Why don't I hug her?
Why can't I love her?
Criss-crossed and mis-matched
*
Joys of life
A deep inside fear
An emptiness waiting to be filled by death
*
I want to wear comfy black hoodies
I want a job which doesn't consume the fun of life everywhere in my body
I want independence from family & friends
I want a trim haircut
I want to choose my wife, choose when to have kids, and choose a home
I want to understand the famous works of writers and historical people
I want detachment from defensiveness, anger, ego, and aggression
I want to work hard
I want that all-consuming, biting, itching desire to work
I want to create - with humor, thoughtfulness, and emotional catharsis
I want to ignore the drones of the ordinary, and find the real humanness of people
I want to uplift nice people, live next to good people
I want to stand clear from cultural revolutions - so I don't lose my humanness
I want to find and absorb art that causes an emotional reaction within me
I want to drop out of society - because society cannot be civilized
I want to create and disseminate - to change people's lives for the better
I want to stay fit and strong to enjoy life's active moments
I want to read in my own home
I want to work everyday - and avoid leisure as much as possible
I want a clean home, clean rooms, clean floors, washed and fresh bedsheets
I want to cook for myself
I do not want to smoke
I do not want to binge on alcohol
I do not want to associate with hard drugs or the lifestyle
I want to discard reputations, and fulfill commitments
I want to be ready to die at any moment
I want to wear t-shirts and jeans
I'd like good health well into old age
I'd like to breath deeply more often
I'd like to treat people with friendship
I'd like to find something worth living for, grab it, and do my best not to let go
I'd like to not die with regrets
*
Sometimes I realize death is the final end of life, and the stripping away of consciousness terrifies me.
People enjoy living. People are scared to die. Death is the end of all of us. Nothing nor no one can change our end.
Maybe if we live well, have a good time, and love and take care of the people who love us back, we'd pass away a lot easier.
And then commitments to reality turn us back. Shortcomings block progression. The courses of others cut our own. We fail.
*
Cotton dress
Button-down brown pants
Young and in love
Like fish in a pond
*
Cry because you're hurt
Cry to get away
Move your body
To get out of the truly
Endless cycles
*
Let people live their lives. Keep fantasy away from a paradigm.
*
[doggerel that I like]
Soft and spoken
Like an elegant-scented
Crystal prism bath
Carried further than a line
Caught between two growing lies
Spread default canyon soaking overseas
Without cause, a harmless breeze
Shifts the moon ninety degrees
Hollows-out shopping sprees
Leaflets polluting blue-white skies
Woman resting on your thighs
Hugs and ammo, secret yellow
Tore a cloth, ripped seams
Yellow blankets, Christmas dreams
Silent dawn, midnight yellow
Raise a flag, raise a flag
Clap for another man
Sweat drip in your eyes
Wiped with an orange tee
Split a bottle of forty ounce
Drink so hard you throw up
Take the hose, turn it on
Fill up on preferred people
*
She gets up
Those boys get down
Hopeless birds
Follow her around
I say that's enough
And storm out of the crowd
Wait outside
Sit on the ground
*
I haven't been posting much because I'm fed up. Mostly I'm fed up with the status quo.
School begins this Thursday, and it marks the beginning of a new life. I know I cannot continue on here as I have before, because now is the most important time in my life so far. I cannot waste time. I cannot fail anymore.
I've been trying to figure out who I am and what I want.
I want to learn the complicated theories of writers and explorers. I want the full breadth of human understanding. I want everything the past can give to me.
My posting will be limited indefinitely. Not because I have to, but because I want to.
I said earlier that I'm fed up with the status quo. I'm frustrated by meaningless straying from my life of purpose. I want to grow, and mature, and fill my head with knowledge. I want to become a better version of myself. I want to grow up, and find areas of life I don't even know about. I want to stand for something, by myself. I want a really good life of exploration, hard work, and fulfillment. I want meaning. I want something deeper.
Dying terrifies me. I don't want to die. One day I will. I want to be happy to die. I want to die peacefully. At least I can try to change that.
That's all.
*
"As for me, I throw myself into my work and keep an eye peeled for silver lunch trucks, and I remember. I sometimes walk in the rain without an umbrella. When I see change on the sidewalk, I leave it there. If no one's looking, I drop a quarter. I feel guilty when I buy a card from Hallmark. I listen for mockingbirds.
"I read the newspapers. I read them from all over. I skip the front pages and headlines and go to the pages in back. I read the community sections and the fillers. I see little acts of kindness happening from Maine to California. I read of a man in Kansas City who stands at a busy intersection every morning and waves at the people driving to work. I read of a little girl in Oregon who sells lemonade in front of her house for five cents a cup - and offers a free back scratch to every customer.
"When I read about things like these I wonder, Is she there? I wonder what she calls herself now. I wonder if she's lost her freckles. I wonder if I'll ever get another chance. I wonder, but I don't despair. Though I have no family of my own, I do not feel alone. I know that I am being watched. The echo of her laughter is the second sunrise I awaken to each day, and at night I feel it is more than starts looking down on me. Last month, one day before my birthday, I received a gift-wrapped package in the mail. It was a porcupine necktie."
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Friday, September 6, 2013
Socializing
My two friends and I went to the A this afternoon. Sort of a last
minute plan. We met around seven, when the sun was setting. I
brought the two notepads I write songs in to show to my musician friend. He took
them home to read. There's about 35 songs.
We get to the top, and it's already night. The city lights blink and flicker on. High on the horizon, miles away, we can see the skyscrapers of LA, and the orange glow hanging around the city.
My friend and I decide it's too hot. We take off our shirts. Mine was wet. We sit on top of a water resevoir - like a flat land of concrete - and stare out at the city lights.
Our other friend took a picture of us shirtless, holding up peace signs. Ironically, I guess. Or maybe not. The background is washed-out black, you can't really make-out our faces. However, I think it's my favorite picture I have with that friend.
An older, middle-aged man approaches us. He's got a blinding white headlamp and carries two walking poles. He's wearing knee pads and a loaded backpack. His hiking boots are big.
And for some reason, we get into a conversation with this guy. It begins with talks of mountain lions, and bears, and coyotes. Then we skip over to traffic accidents, and airline disasters, mentioning guns somewhere along the way. He talks over us sometimes. He gets onto rails so much that he sometimes ignores a question I ask. It's impossible to derail him in the middle of a point. I'm trying to be nice to the guy. In my mind, I don't really care about this conversation. I don't care who this guy is, or what his opinions mean. I realize this guy doesn't affect my life in the slightest bit. And there's some power to that.
I gather a few things from him - either inferring or piecing together. He says he has a roommate. He talks about buying houses and flipping them for profit with his brother. His stories of camping in the Sierra Mountains include him and his friends. He seemed reluctant to leave.
Eventually we split the conversation and he leaves. A woman sits behind us on a different part of the concrete resevoir. She confidently chimes in when we're talking about getting Subway. We talk amongst ourselves some more and she leaves.
I comment on how I liked the fact that we didn't exchange names with that man. I couldn't describe how I felt right then to my friends. One of them said I felt romantic, but that wasn't the feeling. It felt more casual, yet more than small talk. I felt as if I stumbled into an honest encounter with another human being.
We head back down ten minutes later. Just for kicks, we piss off the edge of the trail down a steep incline into some bushes. It's black outside, so we need to carry flashlights.
We get around halfway down when we pass the same woman from before. I only glance at her. I see she's a young woman - around our age - and carries a flashlight on her wrist and wears a backpack. She stops to let us pass, and something inside me says, "Hey, this woman wanted to talk to you guys up at the top. Talk to her now." So as I pass her I say, "Are you the woman from before? Up there?" "Depends," she says. "Are you the same guys I talked to up there?" "Yeah, yeah we are." "How was the tarantula?" she asked. We spotted a big tarantula inside a hole near the resevoir. "We took a picture of it. Show it to her," I say to my friend. He starts to get his phone out. "How big was it?" "Not that big," my friend says. "Probably as big as your hand." "Yeah, if your hand was the size of a football," I joked. She was still thinking about the previous thing my friend said. "That's big!" She had a slight, high-pitched accent which I only noticed after a while.
Then I started asking her questions, and we got to talking. Somehow, intentionally, my two friends sped up ahead of us, and we were left going down the trail side-by-side.
Understand that I had no intentions when I first spoke to this woman. No expectations. No false realities in my head. I spoke to her knowing that nothing would come of it. I only felt like talking. Surprising,
We talked for twenty minutes about her life, and to a smaller extent, my life. She had a rushing rhythm of talking without pausing. I ask a simple question, and a whole story comes out.
In the dark, behind our flashlights, I could only get a vague sense of what she looks like. She was about 5'5''. She had dark hair, and a tan face. Most likely Latina. When I turned and saw her shadowed profile, I saw she had a slightly prominent and sharp nose. Her eyes brows were nicely well-kept, I noticed.
We had a bit in common. She told me she had gone to the same community college I went to. Inferring from her college history, she was 25 or 26. She talked about her job, and how losing her job two months ago helped her focus her life into more things she likes to do - such as hiking. She talked about hikes she's done: Santa Monica Mountains, Sierra Madre, a place that had a overhanging boulder called Balancing Rock. She talked about a trail in the Santa Monica Mountains - found in Malibu, I learned - which takes you all the way up the mountain, At the very top, she said, is a bench which looks out over the ocean. I imagine sitting on that bench - a small and yellow bench - and watching the sun melt into the horizon.
But at the back of my mind, the whole time I listened and asked questions, and followed-up with small 'yeahs' and 'uh-huhs,' I knew that whatever was happening, whatever this was, would not lead me anywhere. I would not start dating this girl because I asked questions and listened to her verbose answers. Judge me if you will. I've resolved myself to this fact: that the harder I try, the less I succeed. There's a power in not relying on other people to change your life for the better. There's a certain power in talking with someone whom you don't a shit about.
We got down to the base of the mountain at last. My friend was looking for his keys, and the woman stood next to us for a few moments. Then she quickly said, "Bye, it was nice talking to you." We said bye, and she left.
We went to Subway right after. Only one of my friends went. He commented about the girl. "So what were you guys talking about?" "Oh, just stuff," I said. We ordered from a very smiley employee - a woman probably in her late 20s. She joked with us a lot. I sometimes didn't understand what she was saying because of her choppy accent.
We sat down to eat. It was around 10 o'clock at that time. We started eating our sandwiches when the hiking girl came up again. "So, was she cute?" my friend asked. "It wasn't like that." "I know it wasn't," he said. "I just didn't care. I'm at a point now where I have no expectations that anything will happen with women." "You impressed me," he said. I asked him why. "Because you actually socialized with her. Some people can't just have a conversation with a woman. Sometimes I just wanna have a conversation with a girl - and not a flirty one. If I do have a normal conversation, someone always has to ask, 'Was she cute?' I'd say, 'Yeah, I guess.' Then they'd say, 'Then why didn't you get her number?' I wasn't trying to get her number, we were just talking." We laughed. He complimented me on how far my socializing skills have come. "What do you mean?" I said. "A few years ago," he said, "we were somewhere, a CVS or someplace, and we were at the check-out line." I interrupted him. "I know where you're going with this. I remember being angry at you for making a big deal out of this small story." He laughed. "We were at the CVS, listening to the music over the speakers. You were waiting to pay. The cashier was listening to the music, too. She was nodding her head a bit, and said, 'I really like this song.' And do you remember what you said?" I didn't remember exactly. "You said, 'Yeah.'" He couldn't help but laugh. "That's all you said. 'Yeah.' It was so rude." "So what?"I said. "I feel like that's such a minor detail, and you made a big deal about it." He finished, "Back then, I knew that you couldn't socialize around other people. Today, you proved that you actually can."
The smiley Subway lady came out from the back, and was dragging a plastic trash can to the door. I spotted her and said, "Do you need help?" She smiled, and meekly said yes.
We lifted it by the handles and stepped outside. It wasn't really heavy. I told her this, and she laughed. I also told her that because I work with my dad gardening, I'm used to lifting heavy trash cans around - you know, to dump out the grass clippings. We walked around the building to the dumpster. She opened the gate, and we lifted the can and dumped the trash. She thanked me about a billion times, and even offered me a free drink or juice - which I politely turned-down. I did, however, take up her offer to wash my hands at the sink.We then said a billion more thank yous and you're welcomes before I sat down to eat again.
When we left Subway, we went to a friend's small get-together. There were about 8 or 9 guys there, all of whom I knew. Most of whom I don't care for. I told a story, which went over well. I can't remember the last time that happened. (The story, in case you were wondering, was about a video of professional body builder Ronnie Coleman, right before a big lift, saying, "Everybody want to be a body builder, but ain't nobody want to lift this heavy ass weight!" And then proceeds to squat 800lbs.) Everything was chill at the get-together. I started to feel sleepy. Towards the end of the night, the guy I went to Subway with said to me, regarding the hiking girl again, and my rudeness at CVS years ago: "Today, you proved to me that you can socialize with other people and not be rude." "I don't have to prove anything to you anyway," I said, which I whole-heartedly meant. He said, "Well, you did it anyway!"
3:01 AM
We get to the top, and it's already night. The city lights blink and flicker on. High on the horizon, miles away, we can see the skyscrapers of LA, and the orange glow hanging around the city.
My friend and I decide it's too hot. We take off our shirts. Mine was wet. We sit on top of a water resevoir - like a flat land of concrete - and stare out at the city lights.
Our other friend took a picture of us shirtless, holding up peace signs. Ironically, I guess. Or maybe not. The background is washed-out black, you can't really make-out our faces. However, I think it's my favorite picture I have with that friend.
An older, middle-aged man approaches us. He's got a blinding white headlamp and carries two walking poles. He's wearing knee pads and a loaded backpack. His hiking boots are big.
And for some reason, we get into a conversation with this guy. It begins with talks of mountain lions, and bears, and coyotes. Then we skip over to traffic accidents, and airline disasters, mentioning guns somewhere along the way. He talks over us sometimes. He gets onto rails so much that he sometimes ignores a question I ask. It's impossible to derail him in the middle of a point. I'm trying to be nice to the guy. In my mind, I don't really care about this conversation. I don't care who this guy is, or what his opinions mean. I realize this guy doesn't affect my life in the slightest bit. And there's some power to that.
I gather a few things from him - either inferring or piecing together. He says he has a roommate. He talks about buying houses and flipping them for profit with his brother. His stories of camping in the Sierra Mountains include him and his friends. He seemed reluctant to leave.
Eventually we split the conversation and he leaves. A woman sits behind us on a different part of the concrete resevoir. She confidently chimes in when we're talking about getting Subway. We talk amongst ourselves some more and she leaves.
I comment on how I liked the fact that we didn't exchange names with that man. I couldn't describe how I felt right then to my friends. One of them said I felt romantic, but that wasn't the feeling. It felt more casual, yet more than small talk. I felt as if I stumbled into an honest encounter with another human being.
We head back down ten minutes later. Just for kicks, we piss off the edge of the trail down a steep incline into some bushes. It's black outside, so we need to carry flashlights.
We get around halfway down when we pass the same woman from before. I only glance at her. I see she's a young woman - around our age - and carries a flashlight on her wrist and wears a backpack. She stops to let us pass, and something inside me says, "Hey, this woman wanted to talk to you guys up at the top. Talk to her now." So as I pass her I say, "Are you the woman from before? Up there?" "Depends," she says. "Are you the same guys I talked to up there?" "Yeah, yeah we are." "How was the tarantula?" she asked. We spotted a big tarantula inside a hole near the resevoir. "We took a picture of it. Show it to her," I say to my friend. He starts to get his phone out. "How big was it?" "Not that big," my friend says. "Probably as big as your hand." "Yeah, if your hand was the size of a football," I joked. She was still thinking about the previous thing my friend said. "That's big!" She had a slight, high-pitched accent which I only noticed after a while.
Then I started asking her questions, and we got to talking. Somehow, intentionally, my two friends sped up ahead of us, and we were left going down the trail side-by-side.
Understand that I had no intentions when I first spoke to this woman. No expectations. No false realities in my head. I spoke to her knowing that nothing would come of it. I only felt like talking. Surprising,
We talked for twenty minutes about her life, and to a smaller extent, my life. She had a rushing rhythm of talking without pausing. I ask a simple question, and a whole story comes out.
In the dark, behind our flashlights, I could only get a vague sense of what she looks like. She was about 5'5''. She had dark hair, and a tan face. Most likely Latina. When I turned and saw her shadowed profile, I saw she had a slightly prominent and sharp nose. Her eyes brows were nicely well-kept, I noticed.
We had a bit in common. She told me she had gone to the same community college I went to. Inferring from her college history, she was 25 or 26. She talked about her job, and how losing her job two months ago helped her focus her life into more things she likes to do - such as hiking. She talked about hikes she's done: Santa Monica Mountains, Sierra Madre, a place that had a overhanging boulder called Balancing Rock. She talked about a trail in the Santa Monica Mountains - found in Malibu, I learned - which takes you all the way up the mountain, At the very top, she said, is a bench which looks out over the ocean. I imagine sitting on that bench - a small and yellow bench - and watching the sun melt into the horizon.
But at the back of my mind, the whole time I listened and asked questions, and followed-up with small 'yeahs' and 'uh-huhs,' I knew that whatever was happening, whatever this was, would not lead me anywhere. I would not start dating this girl because I asked questions and listened to her verbose answers. Judge me if you will. I've resolved myself to this fact: that the harder I try, the less I succeed. There's a power in not relying on other people to change your life for the better. There's a certain power in talking with someone whom you don't a shit about.
We got down to the base of the mountain at last. My friend was looking for his keys, and the woman stood next to us for a few moments. Then she quickly said, "Bye, it was nice talking to you." We said bye, and she left.
We went to Subway right after. Only one of my friends went. He commented about the girl. "So what were you guys talking about?" "Oh, just stuff," I said. We ordered from a very smiley employee - a woman probably in her late 20s. She joked with us a lot. I sometimes didn't understand what she was saying because of her choppy accent.
We sat down to eat. It was around 10 o'clock at that time. We started eating our sandwiches when the hiking girl came up again. "So, was she cute?" my friend asked. "It wasn't like that." "I know it wasn't," he said. "I just didn't care. I'm at a point now where I have no expectations that anything will happen with women." "You impressed me," he said. I asked him why. "Because you actually socialized with her. Some people can't just have a conversation with a woman. Sometimes I just wanna have a conversation with a girl - and not a flirty one. If I do have a normal conversation, someone always has to ask, 'Was she cute?' I'd say, 'Yeah, I guess.' Then they'd say, 'Then why didn't you get her number?' I wasn't trying to get her number, we were just talking." We laughed. He complimented me on how far my socializing skills have come. "What do you mean?" I said. "A few years ago," he said, "we were somewhere, a CVS or someplace, and we were at the check-out line." I interrupted him. "I know where you're going with this. I remember being angry at you for making a big deal out of this small story." He laughed. "We were at the CVS, listening to the music over the speakers. You were waiting to pay. The cashier was listening to the music, too. She was nodding her head a bit, and said, 'I really like this song.' And do you remember what you said?" I didn't remember exactly. "You said, 'Yeah.'" He couldn't help but laugh. "That's all you said. 'Yeah.' It was so rude." "So what?"I said. "I feel like that's such a minor detail, and you made a big deal about it." He finished, "Back then, I knew that you couldn't socialize around other people. Today, you proved that you actually can."
The smiley Subway lady came out from the back, and was dragging a plastic trash can to the door. I spotted her and said, "Do you need help?" She smiled, and meekly said yes.
We lifted it by the handles and stepped outside. It wasn't really heavy. I told her this, and she laughed. I also told her that because I work with my dad gardening, I'm used to lifting heavy trash cans around - you know, to dump out the grass clippings. We walked around the building to the dumpster. She opened the gate, and we lifted the can and dumped the trash. She thanked me about a billion times, and even offered me a free drink or juice - which I politely turned-down. I did, however, take up her offer to wash my hands at the sink.We then said a billion more thank yous and you're welcomes before I sat down to eat again.
When we left Subway, we went to a friend's small get-together. There were about 8 or 9 guys there, all of whom I knew. Most of whom I don't care for. I told a story, which went over well. I can't remember the last time that happened. (The story, in case you were wondering, was about a video of professional body builder Ronnie Coleman, right before a big lift, saying, "Everybody want to be a body builder, but ain't nobody want to lift this heavy ass weight!" And then proceeds to squat 800lbs.) Everything was chill at the get-together. I started to feel sleepy. Towards the end of the night, the guy I went to Subway with said to me, regarding the hiking girl again, and my rudeness at CVS years ago: "Today, you proved to me that you can socialize with other people and not be rude." "I don't have to prove anything to you anyway," I said, which I whole-heartedly meant. He said, "Well, you did it anyway!"
3:01 AM
Saturday, August 31, 2013
"I'm not counting anymore"
I'm going to my uncle's wedding. At least, it's sort of like a wedding. They're already married - have been, actually, for five years. They're getting married by the church, though. Which is surprising, because I thought they already married in the church. I don't follow the lives of my family very closely.
Rude people at Subway yesterday. When you're waiting for your order, you're supposed to line up to the right - at least away from the in-progress sandwich line. These people walked to the middle of the sandwich line and stayed there. When the lady asked who was next in line, I had to raise my hand and say me. Then I gave these people a hard stare. The guy said, "Go ahead," like I was offering him to order ahead of me. Fat chance. They didn't even move when my sandwich was being made. That really annoyed me. Fuck those people.
I ran into that Chinese lady again yesterday. The really nice one who said I was handsome. She said I was handsome again. Haha. She also patted me on the head three times. Really hard pats.
She was encouraging me to go to school and do well. She made a good point too. She said, using China as an example, that poor people in China come to America willing to do any job available to the lowest working class. They have children, and those children can go to school. "And it doesn't matter who parents are," she said, "the children have the opportunity to climb up social ladder to the top by going to school. From the bottom to the top in one generation," she emphasized. I agreed.
My father was watering her backyard, and pulled the hose awkwardly. A pot fell and broke. The lady said, "Don't worry about it, is okay." She was laughing. "I have that pot for twenty years, it's time I throw it out anyway." She saw that made my dad feel worse, so she said, "Don't worry, is okay." Then she started talking about getting my dad the business of the apartments across the street, but one of the tenants told her not to because their landlord was a frustrating, unreasonable person. The lady said, "I say, 'No, I don't want my gardener to have to argue with him. I like my gardener!'" And she laughed.
My friend from San Francisco burned me some CDs. This was one of the artists.
"Casiotone for the Painfully Alone - Destroy the Evidence"
Rude people at Subway yesterday. When you're waiting for your order, you're supposed to line up to the right - at least away from the in-progress sandwich line. These people walked to the middle of the sandwich line and stayed there. When the lady asked who was next in line, I had to raise my hand and say me. Then I gave these people a hard stare. The guy said, "Go ahead," like I was offering him to order ahead of me. Fat chance. They didn't even move when my sandwich was being made. That really annoyed me. Fuck those people.
I ran into that Chinese lady again yesterday. The really nice one who said I was handsome. She said I was handsome again. Haha. She also patted me on the head three times. Really hard pats.
She was encouraging me to go to school and do well. She made a good point too. She said, using China as an example, that poor people in China come to America willing to do any job available to the lowest working class. They have children, and those children can go to school. "And it doesn't matter who parents are," she said, "the children have the opportunity to climb up social ladder to the top by going to school. From the bottom to the top in one generation," she emphasized. I agreed.
My father was watering her backyard, and pulled the hose awkwardly. A pot fell and broke. The lady said, "Don't worry about it, is okay." She was laughing. "I have that pot for twenty years, it's time I throw it out anyway." She saw that made my dad feel worse, so she said, "Don't worry, is okay." Then she started talking about getting my dad the business of the apartments across the street, but one of the tenants told her not to because their landlord was a frustrating, unreasonable person. The lady said, "I say, 'No, I don't want my gardener to have to argue with him. I like my gardener!'" And she laughed.
My friend from San Francisco burned me some CDs. This was one of the artists.
"Casiotone for the Painfully Alone - Destroy the Evidence"
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Wrong Side of the Century
When you look into someone's eyes, and you see quietness.
When you piece together the strings, and you feel a bit of who they are.
When people have utility, and no pleasure.
When people look for meaning in the world.
When you're a teenager, and you want all these things to happen. Then they don't.
When you feel stuck in one mindset, one series of setbacks, one attitude.
Your eyes, they're quiet.
They're searching for utility. They're searching for something to do.
Desires and wants. Eagerness.
Ambiguity of kinda wrong.
Ambiguity of okay.
After so much talk, we're left dry of words, our selves come out. Our feelings remain.
And I'm lonely. I'm lonely in a quiet place.
At 22, you're meant to be lonely. But that's not what I was taught by TV and movies.
My eyes are quiet, too.
But they can still see.
I can't look inside anymore.
I want inside your eyes. I want inside your thoughts.
A swirl of desires and unspoken wants.
The yearning is struggle.
Struggle will not end.
Okay?
Who decided what I want?
When you piece together the strings, and you feel a bit of who they are.
When people have utility, and no pleasure.
When people look for meaning in the world.
When you're a teenager, and you want all these things to happen. Then they don't.
When you feel stuck in one mindset, one series of setbacks, one attitude.
Your eyes, they're quiet.
They're searching for utility. They're searching for something to do.
Desires and wants. Eagerness.
Ambiguity of kinda wrong.
Ambiguity of okay.
After so much talk, we're left dry of words, our selves come out. Our feelings remain.
And I'm lonely. I'm lonely in a quiet place.
At 22, you're meant to be lonely. But that's not what I was taught by TV and movies.
My eyes are quiet, too.
But they can still see.
I can't look inside anymore.
I want inside your eyes. I want inside your thoughts.
A swirl of desires and unspoken wants.
The yearning is struggle.
Struggle will not end.
Okay?
Who decided what I want?
Monday, August 26, 2013
22 Miles Into the Mountains
We went to this place called Crystal Lake in the Angeles National Forest. It's 22 miles into the San Gabriel Mountains, up highway 39.
A wildfire burned much of the forest a few years ago. Recently, they've begun to open some areas again. You see remnants of burnt trees, ashen logs, bare and dry landscape.
The mountain is recovering, slowly.
A wildfire burned much of the forest a few years ago. Recently, they've begun to open some areas again. You see remnants of burnt trees, ashen logs, bare and dry landscape.
The mountain is recovering, slowly.
 |
8-22-13
3:15 PM
A and I just returned from trying to split a stump in half. We were scavenging wood while M and C slept in the tent.
We spent forty-five minutes in the sun trying to split a stump. We were smashing small rocks into cracks in the wood. We already did it with a smaller, more brittle stump. This one was a bigger, thicker piece of solid wood. We tried everything to split it open. There was a piece of rebar lying around some broken parking blocks. Even the steel bent when we tried prying the wood with it. We tried throwing it against big sharp rocks. It took the both of us to pick it up and throw it. It still wouldn't crack.
There was a dry riverbed nearby. We tossed the stump in there and it fell six feet onto jagged rock. Still not any significant damage.
Finally, we were exhausted and didn't know what else to do, so we threw rocks at it, and kicked it. . .
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| Crystal Lake. |
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| Alongside. |
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| He skipped stones for the first time. |
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| New saplings. Grow big and strong, you guys! |
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| "After fire and years of drought, Crystal Lake re-earns its name." |
The End!
Friday, August 23, 2013
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
The Day Before I Go Camping
Just a recap of my day. Nothing too big.
There weren't any water bottles in the house, so I had to go to the supermarket at 9 pm to get some. A surprising amount of people shopping at night.
I was at the store buying food with friends today. You know, camping food such as chips, chocolate, booze. Just kidding, no booze. Anyway, we were at the check-out line when the cashier says, "Oh. Yeah, this woman accidentally bought some of your stuff." We were like, What? "Are these your things?" the cashier asked. They were ours. "This woman accidentally bought some of your things. That's why you put the rubber down." What happened was that we had put the rubber bar down after the lady's things, but before the cashier finished checking-out everything, we had picked it up and moved it behind the rest of our things. The cashier seemed a bit annoyed. My friend said to me, "Why is she being so mean to us?" But she wasn't being mean, not really. She was annoyed, definitely, and a bit condescending. I said, "It's okay. Guys, it's okay." I felt like the only adult in my group of friends who reacted appropriately to the accidental situation. It also helped that the lady who bought our things was very, very nice about it, and she perfectly understood the whole thing was an accident. She seemed embarrassed more than angry; she was smiling sheepishly a lot. The lady had to go to customer service to clear the charges on her card, and my other friend had to go with her. After that had been settled, the cashier seemed to relax. We chatted for a bit, friendly even, and that was that.
Packing all these things for camping is really tiresome.
Deadlifted today. New personal record (I think) of 245 lbs. That was cool.
I had a text conversation with someone really cool today. I've known her for years, yet I've never had a direct conversation with her. She's wonderfully special, quite weird, and really cute. She's just about the sweetest thing in the world, and despite her struggles in life, she makes the best of what she has. At her core, a lovely, lively human being. I think you'd like her.
It's strange, but I'm not really good at text conversation. Why is that strange? I don't know. Considering my levels of social skills, it shouldn't be surprising.
The only time I text is when I'm planning something with my friends, or when I'm confirming plans. I don't know how to converse with text. It feels like I force everything.
Communicating with people is weird. The method of communication can dictate the boundaries of connection, and when that changes, the connection must adapt to fit the new methods of communication. Otherwise, what? I don't know. Rather, I don't want to really think about it.
This method of communication - blogging - is only one way to get to know somebody. Any worthwhile communication takes time and patience. For me, I try my best to improve - slowly, but surely.
There weren't any water bottles in the house, so I had to go to the supermarket at 9 pm to get some. A surprising amount of people shopping at night.
I was at the store buying food with friends today. You know, camping food such as chips, chocolate, booze. Just kidding, no booze. Anyway, we were at the check-out line when the cashier says, "Oh. Yeah, this woman accidentally bought some of your stuff." We were like, What? "Are these your things?" the cashier asked. They were ours. "This woman accidentally bought some of your things. That's why you put the rubber down." What happened was that we had put the rubber bar down after the lady's things, but before the cashier finished checking-out everything, we had picked it up and moved it behind the rest of our things. The cashier seemed a bit annoyed. My friend said to me, "Why is she being so mean to us?" But she wasn't being mean, not really. She was annoyed, definitely, and a bit condescending. I said, "It's okay. Guys, it's okay." I felt like the only adult in my group of friends who reacted appropriately to the accidental situation. It also helped that the lady who bought our things was very, very nice about it, and she perfectly understood the whole thing was an accident. She seemed embarrassed more than angry; she was smiling sheepishly a lot. The lady had to go to customer service to clear the charges on her card, and my other friend had to go with her. After that had been settled, the cashier seemed to relax. We chatted for a bit, friendly even, and that was that.
Packing all these things for camping is really tiresome.
Deadlifted today. New personal record (I think) of 245 lbs. That was cool.
I had a text conversation with someone really cool today. I've known her for years, yet I've never had a direct conversation with her. She's wonderfully special, quite weird, and really cute. She's just about the sweetest thing in the world, and despite her struggles in life, she makes the best of what she has. At her core, a lovely, lively human being. I think you'd like her.
It's strange, but I'm not really good at text conversation. Why is that strange? I don't know. Considering my levels of social skills, it shouldn't be surprising.
The only time I text is when I'm planning something with my friends, or when I'm confirming plans. I don't know how to converse with text. It feels like I force everything.
Communicating with people is weird. The method of communication can dictate the boundaries of connection, and when that changes, the connection must adapt to fit the new methods of communication. Otherwise, what? I don't know. Rather, I don't want to really think about it.
This method of communication - blogging - is only one way to get to know somebody. Any worthwhile communication takes time and patience. For me, I try my best to improve - slowly, but surely.
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