I just watched Cyrus, and though I am ashamed to admit how much of my emotional reactions are based on films I watch, I feel colder than this blizzard outside right now.
Often, I feel as though I am doing important things. Not important as in the sense that these are great things, or that I am holding them above anyone. No. However, these things (whether it is writing intently, working hard at school, trying to make it to every event for every friend, trying to just be a decent person) get sleighted by my overwhelming desire to have a significant other. To say that, just to push that out there, to admit this is what I want is vastly important, it is paramount.
For the first time in a long time, I have been consecutively been producing work.
As a result, I am entertaining the idea of calling my manuscript, "To Feel The Vacation." Maybe that was stupid to announce just now, but it's not like I have any royalties ahead or much to lose.
Need to find a job starting in the spring. My long-term goal is to teach English as a foreign language abroad. My long-term goals seldom work out. Who can really plan a bowel movement anyway?
I have been oddly happy for too long. I would say I have not even been clinically depressed in about three years. Fuck that! Depression is healthy, sometimes.
I notice that I have been trying so hard to be an archetype. Always have been really. But moreso than ever. It's fucking exhausting. I try to be that guy who has something terribly special to say at any momemnt. I am not nearly that clever.
John Keats said that the poet is the most unpoetic of all living creatures. Cheers to you Johnny boy and your negative capability.
Maybe it wouldn't kill me to let myself feel something every now and then. Maybe it wouldn't kill me to try that outside of a television, a screen, a false unreciprocity.
Rolling a snow man to the door step. Please, melt. Melt all over the fucking kitchen floor!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The Hooray Day!
Right now I am listening to the wonderful Muzak provided by Comcast while I am waiting to discuss a billing statement. This is the first billing statement I have ever had to deal with believe it or not.
There was a man in the park today who is probably still there listening to his walkman with one leg up on a bench. He might not move all day. That is commitment.
I have been in my apartment too much. Or at my roommate's girlfriend's apartment too much. I feel like I don't know anyone but them anymore.
The muzak is killing me.
I am back in responsibility mode.
Just finished "No One Belongs Here More Than You" by Miranda July. I could read her and Dave Eggers for the rest of my life until they die or I die, whichever comes first. This book was moving in strangest of ways because Miranda July knows how complex it is to be simple. I find her really sexy because she writes like she knows she is really sexy and she is, even though her characters are not necessarily her.
I'm on the phone with customer service. I want to make this fun. Now I am off the phone. It was that quick. I paid a bill, successfully, I paid rent today successfully and while you may be laughing at how naive or immature or how unbold this is, think of how bold it is to do what we do every day; to remember our responsibilities; to eat fruits and vegetables, and to ask questions.
College ends next week as it begins.
Miranda July, so sexy.
There was a man in the park today who is probably still there listening to his walkman with one leg up on a bench. He might not move all day. That is commitment.
I have been in my apartment too much. Or at my roommate's girlfriend's apartment too much. I feel like I don't know anyone but them anymore.
The muzak is killing me.
I am back in responsibility mode.
Just finished "No One Belongs Here More Than You" by Miranda July. I could read her and Dave Eggers for the rest of my life until they die or I die, whichever comes first. This book was moving in strangest of ways because Miranda July knows how complex it is to be simple. I find her really sexy because she writes like she knows she is really sexy and she is, even though her characters are not necessarily her.
I'm on the phone with customer service. I want to make this fun. Now I am off the phone. It was that quick. I paid a bill, successfully, I paid rent today successfully and while you may be laughing at how naive or immature or how unbold this is, think of how bold it is to do what we do every day; to remember our responsibilities; to eat fruits and vegetables, and to ask questions.
College ends next week as it begins.
Miranda July, so sexy.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Typing Under A Wave
Home, again. Read every blog post, again. Learned something, again. Alright, enough of that (I hate commas anyway)!
I have been thinking that I should not catalog my summer so far as if to prove to myself and you that I have been doing things and having fun. I cannot attest to either.
Summer is an illusion. I can look at my hands and pretend that they are my hands from the fifth grade when I used to sit on the stairs in front of Steele's with my skateboard that I would purposely scrape up because I could not boardslide of 50/50. The thing is, I am pretending, still.
My hands did pull up a 6 foot shrub today! My legs found a pond. My eyes discovered that a pond is defined as a body of water where sun light can penetrate to the bottom causing plants and vegetation to stretch from shore to shore and can inhabit a variety of species.
No poems. Have been reading poems of friends. Friends are great for poems.
"Something cedar in my heart." I wrote that in a poem once. I quoted myself just now but only because it occurred to me what exactly is becoming cedar in my heart.
Picked so many blueberries and discovered the blues at the same time. I need a pulley system to keep your chin up. Don't let me swim in your face anymore.
Perpetual sweat, perpetual home, perpetual escape, per pet the usual.
Whoops.
I have been thinking that I should not catalog my summer so far as if to prove to myself and you that I have been doing things and having fun. I cannot attest to either.
Summer is an illusion. I can look at my hands and pretend that they are my hands from the fifth grade when I used to sit on the stairs in front of Steele's with my skateboard that I would purposely scrape up because I could not boardslide of 50/50. The thing is, I am pretending, still.
My hands did pull up a 6 foot shrub today! My legs found a pond. My eyes discovered that a pond is defined as a body of water where sun light can penetrate to the bottom causing plants and vegetation to stretch from shore to shore and can inhabit a variety of species.
No poems. Have been reading poems of friends. Friends are great for poems.
"Something cedar in my heart." I wrote that in a poem once. I quoted myself just now but only because it occurred to me what exactly is becoming cedar in my heart.
Picked so many blueberries and discovered the blues at the same time. I need a pulley system to keep your chin up. Don't let me swim in your face anymore.
Perpetual sweat, perpetual home, perpetual escape, per pet the usual.
Whoops.
Monday, July 5, 2010
So I Am A Piece of Shit...
Over the course of the young summer so far I have met so many new and fascinating people and in light of this I am coming to realize, by information from my friends, that I am leaving them high and dry, forgetting my priorities to the ones who have listened to my darkest maddest doldrums and who have experienced my peak topped blisses. The issue is not that I do not care, but that I belong to no one, that I am selfish, yes, and do play by my own agenda, but that I am realizing how important my role as the drifter is. I am neither partial nor absolved to any one party. I see everyone's side, not just the side I want to see and I try to be there but I also am an explorer, not satisfied with the pedestrian stagnation of complacency that can sometimes be brought on by consistent friend circles. And while this existence can become lonely, and at times shallow, it is just the routine that I am in.
So in some way, this is a missive of apology and clarification, for anyone who reads, or cares to meet my future or present self.
So in some way, this is a missive of apology and clarification, for anyone who reads, or cares to meet my future or present self.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
America's Birthday.
The festival;the funeral. William Blake's holy poetic genius, Los.
I move to Pilsen officially in a month. Goodbye white yuppie decadence.
Fireworks are pre-emptive.
My beard is a graveyard.
No more shirts or table cloths.
I'm coming home, coming home, coming home and I am throwing the mountain off of its hillside.
"Just a little joy juice in my cup."
The festival;the funeral. William Blake's holy poetic genius, Los.
I move to Pilsen officially in a month. Goodbye white yuppie decadence.
Fireworks are pre-emptive.
My beard is a graveyard.
No more shirts or table cloths.
I'm coming home, coming home, coming home and I am throwing the mountain off of its hillside.
"Just a little joy juice in my cup."
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Come and Blow My Door Down
My friend Devin and I have been planning to WWOOF (Willing Workers on Organic Farms) for months now and have just over the past month started our real planning. The dream was to go to Oregon, pick fruit, grapes, make cheese, wine, design infrastructure-- it didn't matter but now every which way we look the dream gets narrower and narrower as though we are entering closets and not rooms.
We have talked with several farmers, all of which are kind, easy going, west-coasters but none of them seem to be in any rush to have workers though they all have made it clear that they need help. At this point I am not sure what to do but I know if I don't buy my plane ticket this will never happen, I will never know if farming is the kind of lifestyle I want, if even only for a temporary while.
I guess planning means planning, and it is not quick and it is not easy and being responsible and mature about the whole thing becomes even more trying. The more responsibilities I take on, the less I feel like a child, though I know that physically and cognitively I am no longer and am aware that this is not an overnight exchange--this transition has been a long process and probably an endless process.
This week I have exhausted so much effort into finding a new apartment, someone to sublease my apartment and figuring out how I am going to get home with some life in me by the middle of July but unique things have been happening, worlds are getting closer, and I am re-uniting with old friends. The other night I went to this amazing ballroom that had been converted into a venue where my friend now lives with several other wonderful people. I have also been talking with my ex-girlfriend who I have always held dearly and highly esteemed. I will get to see her and her band this week! Also, some former friends from the camp I worked at last summer (Israelis) are coming to visit on Tuesday!
What am I getting at other than despite the clouds of clutter that come thundering in, the breeze is just right when you need it. If this is too metaphorical for you...the right people come into your life at the right time and there is an energy that surrounds us and helps out when needed and one may call it god, or spirituality, or chance but I am sticking with good energy and good breezes for now.
We have talked with several farmers, all of which are kind, easy going, west-coasters but none of them seem to be in any rush to have workers though they all have made it clear that they need help. At this point I am not sure what to do but I know if I don't buy my plane ticket this will never happen, I will never know if farming is the kind of lifestyle I want, if even only for a temporary while.
I guess planning means planning, and it is not quick and it is not easy and being responsible and mature about the whole thing becomes even more trying. The more responsibilities I take on, the less I feel like a child, though I know that physically and cognitively I am no longer and am aware that this is not an overnight exchange--this transition has been a long process and probably an endless process.
This week I have exhausted so much effort into finding a new apartment, someone to sublease my apartment and figuring out how I am going to get home with some life in me by the middle of July but unique things have been happening, worlds are getting closer, and I am re-uniting with old friends. The other night I went to this amazing ballroom that had been converted into a venue where my friend now lives with several other wonderful people. I have also been talking with my ex-girlfriend who I have always held dearly and highly esteemed. I will get to see her and her band this week! Also, some former friends from the camp I worked at last summer (Israelis) are coming to visit on Tuesday!
What am I getting at other than despite the clouds of clutter that come thundering in, the breeze is just right when you need it. If this is too metaphorical for you...the right people come into your life at the right time and there is an energy that surrounds us and helps out when needed and one may call it god, or spirituality, or chance but I am sticking with good energy and good breezes for now.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Knuckles of glue
Cold pita bread reminds me of funerals and wakes.
I read today that "Loneliness is solitude with a problem." I am somewhere between these states.
Today, the Thai women behind the counter at Thai Spoon (which I generally admonish for lackluster food, in my head that is) giggled when I said, "Table for one please, for here," shocked to not hear me say, "To go."
Everything smells aquarium today.
A lonely New York that I am not apart of.
Yesterday I was violent and hurt nothing.
I should really not engage in arguments with children.
There is a farm that I plan to live on in Oregon.
I am reading poetry on Saturday for the the first time in a long time. I fear it could be a walk-off the stage kind of moment.
The pita bread that that has been reminding me of funerals and wakes I accidentally picked up from a concert last night thinking it was trash. Given that I am living off of change, this was a great find. Maybe that person left it there for me. Maybe they are wasteful.
Prestigious pre-school. That is the best thing I have heard all day.
I read today that "Loneliness is solitude with a problem." I am somewhere between these states.
Today, the Thai women behind the counter at Thai Spoon (which I generally admonish for lackluster food, in my head that is) giggled when I said, "Table for one please, for here," shocked to not hear me say, "To go."
Everything smells aquarium today.
A lonely New York that I am not apart of.
Yesterday I was violent and hurt nothing.
I should really not engage in arguments with children.
There is a farm that I plan to live on in Oregon.
I am reading poetry on Saturday for the the first time in a long time. I fear it could be a walk-off the stage kind of moment.
The pita bread that that has been reminding me of funerals and wakes I accidentally picked up from a concert last night thinking it was trash. Given that I am living off of change, this was a great find. Maybe that person left it there for me. Maybe they are wasteful.
Prestigious pre-school. That is the best thing I have heard all day.
Friday, April 2, 2010
No Mo Chicago
"Banning Apathy in One Week," is laying on the floor with its cover directed at me and open for the grabbing. My art teacher from high school made this book and I was looking at it the other day. Everything seems so simple, so ideal, so utopian yet I haven't done a single exercise to ban apathy this week. For example, walk around the neighborhood to the corner store, to your friend's house for a cup of tea, eat and make a dinner made from local produce and with a friend, use your hands, attend a community event, have a conversation that does not necessitate technology, and lastly make brunch and play scrabble. None of these, not one! Instead I have relegated myself to my bedroom and am brooding while men in polo shirts and women in silk summer dresses gallivant down the avenue with no suspicions and ostensibly limited brain activity. Outside my bedroom door my roommates sit side by side rehashing 1969 and are completely content with this; stoned, illuminated, lost in a hyeina yelp.
This will not stand with me much longer. The more and more I sit, the more I feel like I am missing out on the people I should be meeting, the places I should be seeing, the food I should be eating. With summer approaching so is the feeling of flight because quite honestly I am too anxious to be here. I want to be everywhere at once which, quantum theory might suggest that this is possible. With that said, I have to go to Argentina. I have to.
I am no longer Chicago.
This will not stand with me much longer. The more and more I sit, the more I feel like I am missing out on the people I should be meeting, the places I should be seeing, the food I should be eating. With summer approaching so is the feeling of flight because quite honestly I am too anxious to be here. I want to be everywhere at once which, quantum theory might suggest that this is possible. With that said, I have to go to Argentina. I have to.
I am no longer Chicago.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Building Light
I have been really taken by architecture lately (mostly because I am taking a drafting class) but I have always been intrigued by space. For class I was supposed to research 3 architects and as I was entering an abyss in which I know nothing of I stumbled upon House K by Yoshichika Takagi. This house captures the way I feel about interiors, open and warm...this is my simple answer because the way the sun is coming into my room right now is not allowing for me to think that clearly.
Anyway, I want to build homes like these or furniture...bookcases, let me build you a bookcase!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Ultra-Cognition
A month later and A Heart Breaking Work of Stagger Genius finally makes sense, too much sense. Real talk leaves you in the bathroom with everything so quiet that it is softly humming, saying "You may be okay. You may not be okay. Don't do anything about it." The part of growing up where you begin to forget and forget with intention are some of the most troubling times, the most refreshing, the most naked.
I guess I am trying to get at something life-changing without giving away the credits for the sake of being too confessional, my general state of being: two friends make a film. Only one of them edits the film. In the end of the movie, the one who did not edit slumps into his cushion and springs up and hugs everyone in that goddamn theater.
I had a dream I hugged my mother so hard, harder than in real life. She bought me rain boots.
I guess I am trying to get at something life-changing without giving away the credits for the sake of being too confessional, my general state of being: two friends make a film. Only one of them edits the film. In the end of the movie, the one who did not edit slumps into his cushion and springs up and hugs everyone in that goddamn theater.
I had a dream I hugged my mother so hard, harder than in real life. She bought me rain boots.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Wonka Pixles
Maybe we should try to cycle out our words and phrases.
Maybe I need to because I notice I use, 'perhaps,' 'well,' 'anyway(s)', 'yeah,' 'fucking christ,' 'ughhhh,' 'dude,' etcetera, all too often. This therefore makes what I have to say less interesting, what I write less interesting, what I think less interesting, and if I can't be interesting, then I want to quit. That is pretty narcissistic, but then again so am I. One of these days I will re-explore that project.
A project. A project. What is my project?
Maybe I need to because I notice I use, 'perhaps,' 'well,' 'anyway(s)', 'yeah,' 'fucking christ,' 'ughhhh,' 'dude,' etcetera, all too often. This therefore makes what I have to say less interesting, what I write less interesting, what I think less interesting, and if I can't be interesting, then I want to quit. That is pretty narcissistic, but then again so am I. One of these days I will re-explore that project.
A project. A project. What is my project?
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Self-Erupt
Maybe we are all too fucking clever. Too ironic. We are so funny I cannot take it. I might have a stare off with a bottle soon. A juice bottle. Raspberry Cranberry Juice Bottle to be exact.
I was very tempted to throw my tool box at a wall and runaway.
I was very tempted to throw my tool box at a wall and runaway.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Penumbra Penumbra
Near everyone walked in single file lines today.
There is such a thing as walking traffic, which caused me to get out of the way and get into the snow.
Army crawling between the mounds of snow came to mind as a means of travel.
I was carrying a poster tube today and I was hoping that someone else was so we could having a jousting match but nothing that fun seems to happen anymore. I am looking for fun, anywhere, wholesome fun. I don't want fun that comes of drinking or fucking right now, just something wholesome.
My roommate's mother just called me. I am not sure how she got my number. She gave me important information and I have to hold onto it until my roommate wakes up. You could call it a burden but I am just a messenger, always and forever.
Perhaps I will start chronicling my days more frequently.
There is such a thing as walking traffic, which caused me to get out of the way and get into the snow.
Army crawling between the mounds of snow came to mind as a means of travel.
I was carrying a poster tube today and I was hoping that someone else was so we could having a jousting match but nothing that fun seems to happen anymore. I am looking for fun, anywhere, wholesome fun. I don't want fun that comes of drinking or fucking right now, just something wholesome.
My roommate's mother just called me. I am not sure how she got my number. She gave me important information and I have to hold onto it until my roommate wakes up. You could call it a burden but I am just a messenger, always and forever.
Perhaps I will start chronicling my days more frequently.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Throat Rape
I'm going to get sick. I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.FUCK.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.I'm going to get sick.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Ha-Ha-Hoffa
Jimmy Hoffa
Prosecutors in Michigan say authorities are calling off their latest search for the remains of Jimmy Hoffa, the long-missing former Teamsters boss.
Prosecutors in Michigan say authorities are calling off their latest search for the remains of Jimmy Hoffa, the long-missing former Teamsters boss.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Indian Blanket
I have recently joined this band and we are playing a show on Saturday! Come check it out!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
New Hampshire
I want hugs, lots of hugs and trees.
All of my friends are moving at once and we haven't gone anywhere.
All of my friends are moving at once and we haven't gone anywhere.
Finger-Wagging
Work is an unnerving place. That is my word today--unnerving. Typically I decide not to write about it because it only solidfies that fact that I do, indeed, go to work and actually am very unproductive. I did the whole coffee, muffin, "Look at me, I'm a commuter and am important" kind of thing but that always comes to naught when my stomach problems begin to kick in.
This cubicle sucks. The desk is like a kidney bean and I constantly have to re-adjust the computer screen and the keyboard and the chair because it isn't realy my cubicle, I share it with other tutors, but at least my screensaver is always intact. Thanks screen-saver, whoever you are. Anyway, the point of that was it really hurts my wrists because it is not ergonmoically sound, this cubicle that is.
Additionally, I go to sit on the couch, this big orange thing that looks like it was stolen from SNICK (Saturday Night Nickelodeon), and this asshole who also happens to work where I work is sitting there all smug and with his crossword, and then a girl sits down, who I also work with and he starts talking to her about books and why anyone would buy books today and why not just have a Kindle. Fuck you! This is where I said 'FUCK YOU' in caps, in my head just like that. I really hate kindle for a variety of reasons.
One, I am a "writer" which means that the book industry is the most viable industry for anything my head poops onto paper. Books are the most obvious vehicle for this medium, DUH! Secondly, you cannot annotate on Kindle, or dog-ear, or have a really cool fancy bookmark that makes you appear learned. Third, books are tangible, they have a smell to them, a feel, they allow for contact, they look nice on a shelf, or a coffee table with coffee mug ring marks on their covers, or their missing jackets. Books are what allow for libraries, for quiet wandering, reasons to go the park, reasons to start conversation (granted you can do this Kindle or not), you can lend them to people like lending out swatches of your blood type so people know what kind of person you are even though it may not be a book you wrote. You get the idea. There are many more reasons and I could go further into depth but I have to go back to the couch to wait for a student that I will not have and now having said that I will get a student and I will tell them how much I hate kindle and am genuinely interested in their writng.
Mostly, I just wanted to write this because that dude is an asshole and I had to leave the couch because his asshole aura was wafting my way and I needed to retreat to my cubicle to write this and my wrists hurt a whole lot now and I hate reading in my cubicle because it is dark, and grey, and the chairs are also lacking in ergonomics (that word is too big for me to comprehend).
This cubicle sucks. The desk is like a kidney bean and I constantly have to re-adjust the computer screen and the keyboard and the chair because it isn't realy my cubicle, I share it with other tutors, but at least my screensaver is always intact. Thanks screen-saver, whoever you are. Anyway, the point of that was it really hurts my wrists because it is not ergonmoically sound, this cubicle that is.
Additionally, I go to sit on the couch, this big orange thing that looks like it was stolen from SNICK (Saturday Night Nickelodeon), and this asshole who also happens to work where I work is sitting there all smug and with his crossword, and then a girl sits down, who I also work with and he starts talking to her about books and why anyone would buy books today and why not just have a Kindle. Fuck you! This is where I said 'FUCK YOU' in caps, in my head just like that. I really hate kindle for a variety of reasons.
One, I am a "writer" which means that the book industry is the most viable industry for anything my head poops onto paper. Books are the most obvious vehicle for this medium, DUH! Secondly, you cannot annotate on Kindle, or dog-ear, or have a really cool fancy bookmark that makes you appear learned. Third, books are tangible, they have a smell to them, a feel, they allow for contact, they look nice on a shelf, or a coffee table with coffee mug ring marks on their covers, or their missing jackets. Books are what allow for libraries, for quiet wandering, reasons to go the park, reasons to start conversation (granted you can do this Kindle or not), you can lend them to people like lending out swatches of your blood type so people know what kind of person you are even though it may not be a book you wrote. You get the idea. There are many more reasons and I could go further into depth but I have to go back to the couch to wait for a student that I will not have and now having said that I will get a student and I will tell them how much I hate kindle and am genuinely interested in their writng.
Mostly, I just wanted to write this because that dude is an asshole and I had to leave the couch because his asshole aura was wafting my way and I needed to retreat to my cubicle to write this and my wrists hurt a whole lot now and I hate reading in my cubicle because it is dark, and grey, and the chairs are also lacking in ergonomics (that word is too big for me to comprehend).
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Would You Still Think I Was Cute if I Had Butt Dimples?
I just learned the other day that bartenders can drink on the job.
Today, I was thinking being a stow-away in someone's truck bed would be a fun adventure but then got really disheartened when I realized what if I only ended up a few blocks over.
I can't stop farting. It's not even funny anymore.
The other day I planned to jump off the bus and yell surprise to someone in line near where I planned to exit. No one was standing there but I yelled surprised anyway and surprised myself. High five to me.
I'm not accomplishing much. I can only offer snapshots.
Right now I am dressed like a bro. It feels comfortable. I want to play basketball.
Everyone's house is very different in very special ways. I like the arrangements.
I just farted again, I'm done with this.
Today, I was thinking being a stow-away in someone's truck bed would be a fun adventure but then got really disheartened when I realized what if I only ended up a few blocks over.
I can't stop farting. It's not even funny anymore.
The other day I planned to jump off the bus and yell surprise to someone in line near where I planned to exit. No one was standing there but I yelled surprised anyway and surprised myself. High five to me.
I'm not accomplishing much. I can only offer snapshots.
Right now I am dressed like a bro. It feels comfortable. I want to play basketball.
Everyone's house is very different in very special ways. I like the arrangements.
I just farted again, I'm done with this.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Every Island Will Sink Sometime
Perhaps this is in bad taste and by no means do I mean disrespect to the situation in Haiti or the relief efforts. My bone to pick is with the band wagon that is feverishly being hopped upon. Natural Disasters happen but it should not take a natural disaster to decide we need to be helpful, to decide we need to fork over money, to join every fucking facebook group you can find.
Granted, I have a lot of wonderful friends who are really trying to generate some sort of relief but I sadly cannot feel okay with this fair-weather, wishy-washy, kind of help. Also, admittedly I am sitting here and not being productive but rather bitter. I have not neccesarily done things in my recent past but have in my distant (high school) past to help aid global issues but in a time where there is still genocide in Darfur, still political and religious persecution in Tibet, Burma, Palestine, Israel, Afghanistan, Iraq and other reaches of the world, I do not feel so inclined to go bat-shit crazy about another tragic situation.
I am not trying to tell you, 'Stop, your efforts' but I am saying to you and myself we need to consider how we can be better humanitarians before disaster strikes. We (and myself) need to practice the art of being awake and not just waking up. Honestly, was Haiti on your radar before this happened? It was not on mine (which, is not to imply that it was not on someone else's). There are great people out there who do great things but this call to arms seems like a cheap way to justify that we are good people all of a sudden.
Granted, I have a lot of wonderful friends who are really trying to generate some sort of relief but I sadly cannot feel okay with this fair-weather, wishy-washy, kind of help. Also, admittedly I am sitting here and not being productive but rather bitter. I have not neccesarily done things in my recent past but have in my distant (high school) past to help aid global issues but in a time where there is still genocide in Darfur, still political and religious persecution in Tibet, Burma, Palestine, Israel, Afghanistan, Iraq and other reaches of the world, I do not feel so inclined to go bat-shit crazy about another tragic situation.
I am not trying to tell you, 'Stop, your efforts' but I am saying to you and myself we need to consider how we can be better humanitarians before disaster strikes. We (and myself) need to practice the art of being awake and not just waking up. Honestly, was Haiti on your radar before this happened? It was not on mine (which, is not to imply that it was not on someone else's). There are great people out there who do great things but this call to arms seems like a cheap way to justify that we are good people all of a sudden.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
There Is So Much Breath In My Mouth, My Ears Are Breathing
It's hard for me to post these because I want them to be so good, as if this is real writing, as if any of it really counts for something and you will publish me on a whim. My narcissism is exploding. So is yours, I'm certain. Your events aren't your events but you make them so. Make everything personal, ours, outward extention of your internal struggle to be god. Hubris.
There is a path I have made like a hampster tunnel that goes from my room, down the stairs to the right through the living room, (the room that anyone at one particular time actually "lives" in) and cuts straight into the office where the computer is so I can pawn off a few hours on whatever social-networking site of the day it may be and hope to establish some sort of conversation that results in hanging out and cutting down trees or snow castles or damning creeks and streets but then that never happens because none of us are so inspired anymore and I have more fun thinking about it than doing it. Coming home is pathetic. This a product and a full-fledged deluge of my patheticism(?). This is clearly what I do when I'm home. I read some, watch TV plenty, internet plenty, check the mail almost daily even though I don't technically live here anymore and know that few people would be so inclined to mail me, sleep until there is no sun left in the day and I have to open the refrigerator on multiple occassions to simulate light and entertain the idea that I might eat something healthy and just settle on cheese and maybe a soda. I do other things that most would do in this situation that can't be said on the internet for the sake of future employment which has been way too much on my mind:
Root Beer Brewery
Architecht
Chef
Food Tester
Food Critic
Food Analyst
Movie Score Writer (really just making mixes and sountracks because I can't write music, intelligently or knowledgeably, at least).
Editor of a Magazine (of the literary persuasion)
Write Reviews
Teach (this should probably be higher on the list, my slacker values are evident)
Anyways, it occurrs to me that this is so self-indulgent and I really only feel 10% guilty about that because if I don't put this somewhere (granted a journal would be a more suitable idea because it is less prone to voyeurism and self-grandeur) then I will either a)explode in like The Challenger kind of way or b)become schizophrenic which, has been a legitimate fear of mine lately.
I should be looking at graduate school, I should be scaffolding my answer to what I will do with my English degree, I should find ways to make money, pyramid schemes (that just sounded appropriate. I have a very limited understanding of them, truly), I should snow-shoe a little more, write something of actual worth versus diatribe, and so on.
If you made it this far thanks for indulging me while I over-indulged you and I hope you don't have to eat for a few days and hope that you still want to be friends. I love you. Who the fuck is this "you" anyways. To be continued...
There is a path I have made like a hampster tunnel that goes from my room, down the stairs to the right through the living room, (the room that anyone at one particular time actually "lives" in) and cuts straight into the office where the computer is so I can pawn off a few hours on whatever social-networking site of the day it may be and hope to establish some sort of conversation that results in hanging out and cutting down trees or snow castles or damning creeks and streets but then that never happens because none of us are so inspired anymore and I have more fun thinking about it than doing it. Coming home is pathetic. This a product and a full-fledged deluge of my patheticism(?). This is clearly what I do when I'm home. I read some, watch TV plenty, internet plenty, check the mail almost daily even though I don't technically live here anymore and know that few people would be so inclined to mail me, sleep until there is no sun left in the day and I have to open the refrigerator on multiple occassions to simulate light and entertain the idea that I might eat something healthy and just settle on cheese and maybe a soda. I do other things that most would do in this situation that can't be said on the internet for the sake of future employment which has been way too much on my mind:
Root Beer Brewery
Architecht
Chef
Food Tester
Food Critic
Food Analyst
Movie Score Writer (really just making mixes and sountracks because I can't write music, intelligently or knowledgeably, at least).
Editor of a Magazine (of the literary persuasion)
Write Reviews
Teach (this should probably be higher on the list, my slacker values are evident)
Anyways, it occurrs to me that this is so self-indulgent and I really only feel 10% guilty about that because if I don't put this somewhere (granted a journal would be a more suitable idea because it is less prone to voyeurism and self-grandeur) then I will either a)explode in like The Challenger kind of way or b)become schizophrenic which, has been a legitimate fear of mine lately.
I should be looking at graduate school, I should be scaffolding my answer to what I will do with my English degree, I should find ways to make money, pyramid schemes (that just sounded appropriate. I have a very limited understanding of them, truly), I should snow-shoe a little more, write something of actual worth versus diatribe, and so on.
If you made it this far thanks for indulging me while I over-indulged you and I hope you don't have to eat for a few days and hope that you still want to be friends. I love you. Who the fuck is this "you" anyways. To be continued...
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