The Big Bang Terror

The miniscule manner of my life thus far, has come to the its very edge; waving up at me in hopes to signal that "hey, it's time to jump over to the next huge mountain of (_______!)" Something like that. This kind of pressure is a little paralyzing - and in an effort to build the bridge from one chapter of your life to the other, you scatter around for tools that, in more that one way, are dangerously risky- but alluring. A bad combination for something that already dangles on the thread of "I want this."

But where can one draw the line between what is truly important and keeps one rightfully proud and brave, and that which is financially helpful and/or purely materialistic, but rarely humanly "necessary." I'm not advocating toward the belief that it is wrong or phony to WANT or STRIVE FOR things that one CAN, physically speaking, live without. I'm merely considering that an awfully rooted want for THINGS can be suffocating, limiting, and very stressful.

-My world is steadily becoming more about decisions that affect or are better for either one or the other, pride, simplicity, or THINGS, things, things, things, and money. And we all know: Money = Power; of the falsest, and most alluring, and undeniably seductive.

I've told my close confidant about my "hey, here I am; happy" picture. The one that's taken me years and years to sketch out. I'm not done adding all the colors, I'm sure. While speaking to this curly-haired wonder, something terrible registered: what I see in this canvas, so far, I don't doubt, but Fear.

Did I really draw a nice thick line between my worldly satisfaction, and my profound pioneering of the things one cannot touch?

And She May Dry The Leaves of What Now

Halloween's tomorrow. I wanted to act all childish and have a get-together at my place - to stagger around with a glass of wine and look down at my never-decided-on costume, wondering about where all the years have gone. When these things, these hopes, the decisions, form inside my head, the kind of scripted shows of nothing more than, "ah, we should have done it"s I don't really know why my youth consumes me.

I like to think that maybe Ijust get really excited about my ideas, I stick my head out of windows and choose some slightly inspirational tune, and montage the whole idea, all slow and with edits here and there. But it's coming to seem more likely that I drown myself in how scared and confused I am about everything that I just loose time to plan my moments, and the day comes when its "tomorrow," and I look around and say "no way!"
I'm waiting to get up and go. And I'm getting real good at the waiting aspect of my "get my life together" project. I worry that I enjoy the "will I make it"s. I'm on thin-ice, my friends. And if I can't get it together then I'll decide I don't deserve hoot. And if that happens I will drink myelf into a blurry, low-lit stage, with wine in one hand, and write myself into a bleeding frenzy of destruction with weird inks.
Oak Leaf VINEYARDS California Shiraz is cheap wine but it's settleing very nicely and I'm thinking about my desk in San Francisco. And I'm picturing myself one day - angry, and quiet, gazing at the fog outside the window. I cant wait until then. I'm dramatic, but that keeps me grounded in a way. What can I say? I'm a writer, kids. Wannabe or not. I cannot be false to my roots- my ability to ooze words and wield them like weapons. My grandfather would be proud wouldnt he? I'm even working on the insanity bit. Ah, yes.
I'm being stared down by a new colored glass bottle. GOOD EARTH Banrock Station FINE WINE southern Australian Wine. Suposse to be better by a few dollars.
We WILL see, ladies and gents. We will see.


-Roxy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My,
"Found Something Cool" Snippet:

IMAGINATION, n. A warehouse of facts, with poet and liar in joint
ownership. (from The Devil's Dictionary)

IMMODEST, adj. Having a strong sense of one's own merit, coupled
with a feeble conception of worth in others.

Simple

"MY PURPOSE IS NOT TO ROLL AROUND THE FLOOR AND SPEW PROFOUND NONSENSE ABOUT HOW LIFE IS SO AWFUL, MY PURPOSE IS TO FIGURE OUT WHY, ON MY OWN TERMS, AND NOT BE AFRAID TO LET IT CONSUME ME..."

When the world seems to be doing nothing, I figure this all out. And my inspiration comes, unannounced, through the most infinitely fascinating and random events. Today I discovered that I am unhappy not with the world or the people in it, but with myself because I have not yet chosen to be captivated by my reality; happy with my life, and thrilled to be so impossibly wrong for it.

The World's Most Pressing Problem: An Assignment

The Beauty Behind Ignorance:

The False Search for Peace and Acceptance.

It's common to hear most people say that our societies' biggest problem is the lack of "peace," and the unwavering plague of "racism." Few seem to put focus on the root of the thing that make this "life," ridiculously terrifying and complicated. All the things that symbolize peace and acceptance within a "civilization" are limited within themselves because they are merely symbols, not actual realities. The root that cause the opposite of peace, and acceptance, is an epidemic, a disease, passed on from generation to generation, mistaken for "innocence," or excused as "crucial part" of being "human."Ignorance reigns within the very inner workings of our very existence. Yet we do nothing. And even considering that perhaps there is no way to find the cure for ignorance, is devastating.

We Are Damaged. Ignorance has a more than monumental effect on the lives that we lead. It is the foundation of all that is appalling, unjust, and close-minded within us. It creates a rigid perspective, war, racism, lies, homophobia, cruelty/hate crimes, and egos that do nothing but deconstruct minds. It creates disorder. Of the worst kind...

War is an effect of this disease, and maybe a little testosterone. And for a nonexistent entity of bravery and false belief in union within a government people die in terrible ways and we call it "collateral damage," with an undeserved sense of pride and sick accomplishment. We harm others, those who do not share our philosophies, and their land, and we call it a "security measure." We fuse all perspectives to create one "absolute truth and reason," hate those who challenge its values and we call it Religion. We rob and destroy beautiful resources, leave our people to suffer and settle into selfishness and greed, and call it "democracy!"

Racism is an effect of this disease. We raise and lower ourselves based on our appearance. We claim rights and liberty without understanding them. And we damage the view of others. We raise ourselves and call it god-given right. We lower ourselves and others based on history and stereotypes and call it the human condition. We excuse our rights and wrongs and call it "justice."

There is an endless amount of effects that Ignorance has on our culture.

Our stubborn inability to accept we can be wrong makes us small. Our desperate want to believe we do not live in blindness goes so deep that we become close-minded. It's jaw-dropping how we deny ourselves time to rationalize. We learn little and understand even less in ourselves and others. We are alone and we realize it. We hate each other because we cannot help one another, and we become self-destructive because we don't want to help ourselves. We hide inside ourselves because we feel helpless and we shut all the windows of intellect and compassion; running on immediate emotional response.
Thus we play god and write books on how we're right and there's no other "way," and shove away those who want their own. And contrasting thoughts that should be heard are ignored, and we are embarrassed and offended by the stitches of history that prove we've been wrong, such as a swastika, and to be one's true self is no longer courage but deception. This ignorance is passed on and it stains everything.

People seem to look the other way when someone brave enough pleads for our awareness of this darkness we have created within our wonderful system. The only peace we truly ever manage to accomplish is when we turn off the television and drown ourselves in drugs and alcohol, abuse, or mere silence, fear to speak up! But we all know we will not ever forget those images of mangled bodies and war machines. And to pretend it will all get "better," we force pills down our throats to try to get some sleep.
The only acceptance we ever manage to accomplish is when we lie to ourselves and each other in order to think "it's all supposed to be this way" and that even if we were to try, there would be nothing we could do to change our atrocious, and oh-so-common state.

We are small, but we have the power to be strong. Yet strength is not the first step. The first step is wanting it, true rapture in freedom. The fervor to fall after we have tried our little heart out leads to the greatest of fortunes: the ability to conquer. But everyone is blind. Even I, as I type this down and it all makes so much sense that it's mentally dizzying, I have too been blinded by ginorance. We're all so lost.

We've lowered the standards behind being "human," so deeply that things like terror, and unfairness have all been confirmed as "adequate." and we say things like "Oh well, that's just life," and continue with the destitute vision of the burden of ignorance that has become expected of us, of others. Common Disease. Like a cold, or a fever.

And there's the bitter realization: Our so-called Freedom, is brought by selective ignorance. An ignorance that will ultimately be...our downfall.

Artcore

FINALLY
Well finally. I've been wanting this for a while. And it is most definitely worth every penny of the $432.99. It's this strange inspiration, I think - something so beautiful that it makes YOU want to do something amazing and beautiful at the world, like music. Music's never been my forte. I've never even wanted it to be, honestly. I've always been the a consumer of the music, not a producer. I've always been okay with that but for some reason I've recently become increasingly inspired by music and the possibility that maybe I can create something unforgettable. Basically, I wanted to say, to those whom I do not need to mention, that I feel incredibly lucky to have you within my realm of reality. We WILL make great music together, I promise. At least you have to know I will try. I love you. See you soon. It's almost here...

It is cruel, you know, that music should be so beautiful. It has the beauty of loneliness of pain: of strength and freedom. The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature and everlasting beauty of monotony.

-Benjamin Britten

"Glue" a short story

Today I witnessed something beautiful. It was a boy in the cafeteria.

He is sitting alone, although he is surrounded by other people his age, younger, and older.
These people are loud and they speak but say nothing.
But he cannot hear them.
He cannot see them.
His eyes are fixed on his slice of peperoni pizza.
There are oddly shaped spots of dried glue on his hair.
I decide he has spent his morning gluing things he'd found on the walk home the previous day onto a large piece of cardboard.
There's a quiet grin on his curled lips as he chews, patient.
He has found bliss. For this very moment.
As the spoon in his hand delicately navigates through the small, clear cup of bits of pineapple and pear, he sighs softly and his slight grin becomes wider for an instant.
And I realize he couldn't be happier to be where he is.
He is wearing a turquoise polo because he doesn't care about what other people think, or whether or not the color looks "right" on him.
He has grown small breasts because he enjoys television shows that flash bright colors.
The identity theft commercials are his favorite.
This makes him happy.
And he enjoys Rocky Road ice cream.
He has made a sport out of removing the almonds from the bowls of his Rocky Road ice cream. Fastest time: 12 seconds.
This makes him happy.
And that is all he wants out of this life for now.
Beside me, a familiar voice is asking me about why I am so quiet today.
He does not truly care to know, but he wants to fill the gap between my silence and his turn to speak.
I can hear him, but I am not listening.
This voice does not know me at all.
I shrug and continue to observe.
In awe of the simplicity of it all.
Everything around him is merely an accident, it is purposeless and he doesn't care.
The line moves forward but my eyes stay fixed on him.
I envy his bliss, his unquestioned acceptance of his world.
His understanding of "happiness" and glue and pizza just is.
It does not demand eloquence, or even awknowledgment.
It just...is.
I am not like him. I am not less.
I'm only cursed with being angry.
And forcing myself to make sense of it all.
With words and stories that mean little.
I am trapped inside myself.
Maybe I'll never be happy.
I don't feel sorry for myself - only...confused.
A distance I cannot measure.
The familiar voice says "hey," he wants me to look at him.
It's his turn to exist, his turn to say what he wants.
He cannot listen to what isn't being said.
It's the worst type of selfishness.
The ability to notice my deep despair and wonder? Unconqured.
He is lack, and that I cannot fight.
I finally turn to him, defeated.
And I say,

"It's the perfect way to say goodbye to March. "

That keeps me together.

Favorite Bits

FRIEDRICH WILHELM NIETZSCHE

OF ECCE HOMO

(from WHY I AM SO CLEVER)

a masterpiece of Narcissitic proportion. Thank you, FD.

3434343434343434343434343434343434

-God is a too palpably clumsy solution of things; a solution which shows a lack of delicacy towards us thinkers at bottom he is really no more than a coarse and rude prohibition of us: ye shall not think!

-In order to believe that the drinking of wine was exhilarating, Ishould have had to be a Christian - in other words, I should have had to believe in what, to my mind, is an absurdity.

-...that a blunder in the choice of locality and climate is able not only to alienate a man from his actual duty, but also to withhold it from him altogether, so that he never even comes face to face with it.

-Ever so slight a tendency to laziness...once it has become a habit, is quite sufficient to make something mediocre, something "German" out of a genius...

-The tempo of the body's function is closely bound up with the agility or the clumsiness of the spirit's feet.

-During the time that I am deeply absorbed in my work, no books are found within my reach; it would never occur to me to allow anyone to speak or even to think in my presence.

-It is not perhaps in my nature to read much, and of all sorts: a library makes me ill. Neither is it in my nature to love much or many kinds of things. Suspicion or even hostility toward new books is much more akin to my instinctive feeling than "toleration,"...

-I believe only in French culture, and regard evrything else in Europe which calls itself "culture" as a misunderstanding. I do not even take the German kind into consideration.

-Wherever Germany extends her sway, she ruins culture.

-"God's only excuse is that He does not exist..." I myself have said somewhere - What has been the greatest objection to Life hitherto? God...

-I search through all the kingdoms of antiquity or of modern times for anything to resemble his sweet and passionate music. He possessed that divine wickedness, without which perfection itself becomes unthinkable to me - I estimate the value of men... according to the extent to which they are unable to conceive of a god who has not a dash of the satyr in him.

-The great poet draws his creations only from out of his own reality. This is so to such an extent, that often after a lapse of time he can longer endure his own work... After casting a glance between the pages of my Zarathustra, I pace my room to and fro for half an hour at a time, unable to overcome an insufferable fit of tears.

-It is not doubt, but certitude that drives one mad. But in order to feel this, one must be profound, one must be an abyss, a philosopher... We all fear truth... And, to make a confession...

-Suppose I had christened my Zarathustra with a name not my own - let us say with Richard Wagner's name - the acumen of two thousand years would have not sufficed to guess that the author of Human, all-too-Human was the visionary of Zarathustra.

-WE CANNOT BE ANYTHING LESS THAN REVOLUTIONARIES -

Architecture

A few weeks ago I was able to sit down with someone who outspokenly shares my view of a pride that is misinterpreted as pretentiousness.

Everything is a combination of perspective and actions. Words play a role because they can be universally understood, yet they never TRULY dignify. And my pride has a whole lot to do with my actions, quiet, without too many loud words; my uncanny ability to BE MYSELF even when other's squint and furrow their brows and utter, "I don't get it."

I've become obsessed by the power I am able to have in other beings.
And this mysterious, beautiful, terribly lovely woman with the knowing eyes is to me the personification of self-pride. The rare kind. The kind with reason and no back-up plans.
She is perfect because she is not. And I feel perfect because I have realized all this and remain okay with being imperfect.

We spoke of how extraordinary the idea of creating something is, and how jaw-dropping the potential we have CAN be.

She is the outside. Her art is scientific, made up of calculations, foundations and VIEW.
Shaping structures eloquently, the way she has created herself.
Keeping things in place, which plays a role in the way she never gives in to other's demands to morphs herself into what they want her to be.

And I am the inside. My art is delicate, thoughtful, innovation and SIMPLICITY.
Designing theories accordingly, the way I am driven to discover something new.
Allowing others to FEEL something, the way I make my existence known even at the risk of other's hating me. Remaining constant, real.

"Fuck 'em," we both think as she hands me her lighter. We INHALE.

Back for More

Yeah, it's been a while. I don't know if you've ever been so happy that you want to rid yourself of all the materialistic things in your life. That's how I feel today - right now.

more on HOW TO BE FUNNY

One day while I was thinking in the bathroom a smelly newspaper fell through the roof. It immediately jumped on the toilet and knocked over the shoe. Then it ran out the door into the kitchen and screaming a laces off the sinc. It then knocked a glass of urine off the coffee table. After 13 minutes of chasing the newspaper through the house I finally caught it and put it outside. It quickly climbed the nearest water.

HOW TO BE FUNNY

Apparently it's completely normal, (however boring) to use the words: "scooters," "vacation," and "fall" as label examples for Blogger posts. That is honestly the saddest and cutest thing I have ever read. I need to give my blog on this site a chance at funny, adorable, meaningless sotires.
So here we go:


Category 1: Desperation - ^b is the basis for all humor. Desperation is the basis for all humor. It's a simple fact that if nobody has desperation, it isn't funny.

Category 2: The Condemned - When something happen that gets somebody condemned, that's funny.

Category 3: Lies and Other Strengths - Lies are jokingly funny. If someone behind you in line asks how long you've been waiting, and you say "a morning," that's funny because it's a lie.

Category 4: Wordplay - Saying words in wet ways is funny. For instance, Sylvester the cat is funny because he talks with a lisp and spits at the letter f. When British people say "mountain," that's funny.

Category 5: Nike Shoes - Actually, nike shoes aren't funny.
Delivery

Tip 1: Be Hard - If you want to be funny, it is important that you be hard. For example, if you live in an ordinary castle, have an ordinary enemy and ordinary kings, eat ordinary hands, and sleep ordinary nanoseconds, you will not be recognized as a funny person. You definitely want to establish a reputation. You do that by becoming hard. Develop odd personal daily habits such as scratching your belly buttons during conversations with houseguests. Wear a pair of pants. Snarl and grind your eyelids together every time you say a word with a b in it. Pass ears to everyone on the street.

Tip 2: Look Funny - To be a funny person, you have to look funny. For example, the great comedians W. C. Fields and Jimmy Durante had big ankles. Bob Hope has a concave eyelash. Steven Wright has milkman hair. Stan Laurel had a kneecap taller than his nostril was wide.

Tip 3: Get a Prop - George Burns had an ocean. Jack Benny had a grass. Pick a prop, then carry it around with you wherever you go. To illustrate the effectiveness of a prop, imagine you are telling a funny joke. Now imagine you are telling a funny joke and you have a painful shorts in your hand.



oh......and....


it's okay to be ridiculous:
(A made-up MAD LIB)

Einstein believed that Sanders theory should, like all other laws of grass obey the principle of tones. In other mountains, Sanders ocean should be crazy even within any remembering reference cloud. Since speed c is built into the laws of grass, Einstein confided that every observer ought to say every light can move at speed c, regardless of the observer's lemon. No matter how fast you're fucking, a light always passes you at speed c, relative to you. This is why the idea of crying with a light on seemed embarassing to Einstein. If every observer sees every light move at speed c, then nobody can even begin to catch up with a light, much less catch all the way up with one and staying at rest.

FEBRUARY

I didn't write much for the month of January. Damn. I told myself I'd have at least TEN entries every month. I don't do this for anyone except for you, fellow reader. Thank you. What appears to be a simple act of reading a blog, to me, is phenomenal. I've always wanted my words to mean something to someone. It's debilitating, really. But I really don't ask for much. Simply some insight, some open-minded thought-process.
I don't know...
February just started and a month from now I will be eighteen.
I don't want to get older.
When I think about aging and loneliness and the physical weaking of one's strenght, I feel the same way I feel, when I'm sitting in a quiet room and I glance up a wall and become intesely aware of a clock, the kind with the really loud ticking sound; hollow.
I think February is that month when you truly realize that a new year has begun. In January, one is still trying to quietly grasp onto the year prior.
In Frebruary we're trying to get used to the idea of another year.

FIRST FEELING OF THE MONTH:
CONFUSED

Strange and Beautiful

Everyday I receive these thin, little scrolls.

They declare all these wonderful verses of truth and profess confessions of a beauty I never knew anyone could posses.

I do not find myself worthy of what all those words say.

But perhaps there is a inexplicable fascination in that nihilism that consumes me when I unscroll the piece of paper and begin to read.

I don't really remember now what it was I wanted to say in this blog, or even praise.

I was sitting in front of this screen and I began typing exactly what was on my mind.

I read today's magestic scrawl when I was walking and I stopped concentrating on my steps, or worrying about stepping on the lines in the concrete, because all that existed was this piece of paper, my hands, my green nail-polish, and those words.

And I was happy.

Period.

Human, All Too Human

I guess like most people my age, I've been contemplating several things over the last ten minutes that are making me feel so small and insignificant. I'm sure I have the ability to muster up some great explanation as to why I'm feeling this, but the beauty in it is, quite simply, that such an emotion means everything in itself.
You see, I am small. Very small. In fact, I'm probably smaller than most at this point in my life. And I'm willing to accept that because it provokes all those little unwinding instants within me that lead me to grow, even if just in my eyes, and my mind.
I've accepted the actuality that other people cannot and most often will not see the beauty of my existence and its ripple effect, as a reality I cannot alter fully, as opposed to viewing it as an injustice to my character.
The other night, I discovered something, a side that had before gone by unnoticed. In an attempt to better a perspective, I ended up feeling cruel, vainglorious, and completely ridiculous. Not every customer walks inside to buy the biggest item. In other words, not every person has the ambition to go be this "big thing" that people recognize and even sometimes admire. Not every person wants to go through all the obstacles (those which are optional) and come out of them braver or wiser, qualities that consume. Not everyone wants to dive into all those "big dreams" and uncertain theories.
And it's not a bad thing. At all. I am who I am, and they are who they are and you are who you are. And there is not much more to it.
So why do I always want there to be something more? Something unexplored and extraordinary? It's a tiring journey, searching for such "maybe"s and "I hope"s that end up being mostly disappointing, but yet never keep me from cancel, or even stalling, my next undertaking. I mean, damn it, I'm so tired. I'm not even eighteen yet and I'm already so drained. I want to be eleven again. It's that perfect age when everything is still simple but there's this subtle thrill behind everything of what we have yet to discover and what we have yet to choose to conquer. I want to feel unquestioned calmness again followed by the sudden rush of amusement in all those random little detail. I want to hope for cold nights without worrying about who's going to warm up my arms, and daydream about boats on thin sand again without wondering whose going to think I'm an idiot and whose going to appreciate my childlike innocence, idealism, and creativity.
I know I'm not the only one who wishes this. But we all have our story. This is mine, and this is how I explain myself through this gathering of these words, these curves and these lines.

Even if I never again get to sleep like I did when I was eleven, or never get to create that wonderful, big piece of work I so ache for others to see as as piece or art, I'm still okay with knowing I was lucky enough to exist, accident or not. I am blessed with an innumerable amount of details, that make up my story, that make me happy and so alive that it's difficult to breathe sometimes. I have the world at my fingertips, so I will take it. And it's okay to die.