"Life is not a paragraph"

Sometimes the only reasonable thing to say is Fuck

2006-11-20T17:00:00.000-08:00

My mother owes thousands of dollars to collection agencies that have taken over her medical bills becuase, in this past month, both my mother and father had to undergo mandatory surgeries. Both of my parents are hardworking everyday citizens. My mother even works for the goddamn government. And still her medical insurance doesn't even begin to cover the actual cost of staying alive. Meanwhile, her "unfortunate" clients who collect from social services are provided with top notch medical care so they continue to procreate.

On a related note, the previous monopolizing cable company of E.C. was recently bought by another equally ammoral company that has added a $95 back charge for their customers this month. Why? Because they can. To make it even worse, the fucking cable internet only works about half the time anyways, and that is after Adelphia sent three different guys out to "look at it." And, of course, this unexpected bill is due right before the holidays.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Fuck the holidays and the chemically engineered turkeys and pesticide ridden cancer causing greens the FDA plots on their buillshit pyramid that makes the average person think he's healthy! Fuck society for that matter! And double fuck the business and coporate worlds that so blatantly exchange humanity for dollarbills!

A huge part of me wishes we could press rewind and go back to a simpler world, one where "credit" and "insurance" weren't in our vocabulary, one where we didn't habitually rape the environment out of our own chosen stupidity, one where we didn't outlaw natural products and intentionally mislabel our manufactured ones, one where you spoke to real live people when you wanted human interaction, and one where no one gave a fuck about Kevin Federline or Britney Spears.

Is our "modern world" really worth the stress and hassle? I don't ask this question in sincerity; I ask it in despair. We have sold our souls for the price of smaller and smaller electrical devices and bigger and bigger debts. All of this when the world outside is far more beautiful than anything we think we create. We are a cariacture of culture.

Fuck!

O - and by the way - fuck this blog that no one responds to.

Karma

2006-11-10T09:43:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling rather poetic lately. I won't say that my poetic streak benefits the world in any significant way - other than my own mentally inspired state - ; nevertheless, I will post some of my rambling attempts at poetry for the very few who read this blog - and the even fewer who respond. May the universe bless those of you who deserve blessing.

Karma

Slinging this sledgehammer at myself
and all my shortcomings,

flinging my sardonic speech
at unsuspecting samaritans,

knowing full well
that i am only liquid,
that solidity is illusion -
impermanence

the damage i unleash
always relapses

pain is loose;
i undress myself of it
when i choose

cycles are broken in an instant

there is nothing more reliable
than time.

Synonyms, Antonyms, and Irony

2006-11-04T09:39:00.000-08:00

i am icarus burning -

free
fatal

flitting my myopic wings

what wishful glow
calls me so cunningly

what shining fruit do i crave
capriciously

gravity is tragedy

i am nothing
more than a myth

Warning: This Message May Not Be Suitable to All Readers

2006-10-28T12:22:00.000-07:00

WAKE THE FUCK UP!

STOP SLEEPING, PLANNING, WAITING

BE

LIVE

FOR GOD'S SAKE
YOU'RE BORING THE HELL OUT OF ME

Ode to Boone

2006-10-02T18:59:00.000-07:00

life was so much simpler with you
i felt free
my identity
my own design
immersed in creation,
enerygy,
light,
Now i am standing on the edge
of that galaxy
looking back
through black holes
transposed -
but i am still me -
equivocal
unable to move -
how is it possible to be bound
within a whole universe?
metamorphosis is unclear
my heart is almost silent
i miss you

i miss me

One startling truth

2006-09-25T16:45:00.000-07:00

The most solid piece of advice I give myself and everyone else is to be true to yourself. Of course, this maxim can be misconstrued into some Machiavellian construct, but being true to yourself does not require you to step on others. In fact, you can very possibly stand up for yourself without attacking anyone else.

A recent situation in my life left me feeling used and confused, two feelings I abhor. Thinking through the situation didn’t really help resolve it either. The truth is that feeling used is perhaps the worst feeling in the world, even worse than fear or loneliness, though loneliness may be the runner up. But even as I tried to sort through the whirlwind of confusion, the resolution was quite simple. After confronting the situation head on, not in anger or haste, but in straightforward honesty, I feel tremendously freer, and even if I was being used, that feeling melted away because I represented myself; I stood up for myself, and that is what truly matters.

Nothing like a little self-respect for some emotional medicine.

Great minds agree:

“To thine own self be true” (Shakespeare)

“Just some words of advice
Maybe you've heard them before but here goes
Just be true to yourself
if it lands you in hell, well, at least now you know
Loud and clear is your heart big and bright
are the places you might someday go
With one million things holding you down,
why you're one of those things I don’t know,
No big deal here I go.” (Alkaline Trio)

I say I want a Revolution

2006-09-10T11:26:00.000-07:00

Subversive, transgressive, and liberal
Democracy requires us to act these ways.

Why is our government and society so severly fucked?

Truthfully, it will always be this way. Human beings will never attain perfection. Consequently, we will always be required to stand up for it, to demand that we reach as close as is possible to goodness, which is, of course, a neverending pursuit.

The present problem is that we aren't revolting. We are too complacent; critical and disatisfied, but complacent nonetheless. Fed by television, talbloids, pharmaceuticals, fast food, gasoline, and all that this modern world of simulacra affords.

Those who aren't medicated with plentitude often take the extreme cynic's approach, believing that all is useless, that our revolutions are insufficient, idealists to the point that they become apathists.

I am satiated. I am longing for growth, change, challenge, inspiration, heartache, and the whole range of human emotions that emerge from actual human creation and collaboration.

I know I am not the only one. I know the world still has a few chances. I know there are people waiting to find their place, those who are grieving the loss of passion in this world, people who are unimpressed by the veils of lies and unfed by the troughs of capitalist propaganda. There still are humans with minds of their own.

We will find one another in this lifetime, and together we will work for the dreams we may never see fulfilled, for the changes we will plant the seeds of, for the revolutions we will begin. Our destinies will occur, and we will "be the changes [we] see." That is always the first and last step.

Onward.... We must begin the journey.

1/4, 3/4 Moon

2006-08-07T10:44:00.000-07:00

Today I will break from my normal format and subject matter and tell a story of a recent night of amusement. After browsing through video selections with my newly subscribed membership to Netflix, I called a friend who was on his way to a movie with another friend. If you haven't seen the new Will Farrell movie about Nascar, filmed in the shining state of North Carolina, you are missing out on an adventure. Maybe it was the enthusiastic, irresponsibly speed-driven lives of race car drivers of maybe it was the 3/4 moon dangling in the sky that led to the course of events in this particular evening.

I should have known, as I helped consume cans of PBR in the back of a pick-up truck, that the evening wasn't going to be typical. I finished off my one can and then emptied the contents of my purse in order to conceal two more cans on their way into the theater.

The movie was far more entertaining than I expected, but the rest of the evening proved to be the bigger surprise.

After watching the end of the credits, I walked out to the truck with one friend to discover that the other friend had disappeared. All plausible explanations pointed to the possibility that he had strolled over to the adjacent Food Lion to purchase more packs of PBR. And so more cans were added to the truckbed of evidence, as I officially loitered in an Elizabeth City parking lot. When the theater manager started to harass the loitering group in front of us because he had found beer cans inside, we decided it was time to migrate. I hopped in the truck with a can in hand, and we fled with about 15 empty beer cans and a passenger in the back. Manuevering his broken gear shift and pridefully racing past the other highway drivers, our chauffeur somehow managed to safely arrive at his home, where we proceeded to nearly finish the beer and get bitten by 10,001 mosquitoes in under 20 minutes.

After fleeing inside for the aid of a certain hand-rolled euphoric substance, I immediately lost my friends. One managed to make it downstairs to pass out in the yard, while the other leaned over the kitchen counter unable to move. Having less than three PBR's in more than three hours, I couldn't quite relate to their sudden extreme state of paralysis, so I tried to make myself useful by making fun of them.

Left to the amusement of a 91 year old dog and a one-eyed, one-clawed cat, I realized I was stuck without a way home. Fortunately my little sister agreed to come pick me up. While waiting for her rescue, I chatted with the kitchen friend who had now made it to the floor and was modeling about 1/4 of his ass crack. When I whispered to him that his ass crack was showing, he responded, "I thought that might have happened, but I was hoping you wouldn't notice." About a minute later, he professed, "I'm sorry." "Sorry for what?" I asked. "I'm sorry my ass crack is showing."

When my sister finally arrived, she managed to resurrect the yard friend and remove everything in a possible line of vomit from the passenger seat, as she drove him home. Meanwhile, my kitchen friend told me I worried too much and proceeded to offer me health tips as he puked into the kitchen trash can. After leaving him on the floor and taking the other one home, we then went to buy Gatorade. I tried to revive kitchen friend, but since I wasn't strong enough to pick him up off the kitchen floor and carry him to a bed or chair, I put a pillow under his head, covered him with a blanket, and put a gatorade bottle next to his head.

I made it home safely and soberly with future ammunition for embarassing my friends.

The moral of the story is to know your limits, always have bug spray, and never expect to live down a story like that one.

Don't throw over the rum!

2006-07-25T13:05:00.000-07:00

It's the summer, and I haven't been working much, but I have managed to do a bit of reading and movie watching. Unfortunately, my present free time allows me to lower my standards for what movies I actually watch. I don't like to criticize something until I see it, but since I regretfully did see Pirates of the Caribbean, I am fully equipped and justified in insulting that movie beyond measure.

Why did it suck so bad?

Where do I even begin... It's long, and in my personal opinion, the longer the movie, the more of a point it should make. Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest has no point whatsoever other than to set up for another plotless action driven movie (notice I refuse to use the word film when referring to this movie). I cannot express my disaapointment in Johnny Depp. From what I have heard, he loves playing the role of Captain Jack Sparrow. While he was the savior to the first film, his character was no further developed in the second movie, and instead, seemed more of a cariacture of itself. No characters were developed, though many were present. Applying literary analysis, I could confidentally say the characters were all stock, flat, and static. Not only does the movie lack characterization, but there is no meaningful dialogue, use of music, or creative plotline. In fact, there really is no structure to the plot at all. There are, however, gross gorry scenes, an attempted romantic triangle, and lots of bombs, fire, and fighting. If you feel up to wasting two and a half hours of time watching a completely unrealisitc, uninformative, undeveloped, and unstructured glorification and parody(though I don't think it is fully intended) of pirates, then this movie is perfect for you. If you have anything else to do in life, though, do it. I will conclude my criticism with one ironic appreciation I almost have for the movie: It has been a long time since I have seen a movie that actually made me angry. I am almost impressed at how bad the movie is. I would like to think it requires deliberate thought and action to create something so unworthy of an audience.

Sadly, not only have several of the movies I have seen been a waste of my time, but the book I finally finished - by my favorite author - wasn't so great, either. Maybe it's my own negativity or maybe there really are a lot of shitty contributions to the entertainment world. If anyone has any shining recommendations, I am up for the suggestions.

The only truly worthy entertainment I have receieved this summer has been in the form of alcohol. There really are a lot of good beers and wines out there. I guess even if the entertainment world is lacking creativity, we at least know how to make good spirits to help us forget how uncreative the world is. One of my newest favorite spirits is an 8% dark Belgian Ale called Maredsous. Just remember, the alcohol content is a little higher. Personally, I think the beer needs to come with a warning: may cause drunken play fights in parking lots.

Cheers to America for voting off Martha (even though she was from Raleigh) and Dimitri from So You Think You Can Dance. While the show's title is uncreative as hell, the choreography is fantastic. Thank God tomorrow is Wednesday, which means So You Think You Can Dance and beer. It still beats the hell out of trying to explain what a noun is for hours a day.

Bye Bye Ms. American Dream

2006-07-13T14:36:00.000-07:00

Of all the strange behaviors of human beings in modern society, I think what bothers me most is the lack of creative thought. This is not to say there aren't plenty of struggling artists in the world who desperately wish to express their unique visions. What I am mourning is our obsession with what we have long called the American Dream.

Researchers, reporters, and writers contend that the American Dream is becomming a thing of the past. What was once the freedom to rise to the top and become succcessful has been erased by the corruption of a business run government system. America is still thought of as one of the richest countries, where gadgets and material possessions form the major definition of our society; but isn't the American Dream supposed to be more than the desire for sheer commercialism? I have asked classes at both the high school and college level to define this concept: What is the American Dream? Here are the most common answers: money, home, car/SUV, spouse, two kids, picket fence, and dog. These are the items we could check on a bubble sheet that define us; these are the icons of our society. Why, then, are we such a depressed, unfulfilled, greedy, gluttenous group?

There is a plethora of possible answers here. One of my personal favorites is what Kalle Lasn, founder of Adbusters, says: that we are consumers rather than activists, that we are out of touch with nature, and that we are overstimulated and polluted with noise, advertsiements, and the media. All of these explanations hold truth, but the sad thing is, no one really has to live this way, and yet, they do. Granted, it is difficult to live in a quiet, peaceful environment in our modern society, but too many people today cannot come up with their own American Dream, and instead, mindlessly attempt to live the generic American Dream, never stopping to consider what they really want for themselves.

Follow the plan. Graduate high school. Go to college. Get a job, preferabbly one with benefits and a 401 K. Get married. Have kids. Go to church. Go to the gym. Go shopping. Buy a house. Buy a new car. Take your prescriptions. Grow old. Die.

Then there are those who do nothing. I mean nothing. They live off mom and dad and complain about the monotony of modern society, when the truth is, they really know nothing about it, because they are lazy, irresponsible mooches who never work or worry about their future in the first place. They are the critics who never attempt to produce any of their own work.

Where does this leave me? Where does this leave those few souls who actually read this blog?

I'll tell you where it leaves me. It leaves me angry at others (this is my own personal problem), and it leaves me determined to actually live my life, my dream. Oddly enough, part of my dream is getting the hell out of this country for a while.

There are a few things I value from the American Dream. Clearly, money is a necessary component in life if you don't desire absolute misery and strife. But there is a hell of a lot more to life than commercial goods or the nuclear family unit. I don't intend to deflate the significance of familial ties, but too many people in this country get married because they don't know what else to do. They are following the plan rather than their plan - precisely why so many marriages end up in divorce. What about their individual dreams and their mental and emotional maturity? Wouldn't we be a far more fulfilled group if we actually had the guts to go do what we wanted before settling for what we are told we are supposed to want? In a nation with so much to offer, we are so fucking humdrum.

I am not giving in to the seduction of the modern day American Dream. I may end up with some of its components at different times in my life, but my plan is far more ecclectic and adventurous. I want to actually still have my soul intact when I die. I want to look back and say I lived. So what if I don't leave behind a two story home, equipped with a basement full of useless junk, or an environmentally abusive SUV? The Greeks simply asked if a man truly lived before he died, and there in lied the explanation of his success. There was no clear checklist for what living meant. It may have been many different things to many different people. How can a nation of so much diversity come together in one superficial dream - the dream of greed, the dream of knocking down your neighbor before he knocks you down, the dream of getting the best parking spot and the designer brand label on sale? Do any of us look back on these things in our deathbed and feel satisfied? If so, we are even worse off than I imagined. What bothers me most is that it bothers me so much that so many people are too afraid to come up with their own creative dreams, that so many people live as ghosts. We all die soon enough. I'd rather not be a ghost until I have to.

Must Hate Dogs

2006-06-26T17:00:00.000-07:00

Even though Must Love Dogs was actually a pretty shitty movie, I am still ripping it off for my title today. Over the past weekend, I more deeply contemplated why human beings have such a love for dogs. The truth is that I have my own bias against dogs because I am allergic to them and end up itching, red, and miserable most of the times I am around them. But setting aside my own reactions, I still cannot understand why so many people willingly commit themselves to the responsibilities of a dog. They're cute (some of them), they're cuddly; they're dirty, loud, and require constant attention. Why do I feel like I am the only person who doesn't enjoy being drooled on or continually sniffed in mysterious places by these hairy creatures? They look at you with those sad puppy dog eyes that say, "I am dumb and helpless," and for some reason, most people fall for them. Personally, I don't have much affection for a creature who actually prefers to smell like shit. I don't hate dogs, but I am not fond of anything that is constantly in my face.

I am not so sure we should have domesticated so many animals in the first place, at least not when you consider the way some dogs are treated. If you keep your dog outside, they aren't in your face all the time. Why is is that so many people get a dog when they don't have a yard for them? I almost think this should be illegal, but I guess there are so many dogs without homes. I do congratulate those sincere pet owners who love and recieve much enjoyment out of their pets. They are a culture of people I don't understand, however. Could someone explain to me why people desire pets so much in the first place? Don't we have enough to do? Why do we need to take animals and bring them in our homes to add extra expense and entertainment to our lives? I just don't get it. I love to see animals in the wild, and I don't think of animals as inferior to us, but I am not relating to the human race in this whole domestication thing. I think we are probably all too goddamned domesticated as it is. I am waiting for the animals to rebel; however, this would create quite a dilemma for me because I am not so sure I would be on the human being's side. As opposed to Must Love Dogs, Orwell's classic Animal Farm is a meaningful flick. Aside from the whole smelling like shit thing, sometimes I think it might be more meaningful to be a pig.

Since I started this post with a reference to movies, I must comment that there are so terribly many mediocre movies out there. The sad thing is, people just keep lapping them up like puppy chow. If I see advertisements for another romantic comedy, I might actually get a dog just so I can train it to attack the television at appropraite times. Seriously, I know way too many women who watch way too many of these preverse films. Cheers to all you guys who make your girlfriend watch these movies by themself. Maybe they will eventually get the point and stop waiting for you to grow up.

Speaking of men, I met someone this weekend who was such an asshole that I was rather impressed. It is rare that I respond pleasantly to jerks. But I am so sick of bullshit that sincere soulllessness is kind of refreshing. Does this mean I am becomming more realistic or that my own soul is in jeopardy of loss? I don't like dogs or romantic comedies, so maybe I already am soulless. I guess that could be a pretty freeing thing to not have a soul.

My Space and Tattoos

2006-06-15T17:03:00.000-07:00

Instead of my typically attempted deep divulsions, today I am going to discuss something simple and commonplace: tattoos and my space pages. Why have these two phenomena become so frighteningly popular?

Well, I suppose My Space has its perks: you can write, post music, chat, and keep up with numerous friends, but the fact that nearly every person aged 15-25 has this online alter ego slightly disturbs me. When I asked one of my classes to raise their hand if they did not have a My Space page, two out of thirty raised their hands. People who don't even care much about music, writing, conversation, or friends for that matter even have My Space pages. Why? It's almost like having a social security number for today's youth. If you don't exist in cyberspace, your "real" identity just might become questionable. Of course, I am ironically writing about this topic on another mode of internet expression, but I feel a certain underdog inspired pride for blogs. It seems few people are updating their blogs because they are too busy playing with the possibilities of My Space. From what I have seen of My Space pages, the emphasis is not at all on the writing or the quality of writing, but on the social network and the ability to be oh so cool! So there you have it, aside from the undeniably sickening popularity of My Space, the system bothers me because it only encourages more pathetic grammatical skills out of the already ADD barely literate generation to come. I guess I really sound like an optimist. A year of teaching public high school will do a considerable amount of damage to one's optimism.

Now about tattoos. I've always liked them. I have even considering getting one for years, but I have never been able to decide upon a permanent mark for my body. Truthfully, I like the idea that everything changes, including my interests and ideas, so to mark myself permanently with one thing, whatever it is, would be like saving an old love letter or lost tooth, but even worse because I would have to look at it everyday... Why do that to yourself? I have noticed that tatoos have become more and more popular, but recently, I had an epiphany: while sitting at the pool for two days this past weekend, I noticed that not a single person over age 20 had bare skin. I felt like I was looking at a crowd of sorority girls all wearing pink tank tops and black pants, flipping their hair, laughing, and getting ready to hit the clubs. Suddenly, I began to fantasize about the beauty of clean, pure, bare skin.

Perhaps these observations and opinions make me sound critical, like I desperately want to be different, that I think I am somehow superior to the masses. In answer to such an attack, after much heartfelt thought and introspection, I reply "Yes, Yes I am." I am definitely sure of one thing: all of the sheepish My Space holders and tattoo models out there have made me contemplate the necessity of these expressive outlets, and since I do not have an innate burning desire for either of them, I abstain willfully from them both for the time being. If and when I decide either of them means something to me or serves a particular practical purpose, I will back down from my superiority. Until then, I will remain among the elite angry crowd to which I may be labeled. Damnit!

The Fear of Femininity

2006-05-22T17:13:00.000-07:00

Like the true word nerd that I am, I just recently looked up the prefix -com. Why? Because I was thinking about the peculiarity of the word compassion. Here is my dilema: I have always experienced and valued human passion; however, compassion seems to be a virtue I sometimes lack. And yet, compassion broken down means "with" passion. Clearly these two words share something. Upon more investigation, I discovered a particularly disturbing definition of compassion: "pity aroused by the distress of others, with the desire to help them." Pity is a word I cannot help but feel nauseous hearing. Why does this word sicken me so? Pity is defined as "a feeling of sympathy for the sufferings or privations of others / a cause of sorrow or regret." The first definition seems pleasant enough, but "sorrow" and "regret" - these words ring morosely in my ears.

And probably all sane people ask, what is the significance of my above rant of stringed defintions? Words like compassion, suffering, pity, sorrow, and regret signify the existence of emotions I attempt to ignore. More invogorating emotions or experiences, like anger, lust, and pride leave me feeling perhaps a bit too comfortable. So what I have discovered is that my own personal comfort zone is threatened with the intrusion of melancholy or sentimental thoughts and moments. More directly put: I am hard, which is of course a lie because no one is truly hard. We are all weak, frail creatures. My self-propelled illusion that I am somehow strong is nonsense. If I continue to be hard forever, I will most certainly break into a million britlle pieces. Strength is not hardness; strength is durability, and durability requires the acceptance of both the hard passionate moments and the softer, sentimental ones.

With all of that said, I am presently "getting in touch" with my softer side. I have always been emotional, but not in the way I am experiencing myself now. I am often a dissapointed dreamer who wants more than anything to believe in love and destiny, but who, due to certain logical processes within my brain, often scowls at the imperfection of these things. I have got to get real; I have got to accept things for what they are. The notions of invincability and perfection only hinder my ability to be truly whole. Wholeness requires compassion, and compassion requires acceptance. I accept that I am empty. I accept that I am more sensetive than I want to admit. I accept that I am a female afterall...

(Wo)man can't live on philosophy alone

2006-05-14T18:16:00.000-07:00

I’ve realized that I don’t at all like being alone. Part of me wants so desperately to be a rebel. In fact, I’d definitely say that part of me is. But I am not a loner rebel. What I want is to be a rebel with someone. Does this mean I have deluded myself when I describe myself as independent? I don’t want people to do things for me. I’m not overly sentimental or possessive. I provide for myself and make my own choices (sometimes to the degree that I unfortunately fail to listen to the very sound advice of others). But despite my ability and even need to care for myself, I long for an intimate companion, someone to take turns taking care of, someone who feels like an opposite equal.

Why do I feel weak admitting this? Why do I think it would somehow make me look cooler or tougher if I was unconcerned about having a partner? Perhaps my biggest weakness is my struggle in acknowledging and expressing my own moments of weakness.

We talk about the need to be happy with yourself before you’re with someone else, but I have always been happy with myself as a person. I have always had a rather clear sense of my own feelings and goals, and I have generally been assertive in seeking them out. I can’t say that I am truly happy being alone, though, because I feel like such a huge part of this life is missing. In fact, the very thing I value the most about life is missing: intimacy.

I am not a religious person, and I am not living my life for another existence I may have in the future. What I do think is magical in this world is the ability to deeply connect with other humans. That is spirituality to me because I believe in the interconnection of all life, although it is not something you feel all the time, which is precisely why it is so glorious when you do feel it. If my understanding of spirituality is accurate, it follows that when you are lacking intimate connections, you are not actually being your whole self anyway. If this is true, then I shouldn’t feel lame for desiring intimacy. I can be simultaneously independent and committed to another human or humans.

Many people either seem terribly afraid of commitment or too willing to accept it solely out of the fear of being alone. I want commitment because I like having to work at things in life. I like having someone to share myself with, someone else to have to think about it. When all you think about is yourself, life can get boring. Even the emotional lability I experience isn’t enough to keep me fully entertained. Believe me, I enjoy pleasing myself, but when I am the only person I am pleasing, life feels hollow. Having someone else in your life keeps you moving; it keeps you on your toes, and if it is a healthy relationship, all of the hard work you put into it is visible and worth it. Waking up next to someone else is one of the most profound moments I have had in my life. Knowing that there is another human being in this world who matters to you as much as yourself is more valuable to me than any career or story or experience I can ever have on my own. Should I feel weak for needing someone to love?

The original Rudolph claymation Christmas special characters expressed my desire perfectly. You know, the cartoon with Burl Ives, the narrator snowman who sings. Even being the anti-holiday person that I profess to be, I can not deny the brilliance of that holiday special. The story itself is inspiring. The isolated elf who longs to be a dentist runs off on his own to make his destiny, and when he finds Rudolph, another misfit in the world, he immediately professes his own ability to be independent . After all, he ran away on his own from the life he was expected to accept. But as soon as he finds another creature who he can actually connect with, he passionately proclaims, “Let’s be independent together.”

Maybe it’s because I am the maid of honor in a wedding next weekend or maybe it’s because the guy I have been “casually” seeing is moving far away very soon, but for whatever reason(s), I am feeling ridiculously sentimental, and it is a feeling I am not good at handling.

I know that I do want a committed partner. I’ve always known this, but out of my own foolish pride, I have tried to deny it. My actions have always been a dead give away, though. I’ve pretended to be the girl who does what she wants and who doesn’t care about conventions or the “normal” life, but deep down (probably not even that far down), I do want what it seems like almost all people want: love and commitment. I didn’t want it forever at 20 or 23 or even 25, but I will be 27 this year, and I don’t know if it is time or age, but I am starting to long for something that isn’t so transient. I am starting to want more than fun and excitement. I want more than freedom and rebellion and passion. I know that all life is impermanent, but the one thing I believe is eternal is love. I don’t want any more teenage romances; I want the real, perhaps even unglamorous, thing. I don't want a fairy tale or a philosophical concept. I want something genuine and conscious.

Who's an existentialist?

2006-05-08T11:07:00.000-07:00

If you haven’t seen the oddly animated film, Waking Life, you are missing out. Pair that with What the Bleep Do We Know and your entire world view might shift. Both films ask you to confront yourself and your responsibilities within this seemingly intangible universe. Where do you fit in, and does your existence really matter? Both films cry out yes! The belief that we are insignificant depresses many, but the admission that we are pertinent to this world may be even more upsetting, for if we admit that our lives are important, then we must assume responsibility for them.

I have come to believe that fear is the most powerful human emotion. It is something which may keep us alive for a certain time, but which may kill us day by day in the moment.

Why are we so willing to hand over our own destinies just so we don’t have to take any chances or do any work? Why are we so afraid of our success, our happiness, our enlightenment? Since the beginning of humanity, we have created stories to explain our inadequacies and misunderstandings, excuses for everything under the sun. What if this is it? What if what we do right now is what really matters?

I have viewed existentialism in a somewhat negative light. Like most ordained philosophy, the original ideas become obscured beneath debates and reinterpretations; they become shrouded by the incapacity of language to convey them in the first place. After re-questioning this philosophy, however, I have discovered that my original rejection of it has now become a warm and sincere applause. It isn’t grim to think that what I do now matters, though it may be somewhat intimidating that there is no time to lose. It is frightening to face how short our lives are, but the beauty of our existence rests largely in its whimsical and fleeting nature. We must take it for what it’s worth and savor every moment of this fragile conscious episode we call life. Really it is quite liberating and exhilarating to recognize the significance our consciousness can have on the entire universe and to exert our energy in creating what we wish.

“Life is not about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” (Anonymous)
One of my students argued with me about this statement. Most of us have excuses for who we are. People complain of the need to “find themselves,” as if their real being lurks somewhere beyond the scope of their own understanding, that some day they will discover who they are and suddenly everything will fall into place. We lament that people rarely change. We become well-conditioned pessimists, while we desperately wait to find ourselves living in a more ideal universe. We don’t want to admit that we are good and evil, that we are never as good as we want to be, but that we can still make ourselves better every moment. You may be born with certain genes and your brain may be fashioned with its own unique construction of neurons and connections, but it is not impossible to create new neural pathways, to modify your behavior, your thoughts, your emotions, and your actions. We are not stuck. We are not reduced to the structure of biology; we are not limited by the power of an omnipotent creator. We are our own creators and creations. We become what we allow, what we invent, what we augment. What we focus our energy on is what we experience. What we believe happens. What we expect, we usually get. We create ourselves over and over again. “Every passing moment is another chance to turn it all around” (Vanilla Sky).

We may not be in control of everything, and there will always be moments when our lack of control confounds and upsets us. There are so many different individual strains of consciousness that coalesce into the collective consciousness that we may never understand the complex workings of infinity. Nevertheless, there are almost an unexplainable number of times in which we are granted a glimpse of our own significance, moments when we can see or know the effects and consequences of our lives and choices on ourselves or others. We should never take these moments for granted, but we should celebrate our significance every chance we get. We should celebrate by being and doing. That is it. “Here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life.” (Cummings)

"The snow doesn't give a soft, white damn"

2006-05-01T11:08:00.000-07:00

"We don't see things as they are; we see things as we are."

Is Anias Nyn corrrect in this statement? Is our vision of reality inevitably reduced to what quantum physicists refer to as the observer [complex]? Why then are some individuals much better at sympathy, empathy and objectivity? Certainly our reality is largely shaped by our perceptions, and our perceptions are often the result of the process of hardwiring our brains during those early formative years of development, but there are still people who are able to look at things from others' perspectives. Of course there are also plenty of those overly sensetive immature individuals who refuse to open their vision of the world beyond their own emotions and egos.

While I agree with Anias that there are many shades to reality and that each of us occupies our own little slice of it, I am going to squash the postmodern relativist view that there is only individual observation. We are all limited in our understanding of the universe, but it is our responsbility to expand ourselves as much as possible to connect with the vast mass of infinity to which we are intertwined - in more plain English, it is our responsbility to look at things from more than one perspective. Few of us are incompetent, but many are lazy. "I feel this way" does not mean it is this way. Excuses don't cut it. Recognize your feelings, but remember there is a whole world of other feelings and reactions out there. I believe in sympathizing with others, in finding out their situations and motivations, but I do not excuse the failure of others to look at my point of view or whoever else's point of view. Every person and moment is connected to something else, and we can spend all of our time making excuses or we can do something about it.

Drowning in a sea of self-righteous pity is about the most detestable act I can conceive of. Excusing ignorant or inappropriate actions out of your own sensetivities is absurd. Take control of yourself.

Why do so many people freak out at investigating themselves? We are all flawed. That is one of the few absolutes of which I am certain in life. Why then is it so unlikely that people openly admit these flaws? And even more, choose to deal with them? Jesus, that is the point of life as far as I am concerned.

I can see quite a few things wrong with me; some of them I can work on and some things others just have to accept as me.

Knowing yourself is essential. We may be limited and flawed, but we are capable beings. If you are not honest with yourself, it is your fault. I have very little patience for overly sensetive / weak beings.

Unless your are truly handicapped, suck it up. Use your fucking brain sometimes. Life is as hard as you make it. You get what you expect. Don't just whine. Act. If you don't like what you end up with it, change it. You might need some help, but you have to take the first step. Everyone is responsible for themself. Some people have it easier than others, but that is reality. Excuses don't matter in the grand scheme of things.

I am learning more and more that actions do speak louder than words. Good intentions and latent potential are meaningless. What can be observed, what is tangible, is real. There are always multiple layers underneath every surface. Expose them. Research yourself and this world which you have been blessed to exist within. Let's stop hiding like frightened children.

There is no savior waiting to rescue you. Do it yourself. If by some chance, there is a god, he/she/it will just have that much less to do for you later. Stop crying, whining, waiting, and hiding. Start doing it. There are so many holes to get lost in, but life is really quite simple: Action. Move. Go. Come on. Vamoose. What the hell are you waiting for? This is it!

Sexist Sons of Bitches

2006-04-13T12:25:00.000-07:00

Tolerance is an important virtue, but there are some things that should NEVER be tolerated: sexists for one and phony sons of bitches. Congratulations David, you actually fit both of these categories.

I had been worrying that my ability to analyze people wasn't good enough, considering my last long relationship. Once again, I must say that instincts should never be underated. After a false and disappointing relationship, I thought I was naive. I have been trying to forgive myself for being stupid enough to fall in love with a phony. I have met plenty of people with too many problems, but when you commit yourself to someone who isn't real, it's one hell of a slap in the face. The truth is that I am an optomist and a beliver. I am skeptical of dogma, but I give people a considerable amount of leeway. After a certain point, however, people lose any right to being treated like a human being.

Back to my point... Instincts are important. I knew early on that my last relationship wasn't likely to be good, but I went with it anyways, partly out of some foolish desire to prove everyone else wrong. I guess I wanted to side with the underdog. Everyone warned me that he was a loser, but I wouldn't listen.

After that relationship and long before I should have been entering any other relationship, someone brought to my attention the possibility of dating someone new. I thought about it, and it seemed like a good idea. He seemed relatively responsible and motivated. He had graduated school, had a job and a plan for the future. He didn't seem like a bad guy. But as I continued to feel it out, I couldn't shake off some unsettling feeling. I tried to make myself interested, but should you really have to make yourself interested in someone? I still have trouble understanding how you can have a fun partner who is also stable. This guy had my mind terribly confused. Who was he really? Did I like him? Did I know him? Something didn't feel right. Finally, I concluded that I didn't need to date anyone anyways, especially if it was that damn confusing.

Well, time passed. I thought everything was fine, but I guess the sensetive take everything personal Pisces couldn't handle the feeling of rejection. Granted, I know it is not the best feeling in the world, but it is not always personal. I had some reasons to think we would not be the best match, and I was a bit of an emotional mess at the time. He had the nerve to lash out at me on several occassions afterwards. The tension continued to build. Instead of dealing with things like an adult, he decided to insult me. That I can sympathize with or forgive up to a point. Of course, a mature person would recognize their rudeness and eventually apologize. Well this person is neither emotionally mature nor respectable. After insulting me and disrespecting me on several occassions, he finally decides to proclaim publically that I deserved it - and even more, to brag about being an asshole. Wow!

Now, about sexists and sons of bitches, I won't get into all of the reasons why I have concluded that this guy is sexist. Let's just say he doesn't want to have to do the work. His perfect world is a place where he can get a blowjob by a different woman every day so that he doesn't have to do any work. I am not kidding. Those were his own words. There are other personal examples that indicate his sexism as well, which I won't post.

About phonies... It's startling obvious that he treated me considerably differently when I was a dating prospect. Now a certain amount of that may be understandable, but then again, a person with character would not act differently to get laid. But I am not suggesting that he has any character.

After all of this, I have reaffirmed my own strength of intuition. What didn't feel right with this guy? Well, he wasn't being real. Now that I have seen who he is, I am so glad that I didn't push myself any further to like him. I feel pity for whatever woman gives him the time of day. It is a sad thing that some women still end up with men who don't respect them, men who don't care about pleasing their women, men who wait for a woman to cook and clean for them and get their life in order, men who don't have the balls to deal with things like mature adults. How pathetic.

I commend the men out there who don't have double standards. I have been fortunate enough to meet a number of them in my lifetime, and I will never again waste my time with anyone else. I don't expect people to be perfect, but if you pretend to be someone you are not, don't expect to get my sympathy, and if you don't know how to respect a woman, then don't expect me to give you any respect. There are some people who deserve nothing more than a big kick in the ass! I may be a woman, but there is no end to my anger at men like him.

Play with me

2006-03-19T11:38:00.000-08:00

Why do we forget to play? I have always been somewhat of a child at heart. Even as a supposed adult thrust into an overly serious job, I never neglect the significance of play. Our binary construct between child and adult has crippled so many people, leaving them bitter and unfulfilled. Wordsworth wrote about the loss of innocence and the gaining of wisdom, and critics still argue over Wordsworth's particular feelings about the matter. Was he saddened at the loss of innocence? Did he feel satisfied with the process of aging - or were all of his nature- worshipping poems his attempt to go back, to re-experience the childishness he could never again know in real life? We are all disturbed by our own mortality, and the process of aging is the most deliberate reminder of our tragedy, but we do not lose all of our innocence until we choose to do so. We are all vunerable youths at heart, but many of us build walls and bury that part of ourselves beneath pain and emotions. These things are not destined to get the better of us. We control our own sense of wonder. As children, we don't know how to choose, and as adults, we often lose belief in our own power. To maintain the child's faith while developing an adult's ability to choose is my personal understanding of enlightenment. There is a time to be a child, and there is a time to be an adult. But that time is not so linear. It is the constantly shifting and spiraling nature of reality.

"In case you're wondering, I'm singing about growing up,
about giving up and giving in." (Alkaine Trio)

Without words

2006-03-16T11:56:00.000-08:00

I just starting teaching my favorite novel that I get to teach: Haroun and the Sea of Stories, so in light of my new excitement, I thought I might post one of my favorite pieces I have written. The theme of language as a complex and paradoxical, but completely necessary process is what drives me in the pursuit of liteary study. So, here goes...

I.

I like to say words
like universe and passion
and relativity,
words that mock the very letters
they are made of.

Only fools believe in language.
Only the rational speak in tongues.

The Bible is only a word
but it has inspired
Love, Murder, Hate.

We tell our children stories
because we want an excuse
to hear them again.

Communication causes war.

No encyclopedia of idioms could explain
the thoughts I have when I see my reflection.

Still, there is a monster inside me
that can only escape through my pen.
I have the need to release her,
to expel her.
Only then can I begin to see
what I really meant
to say.

II.

I like to say words
like shit and fuck and
goddam,
words that impact because
they are vile,
words that remind us
taboos are fairy tales,
and life is the break

between pages.

Forget about it

2006-03-10T11:09:00.000-08:00

Long term memory is overated.
Changes keep changing.
And we worry about defining ourselves.
Drilling, nailing, sticking, binding...
Why do we keep piecing ourselves together?
Moments are what matter, not us
or our dreams or visions or regrets.
Who cares if one moment isn't perfect?
Who cares if we are understood?
Why worry about certainty or stability?
From a literal standpoint, we are all mad,
madly creating categories and realities
all of which fail the test of time.
Memory deludes us.
Time assumes us.
We are the energy
surrounding ourselves.
We cannot be separately defined
or remembered.
Explanations are falisifications.
We are particles and waves,
a continually moving force.
There is nothing to understand.
There is only freedom of movement.

And so it begins...

2006-03-08T11:25:00.000-08:00

I ended my last post craving a new adventure, and no sooner did I utter those syllables than they became possibilities. I won't go into the details, but I will say that I am a believer in the fact that your attitude determines your reality. What you believe is possible is what becomes possible.

And as far as the age old head/heart contrast, I have to admit that neither one is all that foolproof for decision making. Instincts are our true guides; we just don't always value them enough. I second guess my instincts too often, when the truth is, they are the only simple piece of my psyche. So from now on, I am listening to my guts. They may not always be elegant or evolved, but they are honest.

On a cheery note, it's a sunny Wednesday, and spring is lurking lustfully around the corner.

Here's a collaborative piece written by the aid of Spanish wine and Budweiser:

Sitting on the front porch
watching the world waste away
into fragments of sunshine,
I think if we were to go through a second innocence
would it really be a second innocence
We see history repeat, but with no acknowledgement
until we experience it ourselves
There's a bounty of knowledge out there
but when will we learn to appreciate and understand
in order to save ourselves from the misuse of our mistakes.
Only time will tell the truth we will behold. The
rise and fall of mankind. The day we
come to realize how trivial and puny our little
lives are. A fart in the wind.

(And Joe, perhaps you can guess which person wrote each section).

Confessions and lessons

2006-03-03T11:15:00.000-08:00

"My, my, what a mess we've made
of our pretty little heads these days...
My, my, what a mess we've made
of our precious little lives these days." (Alkaline Trio)

I admit it; I've made a mess of things lately. I am not sure how it all started. The rug was swept out from underneath me, and like a scrambling rodent, I have been running around in circles. And dammit, once again, my actions always affect others. I have lost track of the chain reaction of everything. All I know is that nothing is simple. This world is a web much too thick for me to comprehend. Every time I try to trace the path of madness, I end up back where I began, only to repeat the cycle again. I am dizzy and sick of going in circles. I am just going to sit down and apologize to anyone who got caught up in the whirlwind I was whizzing through. I am not the only one to blame, but I can only begin to understand myself, and I take responsibility for my part in the chaos.

Now is the time to start a new cycle.

I feel the freedom of change loosening itself over me. I am not going to struggle.
I have learned a few lessons:

(1) There are people you can communicate with, and there are people you should give up on. I try way too hard when it's obvious there is nothing I can do. Perhaps I hope I can offset other people's lack of action by my own overaction, but that is futile. Everyone is responsible for themself. I am going to pay more attention to the signs and not blame myself for an inability to break through every struggle I encounter. Communication is always a two-sided process, and I am only one human being.

(2) Peace and harmony are ideals that are rarely existent. I need to appreciate the moments they occur, but I can't expect them to remain. Life is struggle, and people are torrents of wind raging at each other all the time. It is not my responsbility to calm the winds. But it would make my life a hell of a lot easier if I could learn to float on these winds sometimes.

(3) Repitition is a constant. How many times do I have to keep learning the same lessons over and over. Why can't I let go and relax and realize that I am not to blame for the whole world? I am only a tiny piece in this web of eternity. I may have an impact on it, but I am not in control of every piece. I can only control myself. That's hard enough anyways.

(4) Meditation is a must for mental workaholics like myself. The only problem is, I haven't a clue how to meditate, and I abhor wasting time for anything unadventurous.

(5) Grattitude is always undermined. I have a lot to be thankful for. The more we focus on our rewards, the more likely we are to reap more. Attitude and gratitude need to harmonize in my mind.

With these many thoughts in mind, I now go out to meet the world.

"Let it go." "Let it be." "Free your mind." "Sieze the day."

Zen Buddhists believe that inaction is somehow more powerful than action. I don't really understand, but I know if I keep fighting, I am sure to destroy myself. Is anyone enlightened enough to explain to me how inaction is different from laziness, because I would rather be dead than to sit by and let my life go on without me.

I am going to let go for now and admit that I have hit my losses, but as soon as I find something worth fighting for, I am back in the game. It's about time for a new adventure.

Why I hate Mondays and love myself

2006-02-27T11:07:00.000-08:00

I am kind of afraid this blogspot may become a bitchspot for me, so I apologize to any actual readers. Some days, I have to write in order to release anger/ anxiety / stress, and yes, this is one of those days.

Why I hate teaching -
- because some kids are just pains in the ass. I just had to listen to a whining brat repeat back to me over and over her version of what I said after reading part of her essay. I told her to bring a tape recorder next time. She can't deal with receiving an 89 because I read part of it beforehand, and I guess I was supposed to tell her everything then. I also told her not to expect me to write her essay. Note that I only read part of her damn essay to start with and most of what she had points deducted from were from the part I hadn't read. Anyways, I won't bore you with the details anymore; let's just say the kid is a pain in the ass.
I honestly think I am an open-minded person, but it blows my mind sometimes how ignorant these kids can be, and yet the think they are so justified and so right. They are so goddam dramatic. Most days, I just wish they would grow up. Was I really that stupid at that age? Probably, but that just pisses me off more.
- because after days of being sick and finally recovering, my throat now hurts from yelling at my 2nd period class. I think I might actually buy a tape recorder so that I can hit "play" instead of repeating myself 300 fucking times a day. Honestly, I want to hit "play" just for the dramatic effect. That is one thing these kids seem to relate to. Maybe I should make a pair of dumbo ears for the room and make the kids who ask me something I have already repeated ten times before wear them. I will at least make them look like a dumbass when they act like one.

So, why do I hate Mondays? Because they signal the beginning of the everdroning sense of routine, the start of another work week, the repitition of the system we are enslaved to. Today, I will quote Saves the Day: "Everbody's working, waiting for the week to end." What a beautiful vision of life. We are all just WAITING most of the time. Why can't we really live; why don't we live in the moment? because 2/3 of our time is spent waiting to be somewhere else.
Sometimes I think I dissasociate myself so that I don't have to live in whatever dreaded moment I am in. I go through the motions (after all, we get so used to our routines that we live them mechanically), while I am all the time dreaming of what my moment will be like when I get to actually live it.

Don't get me wrong; I think work is very important. BUT, there are many different things we need to dedicate working to in life, not just our jobs. Of course, most people don't have the time or energy to dedicate to anything else because they are so drained from the monotony and stress of their jobs. So, they come home, sit in front of the television, and put off living even more because the last thing they feel like doing is more work. And, if they are bad off enough, they get a prescription to medicate themselves so they no longer remember why they are so drained and disatisfied in the first place. It's a vicious cycle, and this country has been profiting off it for some time now.

So, what can we do? Personally, I think bitching is kind of important particularly because more and more people are becomming mindlessly medicated. They cry of modern America, as Green Day eoloquently puts it is "Give me novacaine." To me, anything is better than boredom, and I believe that is the case for us all, but not everyone will fight against it.

Here is my advice:

Fuck work as much as you can. Learn what you can get away with and do it. Make the most of your time. Throw away your goddam television set if you don't have the strength to avoid being sucked into it. Feel your emotions instead of trying to avoid them. Speak your mind even if nobody agrees. Cry. Scream. Breathe. Laugh. Make love. Spin around in circles and act like you are a kid. Touch yourself. Eat ice cream. Break traditions. Apologize. Get high. Write a poem even if it sucks. Headbang. Blast your music and sing at the top of your lungs. Surround yourself with people you like. Tell them why you like them. Go for a walk. Go for a run. Make jokes. Laugh at yourself. Burn your calendar/ planner / pom pilot when you have completed your tasks. Ride rollercoasters. Express yourself in as many ways as you can. Be yourself. Believe yourself. Question authority. Become authority. Answer people who question you. Question yourself. Answer yourself. Talk to yourself. Listen to yourself. Papmper yourself. Figure out what makes you happy and do it. Figure out who makes you happy and do them. Enjoy it when you bleed because you know you are alive. Appreciate it when you fuck up because you can always learn something from it. Do something that makes you uncomfortable and then laugh. Laugh until you cry and then laugh again. Fuck politics. Figure out how to influence people in positive ways. Forgive yourself. Admit you are afraid. Fuck money. Make money and then laugh at it. Learn about your heritage. Dream. Dream again. Dance...

And don't forget to say, "fuck."

I should have been grading journals. I just wasted my planning period writing this post. Congratulations, I lived for a moment on Monday. Fuck Monday. I am alive.

Live

2006-02-25T15:25:00.000-08:00

liveinthemomentliveinthemomentliveinthemomentliveinthemomentliveinthemomentliveinthemomentliveinthemomentliveinthemomentliveinthemoment

Open up and say "Aha!"

2006-02-25T10:06:00.000-08:00

After all of my references to e.e. cummings, I decided to include my favorite poem. Of course, I have many favorites, but the following poem has both been an inspiration to me and has summed up my personal philosophy of life.

Since feeling is first,
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you,
holy to be a fool
while spring is in the world
and kisses are a far better fate than wisdom
Lady I swear by all flowers
the best gesture of your brain is less
than youe eyelids' flutter
which says we are for each other
then laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life is not a paragraph
and death, i think, is no parenthesis

It may not come as a surprise, if you don't already know, I am an English teacher. As a matter of fact, I am sitting in my 10th grade classroom right now on a Saturday afternoon. My students are watching a video on Ancient Greece, while I am dreaming of being other places. This is one thing I am certain to have in common with them today. I wish I could share e.e. cummings with them. Even though I am a high school English teacher, I rarely teach the material I truly love. I am not saying the students are incapable of responding to the material I love; I simply don't think they would receive any enjoyment out of it. I have felt isolation many times in my life, largely due to my interests.

The above poem is one of the more accessible e.e. cummings poems. Many of his works are almost illegible. I have never even attempted to read his novel, titled Enormous Room, because it is such an experimental piece of writing.

I think when people meet me, they typically see me as much more normal than I am. I can fit into normal society, but I have rarely related to most of its material. In fact, I have always wondered why I am drawn to such "odd" individuals, people who see life from an entirely unique perspectives, people who push boundaries to the limit, people who are often excluded or destructive to themselves or others. I don't look like one of those people, but in truth, I am, at least in spirit. I do recognize the importance of appearance, so if you see me, you wouldn't think, 'O, that person is an outcast!" On the surface, I seem quite normal, and I can play the part when I need to, but it is so nice to be around people who are themselves and are not like everyone else.

The people who really annoy me, though, are the ones who desperately try to be odd. You can always tell when a person tries too hard.

My question for today is, does anyone really "fit in?" Are we easily confined to categories? Is it the majority that constructs categories or is it the majority that abolishes these categories?

Personally, I think people are rarely true to themselves, so how would we ever know if the ' real them" fit in or not? It would be interesting if we could actually find out. I suppose the more answerable question is, why do people care so much if they fit in or not, so much that they don't even discover who they are?

Once again, I am thinking of boundaries and categories. Without them, we fould fail to communicate or make sense of the world, but when we place too much stake in them, we lose the luxury of individuality. I would prefer to live ina world where race, gender, sexuality, etc. were not classified. After all, many of our boundaries only limit our way of seeing the world, and the world, as far as I can tell, is one huge fucking place.

Why can't we open our eyes a little more? There is so much to see/be.

Where I end and you begin

2006-02-22T08:46:00.000-08:00

To those of you responsible for suggesting I write a blog, you will NOW pay the consequences...

I have always done a lot of writing, but it is usually private. I've never been one to absorb advice. I'm pretty sure that is something I should change about myself. Lately, I have been more private than I can remember being. Usually, I share my thoughts in conversation, but my thoughts and concerns have been too muddled with the people I have been spending my time with to share them. Am I making a mess of things, or am I just transitioning? Unfortunately, I am not isolated in my thoughts - even if I choose not to share them. Other people are always affected by the things I do and say - and the things I don't do or say. Usually, this power is motivating to me, but lately, it is just confusing. I have a higher threshold for pain and pleasure than a lot of people. Where do my obligations to myself end and where do they begin for everyone else I encounter? The golden rule has never quite settled with me: to treat others as I want to be treated seems unlikely to please others. And what about all of the people who don't even know how they want to be treated? There has to be a better piece of advice out there...

The serenity prayer has become my mantra, though I am a sad amatuer at mastering it: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom always to tell the difference.

And of course, without the one man I always listen to, e.e. cummings, I would be a much less developed version of my true self: "Love is the every only god..."
(I take advice from books rather than people. Books seem less threatening and more objective.)

I have always placed all of my faith in love. Dogma, rules, games, institutions - these things are all man-made, but love seems to flow from a higher source. It is the most divine human experience. Perhaps I have worshipped it blindly, without stopping to see it as it is:
"Love is never any better than the lover." (Toni Morrison)

Human love is the most divine experience, but it is conseuqently also the most crippling and disheveling experience. That is always the order of the universe. I know these things, yet I have still ignorantly tried to separate love from the rest of the mortal world. I've tried to pick it and keep it for myself. But, as all great poets and mystics and family members say, that is not the nature of love. Real love DOES go against the odds and the formulas because real love waits for NOTHING. It is love for the sake of love, not for romance or dreams or bliss or passion; real love is quiet and dull. How many of us have experienced this sort of love? I have only tapped at the source of this kind of love, but I am far from being Mother Theresa. In fact, I'd say I am much more like Madonna. Life is to be lived/loved, to saturate my senses with, to dive into with little hesitation or forethought, to breathe in without breathing out, until, one day the madness of it all envelops me and takes me back to that dull and quiet place. I want nothing less than the full spectrum of life. But - what is the cost of this sort of life? Everything I have seen or known or studied must be balanced in order to persevere. I don't want to burn myself out and become yet another tragic hero. (If only Icarus could have known his limits.) If only I were a mathematician, then maybe I could create a formula for the serenity prayer. Right now I am learning my limits.

In youth, we mostly think of ourselves, but as we age and expand, we begin (hopefully) to recognize our connection with the rest of the world. I am not afraid of responsibility, but I am deathly afraid of stagnation.

"I'd rather teach one rose how to sing than teach 10,00 stars how not to dance." (e.e. cummings)
Action and movement are qualities I admire. Freedom is a word with too many definitions...

Boundaries are a necessary part of human society, but I prefer to peel them away as much as possible, that is, without harming others. It is hard enough to figure out what you want for yourself, and now I am trying to figure out how to balance my desires with the rest of the world. I am skeptical that we ever fully know ourselves, so how can we possibly know one another?

If instincts are our greatest tools, then why have we worked so hard to conceal them?

I want to be a part of this world instead of spending most of my energy being romanced away from it. This life is magnificent because it is real and as mysterious as any fantasy world I could ever construct. It is the life in which magical inventions are created daily, in which human hearts crack and bruise and still beat on, in which strange and unfathomable events occur, reminding us all the time of both our frailty and our heroism, of the undeniable human capacity to be both a dreamer or a sleeper, a warrior or a prisoner, a lover or a killer; a life, in fact, in which we may be all of these things in the right moment, or perhaps even all of these things in one moment, a life in which endless possibilities exist and in which boundaries are mostly artificial.

God grant me the courage to ride these waves of possibility to their limits and the serenity to flow with them as they shift and reform into new waves.

We seek so many answers for this life, and we so rarely live it.

Honesty is a virtue. To be true to ourselves is to be true to the universe. There is a time for questioning and a time for catharsis. Matthew Arnold once said, "He who finds himself loses misery." I must amend these words: SHe who finds he(r)self loses all else, and in that loss, gains eternity.

I need to stop questioning and start sharing. It is time to exhale...

let it go - the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise - let it go it
was sworn to
go

let them go - the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers - you must let them go they
were born
to go

let all go - the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things - let all go
dear
so comes love

(e.e. cummings)

Note: Where I end and you begin is infinity.............................................................................................