappoint you. They will always be there in a story or in our heads, never aging or cheating or growing obese. They will always hold our hands while we speak, meet our eyes knowingly, and smirk that enticing smirk that smolders just the right way to turn out insides to lime jell-o. And any time they might do something to elicit the slightest bit of ire, they will always find just the right way to sweep us off our feet and, of course, forget any transgression they may have made as though it were never there.
And these men, fictitious agents of that bitch Mab, win us over every time.
They drink strong coffee, and call us 'sugar', and have irresistible cherubic faces that dimple into the most beautiful smiles....- and they exist all in our dreams. When we fall asleep at night, lying next to whom we may, it is their names we whisper with a smile before sleep.
Tomorrow I will awaken with a new purpose entirely. I could never be yours, even in fantasy, but tonight when I sleep I will be the heroine of your fiction.
And these men, fictitious agents of that bitch Mab, win us over every time.
They drink strong coffee, and call us 'sugar', and have irresistible cherubic faces that dimple into the most beautiful smiles....- and they exist all in our dreams. When we fall asleep at night, lying next to whom we may, it is their names we whisper with a smile before sleep.
Tomorrow I will awaken with a new purpose entirely. I could never be yours, even in fantasy, but tonight when I sleep I will be the heroine of your fiction.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas Trees
I'm not thinking about my 21st.
I have this strange attraction to xmas trees, I think ever since I was 10 and used to sneak out of my bed to see it light up at night in the center of the still living room.
Truth be told, that's how I remember the holiday, a warm heater, "White Christmas", and my footie pajamas.
Those were the days.
I have this strange attraction to xmas trees, I think ever since I was 10 and used to sneak out of my bed to see it light up at night in the center of the still living room.
Truth be told, that's how I remember the holiday, a warm heater, "White Christmas", and my footie pajamas.
Those were the days.
Rebel ONE, FIGHT
I've spent the past couple of days fangirling out in my "cave"-- with only Shayne and bursts of mom to break up the solitude.That part has been really nice. Of course there are pressures I have to contend with-- as always, but those aren't worth complaining about, for the moment.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Adventures in the City (KROQ's AlmostAcoustic Xmas adventures)
**These are my adventures in LA-- my people watching thoughts, my reviews of the concert, my hopes and dreams intertwined. It should be read as such.**
These are my thoughts while waiting for the train out of Merced.
The men working at the station are talking amongst themselves. Listening to them is rather amusing- they're talking about Amtrak men who've lost their lives in the line of duty. I had no idea there was such a thing, imagine that. Every line of work has it's heroes I suppose.
A woman with loud, expressive eyebrows and two large faux designer bags just bustled into the station. Her long, black trench flapped wildly as she entered. Her husband (a stout, but formally dressed man) flapped around her a bit also, and then left without any fanfare. The only thing missing from this scene was a toy dog and too-large sunglasses.
Now things are calming down at the station; and I'm listening to the faraway 'dong' of station bells while a modest looking blond tells jokes to the man behind the reception class.
I have half an hour before my train comes.
I am here so early because of ride complications.
Thinking of Winter Break: I absolutely cannot wait. There are things here I wold like to be rid of for a while; there are people as well- senators and civilians alike.
There is an elderly woman and her equally elderly companion sitting across from me. I would like to imagine them old friends from school; now just wizened gossips-- but classy, refined with age.
One applies a matte red lipstick, a deep red wine color that matches her sweater beneath the black leather coat. A delicate gold cross peeks out around the edges of her opened coat, and ascents her attire flawlessly. Her tasteful and carefully maintained look is familiar to me, it reminds me of my own grandmother. In conversation to her companion, I hear her candidly admit her age-- 64 years she wears with impressive dignity.
I love the stories the elderly tell. As my eavesdropping continues, I hear of her experience entertaining a handsome, young soldier, many years ago. I can only imagine what that must have been like. Of course I want to know more, but I assume it's rude to ask when not invited. For this reason I stay as I am, observing and enjoying my place as a fly-on-the-wall.
The station is more busy now, and much more noisy. Three, maybe four conversations are overlapping, and competing for the observer's attention. I let it blend into the background, until the modest blond woman's cellphone snaps me to attention. The tune playing is "Tanks A Lot" by Third Eye Blind. How fitting.
I slept most of the train ride, and when I woke up I almost forgot my planner on the train in my half-awake haze. Of course, that would have meant disaster, considering that is the place where I had been keeping my tickets and travel provisions.
Boarding the bus I was still unsure of my surroundings, but I assuaged my uneasiness with more sleep, for as much of it as I could muster.The road was so bumpy mo notes came out looking like I'd been in the middle of an earthquake writing them, it wasn't pretty.
Following these thoughts, I met Shayne at Union Station, and we proceeded to check in at our hotel. The room we had booked was on the 21st floor-- a floor which required special clearance to reach (it was quite the honor). Of course it also came with an exceptionally well-stocked mini bar and fridge, of which we both took generous advantage. That in itself was glorious, but paled in comparison to the view from the top (an entire wall of the room was dedicated to viewing the city below; it was magnificent).
*The notes below are from the first day in the city, and below that again are the notes from the concert night one.*
The metro car stopped, and as I looked in, there was an entire car of young men in santa costumes, just standing there, chatting! Santas! All Shayne said to my look of shock was "welcome to la". I really love this town.
Spoke to an older man holding a rosary. Shayne says he thinks the man was Armenian; judging by his accent and newspaper I would say that sounds right. He seemed to have a very sensible view of the world, if perhaps a bit cynical. He reminded me a little of Shayne.
The santa mob exited three stops before us.
After that we hopped a fast moving train into little tokyo. I had overdressed for this day out, my sweater was way too warm for a day in the city, but nonetheless, I had an amazing time. We spent some time browsing kino kunia, and then headed upstairs to the second story of the plaza to get ramen. I swear, one bowl could last me an entire day. The sweets shop gave us the most lovely strawberry cheesecake, and a very sweet bottled coffee; it wasn't expensive either. We also bought dango-- my favorite snack. We also visited several anime video and merchandise stores. It was at one such store that I was able to do most of my christmas shopping. I even tricked Eric into telling me what he might like for xmas-- a feat otherwise not possible to accomplish. I managed to pick up the piano collection of FFXIII music I've been after for as long as I can remember. This was anything but a "cheap trip" . We lefty by metro car just as the sun was setting on our outing ...and what an adventure we had.
Then we headed back to the room to freshen up, change, and get ready for night one.
Night one:
A day to remember; it must be hard for them to open to such a bare audience. There are flashing red pins in the audience which makes for artificial red stars in the crowd; its incredibly pretty and wholly mesmerizing. The second song "have faith in me" is amazingly compelling.
Switchfoot: of course they open with meant to live- and then a "sabatoge" cover? I never would have thought to expect that. "Dare you to move" followed- from the middle of the crowd, high notes and all, but not before "stealing" a santa hat, and perching himself atop a mid-level seat, and surrounding himself with adoring fans. Amazing. And then "the sound"- dedicated on the principle of love. How charismatic, transcendent, perfect.
Anberlin on third: I don't recognize their opening song, but the drums and bass are so heavy I can feel the beat pounding all throughout the room and myself. They're really energetic this year, and I believe the crowd feels it as well, the sentiments remind me of falling in "like"- less painful obsession but all of the flirty fancy. The song off their new album is quite good.
The dirty heads:
Apparently this is what fragments of sublime left to do. I didn't know; its too much stoner rock and not enough actual music for my taste. At least sublime has a sax. Although to their credit, they have bongos. That's pretty bitchen'. Oh well. All of this second hand smoke all day has me on edge, go figure. And just when I'd written them off, they bring out "a friend" to do "lay me down"- a song I bloody love. Shit. They just became the best band to play all night.
Cake-
This band is so delightfully strange. Points for an amazing stage presence and meaningful trumpet- plus a clappy thing. You can't forget the clappy thing. as shayne puts is, they blow people away with charismatic use of massive anti-charisma. All in all they were entirely wity and entirely enjoyable--of a bit sardonic.
Bad religion:
For some reason I expected this band to make more of an impact. "How could hell be any worse" indeed. They're not bad, per se. They're actually quite melodic, but the lead guitarist is wearing a christmas sweater with skulls on it, and the lead singer looks like an aging gym teacher (complete with bald spots, polo shirt, and muscular though older-looking body). You really can't say "punk rock" past 40. At least the others had the good sense to die young. My persistent question regarding this band, and I have yet to receive a suitable answer, is " since when did "punk rock" mean expensive brand name polos anyways?!?". Although, for all of their paradox, they finished pretty strong. At least there's that.
Jimmy Eat World:
Probably the most underrated band here. They're fantastic! I can't believe the lead singer can still pull off half the notes he does, but hey, billy does it - so it must be possible. The new song "little thing" is amazing. Its very touching and poignant, and coupled with the lighting makes for a very lovely atmosphere.
My Chemical Romance rocked my effing socks off. Seriously. They're so saucy in person, also I loved how Gerard Way used "shits"; it was attractive in a very brash way. They played all of their hits, and closed with the unexpected "cancer"- which he dedicated to his wife, that lucky woman. I envy the wives of great artists. They're with such passionate and creative men. I couldn't ever be a professional artist because of my above-all-rational nature, but I can adore those who do, and the partners of those I envy. Anyway, that was mcr.
The Smashing Pumpkins: need I say more? Corigan's son came out on stage, and he played a teary "landslide" on acoustic guitar. The only one all night. They should change the name of the show. Truly.
Day two:
"Quick, dye your hair red!"
'... I work for a fortune 500.' *glare*
"I demand red hair! Q_Q"
Shayne and I dined at a burger place and strolled the avenues of universal studios, shopping and snacking the afternoon away after a late wake up- and a later lunch. The doors opened at 5. And, then, it was time for the second night of the almost acoustic xmas to shred la to ribbons, again.
Night 2:
Sharpe and somebodies:
They seriously came out looking like a mini, musical, hippie commune-- but better dressed, and famous, still just as high though, and just as musically impaired. This was my first impression. Their maracas -trumpet-infectious keyboard combo grew on me eventually, though. As a redeeming factor, the female co-lead had a great jazzy voice, which was really quite good, and put me in a pleasant mood. That was of course until this peace-loving band inspired one of their fans to bring,and shake, her own tambourine. At that point I wanted to commit indiscriminate murder.
Shayne, if you're reading over my shoulder, I'm having a good time. I promise. They still look like a hippie commune.
The broken bells:
They remind me of a more contemporary "u2". I am absolutely going to buy their new cd, when I have more than $1.35 to my name. They, like the last band, are rather large. I wonder if that's popular now?
Temper trap:
They're pretty fantastic for an australian band. And they pulled the audience in almost instantaneously. Lost points for a male bassist with a ponytail though. The vocals and overall musical quality are solid though.
The neon trees:
Money talks, but style speaks louder- and dear god were their vocals (metaphorical and literal) in top shape tonight. Their set (complete with white icicle lights), costumes (xmas red detail and shimmery black) and fantastic showmanship were only compliments to their fantastic sound. Its so refreshing to see a relatively young band that is so...fabulous in every way. From the charismatic and flamboyant front man to the glamorous but powerful female drummer, I was completely blown away. You had me at "oh, woah!"
Florence and the machine:
Strong female vocals and a fairy-tale visual aesthetic mark this band. They're not what I would call my type, but they're not bad by any means, and might merit a second listen at another time.
The black keys:
These guys have a really cool sound. They came out running, and didn't drop the crowd's attention at all. Surprisingly, they put the drummer front and center. He's amazing, of course, but I've never seen a stage setup like that before.
Brandon flowers:
Eric:"oh hey, the lead from the killers"
Me: you knew that? I didn't even know that!
Its about that. He has a great voice, and sings great songs. He's probably sick of his day job by now. The acoustic "when you were young" and the trancy-version of "somebody told me" were a nice touch.
Vampire weekend:
Second time seeing them live, they just keep getting better. Still, my mind is decidedly somewhere else. I'm trying to determine who the un-billed guest is going to be; I'm going over in my mind who's available, who has an album out, who it might be....
Phoenix:
Came out playing. Lights show was spectacular. Jesus christ these people are headline material. Unexpectedly.
Sadly there was no surprise guest, which was a let-down, as much as anything could be after such a fantastic time.
These are my thoughts while waiting for the train out of Merced.
The men working at the station are talking amongst themselves. Listening to them is rather amusing- they're talking about Amtrak men who've lost their lives in the line of duty. I had no idea there was such a thing, imagine that. Every line of work has it's heroes I suppose.
A woman with loud, expressive eyebrows and two large faux designer bags just bustled into the station. Her long, black trench flapped wildly as she entered. Her husband (a stout, but formally dressed man) flapped around her a bit also, and then left without any fanfare. The only thing missing from this scene was a toy dog and too-large sunglasses.
Now things are calming down at the station; and I'm listening to the faraway 'dong' of station bells while a modest looking blond tells jokes to the man behind the reception class.
I have half an hour before my train comes.
I am here so early because of ride complications.
Thinking of Winter Break: I absolutely cannot wait. There are things here I wold like to be rid of for a while; there are people as well- senators and civilians alike.
There is an elderly woman and her equally elderly companion sitting across from me. I would like to imagine them old friends from school; now just wizened gossips-- but classy, refined with age.
One applies a matte red lipstick, a deep red wine color that matches her sweater beneath the black leather coat. A delicate gold cross peeks out around the edges of her opened coat, and ascents her attire flawlessly. Her tasteful and carefully maintained look is familiar to me, it reminds me of my own grandmother. In conversation to her companion, I hear her candidly admit her age-- 64 years she wears with impressive dignity.
I love the stories the elderly tell. As my eavesdropping continues, I hear of her experience entertaining a handsome, young soldier, many years ago. I can only imagine what that must have been like. Of course I want to know more, but I assume it's rude to ask when not invited. For this reason I stay as I am, observing and enjoying my place as a fly-on-the-wall.
The station is more busy now, and much more noisy. Three, maybe four conversations are overlapping, and competing for the observer's attention. I let it blend into the background, until the modest blond woman's cellphone snaps me to attention. The tune playing is "Tanks A Lot" by Third Eye Blind. How fitting.
I slept most of the train ride, and when I woke up I almost forgot my planner on the train in my half-awake haze. Of course, that would have meant disaster, considering that is the place where I had been keeping my tickets and travel provisions.
Boarding the bus I was still unsure of my surroundings, but I assuaged my uneasiness with more sleep, for as much of it as I could muster.The road was so bumpy mo notes came out looking like I'd been in the middle of an earthquake writing them, it wasn't pretty.
Following these thoughts, I met Shayne at Union Station, and we proceeded to check in at our hotel. The room we had booked was on the 21st floor-- a floor which required special clearance to reach (it was quite the honor). Of course it also came with an exceptionally well-stocked mini bar and fridge, of which we both took generous advantage. That in itself was glorious, but paled in comparison to the view from the top (an entire wall of the room was dedicated to viewing the city below; it was magnificent).
*The notes below are from the first day in the city, and below that again are the notes from the concert night one.*
The metro car stopped, and as I looked in, there was an entire car of young men in santa costumes, just standing there, chatting! Santas! All Shayne said to my look of shock was "welcome to la". I really love this town.
Spoke to an older man holding a rosary. Shayne says he thinks the man was Armenian; judging by his accent and newspaper I would say that sounds right. He seemed to have a very sensible view of the world, if perhaps a bit cynical. He reminded me a little of Shayne.
The santa mob exited three stops before us.
After that we hopped a fast moving train into little tokyo. I had overdressed for this day out, my sweater was way too warm for a day in the city, but nonetheless, I had an amazing time. We spent some time browsing kino kunia, and then headed upstairs to the second story of the plaza to get ramen. I swear, one bowl could last me an entire day. The sweets shop gave us the most lovely strawberry cheesecake, and a very sweet bottled coffee; it wasn't expensive either. We also bought dango-- my favorite snack. We also visited several anime video and merchandise stores. It was at one such store that I was able to do most of my christmas shopping. I even tricked Eric into telling me what he might like for xmas-- a feat otherwise not possible to accomplish. I managed to pick up the piano collection of FFXIII music I've been after for as long as I can remember. This was anything but a "cheap trip" . We lefty by metro car just as the sun was setting on our outing ...and what an adventure we had.
Then we headed back to the room to freshen up, change, and get ready for night one.
Night one:
A day to remember; it must be hard for them to open to such a bare audience. There are flashing red pins in the audience which makes for artificial red stars in the crowd; its incredibly pretty and wholly mesmerizing. The second song "have faith in me" is amazingly compelling.
Switchfoot: of course they open with meant to live- and then a "sabatoge" cover? I never would have thought to expect that. "Dare you to move" followed- from the middle of the crowd, high notes and all, but not before "stealing" a santa hat, and perching himself atop a mid-level seat, and surrounding himself with adoring fans. Amazing. And then "the sound"- dedicated on the principle of love. How charismatic, transcendent, perfect.
Anberlin on third: I don't recognize their opening song, but the drums and bass are so heavy I can feel the beat pounding all throughout the room and myself. They're really energetic this year, and I believe the crowd feels it as well, the sentiments remind me of falling in "like"- less painful obsession but all of the flirty fancy. The song off their new album is quite good.
The dirty heads:
Apparently this is what fragments of sublime left to do. I didn't know; its too much stoner rock and not enough actual music for my taste. At least sublime has a sax. Although to their credit, they have bongos. That's pretty bitchen'. Oh well. All of this second hand smoke all day has me on edge, go figure. And just when I'd written them off, they bring out "a friend" to do "lay me down"- a song I bloody love. Shit. They just became the best band to play all night.
Cake-
This band is so delightfully strange. Points for an amazing stage presence and meaningful trumpet- plus a clappy thing. You can't forget the clappy thing. as shayne puts is, they blow people away with charismatic use of massive anti-charisma. All in all they were entirely wity and entirely enjoyable--of a bit sardonic.
Bad religion:
For some reason I expected this band to make more of an impact. "How could hell be any worse" indeed. They're not bad, per se. They're actually quite melodic, but the lead guitarist is wearing a christmas sweater with skulls on it, and the lead singer looks like an aging gym teacher (complete with bald spots, polo shirt, and muscular though older-looking body). You really can't say "punk rock" past 40. At least the others had the good sense to die young. My persistent question regarding this band, and I have yet to receive a suitable answer, is " since when did "punk rock" mean expensive brand name polos anyways?!?". Although, for all of their paradox, they finished pretty strong. At least there's that.
Jimmy Eat World:
Probably the most underrated band here. They're fantastic! I can't believe the lead singer can still pull off half the notes he does, but hey, billy does it - so it must be possible. The new song "little thing" is amazing. Its very touching and poignant, and coupled with the lighting makes for a very lovely atmosphere.
My Chemical Romance rocked my effing socks off. Seriously. They're so saucy in person, also I loved how Gerard Way used "shits"; it was attractive in a very brash way. They played all of their hits, and closed with the unexpected "cancer"- which he dedicated to his wife, that lucky woman. I envy the wives of great artists. They're with such passionate and creative men. I couldn't ever be a professional artist because of my above-all-rational nature, but I can adore those who do, and the partners of those I envy. Anyway, that was mcr.
The Smashing Pumpkins: need I say more? Corigan's son came out on stage, and he played a teary "landslide" on acoustic guitar. The only one all night. They should change the name of the show. Truly.
Day two:
"Quick, dye your hair red!"
'... I work for a fortune 500.' *glare*
"I demand red hair! Q_Q"
Shayne and I dined at a burger place and strolled the avenues of universal studios, shopping and snacking the afternoon away after a late wake up- and a later lunch. The doors opened at 5. And, then, it was time for the second night of the almost acoustic xmas to shred la to ribbons, again.
Night 2:
Sharpe and somebodies:
They seriously came out looking like a mini, musical, hippie commune-- but better dressed, and famous, still just as high though, and just as musically impaired. This was my first impression. Their maracas -trumpet-infectious keyboard combo grew on me eventually, though. As a redeeming factor, the female co-lead had a great jazzy voice, which was really quite good, and put me in a pleasant mood. That was of course until this peace-loving band inspired one of their fans to bring,and shake, her own tambourine. At that point I wanted to commit indiscriminate murder.
Shayne, if you're reading over my shoulder, I'm having a good time. I promise. They still look like a hippie commune.
The broken bells:
They remind me of a more contemporary "u2". I am absolutely going to buy their new cd, when I have more than $1.35 to my name. They, like the last band, are rather large. I wonder if that's popular now?
Temper trap:
They're pretty fantastic for an australian band. And they pulled the audience in almost instantaneously. Lost points for a male bassist with a ponytail though. The vocals and overall musical quality are solid though.
The neon trees:
Money talks, but style speaks louder- and dear god were their vocals (metaphorical and literal) in top shape tonight. Their set (complete with white icicle lights), costumes (xmas red detail and shimmery black) and fantastic showmanship were only compliments to their fantastic sound. Its so refreshing to see a relatively young band that is so...fabulous in every way. From the charismatic and flamboyant front man to the glamorous but powerful female drummer, I was completely blown away. You had me at "oh, woah!"
Florence and the machine:
Strong female vocals and a fairy-tale visual aesthetic mark this band. They're not what I would call my type, but they're not bad by any means, and might merit a second listen at another time.
The black keys:
These guys have a really cool sound. They came out running, and didn't drop the crowd's attention at all. Surprisingly, they put the drummer front and center. He's amazing, of course, but I've never seen a stage setup like that before.
Brandon flowers:
Eric:"oh hey, the lead from the killers"
Me: you knew that? I didn't even know that!
Its about that. He has a great voice, and sings great songs. He's probably sick of his day job by now. The acoustic "when you were young" and the trancy-version of "somebody told me" were a nice touch.
Vampire weekend:
Second time seeing them live, they just keep getting better. Still, my mind is decidedly somewhere else. I'm trying to determine who the un-billed guest is going to be; I'm going over in my mind who's available, who has an album out, who it might be....
Phoenix:
Came out playing. Lights show was spectacular. Jesus christ these people are headline material. Unexpectedly.
Sadly there was no surprise guest, which was a let-down, as much as anything could be after such a fantastic time.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Gimme Sympathy
I worked way too hard on that last final, truly. But that's done and all that remains are the projects and the essays. I feel that I can handle those. At the very least I got tonight as a breather between acts of maddness.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Every Day is Forced
It's repetitious to say that blogging every day has become a strain. That's an understatement in the greatest possible degree. Thank GOD stats will be over and done with tomorrow.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Everything's not lost
Finals week is in full swing, and I am on day three of my blog-a-day challenge. My heart won't stop pounding. I have so much do to right now, so many huge deadlines coming up, and all at once, this racing in my chest is an affirmation of life; and all of a sudden the day's gone away from me. I think I'm finally getting a hang of the stats material, and of course also congressional politics...I'm just super nervous that I'm underestimating the material and that I might miss something if I'm not careful. I can't believe it's so late. I won't get much sleep tonight if I'm not careful. I think I'll get coffee before congressional. Three days remain until the concert, and still I haven't even prepared for that. I'm not even thinking about it yet. I'm completely and totally focused on these two finals first and foremost.
First and foremost, and then the concert.Three days remaining...
First and foremost, and then the concert.Three days remaining...
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Day Two
This might sound forced, in fact it probably does. I'll work on it.
[edits]
Another day has passed, but not without trial. I'm finding it's a stretch to pump out a blog every day. They always end up being mundane, or pathos-laden rants, or worse (that nasty of all big-bad-words: personal.). That's the nature of the blogging beast, I guess.
Finals week is seriously trying my patience, in case that hasn't been made abundantly clear.
I'm expecting the quality of this blog-a-day project to dramatically improve after my last final. I suppose this would also be a good place to put my concert count-down.
Annual Winter Concert days remaining: 4...
[edits]
Another day has passed, but not without trial. I'm finding it's a stretch to pump out a blog every day. They always end up being mundane, or pathos-laden rants, or worse (that nasty of all big-bad-words: personal.). That's the nature of the blogging beast, I guess.
Finals week is seriously trying my patience, in case that hasn't been made abundantly clear.
I'm expecting the quality of this blog-a-day project to dramatically improve after my last final. I suppose this would also be a good place to put my concert count-down.
Annual Winter Concert days remaining: 4...
A Blog a Day Keeps the (head) Doctor Away
I'm a little sick of keeping these obsessive finals worries to myself "What will he put on the final? Have I prepared enough?" I can't stop those worries as the deadline comes. but they are simple, manageable, understandable. Logic is cold and clean, and for that I'm grateful. Finals week is in many ways a savior.
I'm taking this month-long challenge, hoping that it will lead to personal discovery. Right now all it's leading to is a headache.
I'm hoping tomorrow is easier, in terms of the rigor of studying and the time I have to commit to the work.
I'm taking this month-long challenge, hoping that it will lead to personal discovery. Right now all it's leading to is a headache.
I'm hoping tomorrow is easier, in terms of the rigor of studying and the time I have to commit to the work.
Friday, December 3, 2010
A Day In The Life
Every day begins new; very rarely do we have to drag the previous night's garbage- the drama from the day before, the pain from yesterday, etc with us. The only people who hold on to that kind of feeling are the self-loathing and the masochistic.
I suppose in this way, the title of the blog should be 'catharsis'- but I've experienced nothing quite so cleansing, just some diet coke and an aspirin in a warm room the night before an exciting outing. Quelling my minor headache was first and foremost, and then it was on to preparing for the onslaught of finals: outlining, writing, the works-- this is just one more night of peace before the finals storm.
Bliss, and peace.
I suppose in this way, the title of the blog should be 'catharsis'- but I've experienced nothing quite so cleansing, just some diet coke and an aspirin in a warm room the night before an exciting outing. Quelling my minor headache was first and foremost, and then it was on to preparing for the onslaught of finals: outlining, writing, the works-- this is just one more night of peace before the finals storm.
Bliss, and peace.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Ja-Pan!
Nothing can beat the (literal) breaking of bread with my fellow otaku. It's a pleasure and an honor. These are the people who have, and can, restore my faith in humanity. I can't wait for the SF trip this weekend! YATTA~!
Saturday, November 27, 2010
"Lost At Sea"- a coming to SOA
The action starts when I timidly wandered into an anime viewing, one lonely weekday in October. I was lucky enough to just blend in, and no one introduced themselves, or made me stand out in any way for which I was grateful. After that I began attending regularly, and plotting my ascent to power and eventual coup de tat... and if that's all you were looking for, then there you go.
But that's not where it all began.
When I was in middle school I caught the otaku fever. I wasn't introduced to anime as a kid (though I was known to glue myself to the TV for Sailor Moon or early Pokémon episodes near religiously back before I knew what I was watching). I didn't grow up with cool older siblings who read manga or watched anime-- my family to this day is still in the dark about these things.
Suffice to say, I was in unfamiliar territory.
Armed with only my tenacity, I ventured on. At about thirteen, I discovered the Toonami and AdultSwim programs (which used to feature smatterings of Anime in their lineups). I was hooked. Behind my mom's back; I used to sneak Toonami when she was off working and I was "doing homework", or AdultSwim on weeknights, plugging headphones into my TV and wedging a towel under the door to hide evidence of the light or sound of my defiance. I wasn't allowed up past 12, you see.
I went to a very open and supportive high school. Any one student was just as likely to be into sports as they were to watch anime- and everyone knew and no one cared; there was no stigma attached to interest. Looking back, it was a bit of a utopia.
When I came to Merced, I was in for a total culture shock. I went to orientation, like everyone else, but not being used to the sweltering 100+ weather and the oppressive over-cheeriness of the group leaders, I begged mom to skip out early. Cooling down in the hotel room, I began to develop a serious case of cold feet; but it was too late for second guesses and Merced was my school of choice with, or without, friends with shared interests.
When I began attending in the fall of '08, I had no idea what the SOABrigade was- if I was even aware of its existence. I gravitated to the only person I knew, my boyfriend, and his friends. They were, without saying too much, Asian xenophobes who believed sub-consciously in an abrasive normative whiteness.
Needless to say they were hostile to what they again and again labeled in chiding tones as my "geekiness", or "weirdness". Things I used to pride myself on... were becoming terms of derision. Not even my boyfriend really understood those 'strange cartoons' I was into- though he tried to insulate me from their teasing, when he could.
That was my freshman year. Trying to fit in and fixing a deformity I didn't even know I had. I started going to the gym a lot and wearing makeup to fit in with my boyfriend's crowd, and tried to forget the community I once loved. That was a sad time for me, since anime had been a major part of my life and the fandom comprised the people I identified with.
My sophomore year, Jake went away to dc. Of course the teasing didn't stop, and of course I still hadn't found anything to fill the hole left by anime and the artistic community. I needed something, anything to temper the ennui of life in Merced, with "friends" I couldn't stand. And at about breaking point, I saw a poster reading 'anime club'.
And that was that.
Summoning my courage, I went. I ditched my gossipy, backstabbing frenemies and took a chance on SOABrigade.
And between you all and I, I'm happy I did.
But that's not where it all began.
When I was in middle school I caught the otaku fever. I wasn't introduced to anime as a kid (though I was known to glue myself to the TV for Sailor Moon or early Pokémon episodes near religiously back before I knew what I was watching). I didn't grow up with cool older siblings who read manga or watched anime-- my family to this day is still in the dark about these things.
Suffice to say, I was in unfamiliar territory.
Armed with only my tenacity, I ventured on. At about thirteen, I discovered the Toonami and AdultSwim programs (which used to feature smatterings of Anime in their lineups). I was hooked. Behind my mom's back; I used to sneak Toonami when she was off working and I was "doing homework", or AdultSwim on weeknights, plugging headphones into my TV and wedging a towel under the door to hide evidence of the light or sound of my defiance. I wasn't allowed up past 12, you see.
I went to a very open and supportive high school. Any one student was just as likely to be into sports as they were to watch anime- and everyone knew and no one cared; there was no stigma attached to interest. Looking back, it was a bit of a utopia.
When I came to Merced, I was in for a total culture shock. I went to orientation, like everyone else, but not being used to the sweltering 100+ weather and the oppressive over-cheeriness of the group leaders, I begged mom to skip out early. Cooling down in the hotel room, I began to develop a serious case of cold feet; but it was too late for second guesses and Merced was my school of choice with, or without, friends with shared interests.
When I began attending in the fall of '08, I had no idea what the SOABrigade was- if I was even aware of its existence. I gravitated to the only person I knew, my boyfriend, and his friends. They were, without saying too much, Asian xenophobes who believed sub-consciously in an abrasive normative whiteness.
Needless to say they were hostile to what they again and again labeled in chiding tones as my "geekiness", or "weirdness". Things I used to pride myself on... were becoming terms of derision. Not even my boyfriend really understood those 'strange cartoons' I was into- though he tried to insulate me from their teasing, when he could.
That was my freshman year. Trying to fit in and fixing a deformity I didn't even know I had. I started going to the gym a lot and wearing makeup to fit in with my boyfriend's crowd, and tried to forget the community I once loved. That was a sad time for me, since anime had been a major part of my life and the fandom comprised the people I identified with.
My sophomore year, Jake went away to dc. Of course the teasing didn't stop, and of course I still hadn't found anything to fill the hole left by anime and the artistic community. I needed something, anything to temper the ennui of life in Merced, with "friends" I couldn't stand. And at about breaking point, I saw a poster reading 'anime club'.
And that was that.
Summoning my courage, I went. I ditched my gossipy, backstabbing frenemies and took a chance on SOABrigade.
And between you all and I, I'm happy I did.
I go to sleep
Coming home was a double-edged sword. The details are stupid, mundane, and commonplace. And, as I have promised myself to be rid of such things, I watch what I say. I don't have much time here left- and Sunday I return to the life I've left behind, but I will enjoy this last meal of sushi and I will leave my hometown by the sea, vowing to return.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Things Fall Together
When in the hell was it that I last looked back? I do try so hard not to.
Six years ago to the day, a young girl was falling in love at a Sadie Hawkins dance; and six years ago to the morning after her heart was breaking. But she grew up and realized that nothing can last forever. That wide-eyed girl grew up in a chaotic nest with poisonous barbs instead of feathers, and when her wings were strong, leaped from the stifling home into the open blue.
I'm not done with this world yet- and I'll fight if I must to make my dreams come true. That's all this boils down to.
I've lost so much, given up so many, and been heartbroken more than once but I will not alter my course until my ambitions are fulfilled.
"Maybe one day, when we are old and our pride means nothing, I will retire with you in that place"...maybe I will. Maybe she was right.
Six years ago to the day, a young girl was falling in love at a Sadie Hawkins dance; and six years ago to the morning after her heart was breaking. But she grew up and realized that nothing can last forever. That wide-eyed girl grew up in a chaotic nest with poisonous barbs instead of feathers, and when her wings were strong, leaped from the stifling home into the open blue.
I'm not done with this world yet- and I'll fight if I must to make my dreams come true. That's all this boils down to.
I've lost so much, given up so many, and been heartbroken more than once but I will not alter my course until my ambitions are fulfilled.
"Maybe one day, when we are old and our pride means nothing, I will retire with you in that place"...maybe I will. Maybe she was right.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
dev·as·tat·ed
The world is not beautiful. The man across the street is drunk, loud, and slurring his yells- punctuating this are the sharp and sensible words of a female officer. His child--a toddler at best-- is howling its sobs ('mommy' is barely discernible among the cries) although the main and most penetrating of communications is its pain. No matter the words, it's the pain that's communicated most clearly. Hands down. God to think my heart could break, this scene leaves me in ribbons. "Do you want to go to jail, sir?"..."whaddya mean?!"
Two hours ago loud mariachi music blared across the street, and men poured in and out of a private residence near mine. Motorcycles peeled in and out of the area with abandon and engines flared- fanning heated tempers. Meanwhile I typed away at a keyboard hoping it would stop, finding myself an unwilling spectator of what would inevitably be a gruesome night for all.
The man 'responsible' for this blog's contents seemed to take a kind of jovial pride in his antics-- that is from what I could hear. His wife tried to stop all of this, hissing common sense in a foreign tongue- yelling reason and pleading truth. His buddies laughed-- loudly.
In the not-so-far off distance, a child no older than five, his child, began to cry.
What, I wonder will he learn from all of this? Even to me this scene is heartbreaking and incomprehensible.
This must have irritated someone, because following this prolonged display, a sleek black car pulled up to the end of my block-- two dark-clad figures exiting noiselessly. Merced's finest. What a joke. They-- who are hired to protect and serve being made to clean up after the drunk and disorderly man-child coward across the street. Lovely.
I hear a scuffle and a neighbor woman cursing in Spanish at the drunkard, and then addressing the female officer directly--"Do you see what I havva deal wit?"...she responds in what I can only imagine is her practiced, and uniform calm--"There is absolutely nothing I can do about that"-- the bottom line. End of story. Or it would be.
Arguments begin between the drunkard and the neighbor, loud and unintelligible, only half in English, and mostly slurred. Abruptly it ends. Cuffs click, and a car door snaps shut. The road quiets. These are suburban problems. Drunk in public and unruly neighbors.
By now the child has been quieted.
Two hours ago loud mariachi music blared across the street, and men poured in and out of a private residence near mine. Motorcycles peeled in and out of the area with abandon and engines flared- fanning heated tempers. Meanwhile I typed away at a keyboard hoping it would stop, finding myself an unwilling spectator of what would inevitably be a gruesome night for all.
The man 'responsible' for this blog's contents seemed to take a kind of jovial pride in his antics-- that is from what I could hear. His wife tried to stop all of this, hissing common sense in a foreign tongue- yelling reason and pleading truth. His buddies laughed-- loudly.
In the not-so-far off distance, a child no older than five, his child, began to cry.
What, I wonder will he learn from all of this? Even to me this scene is heartbreaking and incomprehensible.
This must have irritated someone, because following this prolonged display, a sleek black car pulled up to the end of my block-- two dark-clad figures exiting noiselessly. Merced's finest. What a joke. They-- who are hired to protect and serve being made to clean up after the drunk and disorderly man-child coward across the street. Lovely.
I hear a scuffle and a neighbor woman cursing in Spanish at the drunkard, and then addressing the female officer directly--"Do you see what I havva deal wit?"...she responds in what I can only imagine is her practiced, and uniform calm--"There is absolutely nothing I can do about that"-- the bottom line. End of story. Or it would be.
Arguments begin between the drunkard and the neighbor, loud and unintelligible, only half in English, and mostly slurred. Abruptly it ends. Cuffs click, and a car door snaps shut. The road quiets. These are suburban problems. Drunk in public and unruly neighbors.
By now the child has been quieted.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
The Sam Also Writes
Few things are as thoroughly satisfying as a vigorous workout; among them being the difficult night spent at one's desk. God smiles on the diligent work which is done with vigor and the intensity of mind present only in one who delights in the task. I went into the (valley) because I wanted to live deliberately; and now Mr. Thoreau's words echo back to me with the air of truth they were meant to carry. I came here to accomplish something more than the degree I will soon hold in my hand. I came here to prove to myself that even amidst the elements and the strife, in a place only something as hard as stone could survive, I could find within myself the floating void, within which void resides a flame- and that rarest of qualities- the unimaginable courage born from success through out such trials as only this place could bring.
Keeping in contact with the people I love back home brings out the very best in me, and insodoing, this quiet resolve.
I am grateful to my Sam, and the quaintness in his stories of love and rejection and new love- the vicissitudes of young life as I too am living. And also to Eric, without whom I would be lost to cynicism or blinded by the forest from the trees that matter most to me; in every way he is an anchor back to all that is dearest. These great friends, and Shayne's patient but imperfect guidance are with me as I progress, one step at a time.
Keeping in contact with the people I love back home brings out the very best in me, and insodoing, this quiet resolve.
I am grateful to my Sam, and the quaintness in his stories of love and rejection and new love- the vicissitudes of young life as I too am living. And also to Eric, without whom I would be lost to cynicism or blinded by the forest from the trees that matter most to me; in every way he is an anchor back to all that is dearest. These great friends, and Shayne's patient but imperfect guidance are with me as I progress, one step at a time.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Das Klavier
I don't have anything inspired to say today. That might be the toll of exhaustion, or maybe it's the movie- The Pianist. It follows a very delicate, and sensitive artist with soft features and soulful green eyes. His calm, but expressive intonations, the steady and perfectly timed movements of his hands are captivating. I can't help but feel deeply connected to him, and through Adrien Brody's acting I imagine myself a great, and endless love for this soul both immeasurably deep and scarred. The man, I'm sure is nothing like the subtlety and grace of his part. But people can never be as we imagine them, I suppose.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Midterms Hell Hath Descended
As the title implies, the past two weeks have been a flurry of papers, energy drinks, and late night rants. Thank god for the saving grace of sleep once more, and the sane return to schedule. At least one of us is having fun- Shay's trip to blizzcon this week should be fruitful for the both of us, or so is the hope.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Read a Book You Illiterate Sonofabitch
I'm sick, and I have a midterm tomorrow, for which I have minimally studied. Things are looking grim for our embittered heroine. Will she prevail?...tune in next week.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
He was the still point in a turning world
This weekend's been amazing, just the calmness and peace that presence has brought me, my dearest friend who I once vowed I couldn't live without. I've missed the presence of competence, and the still mind which I used to rely on so much. It's good, to be back in such a comforting place. 
But at the same time, it makes me long for a place, and a time that's passed. Quite simply it's something I can never have, an opportunity and a moment that's passed. So now I'll come back from my dreams, but keep my joy, lose my muse, but retain its comfort.
But at the same time, it makes me long for a place, and a time that's passed. Quite simply it's something I can never have, an opportunity and a moment that's passed. So now I'll come back from my dreams, but keep my joy, lose my muse, but retain its comfort.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
1960; Jackie Help Me...
I have to be up by 9; I'm taking the 9:50 bus to school, and then campaigning for a while. I can't believe I'm going to be out there. I didn't want to get involved, maybe because of my recent brush with the grimy side of politics at the local level, and perhaps still because of my utter disdain at begging for votes. Nonetheless, my presence there today serves a higher purpose, and if that's my role I'm fine with it, mostly. It's a feeling of resignation, my role. But I can also feel peace in it, because I've directed myself here. Enough about that. Most importantly, I've spent the past weeks as a fly-on-the-wall seeing, learning, by proxy, the dark secrets of the student government running my school (that is to say: the absolute scum of the undergraduate earth.)
I passionately want to see this election turn out favorably, though I'm struggling to project an objective indifference, if only to minimize the pressure on 'our' candidates. I'm having a hard time sleeping, because of this forced indifference, this false objectivity in the treatment of the events to come; I'm holding my breath and hoping for the very best, but as to name that end, I can't say. I'm holding my breath for fear of letting it out, for fear that the powers that be should smite my secretly held hopes. This tension is both a very positive force, and a very negative one. . .
My stomach isn't settling well tonight, I'm a ball of nerves...
Sunday, September 26, 2010
"Resistance", or "How I learned to Overcome My Insomnia and Sleep Before Muse"
Begin the most interesting weekend of my junior year- as read through my eyes only! TRANSCRIBED!
(Wednesday) *pakupakupaku*
I came home on my break between classes to the most interesting of visitors: flies! This was quickly remedied with the aid of bleach! I have to admit, nothing gets the blood pumping like mass insecticide! After that it was off to stats lab, administering the thankless job of running the anime club as a board member, and all that comes with it (you can imagine)! Following that bit of fun, I had packing and cleaning to attend to, and of course the fun of orchestrating an entire weekend home, while balancing my remaining responsibilities.
(Thursday)
All morning and afternoon in the train, bus, and car. I slept on Jake's shoulder, and didn't remember much.
(Friday)
Shayne and I met up early after work (I had walked over to my grandparents house to see Chloe and my grandpa) following which a sushi feast ensued. Dear god, I had missed being home. Following our mouth-first-dive into the ocean, we headed over to the theatre to catch Scott Pilgrim (a movie Shayne practically had to drag me to see, but upon viewing, I found to be perfectly enjoyable).
(Saturday)
I woke up far later than was proper on this day; met up with Sam, walked to the coffee shop near by house and ordered the "red eye" drink-cold, which we took to the park and consumed under the shady trees. My afternoon was something out of a Jack Johnson song. We poured out hearts out on playground sand and reveled in the comfort of an understanding ear. I swear to god, soulmates exist in the bodies of best friends. After that, we headed back, and caught a ride to the mall, where we would eventually meet up with Alex and Anthony (who I have missed desperately and plan to import onto Mercedian soil as soon as either has a break in their schedules). And let it be said that walking through the mall with several male hangers-on has its advantages...mostly that instead of having a single GBF, the advice of an entire gaggle allows for the same quality of style and expertise to be communicated, but through many lenses effectively the fashion equivalent to drinking a cup filled with espresso vs. a cup filled with coffee only.
In any case, that moment ended beautifully, and so began the evening, during which I began to prepare for my upcoming Muse concert (tomorrow- well today but who's counting?) We immediately took to Fry's for a little last-minute-shopping, and then headed back home for a night of anime and setting the itinerary, which so far seems to me to be rather straightforward.
As you can tell, this is a very exciting, positive time in my life, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. Pictures and updates to come...
(Wednesday) *pakupakupaku*
I came home on my break between classes to the most interesting of visitors: flies! This was quickly remedied with the aid of bleach! I have to admit, nothing gets the blood pumping like mass insecticide! After that it was off to stats lab, administering the thankless job of running the anime club as a board member, and all that comes with it (you can imagine)! Following that bit of fun, I had packing and cleaning to attend to, and of course the fun of orchestrating an entire weekend home, while balancing my remaining responsibilities.
(Thursday)
All morning and afternoon in the train, bus, and car. I slept on Jake's shoulder, and didn't remember much.
(Friday)
Shayne and I met up early after work (I had walked over to my grandparents house to see Chloe and my grandpa) following which a sushi feast ensued. Dear god, I had missed being home. Following our mouth-first-dive into the ocean, we headed over to the theatre to catch Scott Pilgrim (a movie Shayne practically had to drag me to see, but upon viewing, I found to be perfectly enjoyable).
(Saturday)
I woke up far later than was proper on this day; met up with Sam, walked to the coffee shop near by house and ordered the "red eye" drink-cold, which we took to the park and consumed under the shady trees. My afternoon was something out of a Jack Johnson song. We poured out hearts out on playground sand and reveled in the comfort of an understanding ear. I swear to god, soulmates exist in the bodies of best friends. After that, we headed back, and caught a ride to the mall, where we would eventually meet up with Alex and Anthony (who I have missed desperately and plan to import onto Mercedian soil as soon as either has a break in their schedules). And let it be said that walking through the mall with several male hangers-on has its advantages...mostly that instead of having a single GBF, the advice of an entire gaggle allows for the same quality of style and expertise to be communicated, but through many lenses effectively the fashion equivalent to drinking a cup filled with espresso vs. a cup filled with coffee only.
In any case, that moment ended beautifully, and so began the evening, during which I began to prepare for my upcoming Muse concert (tomorrow- well today but who's counting?) We immediately took to Fry's for a little last-minute-shopping, and then headed back home for a night of anime and setting the itinerary, which so far seems to me to be rather straightforward.
As you can tell, this is a very exciting, positive time in my life, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. Pictures and updates to come...
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Hemorrhage
An unambiguous text sent me reeling, my only supplication to the gods being a half-choked 'please'. I'm sure Wesley would have been proud, too bad for me the ending written into my script wasn't as favorable as his. These days I have been made to consider very seriously that perhaps the world is as brutal and random as my existential mind cares to believe it.
That's all.
That's all.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Tryst with Destiny
Cooking is one of the most nerve-wracking enterprises created by man (yes, that's right, man). At present, I'm waiting for my french toast to be done ( I just finished a new recipe that I'm quite nervous about, you see, and it's effecting the cohesion of my thoughts- what a bother!
Friday, September 10, 2010
( I guess I had to go to that place, to get to this one..)
Its too easy to bitch about the negative. I refuse. I'm doing well, but the words don't play as well in the absence of tragedy.
The truth is life isn't made wholly of euphoric highs, and abysmal valleys. These petty woes and stings visited upon us while living won't end the world, nor even seriously distress her. Wasn't that the bastardization of a Churchill witticism? The point is we should stop acting like it. Though internet narcissism would allow for it. I can imagine it perfectly, a generation of Audrey Hepburns; stylish, thin, and vastly delusional. We all must see ourselves as the here-and-gone-with-the-wind, fate-blown heroine, or some poor disenfranchised youth, trapped in a bullshit adult-run world, like James Dean. Poor, helpless (but gorgeous) us!
But try as we might, we are not James Dean. And we are not ending the world with our complaining. Nor am I, which is in a way why I recognize the futility of sending my negativity into the void like this, day after day, complaining about my stupid, insignificant problems.
More practically and without editorializing, I'm fighting my way back from a small low, little, like a fumbled note against the scope of the symphony. And that is all. On occasion, these setbacks happen, and will not be force enough to disrupt the overall healthy flow of energies in my life as I progress towards the inevitable, perfected form of myself which I am to become.
To say no more, I will close with this: our fortune is what we make it. I'll make it my way, through humility or hubris. Either or both ways, this is far from over, World.
The truth is life isn't made wholly of euphoric highs, and abysmal valleys. These petty woes and stings visited upon us while living won't end the world, nor even seriously distress her. Wasn't that the bastardization of a Churchill witticism? The point is we should stop acting like it. Though internet narcissism would allow for it. I can imagine it perfectly, a generation of Audrey Hepburns; stylish, thin, and vastly delusional. We all must see ourselves as the here-and-gone-with-the-wind, fate-blown heroine, or some poor disenfranchised youth, trapped in a bullshit adult-run world, like James Dean. Poor, helpless (but gorgeous) us!
But try as we might, we are not James Dean. And we are not ending the world with our complaining. Nor am I, which is in a way why I recognize the futility of sending my negativity into the void like this, day after day, complaining about my stupid, insignificant problems.
More practically and without editorializing, I'm fighting my way back from a small low, little, like a fumbled note against the scope of the symphony. And that is all. On occasion, these setbacks happen, and will not be force enough to disrupt the overall healthy flow of energies in my life as I progress towards the inevitable, perfected form of myself which I am to become.
To say no more, I will close with this: our fortune is what we make it. I'll make it my way, through humility or hubris. Either or both ways, this is far from over, World.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Slow Dancing in a Burning Room
Time is passing, as Jack reminded me, with or without my permission. And for his observations I am grateful; he's right. Thank god school is slowing down for this week, I feel like it dragged me into it and took control, completely dominating my schedule and the flow of time. A pause every now and again can be rather helpful for the purposes of reflection and assessment of one's place in the world.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Vanilla Twilight
I have more reading for the first two weeks than I would ever care to retell. This is helping me keep busy, and taking care of myself and my house in those spare moments is fulfilling in ways I can't describe. I can really see this place as home- with the added bonus of a surrogate family (who for all of their flaws have really given me a feeling of security and belonging).
Not to blight the prospect of a perfect post without complaints there are things missing, one specifically. I unpacked what was left of my room, and vacuumed my rug. I thought if everything was in order I'd find it hiding in a suitcase, or spinning around in my chair, cuddling nala, or stretched out across my bed. I looked in every corner to no avail. I suppose it's lost forever. But I knew that going in, and have only myself to blame.
There is so much to be done, I feel as if the fabric from which I weave my life is changing bit by bit, becoming more sturdy and coarse. I'm fine with that; and as I reflect into my styrofoam coffee cup, I am glad that the rend left in the wake of last summer can be mended, though I am sure it will leave a scar.
Not to blight the prospect of a perfect post without complaints there are things missing, one specifically. I unpacked what was left of my room, and vacuumed my rug. I thought if everything was in order I'd find it hiding in a suitcase, or spinning around in my chair, cuddling nala, or stretched out across my bed. I looked in every corner to no avail. I suppose it's lost forever. But I knew that going in, and have only myself to blame.
There is so much to be done, I feel as if the fabric from which I weave my life is changing bit by bit, becoming more sturdy and coarse. I'm fine with that; and as I reflect into my styrofoam coffee cup, I am glad that the rend left in the wake of last summer can be mended, though I am sure it will leave a scar.
Monday, August 16, 2010
This Dying Soul ~[Dreams]
[Fade in from black]
[scene:]
A barren landscape stretches out for miles, giving way to rolling midnight hills. This silken night is broken only by a white path that winds its way through the nighttime landscape. The moon rests high to the North. It offers no comfort or clue as to the observer's surroundings. Off-screen two shades embrace, meeting gently and parting just the same.
They enter from the South standing side-by-side. They do not look at each other or touch and an unbroken distance forms between them. It is as if this had always been so and in fact, was meant to be. They pass over the distance, following the path's every turn, softly ascending North. They follow the path to its--and perhaps their- conclusion come what may.
[Fade]
[scene:]
The curtain of night lifts on a noontime school scene. Adolescent fancy and energy abound as the observer wanders the crowd. Jeans and sneakers pass in an endless stream around and below the observer, who is looking down without much thought. The sea of shoes parts before the shades, now fully of flesh. They their drift around fellow students, in front of a row of lockers, across the length of the corridor and around a corner.
They are still side by side, still untouching, though closer now.
The noise of the hallway recedes, giving the pair an intimate silence. The scene blurs around them, who pass effortlessly through the crowd to some unknown destination, still walking the path on which we met them.
An unspoken acknowledgment passes from one to the other,and back. It is their secret to keep and the gap is closed by two innocuous pinky fingers linking souls, linking understanding, ending time.
They are not together, though in a past life they stormed Mount Olympus, of this there is no doubt.
The hallway noise returns, and the shades are consumed by the tide, dissipate and blow away, sharing a secret smile before the end.
[fade to black]
[scene:]
A barren landscape stretches out for miles, giving way to rolling midnight hills. This silken night is broken only by a white path that winds its way through the nighttime landscape. The moon rests high to the North. It offers no comfort or clue as to the observer's surroundings. Off-screen two shades embrace, meeting gently and parting just the same.
They enter from the South standing side-by-side. They do not look at each other or touch and an unbroken distance forms between them. It is as if this had always been so and in fact, was meant to be. They pass over the distance, following the path's every turn, softly ascending North. They follow the path to its--and perhaps their- conclusion come what may.
[Fade]
[scene:]
The curtain of night lifts on a noontime school scene. Adolescent fancy and energy abound as the observer wanders the crowd. Jeans and sneakers pass in an endless stream around and below the observer, who is looking down without much thought. The sea of shoes parts before the shades, now fully of flesh. They their drift around fellow students, in front of a row of lockers, across the length of the corridor and around a corner.
They are still side by side, still untouching, though closer now.
The noise of the hallway recedes, giving the pair an intimate silence. The scene blurs around them, who pass effortlessly through the crowd to some unknown destination, still walking the path on which we met them.
An unspoken acknowledgment passes from one to the other,and back. It is their secret to keep and the gap is closed by two innocuous pinky fingers linking souls, linking understanding, ending time.
They are not together, though in a past life they stormed Mount Olympus, of this there is no doubt.
The hallway noise returns, and the shades are consumed by the tide, dissipate and blow away, sharing a secret smile before the end.
[fade to black]
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Cruciatus in crucem, eas in crucem
This isn't a repository for my emotions; it never has been a place to dump my emotional waste, it isn't about to become the same now. But there are times that emotion begs address. This is my one and only tribute to you, and my warning.
You're marring my art.
The feeling encasing my heart was the thorny thing called "regret" which in the heat melted into the vile sludge of remorse. That feeling oozed far away and has given rise to the seeds of guilt, which withered with each slap of a 'could have been' and was replaced on a stiff wind by terror mingled with self-loathing. And the keystrokes like tears fell, exploding pools of sympathy and pain the ilk of which you could have never imagined, but under your thumb lay the red button. This alloy broke apart bit by bit and the flakes remaining were "resolve".
(interlude)
Loneliness and Weariness are painful friends but they soothe too, and I am no stranger to that gentle touch. I have tried to meet you, I have used every appeal in my quiver, nothing remains to shoot out into the dark. ...And when the truth strikes blind out of the night, and when you've pushed me away, and when you stand alone with your thoughts and your flames know only that I fired to save you, and also myself.
(end)
I'm fighting while I have fight left, to bring myself to a place where I can breathe without regretting the impulse to draw breath. I've endured beatings for the burden of my existence. I felt the whip dig into virgin flesh and tear at the spot of vulnerability I bore to you, my sacrifice to your pain. I was willing to indulge in the fancy of watching my emotion run red against the sorrowful pyre of your fury, but enough is enough. I gave you a chance, and for my tact and generosity you abused my virtue and spat on my good name. I have stood the indignity of your berating. I have stooped, I have scraped, and now I stand on my own two feet to level a glare at you and declare it finished.
But still I wish you the best, because my well-being does not allow me to wish evil for others. The universe is not kind to those who pray for the ill of their fellow man. You have taken your fair pound of flesh. Let no more be said, for that is all.
You're marring my art.
The feeling encasing my heart was the thorny thing called "regret" which in the heat melted into the vile sludge of remorse. That feeling oozed far away and has given rise to the seeds of guilt, which withered with each slap of a 'could have been' and was replaced on a stiff wind by terror mingled with self-loathing. And the keystrokes like tears fell, exploding pools of sympathy and pain the ilk of which you could have never imagined, but under your thumb lay the red button. This alloy broke apart bit by bit and the flakes remaining were "resolve".
(interlude)
Loneliness and Weariness are painful friends but they soothe too, and I am no stranger to that gentle touch. I have tried to meet you, I have used every appeal in my quiver, nothing remains to shoot out into the dark. ...And when the truth strikes blind out of the night, and when you've pushed me away, and when you stand alone with your thoughts and your flames know only that I fired to save you, and also myself.
(end)
I'm fighting while I have fight left, to bring myself to a place where I can breathe without regretting the impulse to draw breath. I've endured beatings for the burden of my existence. I felt the whip dig into virgin flesh and tear at the spot of vulnerability I bore to you, my sacrifice to your pain. I was willing to indulge in the fancy of watching my emotion run red against the sorrowful pyre of your fury, but enough is enough. I gave you a chance, and for my tact and generosity you abused my virtue and spat on my good name. I have stood the indignity of your berating. I have stooped, I have scraped, and now I stand on my own two feet to level a glare at you and declare it finished.
But still I wish you the best, because my well-being does not allow me to wish evil for others. The universe is not kind to those who pray for the ill of their fellow man. You have taken your fair pound of flesh. Let no more be said, for that is all.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
"When you grow up, call me back"-A Prayer to Our Lady of the GaGa
Nothing Else I Can Say: part one.
I've been feeling rather ill recently- no surprises there, it's all metaphysical. But for the first time since last winter I am able to feel cold, and the pleasurable sting of natural weather below 70 degrees. Nothing is set in stone.
Again, Again: part two
I understand the pain I am and should be feeling, but there is a liberation in solitude. I'm growing to enjoy it.
Caught in a Bad Romance: part three
But how does one reconcile the simultaneous upsurge of freedom and positivity one feels with total liberation and abandonment of the concept 'self-preservation' with the crushing sense of weight and negativity that is being sucked into another person's mire? I understand pain, and offer up a prayer for those whose faith is dearly departed, but I'm not about to watch her martyr herself while crucifying me as the reason for her self-inflicted righteousness. Thanks, no thanks.I'd rather be a heathen.
And if this is to explain my self-imposed silence for the past week then to all those in-the-know, I'm willing to attribute all to the process of healing. Fights happen, friends are lost, and I've received my lumps for it, believe you me. But there is nothing worse than the pain felt by an empathetic person stooping to help the miserable. This, perhaps explains Dante's reaction in the swamp of sorrows. I'm not quite ready to beat back the heads of those who would drag me down into their miserable midst- but another two days of that heat and her searing scorn and I might just have grabbed for my cricket bat.
Poker Face: conclusion
In the meantime the world still spins. Life is too short to let drama overtake you. Make a fiction, tell a lie, and make that the most fucking real lie you've ever told. That's what art is. I believe that, and for too long my truth has been a fiction, but that didn't work. Now's the time to make a spectacle and call it me.
I've been feeling rather ill recently- no surprises there, it's all metaphysical. But for the first time since last winter I am able to feel cold, and the pleasurable sting of natural weather below 70 degrees. Nothing is set in stone.
Again, Again: part two
I understand the pain I am and should be feeling, but there is a liberation in solitude. I'm growing to enjoy it.
Caught in a Bad Romance: part three
But how does one reconcile the simultaneous upsurge of freedom and positivity one feels with total liberation and abandonment of the concept 'self-preservation' with the crushing sense of weight and negativity that is being sucked into another person's mire? I understand pain, and offer up a prayer for those whose faith is dearly departed, but I'm not about to watch her martyr herself while crucifying me as the reason for her self-inflicted righteousness. Thanks, no thanks.I'd rather be a heathen.
And if this is to explain my self-imposed silence for the past week then to all those in-the-know, I'm willing to attribute all to the process of healing. Fights happen, friends are lost, and I've received my lumps for it, believe you me. But there is nothing worse than the pain felt by an empathetic person stooping to help the miserable. This, perhaps explains Dante's reaction in the swamp of sorrows. I'm not quite ready to beat back the heads of those who would drag me down into their miserable midst- but another two days of that heat and her searing scorn and I might just have grabbed for my cricket bat.
Poker Face: conclusion
In the meantime the world still spins. Life is too short to let drama overtake you. Make a fiction, tell a lie, and make that the most fucking real lie you've ever told. That's what art is. I believe that, and for too long my truth has been a fiction, but that didn't work. Now's the time to make a spectacle and call it me.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Singing to the dark through open eyes
So often the desire to radically change something about my life comes from desperation and so often that same frantic scramble to make visible change happen is stifled back down, smothered by the invisible matron Status Quo. Each time I choke on her loving advice, the medicine she feeds me to keep me happy, calm and normal.
This time my desires to change were positive. I want to reflect something special and unique about myself outward. I don't care if it sounds cliche- and I won't give so much as a second's time to the thought that my actions are wrong. They're right for me, so who else has any right to judge them given that merit?
I want to live a life by no one's standards but my own, so I can be happy and at peace. I tried living to make others happy, but that made me miserable. I gave and gave, but instead of vanishing into my own altruism, I amassed heartbreak and sorrow, carried it with me wherever I went, and labored under its bulk.
I can't like like that anymore. I've finally heard my soul's cry for release from the yolk I never fully wanted.
And I can't sleep, but I think now that is exactly what I need- to be awake and to feel the freedom and the boundless energy that comes with a life imbued with righteous selfishness.
I will walk with my head held high; and become someone I can continue to love and respect, come what may.
This time my desires to change were positive. I want to reflect something special and unique about myself outward. I don't care if it sounds cliche- and I won't give so much as a second's time to the thought that my actions are wrong. They're right for me, so who else has any right to judge them given that merit?
I want to live a life by no one's standards but my own, so I can be happy and at peace. I tried living to make others happy, but that made me miserable. I gave and gave, but instead of vanishing into my own altruism, I amassed heartbreak and sorrow, carried it with me wherever I went, and labored under its bulk.
I can't like like that anymore. I've finally heard my soul's cry for release from the yolk I never fully wanted.
And I can't sleep, but I think now that is exactly what I need- to be awake and to feel the freedom and the boundless energy that comes with a life imbued with righteous selfishness.
I will walk with my head held high; and become someone I can continue to love and respect, come what may.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Dust will we be made on this summer day
How do you fight a fear you didn't know you had? I can't kill a phantom, I can't fix something that happened years ago and stayed with me. I can't fight years of training myself to be delicate and afraid.
Instead I thought it over, beating his rose against the ground, punctuating every thought. I can't come to any conclusions. It's killing me, so I beheaded his present mercifully, and left it on the nightstand.
Instead I thought it over, beating his rose against the ground, punctuating every thought. I can't come to any conclusions. It's killing me, so I beheaded his present mercifully, and left it on the nightstand.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
In this Daylight
(I doubt this will be any good but I have to start, I mist type though at first faithlessly. I may not know where to begin but I will begin anyway and spin my thoughts into truth- if that is what I must do than I will.)
I don't know what the fundamental aspect of creation is; what makes it great or possible even, but I have always attested at every turn that it is far nobler (and far more difficult) to create than to destroy. Negativity is too easy; cheap, without value or meaning in the world. I hate that, and so I would rather create- even if it is difficult, even if I spend my life scratching my life into the dust, at least I will have a beautiful (if transient)reminder of my Raison D'etre.
I firmly believe that beauty exists in this world, that it is pervasive even in the ugliest situations men can create; and that this beauty justifies life- affirms it. It aggravates me to no end to think that even I lose sight of this sentiment some times.
I don't know what the fundamental aspect of creation is; what makes it great or possible even, but I have always attested at every turn that it is far nobler (and far more difficult) to create than to destroy. Negativity is too easy; cheap, without value or meaning in the world. I hate that, and so I would rather create- even if it is difficult, even if I spend my life scratching my life into the dust, at least I will have a beautiful (if transient)reminder of my Raison D'etre.
I firmly believe that beauty exists in this world, that it is pervasive even in the ugliest situations men can create; and that this beauty justifies life- affirms it. It aggravates me to no end to think that even I lose sight of this sentiment some times.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
"Make me wanna die"
The stress of finals week is behind me, and I've nothing to show for the struggle, not to speak of. I'm confused, because I should be happy, but I feel just the slightest bit empty.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Love was not enough when you want everything
I have had the most rigorous week, and now I can't sleep. Recap: fashion show, transvestites, coffee, stress, more fashion show, Jake, Gamestop,interviews, officer meeting, more Jake, more Gamestop, sleep, Shayne. That about sums it up.
No sleep for the... well, me, right now
No sleep for the... well, me, right now
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
"Marie" or, "A short goodbye"
Last night I had a dream about the past, and you were in it.
You didn't see me, but I saw you, and forgot almost everything upon waking, but your face.
That I kept in perfect clarity, stored at the front of my minds eye.
When I looked back to find you, you'd gone, and the place where your memory lingered burnt a hole through my heart,
..... smoldering and empty.
I still long to see you, and hold that feeling very dear to me. I hold on to the ways you've touched me, fingertips lingering over this scar of nostalgia.
I cannot and will not forget, though you visit me less and less.
I can see you in the night, with a smile and a nod, I remember the days we spent together.
I remember the nights, dark and barely veiled mystery, teeming with life and the endless energy of youth, hearts and minds a- flight in the moonlight world.
Last night, I had a dream about the past....
You didn't see me, but I saw you, and forgot almost everything upon waking, but your face.
That I kept in perfect clarity, stored at the front of my minds eye.
When I looked back to find you, you'd gone, and the place where your memory lingered burnt a hole through my heart,
..... smoldering and empty.
I still long to see you, and hold that feeling very dear to me. I hold on to the ways you've touched me, fingertips lingering over this scar of nostalgia.
I cannot and will not forget, though you visit me less and less.
I can see you in the night, with a smile and a nod, I remember the days we spent together.
I remember the nights, dark and barely veiled mystery, teeming with life and the endless energy of youth, hearts and minds a- flight in the moonlight world.
Last night, I had a dream about the past....
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The beauty of the internet:
I wouldn't normally do this, but I am absolutely in love with this:
http://foodporndaily.com/pictures/roasted-brussels-sprouts-chorizo-bread-crumbs-and-parmesan/
http://foodporndaily.com/pictures/roasted-brussels-sprouts-chorizo-bread-crumbs-and-parmesan/
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
It's a cold, and it's a broken "I love you"
I can't believe I'm crying over this. I hide myself away, but my eyes are stinging shame. If you fall you lose. What have I done?
Things are turning contentious with the girls in the house again, but I don't know what to do about it other than smile and remain light-hearted. I am sure that pisses off at least one of them, but I have too much drama in my life to let them get to me right now.
I have lost, or may be in the process of losing someone very precious to me, more so than even I had realized, and now I'm crying out of every pore, begging myself to pick up the phone. I don't know if pride will let me, or if I can bring myself to the right words. I haven't been able to yet, and worse yet, I'm going away this weekend, so I won't be able to do anything about it until I've lost my chance.
I want these words to reach you, but I don't know if they ever will. Will you come back, when it's over, no need to say goodbye? Or have I lost my almost-lover for good?
I'm not turning away from the objective reality I've awakened to. I can't and I won't and I like this clarity of vision. I'm happy to have it return. But I am less than content with the circumstances.
Things are turning contentious with the girls in the house again, but I don't know what to do about it other than smile and remain light-hearted. I am sure that pisses off at least one of them, but I have too much drama in my life to let them get to me right now.
I have lost, or may be in the process of losing someone very precious to me, more so than even I had realized, and now I'm crying out of every pore, begging myself to pick up the phone. I don't know if pride will let me, or if I can bring myself to the right words. I haven't been able to yet, and worse yet, I'm going away this weekend, so I won't be able to do anything about it until I've lost my chance.
I want these words to reach you, but I don't know if they ever will. Will you come back, when it's over, no need to say goodbye? Or have I lost my almost-lover for good?
I'm not turning away from the objective reality I've awakened to. I can't and I won't and I like this clarity of vision. I'm happy to have it return. But I am less than content with the circumstances.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Don't wake up, won't wake up, can't wake up, no don't wake me up
I don't want to be awake for reality right now, I would give anything to be relieved of it. I know how petty and irresponsible this sounds. But reality is underwhelming, and I'm left just wondering "for what"? I hate having to work as much as I do, I hate it, and the job I work, and the people I work with, mostly. One of my closest female friends who, when she's not force-feeding me sweets, gets no end of joy fucking with me and my image in the public sphere.
I've been far too long far too far away from the group of friends who are actually good for me (I'm sorry!).
That is to say nothing of Shay or Jake, though they both in their own way compound my misery recently. I am struggling very hard to just make it through most days, let alone live up to anyone's expectations. Worse yet, I've got to manage without seeming to break a sweat, but I'm under no pressure, really!
On that note- Jake's up this morning, to stand out side of Kollegian urging people to vote for him. He's putting in just enough effort to feel crushed when Kevin wins his re-election. That little misogynistic bastard is better organized, and has a flood of people working for him, not to mention willing to break the rules when us commissioners aren't looking. He's just out-played Jake, who would have overtaken him if he'd started earlier and run a more aggressive campaign. Jake could have shrugged off his defeat if he'd remained solidly un-engaged; but he started working hard, right up at the end. This places him in a bad position because he didn't do the work as he should have in the beginning and didn't put enough effort in to give him the yield he wanted, but he did work just enough so his heart would break when it didn't happen. And I'm going to have to pick up the pieces.
Also, school is all rushing at me with scary deadlines, my laptop smells like fish and I'm officially fasting for the next week, I want reality to go away and never return, but I can't hide. I can't and I wont, even if what I meet it with is less than my best, I will meet it.
I've been far too long far too far away from the group of friends who are actually good for me (I'm sorry!).
That is to say nothing of Shay or Jake, though they both in their own way compound my misery recently. I am struggling very hard to just make it through most days, let alone live up to anyone's expectations. Worse yet, I've got to manage without seeming to break a sweat, but I'm under no pressure, really!
On that note- Jake's up this morning, to stand out side of Kollegian urging people to vote for him. He's putting in just enough effort to feel crushed when Kevin wins his re-election. That little misogynistic bastard is better organized, and has a flood of people working for him, not to mention willing to break the rules when us commissioners aren't looking. He's just out-played Jake, who would have overtaken him if he'd started earlier and run a more aggressive campaign. Jake could have shrugged off his defeat if he'd remained solidly un-engaged; but he started working hard, right up at the end. This places him in a bad position because he didn't do the work as he should have in the beginning and didn't put enough effort in to give him the yield he wanted, but he did work just enough so his heart would break when it didn't happen. And I'm going to have to pick up the pieces.
Also, school is all rushing at me with scary deadlines, my laptop smells like fish and I'm officially fasting for the next week, I want reality to go away and never return, but I can't hide. I can't and I wont, even if what I meet it with is less than my best, I will meet it.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Fuck you all
I can't believe I'm here again.I'm back to fighting and clawing and scratching another just to inflict more pain than I'm receiving. I'm back to being suspicious and afraid of the ones I call friends, for fear that they're abusing my blind trust and using me for their amusement. I'm sick of hoping and trusting and wishing for the best. I'm sick of hurting and being hurt. I just want to be left alone. I hate this, and I hate myself for letting it happen.
I'm choking out emotion, I'm biting back tears and leaking my "I told you so"'s.
I'm choking out emotion, I'm biting back tears and leaking my "I told you so"'s.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
I musn't run away
I've wanted to post for a week, but it feels like it's been so chaotic, such a blur. Tired and a little fatigued is the norm, I guess, for now. I won't complain about that anymore.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Arise
I woke up this morning sick. Worse yet I don't have any medicine for a cold, no vitamins, and no way to stop the floor from swimming up at me every time I look away from the laptop screen.
Monday, March 1, 2010
I found the moon hiding under the cover of catastrophy
I can't get this image out of my head: It's raining heavily. Jake's humming along to an Aerosmith song. A red turn signal flashes and Jake reacts, pulling the wheel a hard right. There's no stopping now, though not through lack of trying. We're coming up on them fast. Our headlights blare in front of us, giving me a clear view of the white suburban. The tires bound over a marshy lawn- locked and unable to grip either the road or reality. Two seconds to impact; I knew this would happen.
"Oh, fuck."
Those could have been my last words.
It's funny, how until the last I remain as eloquent and introspective as ever. In this moment, I maintain that this was not the only thought running through my head, though it was the only one I could vocalize. Me and my stupid mouth.
"Oh, Fuck" indeed.
After those words of wisdom, I braced for an impact worse than I received; and I walked away from the crash that could have ended it all.
That is the long and short of my Friday night.
I wasn't going to talk about this; I wasn't going to dedicate the pixels to detail my incident- a decision which I've been wrestling with all weekend. Hours after beginning this post I am unsure still as to weather I will "publish" this string of thoughts. I might as easily snip the thread and let it drift off into the wind, a poor, loose, and lonely thought- forever wafting and alone on the breeze of whim. I might leave it like this, incomplete, and never to be seen- and I would be none the worse.
I say this, because I recognize that in my world this car crash was a monumental event; but is of absolutely no global consequence. In fact,the world should probably rather like to be rid of posts such as this.
Not two days ago, Chile was hit by a 8.8 earthquake. Though I recognize the tragedy, no part of me is touched emotionally by this news. Because of this response, and because of the proportional weight I give to the events of my own life, I'm sure most people would consider this post as narcissism of the worst kind, and furthermore chastise me a whiny, self-centered youth of little merit. I see the irony in this all, and yet as I draw breath, I post.
I do this because the truth of the matter is that Chile's disaster, reminds me that my life, in all reality could be much worse- or not at all. It reminds me that our loved ones, our livelihood-- our very being is subject to the brutish forces of nature and luck- and can be snatched from us in an instant.
Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. I feel like my hands for once were tied in the question of my fate. Being at the brink is life affirming.
I don't know what will come, or what the consequences of these events will be- though I can guess at a few, none of them are pleasant. So I won't make a prophecy I can't foresee.
But what I will say is this: on the night Miss Moon hid under her soggy wool, mischief was had down on Earth. The fates sneered at me, and then spared my life. The tides turned, and Chile felt the ground shake beneath them.
I am lucky; and I won't forget it.
"Oh, fuck."
Those could have been my last words.
It's funny, how until the last I remain as eloquent and introspective as ever. In this moment, I maintain that this was not the only thought running through my head, though it was the only one I could vocalize. Me and my stupid mouth.
"Oh, Fuck" indeed.
After those words of wisdom, I braced for an impact worse than I received; and I walked away from the crash that could have ended it all.
That is the long and short of my Friday night.
I wasn't going to talk about this; I wasn't going to dedicate the pixels to detail my incident- a decision which I've been wrestling with all weekend. Hours after beginning this post I am unsure still as to weather I will "publish" this string of thoughts. I might as easily snip the thread and let it drift off into the wind, a poor, loose, and lonely thought- forever wafting and alone on the breeze of whim. I might leave it like this, incomplete, and never to be seen- and I would be none the worse.
I say this, because I recognize that in my world this car crash was a monumental event; but is of absolutely no global consequence. In fact,the world should probably rather like to be rid of posts such as this.
Not two days ago, Chile was hit by a 8.8 earthquake. Though I recognize the tragedy, no part of me is touched emotionally by this news. Because of this response, and because of the proportional weight I give to the events of my own life, I'm sure most people would consider this post as narcissism of the worst kind, and furthermore chastise me a whiny, self-centered youth of little merit. I see the irony in this all, and yet as I draw breath, I post.
I do this because the truth of the matter is that Chile's disaster, reminds me that my life, in all reality could be much worse- or not at all. It reminds me that our loved ones, our livelihood-- our very being is subject to the brutish forces of nature and luck- and can be snatched from us in an instant.
Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. I feel like my hands for once were tied in the question of my fate. Being at the brink is life affirming.
I don't know what will come, or what the consequences of these events will be- though I can guess at a few, none of them are pleasant. So I won't make a prophecy I can't foresee.
But what I will say is this: on the night Miss Moon hid under her soggy wool, mischief was had down on Earth. The fates sneered at me, and then spared my life. The tides turned, and Chile felt the ground shake beneath them.
I am lucky; and I won't forget it.
Friday, February 19, 2010
I miss you:
Tonight was very truly a pleasurable night. putting aside that I didn't leave my room, and spent the better part of the evening curled under an electric blanket and in physical pain, it was a calm and somewhat productive night.
That is, it was a pleasant night until I allowed myself the weakness of indulging in a whim. Touching one of my scars, I reached out for my drug of choice; and I took a sip, one small and ever so slight taste of that calm, reassuring presence.
Every time we talk it hurts. I can't explain it. I want to see you; I had thought myself over these feelings of loneliness, but I suppose I have simply become more adept at covering them, or filling the void you left in my life. I can't understand it. Why must these pointless wounds linger, and why around such a person? I can't bring myself to break away, I can't bring myself any closer either. Is this the fate I've left myself, this cruel irony to live in a life of my creation, and to live with the ghost of every love I've left broken in the wake of ambition? What a sadist, this mistress who takes all I have, what a demanding bitch- and yet I feed her more to keep myself afloat. How much more will I have to leave behind before I'm through? I can hardly breathe, my head hurts, and you're not here to comfort me. It is a very cold night.
"Feel something, feel nothing, listen closely, listen closely". My pride won't let me leave or give up. "You will find me when it's quiet, listen closely. Listen closely" I can't come back, I will make something of myself before next we meet. I can't stomach this weakness and loathe the me who would succumb to it.
"anata ga inakute sabishii desu".
That is, it was a pleasant night until I allowed myself the weakness of indulging in a whim. Touching one of my scars, I reached out for my drug of choice; and I took a sip, one small and ever so slight taste of that calm, reassuring presence.
Every time we talk it hurts. I can't explain it. I want to see you; I had thought myself over these feelings of loneliness, but I suppose I have simply become more adept at covering them, or filling the void you left in my life. I can't understand it. Why must these pointless wounds linger, and why around such a person? I can't bring myself to break away, I can't bring myself any closer either. Is this the fate I've left myself, this cruel irony to live in a life of my creation, and to live with the ghost of every love I've left broken in the wake of ambition? What a sadist, this mistress who takes all I have, what a demanding bitch- and yet I feed her more to keep myself afloat. How much more will I have to leave behind before I'm through? I can hardly breathe, my head hurts, and you're not here to comfort me. It is a very cold night.
"Feel something, feel nothing, listen closely, listen closely". My pride won't let me leave or give up. "You will find me when it's quiet, listen closely. Listen closely" I can't come back, I will make something of myself before next we meet. I can't stomach this weakness and loathe the me who would succumb to it.
"anata ga inakute sabishii desu".
Monday, February 15, 2010
Until the End of the World
I remember the first time a boy genuinely caught my eye. I couldn't look away from him. He seemed flawless and untouchable.
It took me a very long time to realize that this is not the basis of love.
It took me a very long time to realize that this is not the basis of love.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
I'll wash my hands and we'll start a new life: recurring script
I can't say I've achieved much since the last time I posted, but I will admit this much, I am in a better place than I was last year; this admission means a lot to me, since any improvement is positive.
The cold is settling in in the house, which must be symbolic in a way.
Jake and I are closer than before, thanks to my roommate situation clearing up. I'm glad I don't have to be nervous anymore to live in my own home. Hopefully now I will be able to get some work done. I owe it to him, and also to myself.
I am, however worried about a vuage matter which I will allude to here but have ultimately no place commenting on. It is a gathering storm in my hometown and brownouts. If there is a storm on the horizon, and i fear there might be, then I will hide until the thawing out of the nuclear winter, and clean up what remains-- what else can I do..?
On another note, I have discovered the recurring script that keeps fucking with relationships- especially mine in the past. She agrees that they will both be free, he agrees that this freedom will not come at the expense of hurting one another.
He exercises his freedom in a way that hurts her. clash of wills, roll on snare drum.
SHE:how can you do this when you know it is hurting me?
HE: how can you try to limit my freedom?
SHE: but it makes me feel awful
HE you are trying to manipulate me
she, he, she, he repeat-x; repeat-y
The cold is settling in in the house, which must be symbolic in a way.
Jake and I are closer than before, thanks to my roommate situation clearing up. I'm glad I don't have to be nervous anymore to live in my own home. Hopefully now I will be able to get some work done. I owe it to him, and also to myself.
I am, however worried about a vuage matter which I will allude to here but have ultimately no place commenting on. It is a gathering storm in my hometown and brownouts. If there is a storm on the horizon, and i fear there might be, then I will hide until the thawing out of the nuclear winter, and clean up what remains-- what else can I do..?
On another note, I have discovered the recurring script that keeps fucking with relationships- especially mine in the past. She agrees that they will both be free, he agrees that this freedom will not come at the expense of hurting one another.
He exercises his freedom in a way that hurts her. clash of wills, roll on snare drum.
SHE:how can you do this when you know it is hurting me?
HE: how can you try to limit my freedom?
SHE: but it makes me feel awful
HE you are trying to manipulate me
she, he, she, he repeat-x; repeat-y
Friday, February 12, 2010
Break down, build up:
I'm pretty close to breaking, I'm tired and shaky and the last thing I want to do is work out. I really want that soup downstairs, but I feel that if I go for it there will be really no stopping me. Just a bite...? At least I have to put it away. five bites later I have very little confidence in my self-control.
What am I going to do about this? I feel like a child who is unsure of herself, and tries to break the rules...
What am I going to do about this? I feel like a child who is unsure of herself, and tries to break the rules...
Friday, February 5, 2010
Exodus: my soul migrates to happier places
The room is spinning and I am exhaling. my life is revolving and folding into itself; and I am not afraid. The necessity is to feel, think and be. But I ignore our universes call. I can turn my eyes from the stark nature of reality and find my peace like this. Nothing else matters when this is the reality I create. Furthremore, my life affirms this existance as real; I know it is not, but it insists its right to existance.
I am unsure that this life will persist, but I am satisfied with what I see as real. I hope I do not throw up tonight; I have to maintain my dignity, after all. I am extrordinarily happy with tonight. This can only get better.
I am unsure that this life will persist, but I am satisfied with what I see as real. I hope I do not throw up tonight; I have to maintain my dignity, after all. I am extrordinarily happy with tonight. This can only get better.
Pretext of Surrender
There is a moment, but a brief split second in which (between the rise and the fall- the hairs span that comprises this delicate boarder) in which all becomes clear. If only for this split second I reel at the spectacle before me. Inside this instant lingers an unnamable void, and inside this void the idea without form. It is elusive and perfect. I can't find it or ever name it, but I know that within this sublime second there is peace.
I don't drink myself to bliss often. It is rare that I turn to the ethereal or mystic, and less frequent yet that I search out life's mysteries in the depths of a bottle; don't misunderstand me, I do not make this a habit. But after the week I've had I came back from my school activities, made myself dinner and a drink.
I don't regret a thing; making an ass out of myself in front of Andrew, the passionate (and explicitly noisy lovemaking with Jake)-- how can I regret it? I promised to live my life as the uncensored experience of youth would allow. I regret nothing, and will not blush or avert my eyes from the things I have done. To me, that is living an honorable life. Being able to own up to my actions, and the person I am becoming, these are the things which I value: strength, integrity and pride are what I strive for-- more to the point to be a person of such mettle as to be worthy of these attributes.
I am feeling life's distilled power surge through me as it saw fit, holding this all in my hands and recognizing its transience. I am grateful for these shining days, even if they come on the eve of my destruction, or the morning of my great rebirth. How can I hold a thing against a world which would see it fit to grant me such simple happiness?
There may be a great mountain on the horizon, I knew this life would be anything but easy, but I am ready for it. I am ready to accept any difficulty, because I know that now in my most humbled state I am able to see these obstacles for what they are. Meek though I may be I will carry on steadfastly and conduct my life as I see fit: unwavering in my course and without hesitation. I will make the dreams from far-gone days a reality with the strength I have, and I will do so come what may. That is the path of the truly strong.
I don't drink myself to bliss often. It is rare that I turn to the ethereal or mystic, and less frequent yet that I search out life's mysteries in the depths of a bottle; don't misunderstand me, I do not make this a habit. But after the week I've had I came back from my school activities, made myself dinner and a drink.
I don't regret a thing; making an ass out of myself in front of Andrew, the passionate (and explicitly noisy lovemaking with Jake)-- how can I regret it? I promised to live my life as the uncensored experience of youth would allow. I regret nothing, and will not blush or avert my eyes from the things I have done. To me, that is living an honorable life. Being able to own up to my actions, and the person I am becoming, these are the things which I value: strength, integrity and pride are what I strive for-- more to the point to be a person of such mettle as to be worthy of these attributes.
I am feeling life's distilled power surge through me as it saw fit, holding this all in my hands and recognizing its transience. I am grateful for these shining days, even if they come on the eve of my destruction, or the morning of my great rebirth. How can I hold a thing against a world which would see it fit to grant me such simple happiness?
There may be a great mountain on the horizon, I knew this life would be anything but easy, but I am ready for it. I am ready to accept any difficulty, because I know that now in my most humbled state I am able to see these obstacles for what they are. Meek though I may be I will carry on steadfastly and conduct my life as I see fit: unwavering in my course and without hesitation. I will make the dreams from far-gone days a reality with the strength I have, and I will do so come what may. That is the path of the truly strong.
Friday, January 29, 2010
For the great day of wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand? (Rev. 6:17)
I am shaking. The thermostat in my room reads eighty degrees, but I am shaking. The Rockstar in my hand isn't helping, but I can't put it down. I want to sleep, though I know nothing good can come of tonight's dreams, or of the night itself. I am hallucinating, I am tired, but I cannot sleep. One more sip, one more plan, one more list to make to complete today. . . I have to feel productive. I have to produce. I have to make today count before it is over and wasted. I can't, I won't let it be wasted.
Too much is outside of my control right now. Too much depends on others; but I am going to start standing up for myself now. I am still shaking. My ribs ache from the concert Wednesday. My legs ache, my heart throbs. I am such a sap for the helpless, such a bleeding heart for the abandoned, it makes me sick.
I see in this little cat something I hate most dearly about myself. He needs others, though he has tried to survive on his own. He needs us because without support he would most assuredly die alone and unloved. I can't let a stray go by because I feel an obligation to the kindred, abandoned soul.
This empathy is overwhelming, I want to break down and forget myself. I want to die; and leave this paradoxical existence behind. Why should someone so helplessly logical be tethered to such strong emotions as empathy and love?
It's a cruel life, and I hate it. But more than that I hate those who take advantage of it.
I hate those petty bitches I call housemates. I hate the thin veneer of friendship they hide behind. I hate their saccharine smiles and fake affection. They make me sick to my stomach. I wish upon them a vacant existence walled in by their insecurities and shallow views of life. It's not my fault if you can't love yourself; it's not the cat's fault if you can't love anyone else either. Stop externalizing your problems.
No, Helena, joking about my job will not make your sad little data entry position seem any cooler. I may be serving food, and I may not be as well off monetarily as you- but at least I manage to live my life with a modicum of dignity. What was that line? I think it said something about people-- miserable little people like you, didn't it? People like you who are 'unhappy with the riches 'cause you're piss poor morally'. I think that's right.
Sorry, Jaime, but no amount of putting me down will reduce the number on the jeans covering that lardy ass of yours. I'm not in the practice of self-elevation, but if I may, I will say that jealousy isn't pretty on a lady- and you- though you are abso-fucking-lutely no lady, should at least fake it, for your sake. Get the fuck over your attitude, take yourself to a fucking gym and stop feeding your ego by tearing everyone else down. Or don't. I can't wait until someone finally decides they're over you and takes you down a peg, by force. I hope I'm there to see it.
And no, Danny, making jokes about Jake's new hobbies will not make your pathetic excuse for a penis seem any bigger, not even to that prude bitch you call a girlfriend.
I hate it too- because they all disgust me and there is really nothing I have been able to do about it. I bound myself from my true desires, held myself back for the flogging because I was so concerned with Jake, and his feelings.
Now that I have his permission to be free of these shackles I don't care who hears or reads, I want the world to know I am no longer granting them my consent to push me around. I will not give approval for my own destruction. I am no longer allowing myself to be bound by these ridiculous rules and insane social customs that I neither agree with, nor find tolerable.
Too much is outside of my control right now. Too much depends on others; but I am going to start standing up for myself now. I am still shaking. My ribs ache from the concert Wednesday. My legs ache, my heart throbs. I am such a sap for the helpless, such a bleeding heart for the abandoned, it makes me sick.
I see in this little cat something I hate most dearly about myself. He needs others, though he has tried to survive on his own. He needs us because without support he would most assuredly die alone and unloved. I can't let a stray go by because I feel an obligation to the kindred, abandoned soul.
This empathy is overwhelming, I want to break down and forget myself. I want to die; and leave this paradoxical existence behind. Why should someone so helplessly logical be tethered to such strong emotions as empathy and love?
It's a cruel life, and I hate it. But more than that I hate those who take advantage of it.
I hate those petty bitches I call housemates. I hate the thin veneer of friendship they hide behind. I hate their saccharine smiles and fake affection. They make me sick to my stomach. I wish upon them a vacant existence walled in by their insecurities and shallow views of life. It's not my fault if you can't love yourself; it's not the cat's fault if you can't love anyone else either. Stop externalizing your problems.
No, Helena, joking about my job will not make your sad little data entry position seem any cooler. I may be serving food, and I may not be as well off monetarily as you- but at least I manage to live my life with a modicum of dignity. What was that line? I think it said something about people-- miserable little people like you, didn't it? People like you who are 'unhappy with the riches 'cause you're piss poor morally'. I think that's right.
Sorry, Jaime, but no amount of putting me down will reduce the number on the jeans covering that lardy ass of yours. I'm not in the practice of self-elevation, but if I may, I will say that jealousy isn't pretty on a lady- and you- though you are abso-fucking-lutely no lady, should at least fake it, for your sake. Get the fuck over your attitude, take yourself to a fucking gym and stop feeding your ego by tearing everyone else down. Or don't. I can't wait until someone finally decides they're over you and takes you down a peg, by force. I hope I'm there to see it.
And no, Danny, making jokes about Jake's new hobbies will not make your pathetic excuse for a penis seem any bigger, not even to that prude bitch you call a girlfriend.
I hate it too- because they all disgust me and there is really nothing I have been able to do about it. I bound myself from my true desires, held myself back for the flogging because I was so concerned with Jake, and his feelings.
Now that I have his permission to be free of these shackles I don't care who hears or reads, I want the world to know I am no longer granting them my consent to push me around. I will not give approval for my own destruction. I am no longer allowing myself to be bound by these ridiculous rules and insane social customs that I neither agree with, nor find tolerable.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
c'era una volta il west
Not-so-long ago, when I struck out on a trip up to San Fransisco, I made a discovery. I departed from the womb of my sleepy hometown by the sea looking for life and excitement, and headed north. While there, I mused that I'd never seen a city more alive in my life. The sun rose with vehemence there, and I felt at home. The gutters sighed the first steamy breaths of morning, the factories and businesses pulsed life, people surged from place to place, as the cars and transit below pulsed through the city both in anticipation and hurried urgency. There was no dread in the destination, only zest in the journey and hopeful anticipation of the places to come. This alternately thrilled and inspired me in equal measures. I yearned to be there longer, so much so that it pains me now to be apart form it. The vibrant aura and energy of such a place calls to me still.
I feel no such pull from the place I now call "home".
Here, the sun rises, almost begrudgingly (or hardly at all during the winter months). The people trudge from their homes in frozen, melancholic movements. They break forward from their places of residences like dislodged clumps of ice leaving trails of sludgy discontent behind them, or, conversely, during the heated months- they perspire their way on (and so coating those months in a salt-slime that naught but cooler days can expunge).
The city (if it can be called that) feels rain, or it does not. The only difference here is the amount of weed-vegetation that is allowed to grow. It festers within the cracks of sidewalks and in the vacant lots that no one saw fit to fill. The rain is also in the rivers that gush forth in merciless brown ice, or drizzle listlessly under the bridge in dry months. There is no beauty in this place, to speak of- none for those of us accustomed to a life less abrasive than is offered here.
Here is a place of hard unforgiving stone, pitiless heat and unfeeling cold. In such a place where only the most relentless can survive I feel myself wilting. I know I have no choice but to sink, sink deeper and pray I weather this lull, and the slow-setting in of sedentary existence (here I avoid the word 'life' for, of that there is very little, if any). And while I feel this is the easiest- and in fact most eventual path, I am also compelled to fight. I can't understand why this is, or what part of me stubbornly clings to this life I've made. I can't understand this desire- this drive- this impulse for a path I have long ago lost faith in. Maybe the presence of resistance alone is validity enough for the existence of that resistance.
Some innermost voice begs me, 'continue on, most solemnly though with unshakable resolution; there's no need to cry'. So, knowing that, I will do just the same. I may not know why- but at this moment, I feel there is a purpose, and so I will.
Someday, I think, this will make a very interesting tale. I hope it is one worth the retelling- one of tragedy, passion, and revenge. I think I'll begin it something like this: "c'era una volta il west..."
I feel no such pull from the place I now call "home".
Here, the sun rises, almost begrudgingly (or hardly at all during the winter months). The people trudge from their homes in frozen, melancholic movements. They break forward from their places of residences like dislodged clumps of ice leaving trails of sludgy discontent behind them, or, conversely, during the heated months- they perspire their way on (and so coating those months in a salt-slime that naught but cooler days can expunge).
The city (if it can be called that) feels rain, or it does not. The only difference here is the amount of weed-vegetation that is allowed to grow. It festers within the cracks of sidewalks and in the vacant lots that no one saw fit to fill. The rain is also in the rivers that gush forth in merciless brown ice, or drizzle listlessly under the bridge in dry months. There is no beauty in this place, to speak of- none for those of us accustomed to a life less abrasive than is offered here.
Here is a place of hard unforgiving stone, pitiless heat and unfeeling cold. In such a place where only the most relentless can survive I feel myself wilting. I know I have no choice but to sink, sink deeper and pray I weather this lull, and the slow-setting in of sedentary existence (here I avoid the word 'life' for, of that there is very little, if any). And while I feel this is the easiest- and in fact most eventual path, I am also compelled to fight. I can't understand why this is, or what part of me stubbornly clings to this life I've made. I can't understand this desire- this drive- this impulse for a path I have long ago lost faith in. Maybe the presence of resistance alone is validity enough for the existence of that resistance.
Some innermost voice begs me, 'continue on, most solemnly though with unshakable resolution; there's no need to cry'. So, knowing that, I will do just the same. I may not know why- but at this moment, I feel there is a purpose, and so I will.
Someday, I think, this will make a very interesting tale. I hope it is one worth the retelling- one of tragedy, passion, and revenge. I think I'll begin it something like this: "c'era una volta il west..."
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
rattling: my roomates left this for me to find, instead of talking it over with me.
Navaldai (5:52:28 PM): and I quote "House meeting Sunday 8pm. Failure to show up means NO say in house rules"
Navaldai (5:52:33 PM): fuck me hard
Navaldai (5:52:33 PM): fuck me hard
Monday, January 18, 2010
The girl with the broken smile.
"When will you consider yourself a woman", he asked, peering thoughtfully at me. When will I consider myself..wasn't I? The question as I see it is a matter of my biggest and most ingrained problems: that for as long as I can remember I have heard, yet failed to heed the call "Nosce te ipsum"- "know thyself".
As I understand it is a profound crisis of self. Years and years have passed since I first awakened to my position in life, and my person but for some reason I find myself facing the same questions I did as an adolescent. Though I have been granted the gifts of time and experience, I do not feel empowered or reassured in myself as I thought I most assuredly would. I ask myself, were to now?A And more to the point:who is the me that awaits the end of this seemingly infinite journey? I replay these questions again and again- aud-nausium they remind me that I am no closer to self- actualization than when I began.
These are first-world problems, I realize.
And yet when he asks me this, I smile, that sad slow smile I have grown to hate. It seems to make sense that the person I am is ever left smiling--ever with a touch of irony. It makes sense that this smirk be reflected self-parody and wit. If hell is a bitter black think, I feel that even now some of it must be in my smirk.
As I understand it is a profound crisis of self. Years and years have passed since I first awakened to my position in life, and my person but for some reason I find myself facing the same questions I did as an adolescent. Though I have been granted the gifts of time and experience, I do not feel empowered or reassured in myself as I thought I most assuredly would. I ask myself, were to now?A And more to the point:who is the me that awaits the end of this seemingly infinite journey? I replay these questions again and again- aud-nausium they remind me that I am no closer to self- actualization than when I began.
These are first-world problems, I realize.
And yet when he asks me this, I smile, that sad slow smile I have grown to hate. It seems to make sense that the person I am is ever left smiling--ever with a touch of irony. It makes sense that this smirk be reflected self-parody and wit. If hell is a bitter black think, I feel that even now some of it must be in my smirk.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Learn to Fly:
I'm stuck in the transition somewhere between scared shitless and "what the fuck". I don't want to take any unnecessary risks; I don't want to be overly cautious. I don't know what the future holds for me, and quite frankly I don't like that.
It's a rarity that I will admit to having to "wing it". I don't know how to cope with the uncertainty.
I feel like I'm perched on the edge of something very tall- a hairs breath away from my end, and feeling the weight of possibility rush up from the ground to meet me. The world spins on a pin's head at my feet- this vertigo is ever present. And again as always I am reminded of my future, and current circumstance- all I pretend to have, and all I stand to loose. It is such a fragile thing; the balance is so delicate. I have no room for error, and choices to make all the while. I feel like I'm suffocating, but I have to keep going. I have no time to slow down- and no chance to regret the decisions I make. Over and over I repeat to myself "I will live"- this beating in my heart may be the only validation of my struggle's noble cause; and though feeble it is validation nonetheless.
I am so afraid, that at any second, with any breath- it could all fall apart. God help me, I don't know if I can continue lying to them all.
They all believe in me- well, not all of them. There is always that nasty issue of my grandparents. I want so badly to be rid of them. I know they're waiting to see me fail- I can feel it, I could on the day they kicked me out, for the second time. That's another matter. I won't think of that now.
For those who believe in me, I feel like a failure, and a fraud. I am not the witty charismatic leader they think I am. I am neither brilliant, nor self- assured. I am not lucky, I am intuitive. The only reason I've kept up this long is because something- I don;t know what- has possessed me, and insists I go forward. I'm a lie, and a smiling one at that.
Two predictions for the future, will I fly? Or will I fall? At this point, I can't tell. If my feet have left the ground- I still can't tell which way is up, maybe I won't know till it's happened and I lie crumpled on the pavement- or conversely I am free.
I can't breathe, but for now I am alive.
It's a rarity that I will admit to having to "wing it". I don't know how to cope with the uncertainty.
I feel like I'm perched on the edge of something very tall- a hairs breath away from my end, and feeling the weight of possibility rush up from the ground to meet me. The world spins on a pin's head at my feet- this vertigo is ever present. And again as always I am reminded of my future, and current circumstance- all I pretend to have, and all I stand to loose. It is such a fragile thing; the balance is so delicate. I have no room for error, and choices to make all the while. I feel like I'm suffocating, but I have to keep going. I have no time to slow down- and no chance to regret the decisions I make. Over and over I repeat to myself "I will live"- this beating in my heart may be the only validation of my struggle's noble cause; and though feeble it is validation nonetheless.
I am so afraid, that at any second, with any breath- it could all fall apart. God help me, I don't know if I can continue lying to them all.
They all believe in me- well, not all of them. There is always that nasty issue of my grandparents. I want so badly to be rid of them. I know they're waiting to see me fail- I can feel it, I could on the day they kicked me out, for the second time. That's another matter. I won't think of that now.
For those who believe in me, I feel like a failure, and a fraud. I am not the witty charismatic leader they think I am. I am neither brilliant, nor self- assured. I am not lucky, I am intuitive. The only reason I've kept up this long is because something- I don;t know what- has possessed me, and insists I go forward. I'm a lie, and a smiling one at that.
Two predictions for the future, will I fly? Or will I fall? At this point, I can't tell. If my feet have left the ground- I still can't tell which way is up, maybe I won't know till it's happened and I lie crumpled on the pavement- or conversely I am free.
I can't breathe, but for now I am alive.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Uselessness
Somewhere in the distance, I feel my time rushing at me, like the inevitable arrival I've dreaded since cognition of its destination. It's the expected and unstoppable. It's water running from the tap through my hands, to the waiting drain below. It's the cars speeding past me on the freeway- with me helpless in the passenger seat.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Re-Education (through self-control)
This is the first time I've been awake to see the dawn since last semester. I shouldn't be up so early, but I am. I think I clocked in around 3 hours of sleep, max. I don't know how to feel about this; I'm unable to sleep when I know I should be. Something in the back of my mind is keeping me up- I'll just have to trust it.
The week that is to come will be in all senses devoted to a little 'spring cleaning'. I have to scour down to the core and wash out everything impure and vile; I have to rid myself of last semester's poison and all that carries its taint. I have to surround myself with things that are positive and helpful to myself and my goals.
I don't feel resentful of the self that took me down this path- I feel pity for her, the poor thing struggling on as she did. I'm not looking for an out, or a reason to excuse her. Things are what they are, that's all.
I haven't seen Eric since we got together at the mall; we haven't spoken since the new year (not through a lack of trying on my part) which is so typical of him- of most guys really. Is it any wonder with guys like this in my life, that I'm still searching for a "man"? I understand that this is entirely unfair to Jake, who has been a real gentleman lately. But to that my stupid heart whispers obscene cynicism to me: how long will that last? It asks too much of me, and I have nothing with which to answer that question. I can't say.
I think a fast is in order here. I want to be completely clean by the time I have to leave this place- wash every trace of it from my body before I submerge in my college life once more.
I was lost, and now I have to rebuild myself as someone who can be- someone who won't crumble like the last time. I'm going to do that, start all over again from where I left off. And while I sit adrift in this sea of thought, all I can hear are the echoes of another life, a song I love so dearly, calling to me:
"It is ok to get lost, but begin to walk...Once more...once more."
The week that is to come will be in all senses devoted to a little 'spring cleaning'. I have to scour down to the core and wash out everything impure and vile; I have to rid myself of last semester's poison and all that carries its taint. I have to surround myself with things that are positive and helpful to myself and my goals.
I don't feel resentful of the self that took me down this path- I feel pity for her, the poor thing struggling on as she did. I'm not looking for an out, or a reason to excuse her. Things are what they are, that's all.
I haven't seen Eric since we got together at the mall; we haven't spoken since the new year (not through a lack of trying on my part) which is so typical of him- of most guys really. Is it any wonder with guys like this in my life, that I'm still searching for a "man"? I understand that this is entirely unfair to Jake, who has been a real gentleman lately. But to that my stupid heart whispers obscene cynicism to me: how long will that last? It asks too much of me, and I have nothing with which to answer that question. I can't say.
I think a fast is in order here. I want to be completely clean by the time I have to leave this place- wash every trace of it from my body before I submerge in my college life once more.
I was lost, and now I have to rebuild myself as someone who can be- someone who won't crumble like the last time. I'm going to do that, start all over again from where I left off. And while I sit adrift in this sea of thought, all I can hear are the echoes of another life, a song I love so dearly, calling to me:
"It is ok to get lost, but begin to walk...Once more...once more."
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