Sunset Of The Year:

Peace out, 2008. Ready or not: here's the year 2009

see you soon

Just Because

Here are a few things I want and things I will accomplish next year:


Have a longer neck:




Write a play/book/new religion with Ian, dammit:







Dye Michael's hair again:







Go back to SF:






Live in an awesome house/apartment:





Take more photographs:






And do crazy cool things:

Boy: 5

BRIAN CRAIG CEELY

remembered for: making me laugh even when I don't want to

Boy: 4

RYAN MICHAEL DUNN

remembered for: being unaware of how awesome he is!

Girl: 1

JAZZ MASOUD

remembered for: the sweetest things to ever happen to my life

Boys: 3

TEO DANIEL HALL:

remembered for:
the only person who I can hate and love at the same moment

Boys: 2

TAYLOR ANDREW DUNN

remembered for: making a comeback

Boys: 1

IAN MICHAEL ROBERTS:

remembered for: tirelessly catching my burps.

A Special Thanks

Dear Wes (Mr. Defoe),

How can you stand being such a bad ass? Really. But hey, I just wanted to say we all love you and that I admire your unfaltering ability to continues through life and laugh and have the courage to cry sometimes. You have taught me some things that a re priceless and I thank you more than I can say. Oh, and I'm sorry about the times when the "f-word" slips from my lips, and I'm sorry about when I watch action movies in the living room and I'm slightly deaf so I put the volume way too high and I don't notice that you're trying to take a nap in the other living room. When you have to embark on the journey of no return, know that you will be missed and always loved and remebered.

Thank you.
With love,
MARI CARMEN

Inevitable

Even though I've been feeling pretty blue inside,
I've also felt indestructible and as though I've conquered nations.
There's this quote: "Life is not about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself."
And so far, my piece is, of course, incomplete. But all the add-ons are wicked.
Some are faulty, some could not be stronger.
And in the ridiculous, sudden process of going from scene to scene of my movie, staring ME, the corners have been damaged, and bits of fabric, torn.
But if you take a few steps back, squint a little, and tilt your head a little to the right,
it can begin to look like something stunning; a kaleidoscope, a mixture of beautiful things.

Fading

I can't believe the year's slipped right through my fingers.
I'm a bit scared, really.
I haven't written in a while now and I think it has something to do with the current state of anxiousness I have found myself in lately.
I think too much.
Perhaps not enough.
Whichever it is, it's crazy.
My life's accelerated a considerable amount and I'm happy with where I am right a this moment: sitting in front of my stupid, nine-year old computer, in my almost-clean bedroom.
My sister is still asleep so I'm trying to type lightly.
I'm listening to Death Cab for Cutie and thinking about death; peculiarly enough I love the thought.
Tonight I'm going to a New Year's Party with my sister and her friends.
It seems like a really great idea, I never spend time with my sister.
Ah...there's so much on my mind.
I can't type fast enough and I wish I could because I want to know what my thoughts were on this exact day.
But yet, at the same time, I want to say nothing.
I want to let those thoughts loiter around in my mind, and leaving them untouched and beautiful in their natural habitat.
So I'd just like the say a few things, through photos. (Check next few blogs)

A Mutual Attachment

Cliques. Even the ones to say "Nahuh, I don't belong to one-" Fuck you, you liar - I love you. Yes, I'm a bit inconsistent. But I think it is MORE THAN SAFE (if anything, unsafe to not say-) that I am blessed to have friends that don't fall under a typical, organized rank or personality. However, yes. There are...extremes.
There's the loud/obnoxious, some-what pretentious, strange boy.
There's the sweet, thoughtful, lovely girl.
There's the over-confident, "honest, " wonderfully arrogant guy.
I can't say there are no moments where I find myself sitting, thinking, "Why?"
But I can say, there are enough moments where I stand, thinking "Good."

Regardless, I love and hate everything about them.
I wouldn't want to be without Jazz's harmonious guitar strums.
I wouldn't want to be without Ian's absurd speculations of who I am, or his loudness.
I wouldn't want to be without Andrew's overbearing, or his cigarettes.

I'm going to miss them immensely. I love you guys.

The Knight And The Peasant: A System

Sometimes, when one gets so used to something, one fails to notice the flaws in that system that has become familiar and the constantsy that has become one's "life."
We are not bad people. Nor are we stupid. We are simply busy little humans, living in a system, with expectation, and some predictablilty.
We are not excessive. Now are we ridiculous. We are simply thoughtful little sparks of brain-power, angry consumers, and secret idealists.
My life does not revolve around how great/terrible it is, but instead, around how great/terrible I want it to be. It's an exhausting way of life. But such is me: exhausting and refreshingly complicated - so I like to think.

It appears that we belong to a strange system (Sorry I like the word) and it fuels itself on "self-proclaimed" independence and an established hierachy.
We, naturally, are selfish beings. So we act and re-act merely for ourselves, the ridiculous part is wanting other people to understand, even when we make damn sure we are complicated; immensely. So it's in our nature to put ourselves above others and pretend to be hunble enough to put others above us. Because, even though we are all the same when it comes to this, we think it wrong, rude, etc. to be selfish and conceded - UP THE ASS!

An example:

I like to think I'm stronger and smarter than my mother, in the sense of decision-making, and arguing skills.
She thinks she smarter than the rest of her family and that she reigns over all that is strong.
Here, a hierarchy has been formed. We don't have COMPLETELY different "ethics" and "virtues" but they differ greatly enough to make a big, messy difference.
Such hierarchies and criticised feminist, marxists, anarchists, communists, and other critical theorists, all of which I admire and adore. But they are also...so adorable I can't even stand it. I am a cinic and an arrogant, big-dick, pretentious being, some say - and yeah so what? Fuck you and fuck that. The fact of the matter is that I like me and I like being alright with that. And I like belonging to a criticized "hierarchy!" ... so yeah, I find a way to stand it.

Yes, I have found wrong in the inner-woirking of this "system" I've obviously grown found of. Yes some, most, I want to change. I've already accomplished the first steps: acceptance, and reason in that acceptance

Life, as I know it, is made up of clusters and networks: some simply some complicated, some loud some quiet, some absurd some boring, some right some wrong - but always - ALWAYS, the is and will be balance. Somehow. Somewhere.

Bliss

It's unexpected and beautiful and you become impulse and passion, and your mind clears and nothing means anything and anything means everything - it's utter bliss. And you find youself wondering if it's all a sick dream that will wake you at any moment and you'll fall back and it will hurt like hell. But the wonderful thing is: you don't give a f*** because you are here and love is love and trees and trees, and that's ALL that matters. Ah, it's truly remarkable. And it changes a lot. From the first decision, you look around and things are clear and the colors are intruiging and even if only for the moment, the entire world, through my eyes, is at peace. And there is no chaos in society and no poverty and no flaws in the "system." Everything is perfect. And comfort has been re-defined and even writing this down...I feel like I cannot breathe. And I am more than OK with that.

Yet Another Discovery

This was unlike anything else. I was sitting. Writing. And I looked at the window, at the sky and the city and got teary-eyed and realized: "I love this place." Damn it. I took a deep breath and realized: I'm going to miss this...

Baby Carrots

Sometimes when really bizarre things happen to a small family, the first reaction is,
"ah, shit - what do we do?" Then there are those other times, the rare moments, when our gaze falls to the floor and our minds race, searching for the appropriate
reaction to the "bizarre thing." Then, the instant we realize that something, whether
it's a positive something, a negative something, or a something right in between,
I think that something inside us grows, even when it feels like something has
weakened inside us instead. It's a powerful thing, really. And, without any
hint of doubt, what comes next is even more powerful, it takes us aback
I'm sure. But then we have to find a way to handle it, to stay "strong"
and to find the bravery to understand. It's safe to say my family is
not used to tragedies, so they tend to over-react (greatly) when
anything out of the "ordinary" happens. And even though it is
typically hilarious to stand back and quietly observe and try
to guess what other abnormal face they will manage to
make at the instant that the latest disclosure of our
"family's latest idiotic act," there's still a line, and
their words hurt sometimes. Yes, something has
happened, but glaring at it's negatives, will
NOT "make it all go away" so all that is
left to do is to deal, and give it all
your might and love, and care.
Something beautifully has
occurred and it's like a
canvas, ready for the
all the colors we
might choose.
LOVE.

Words

Just yesterday, I promised myself for the hundredth time this year to commence on a project I have been putting off for quite some time. When I write, I like to submerge myself COMPLETELY into what I'm trying to "say," but I also try my very best to stay in touch with enough reality, so I can observe; mt preferred manner of IDEA-making: TO NOTICE. Yet, the annoying thing about my writing technique is that I never draw out an outline. So I invent as I go, the ideas come to me as i type. Damn it. But so far, so good. It's starting to look more like a screenplay than a tornado of adjectives. Anyway I'm on a role, honestly and that type of luck streak is usually the kind that dwindles the moment you start to get used to it - so here's for hoping I always sit in front of this here screen and always surprise myself and say, "Oh woah, I'm not used to this at all- what!" Wish me luck. I'll keep you updated.

Blind Spots

SOMETIME AGO, I feel in love with a boy. And everything changed. Bystanders later confessed that since the very beginning, they sensed the crash landing, but I don't care. You see, "love" is blindness. And no it is not negative, it is simply a change of view, a different angle, full of a million little blind spots - and when I was in love, all those scary blind spots that were suppose to make me nervous and cautious but instead filled my mind with only one thing: The way his body pressed against mine, or the blades of his fingers caressing my face and neck felt. Simple. Unquestioned. And Beautiful. But the true side-effects of blind spots eventually caught up to me and wrapped themselves around my heart, clinging on for life. Then everything fell apart. My heart and I, we like to go with the classics: a) "it was meant to fall apart and burst into blames of heart break." or b) "It wasn't really 'love' so... we're good." Sometimes I cannot help but think a little differently - even when the other reasons, a+b, have already defeated by pathetic attempts at romantic idealism and ...."possibility."I used to like that word a lot, and now I wish it didn't exist. Maybe I just got tired of it's typical negativity or...constant...lack thereof, because I had at least wanted false promises, although that would have defeat the entire purpose of the word to begin with. When I was a child, I thought "true" love was the kind that never goes away, and sometimes makes a mistakes but always manages to fix them before it's too late. But as I got older I realized it has nothing to do with it's endurance; time. It's about the details. It's apparent that we have tried and failed and it was time to inhale deeply, unlock the door, and leave, off to the next big conquest, whatever we take that to mean. I will, however, admit that my tired little heart, will love that perpetually complex and intriguing idea of him. And the way my heart races when I hear his voice, wont slow down even a pace. Because things like these fade, but the absence of such things, does not. It's embedded in who we are. I just hope that sometimes, he misses me as much as I miss him.

Mourn

THE MURDER OF ORWELL'S MAGNIFICENT PIECE:
1984

The Cure

A few weeks ago, it was brought to my attention that certain beings find themselves bothered by the recognition of a world in which "creativity" is not possible and attempt at grasp of such a notion, at any rate, is absurd. My purpose is not to disagree. In fact, I do find myself from time to time exasperated at the extreme suggestions that all actions are merely repetitions and thinking yourself distinct is pitiable. Yet, I find myself wildly provoked to hope for a more varying perspective. Pardon the possible, ludicrous idealism. If we exist solely to indicate that there "probably isn't a point in all 'this' at all," we become a pure contradiction. To go through life without stepping out of simplicity even once is pathetic. True. Not all decisions are entirely "UNIQUE," but fuck "unique-" The thing is: this is YOUR life. It's not a board game, with limited pieces and only a certain amount of cards and turns. It's once and it's yours. Your story is the only thing that truly BELONGS to you. And the fact that you, in YOUR life, have found the courage to do what you think is right, question what is wrong, and explore the uncertain, with YOUR OWN VERSIONS of what is remarkable, and true, makes you unlike anything or anyone. To be "different" is not to be the pioneer of something universal, or the very creator of a theory unlike anything else, that can change the "world as we know it." NO. It is simply to know enough about yourself, accept it, and maybe love it (just to shake things up) and then -here's the insane part- DO WHATEVER YOU FUCKING WANT WITH IT, regardless of whether or not it's been "done" before. You're you! All experiences have amounted into something unique! It's patterns, significance, an ultimate intent. To lock away all that can be, due to a sad little "realization" that you are alone and that you don't matter, because there have been people like you who have used the same words and have made the same decisions, is waste. There is purpose in everything, even when it is not evident. Accept that.LIVE. And HAVE THE NERVE TO BE EXACTLY WHO YOU ARE. It is not necessary to sit and wonder about ways to become remarkable or worthy in society, or in the eyes of speculators, judges, "friends," or even yourself. But if the fear of failure or being called "common" paralyzes the conqueror in you, I'm certain it will find a way to do exactly what it is set out to. Somehow. I'm not a self-righteous individual. I find myself asking people what they think about me, because there are moments when my narcissism understands no limit. And I want, not to be praised, but simply to be acknowledged, even for the little things. Such things can be selfish, though. So the next step is to hope that I find myself lucky enough to be surrounded by people who appreciate a little "selfishness" and "arrogance" from time to time, just for kicks. So perhaps certain goals of mine have been both envisioned about and conquered, and I might fail to accomplishing their, in my eyes, glory. And it will be the fall of who I strive to be... However, it will not be my LOSS. I have my mind, my words. And in my stupid universe: That MEANS SOMETHING

Poison

The necessary evils of our lives make the unnecessary extremely evident. I am not one to compare love to poison, but merely to bring light into those mixtures of love that create a poison inside our veins. My veins are like tiny little hollow steel tubes; strong, but take just as many hits. If there was no pain, the emotional workings of the heart would be insignificant. Any constant state of something begins to fade into meaningless, so we need variations, degrees. When you find that there's something(someone) in your life that is unbearable, ridiculously pointless, and exhausting, both physically and emotionally, you try to rid yourself of it (them). At the beginning, it's sweet sometimes. You take it down slow and it goes down smoo0th, long enough to blind you and the rest follows, the agony and the frustration. It's not always a thoroughly simple process. But it is ALWAYS worth the little stings. I've been both sides. I have been the poison before. I'm sure atleast one person who is reading this knows that. But I have also been the poisoned. It's liberating, really - learning more, lessening your chances of being poisoned again, seeing the signs. Wanting to be better and stronger is an effect. But it is only something we can consult within ourselves. As we all know, life is short, but also has the ability to be longer than we'd like it to be. Being able to know the difference between what is truely "to live and let live" and what is to truly stall your possibilities by filling your life with something that fails you. Sometimes we talk ourselves into "being alive" and the lie works for a while, but like all OTHER lies, it cannot stand to go by unnoticed for long; lies are selfish and deceptive, go figure, right? Lies are the posion that CAN kill. I don't want to die that way. So I acquire an honest peace and accept the loss of time, some amount of self dignity, and continue to stand tall. There are countless things in life that are worth while: music, words, the sky, the ocean, traveling, being in love, and falling out of love with self-respect, but never self-righteous pride without reason. Any turns that my life musters up the courage to face, are leading me somewhere that is still uncertain, barely making itself comfortable under my skin, finding the damaged parts, thinking up a way to fix them, and discovering all those little wonderful parts that make it feel...right at home. Thank you.

The Fall of A Resonating Genius

I have come to admire several people greatly. One is the ever so genius philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche. His work has come to embody the very threads of the details of my stupid little life:

Despite it's flaws, Human, All Too Human marked Nietzsche's emergence as the finest psychologist of his age. He was essentially a solitary bird. In the normally accepted sense, he scarcely knew anyone. He had no real friends. Throughout his life he retained several close admirers, but his uncanny self-obsession prevented him form entering into the give and take of true friendship. So how did he acquire such a profound psychological knowledge?
Nietzsche also suffered from violent incapacitating headaches which would sometimes confine him to bed for days on end, and he was generally a mass of psychical ailments and complaints. His desktop collection of elixirs, medicaments, pills, tonics, powders, and potions put him i a class of his own, en among the great hypochondriac philosophers. Yet this was the man who conceived the idea of the superman.
For the most part, Nietzsche lived a life of utter isolation, while doctoring his blinding headaches as best he could. Yet each year he produced a book of astonishing quality. He continued to work on in solitude, unknown and unread, gradually driving himself ever harder as he found his utter solitude and lack of recognition ever more unbearable. His was a great mind, and he knew it. In Ecce Homo, he describes Thus Spake Zarathustra as "the highest and deepest book in existence" - a statement which stretches critical altimeters. then followed, "Why I am so Wise," "Why I Write Such Great Books," and "Why I am Destiny." The bombast of Zarathustra was reappearing with vengeance - in mania.
Then the end came in 1889. While walking down a street, he collapsed, flinging his arms tearfully around the neck of a horse that had just been whipped by its driver.
Nietzsche was now clinically insane, and would never recover. he was put in the care of his mother after being in an asylum. He was harmless, existing for much of the time in a catatonic trance which reduced him to an almost vegetable state. After the death of his mother, he was cared for by his sister, that last person who should have ever been put in charge of him, Elisabeth Forster. She had married a failed schoolmaster who had become a notorious Anti-Semite.Nietzsche despised his both as a a man, and for his ideas. Forster later committed suicide. When Elisabeth returned to Germany to take care of her insane brother, she began doctoring his unpublished notebooks, inserting Anti-Semitic ideas and flattering ideas about herself. The notebooks went on to be published as The Will to Power, which had since purged of the rubbish Elisabeth had inserted by the great Nietzsche scholar Walter Kaufmann, to produce what is arguably Nietzsche's greatest work.
He eventually made it into the twentieth century whose nature he had predicted so well. A pathetic pale little finger with an enormous military mustache, who had little idea of who or where he was. His brilliance will live on forever

FRIEDRICH WILHELM NIETZSCHE
October, 15, 1844 - August 25, 1900

Continuance

IN ORDER TO BE STRONG we need to feel weak sometimes. That's how these things work. And it's the "weakening" that makes us question how "strong" we can be, have been, should be, and will be. And thinking such things weakens me even more, but I still hold on. And it's not to whatever I can find, it's to what I've always held onto: the pursuit of what can make me happy. And I've grown to accept that people should never have anything to do with trust. People are human beings. And it's not that trust cannot exist within a person, it simply fades. And thinking one should, even sometimes, rely on other people, is simply the most naive thing I can imagine. Part of growing up is greatly, but not completely, affected by others. We meet people. We converse, we argue, we laugh, we cry, we become friends, we become enemies. And sometimes, we fall in love, we fall out of love (because that too can fade) and even when we promise ourselves it will never be the same, we find ourselves meeting more people and falling in love; stereotyped action. And there are all these tiny spaces in between that mean everything. They make, to a certain extent, who we become: mature, dignified, happy, bitter, confused, lonely, thoughtful, uncertain, smarter, more ignorant, complete, expressive, secretive, complicated, arrogant, sly, hurtful, caring - you get my point, right? And even yet! There are the unfortunate few who go even beyond the things fore mentioned. We get lost somewhere in between the chaos of figuring out other's effect on our life. And even after trying time and time again to unblend the gray into black and white, we end up falling asleap, a decision that no longer rests in our efforts to stay awake, but continue to run endlessly within our dreams that, also have been affected. Damn. The next morning is quiet. You can't even cry anymore. So you laugh. And you prepare yourself for the beginning of another day. Then you get angry. Because you wake up all sad and in an attempt to be deep and miserable, you tell yourself, "This is it! I wont speak for a week."
Then your mother walks into to your room and makes a joke about how ever since you've been young you can't last the night with your socks on, and reaches over to grab your feet and so you laugh. And then you get sad because although you know there are people you can "talk to" about how you're feeling, you also know chances are they'd only understand something to a certain extent. It's impossible to know just how someone feels unless you've been in the exact same situation, which also sounds fairly unlikely. And you tell yourself you cannot love anyone anymore because it's not worth the efforts; efforts that mean nothing after some time, and they fade, because you can trust no one. But then you're walking to class, thinking about how numb you feel, when suddenly you make eye contact with this tiny little individual and you walk faster because you think, "how rude! He's interrupting my "sad" mojo!" but you can't help but hope he follows you up the stairs. He does. You exchange a "hello," and a nod, and he hands you a note and you walk away, into the miserable oblivion of a classroom with a chubby teacher who bitches about people who "glance" at things. Then...you read it, vent for a while, and realize you're willing to start all over. Because whomever made you sad to begin with, is not worth it in the slightest. It's them who will one day realize the despair... and feel hollow. Even if just for a moment.

Affection

I've become more and more aware that never in my moronic existence will I meet someone that possesses the unworldly allure of your mind, and the ardor of your heart. You carry with you, the inviable vitality that consumes me with all the love I can ever comprehend. In that crazy head and heart of yours, resides the simple, most modest of passions for all the things that matter: our versions of art, or ideas of "importance," and our endless, tired less want to conquer.

Frustration

The theatre, through my eyes, is the escape from our everyday selves, and a room that opens doors to endless possibilities, strange time periods, and extreme characters.
To say that something, especially when dealing with a stunning work of art such as 1984 by George Orwell, might be too much, too bleak, to...depressing (!?) for a theatre production - is the most absurd thing to ever be uttered. Quite frankly.
Acting is about taking risks; stepping away form the comforts of child-ish, light-hearted productions! Stepping on stage under bright lights is about embracing a task that others are urging you are difficult and "might not work."
Yes - I understand all the little details about "why" the addaption, 1984 the play, should not be chosen. But those "reasons" do not justify the clear avoidance of something, that quite surely, holds to ability to be sometyhing brilliant - something extraordinary.
It takes initiative and trust in one another that we CAN. And being willing to fail, but never failing to try with all our might. There are risks that are worth taking, that help us to grow as actors, as a theatre group, or simply as an admirer of the beauty that is the creation of theatre.

A Failure

LISTENING TO: "BIG MISTAKE " BY TIM FITE

I'm not supposed to be the type a student that allows herself to form priorities that are based on self-righteous needs as opposed to what some woman of 47, who likes jean fabrics with patches of little rulers and apples, thinks learning is.

I'm not supposed to be the type of student that reads a book, slams it down on the table and says, "Fuck no, this isn't pretentious - it's brilliant!" as opposed to discussing and answering questions 1-20 using the first ten chapters of the book.

I'm not supposed to be the type of student who strives to make her dent in society, not by getting the highest GPA, wasting away hundreds of hours that could be spent embracing, experiencing, imagining, or observing, reading books about nothing. But instead, by writing endless equations that have nothing to do with mathematical formulas, but instead with faulty truths, hopeful expectations, and scarred knees.

I'm not supposed to be the type of student that ditches English class in the morning so she can run away to write down the thoughts that build up inside her stupid little head that she is certain will get her to where she wants to be instead of sitting inside a room that smells like apricot lotion and sweaty kids and pretend she gives a fuck about how some guy fucked up when he was trying to grow wheat in a book that says nothing.

I'm not supposed to be the type of student that writes 400-something paged books about the reasons why and the beauty in the questioning of what is real, as opposed to writing a 200 word essay about the importance of school, or a 300 words thesis of what I was expected to read over the summer.

Fortunate me...

I don't give a fuck about whom I'm supposed to be. I'm happy with who I am and where I am in my intellect. I refuse to follow the ways that others think i will succeed. We all have different versions of success, and happiness. I have conviction - the necessary ingredient to any revolution of all size. I have the willingness to fail and be miserable, to say "no," to find my own priorities and base the actions following such discovery on the delightfully unsteady realm of continuance in this mad dream.

In the end, the things I choose to do, will take me somewhere and alter the next, however they will not define me...

Letting Go

TAYLOR ANDREW DUNN.

Ian Michael Roberts

Portrait of:
A Philosopher
A Writer
A Theorist
A Clever Individual
A Mindset
A Storm of Anxiety
A Piece of Art
A Complicated Calculation
A Thespian
A Mess

My everything.
THE ARCHITECT OF MY INSPIRATION

You're my Bob Dylan. I love you

A New Blog

www.theironyofwhyiamsowise.blogspot.com

Theatre of The Absurd

CURRENTLY LISTENING TO:
"BENEDICTION" by THE WEAKERTHANS

The art of pretending is my favorite of all. Specially when it's masked with the word "theatrical acting." One Act Season has begun. The pretenders that make up our student theater body are quite curious adolescent characters that speak of gay things (literally) and use a cell phone to listen to the latest tunes during class (an excuse to show off their singing abilities; observing is enjoyable). Like all, I am flawed: I take theatre quite seriously. Although I'm willing to admit that I am no where close to the best at acting, but as self-absorbed as this sounds: I'm certain I know what it takes, it is simply not my focus of expression. I want this year's One Act production to be spectacular, not just another "cute little thing" that makes people want to pat our back and grin a little. I want what we do to make leave people speechless, to make them want to invite us out for shots of vodka (I'm the only one who wishes this) and I understand fully that there are limitations when it comes to One Act. I'm certain that all these funny little people and I have what it takes to not only make the best of One Act, but also re-difine our own activity horizons. I'm a big dreamer, sure, something that can be mistaken for an unrealistic grasp of things. But fuck... "Ambition" is my middle name...

A Narcissist

THIS IS NOT PRIDE OR SELFISH ADMIRATION. THIS IS THE WILLINGNESS TO EXPOSE, EVEN IF SIMPLY THROUGH A PHOTOGRAPH THAT I STUMBLED UPON A FEW MOMENTS AGO, A PERSONALITY I POSSES, THAT ALMOST NO ONE EVER SEES. THIS DOES NOT DEFINE ME.

Migraines and Hugs

The Neural Theory:
When nerves in the brain stem become irritated, a migraine begins. In response, the body releases chemicals which cause inflammation of the blood vessels.

IT'S SOMETHING LIKE THAT WHEN IT COMES TO THE STRANGE EQUATIONS OF FRIENDSHIP...

Assuming that you know yourself, you learn things about others and then you decide you like what you have learned and you give people hugs and call them friends. The one day you realize, "son of a bitch, they're full of shit!" Then it begins. There's no medication to cure quickly enough the bizarre emotions that are caused by other's who give in to another illness: ignorance. The chemicals enter the equation in an angry dash to fix things...sometimes with destructive formulas. The entire process is exhausting. But like all migraines, they go away. Anger, frustration, and disappointment in others eventually goes away, for at least long enough to remind us that when everything in our friendships is beautifully complicated life feels worth it. These headaches, these issues, will come back. And sometimes, right before they happen, we have just enough time to take a breath and brace ourselves for what's coming.

And the beautiful part:

Being lucky enough to know that the person you're going through the migraines for, is totally worth it...

Ocean Water

(if any of the following makes any sense to you (more than that brought by literary definition,) I love you. You are all my reasons.

Like waves,our decisions sway:

Some waves are strong and as you see them approach the shore, the anxiety creeps up and you start hoping this one does not submerge you - begging whatever you conceive God to be, that it'll feel remarkable and comforting against your skin. The kind that make you close your eyes and smirk as your thinking you're glad to be there.

Then there are those smaller waves. The kind that come countless of times per day. They mean something but only because they announce themselves when they splash your ankles and because with enough of those...there are big ones. It's a cycle, really. We welcome its invitation to the circuits.Blindly, sometimes. But always with dedication. Amount may vary.

But... waves fade and decisions transform
LOVE CAN BE MANY THINGS:
Admiration
Fascination
Appreciation
Devotion/Dedication
Inclination
Fixation
Consolation
Attraction

Some say that combination of all the "tion"s is what: "True Love" is. I'm no one with enough accreditation to wisdom, to declare that assumption as incorrect.
But lucky me: It's safe to think my narcissism leads to the determination necessary for conviction enough to attempt believing otherwise.
So I try on such assumptions just for size. And then tell you my side. (Whether it matters to any extent or not)

My descisions are based on observation.But I also like possibility...

NOW WE PLAY THE WAITING GAME

As of now, the personification of "love" (to me) is a man with shorts that don't cover his knees, wearing expensive boots and
you can tell he's wearing comfortable socks, and a nice button-up shirt that makes you wonder if he wears it all the
time because it has some stains, all which he is alright with. And he has this way of walking that couldn't be more
confident. But yet sometimes he couldn't look more terrified at possibility when his hands are in his pockets. He's a
man who, with a smile, can make you want to buy him a vest with pockets and encourage him to fill the pockets with
insignificant nothings that he comes across (like the tobacco at the bottom of a cigarette box,) and ask him about
his assumptions of everything dealing with the perception of life. He's a man that makes you even more intrigued when
he admits that to him, his assumptions are divine in their stupidity.

SIMPLY PUT:
the feeling of "love" (to me) is that weakness we all ache for-the ardor we would do anything for...

The Unlocking and Lift Away

I HAVE THIS STUPID THEORY that being able and willing to dig around in the old box of painful memories is the most heroic of acts that any individual can forgo within himself. It's safe to say that it's much easier to avoid certain things and particular thoughts. For most. But I don't know - my impulsiveness has lead me to a realization: I need to accept and admit anything and everything into my steady stream of my daily consciousness, otherwise I think I'd go insane. And in that possibility I feel sane. But alone and a little confused. And yet again...



WITH LITTLE ANTICIPATION and numerous warnings , the time has come, for me to associate my decisions of recent times with the ones I can perceive are waiting to happen. This is the now I need to be now. No longer does throwing my arms up in the air, wishing for a getaway or a sign that might tell me why any of this is "worth it", in any way get me to any simple, calm “state-of-mind” that can make sense. I am no longer a child. But yet... I feel so small.

These words are not created to give anyone a reason to dissect them. These words are a fragment in time, yet another dent that goes by unnoticed.

Although to me some of what I experience begins to make me feel alarmed at all the possibility zooming by, I’ve begun to worry about the thoughts and emotions I'm carrying as I prepare myself to jump into wherever this life is leading me. And, believe it or not, such apprehension can drive one into universal madness and exasperation which then leads to decisions, some which may not be...so "wise." But I find myself willing to take the risks.


I stayed up late last, just looking out my window at the brilliant little lights, perfectly aligned with the horizon that belongs to a different country at the same time that I sat there listening to beautifully executed words of someone Else's voice. Then I felt scared. The things I know now, the reality I freely belong to (and with perspective, belongs to me) has begun to change rapidly into something vast, something that can bring absolute bliss, yet at the exact same moment, absolute misery.


“I’m not bitter” I find myself saying in the dark. But I’m ready to accept I may be wrong. Yet, I sit there and hope that I’m just a little lost, that I’ve been looking at a map upside down but caught the mistake and fixed it.

People come around and change everything. You're hoping it's only for a little while but after their adventures inside your life are completed and you're supposed to "move on," it works for a while. But then it comes rushing back one morning and grunting "oh, shit!" is no longer enough. So you open the box and dig. Knowing about all the sharp edges, but also knowing that you carry around in your back-pocket another little box: band-aids.


Then you feel something in your heart. You can't tell whether it's hardening slowly or softening quickly, but with a rhythmic pace that stung with a necessary panic under your skin, you accept it all, even if your words may say otherwise. And with an electric jumpstart to the soft thumps you can hear in your ears, your heart has realized, for the billionth time:

To start KEEP ON GOING.

And this time it means something.

I'VE COME TO THE ATTENTIVE INQUISITION as to WHY everything I'm doing is relevant, and in fact so, IF it is at all relevant. I've been getting bored and I stand around fidgeting my fingers, in that manner that implies I know which words I want to have the courage to gather into neat little explanations, but wont because I'm too scared to. Because I over think things. If only I had that conviction when it comes to the type of courage to say something to someone. But, because I may be getting used to exhaustion, I keep wanting that courage. And thus, searching on. This expedition has to take me somewhere, even if it's somewhere sad, and still lonely.


Then I realize that I'm excited, nervous, and staring at the future with an intense weariness, motivated by the present - a current state that is suffocating me.


But time doesn’t slow down to figure out life’s absurd equations about love, and hate and confusion within you. Time does not sit with you to listen to your theories or things you're certain you have "discovered" because it knows you haven't yet. Because when you do... you're speechless...

But..ready or not...

Feeling Alright

I'm hoping I'm not the only one. But I'm definitely alright with feeling:
Alone and Sad.
Because then listening to music's even better.


YES!

The Line Between Here and There

I haven't felt that happy in too long. It was as if for that moment, it was alright not to exists. We didn't exist because others could not see us.
All it was and all it needed to be was me... and you.
It was not planned.
We were not rushing. In fact, I cannot remember the last time I walked so carelessly, not realizing I lacked a stated purpose.
Your arm was around my waist and mine, over your shoulder, caressed your collarbone and the skin behind your ear.
We talked about victory, imagination and it's cruel opposite (reality), love, and those miserable moments we both adore; when our lips beg to touch but we think we know better.
This isn't wrong.
It's merely unexplored.

There was this complicated analogy you and I came up with.
It wasn't perfect, but it was, without a doubt, fantastic.
The dirt meant this.
The pavement: that and those.
And the small patch of grass meant that "in-between" that kept the two at peace with each other, and that kpt us together through both.

I told you to jump and you screamed "no!" to make me smile.
And I was happy because I knew you knew it was exactly what I wanted.
I sat on the dirt and explained things to you, because sometimes I pretend to be wise and reasonable.
And I was happy because you listened and nodded even when what you wanted to do was kiss me.
I threatened to touch the pavement but before I did you held my hand.
And I was happy because I wanted to kiss you back.

It was getting darker outside progressively.
And I was happy because under the moonlight things shine differently, and the glow stays.

The Few

More like: "The Only"

The slightest of details inspire me. And the most silent of confessions motivate me. I've found myself lucky enough to meet individuals who both inspire and motivate me to go where I want to, how I get there...and the reasons why. But there's this sound that I cannot help but to drown my atmosphere with: Bon Iver. His songs-his words hold everything admirable. You can hear the strangest combination of emotions that few of us dare to show or say. When I listen to him, he can change everything. He makes me incandescently content. His honesty will never hesitate to astound me. His words will never fail to provoke imagery, and his voice will never seize to suggest everything and nothing at the exact same time...