Wed, Sep. 9th, 2009, 01:11 am
Sometimes I just sit here, staring at a blank word document, piling through ideas in my mind, deciding which one is worthy enough to be written about. But more often than not, I can't seem to find any idea that has legs strong enough to hold up the title of 'worthy.'
These thoughts, these stories flow in and out of my mind, but to put them into coherent sentences seems too daunting a task. I have become so obsessed with writing something great, that I am unable to write anything at all for fear of it being less than amazing. That sounds stupid, un-profound, and heavily laden with bullshit.
Two sides of my brain fighting for dominance. Constantly comparing notes between cynical elitism, and blind empathy. The opposing sides are both riddled with bits of truth, but never a straight answer. Metaphors and gestures syncopate a deafening cry for some kind of honesty; any kind of honesty. Something untouched by the analytical cascade that stands at the forefront of incoming information.
And as the future gets closer and closer, the choices we make start to become monumental decisions that shape the outcome of our lives. I have felt pangs of complete sadness, and touched the best pieces of real happiness, yet I am no closer to any kind of answer, or any kind of footnote that will give away the next few years. I want so badly to see how it all ends, but at the same time, I don't want to ruin the fun.
It's like I'm stuck in this whirlwind of options, and choices, terrified I'm going to pick the wrong one. Have I become so afraid of making a decision, I'm actually unable to? It sure feels like it. These walls are closing in, and this water is over my head; drowning me slowly in the midst of greatness. I can almost feel it, see it, and taste it, but as I reach my hand out into the darkness grasping for something, anything to hold onto, all I feel is the air blowing through my fingers, and tickling the palm of my hand.
So here I sit, for the first time in a long time, knowing exactly who I want to be, but having no idea how to get there. Sure, I can see a blurry mess of a potential future, but I'm miles from anything conclusive. The definition of 'who I am,' and 'what I do' is no longer a simple question and answer. I “want to be and want to do” a lot of different things; yet defining what exactly “it” is seems inconceivable, and I'm not really sure why. I feel the need to wipe the slate clean, start over from scratch, without any pre-conceived notions, or grandiose expectations in my line of site.
Thu, Feb. 21st, 2008, 03:35 pm
LA LA LA
HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAUREN!!!
I LOVE YOU!!!
there are worse things than
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
ONE. Give people more than they expect.
TWO. Marry someone you love to talk to.
THREE. Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have or sleep all you want.
FOUR. When you say, 'I love you,' mean it.
FIVE. When you say, 'I'm sorry,' mean it too.
SIX. Be with someone long enough to know what it means to need them.
SEVEN. Believe in love with a first kiss.
EIGHT. Never laugh at anyone's dreams. People who don't have dreams don't have much.
NINE. Love deeply and passionately. You might get hurt but it's the only way to live life completely.
TEN. All is not fair in love and war.
ELEVEN. Don't judge people by their relatives.
TWELVE. Talk slowly but think quickly.
THIRTEEN. Sometimes the hard thing and the right thing are the same thing.
FOURTEEN. Remember that great love and great achievements involve great risk.
FIFTEEN. Say 'bless you' when you hear someone sneeze.
SIXTEEN. When you lose, don't lose the reasons.
SEVENTEEN. Remember the three R's: Respect for self; Respect for others; and Responsibility for all your actions.
EIGHTEEN. Don't let the words you scream in anger ruin the years you build with those you love.
NINETEEN. The only thing we ever really own is our truth.
TWENTY. Everything is always changing. Fighting the change is about as helpful as cleaning dishes in muddy water.
TWENTY- ONE. Don't forget to spend some time alone. Those who need big crowds to feel at home, are covering for the fact that they are nothing by themselves.
A new year is just a new day, packaged and delivered as a fresh start. It's only going to be better if we do something to make it better. We're only going to learn something new if we really want to learn something new.
I learned a lot last year, and i'm going to learn a lot this year, and hopefully every year for the rest of my waking days.
Be kinder than necessary, everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.
It looks like I’ve won again. Close call, but once the votes are tallied; the verdict will present itself in my favor. Winning is supposed to feel good, it’s supposed to feel like something, but I can’t find anything to feel other than complacent. It wasn’t going to be like this. I had it all planned out, I was smarter, better, faster, stronger… I wasn’t Kayne, but I was getting close.
It’s a funny thing when you surprise yourself. Square one is shouting in the distance, “I TOLD YOU SO!” But I ignored him, I ignored his wise advice, and hop-scotched my way past his friend, square two, all the way down to square… I can’t remember the number.
How did I miss so many steps?
Complications always seem to lie in the missing numbers. The one’s we breeze over, assuming we know the drill, no need to read the fine print. But if you don’t know the rules, you can’t play the game. And now I’m benched; back against the wall, eager eyes darting back and forth, waiting to be put in the game.
But, alas… I’ve been here before, I’ve done the merry-go-round; I’ve jumped through the hoops, and for what?
What did I get? Distant memories of better times and a few scars I wish I never carved out in the first place. Coloring books filled with mismatched pictures, and crayon marks scribbled outside the lines. A metaphor that seems to perfectly describe the conjunction I find myself floating upon as I type… at least for tonight that is.
And everything is either completely different, or exactly the same; the faces change, but the variables remain the same. Waking up to familiar voices in my ear, as the same questions are running through my head; day after day, month after month, year after year.
And no matter how many books I read, or logical explanations I contrive, I still can’t explain what it really means. I still can’t find the words to describe what it is I’m trying to say. So I use every other word I can think of, and describe everything but the truth; hoping that one day the syllables will fall from my lips, turning the never-ending thoughts into the words I’ve been searching for, for the last 5 years.
I don’t have faith in very many things, but I have faith that one day, I will wake up without question, without explanation, without needing words to describe it.
I will wake up and just be; for the first time in my life, completely content with simply being alive.
"Cause’ I fall three times as hard if it’s for nothing at all,
You all seem twice as tall as I will ever be.
And I feel terribly small when my head works too hard;
When you think with your chest, there’s not a thing that you don't see.
I’m hardly capable of half the damage that I would like to do,
I could swear that I don't care,
But you know that I’m too full of shit to think this through.
So look at me;
I pray to god, but curse too much to be considered true.
I’m just like me, I’m just like me so, who the hell are you?
I know you think you know, but these eyelids are in domes,
That shut you out from all the things that I don't want you to know.
And I refuse to tell you one single secret I own,
Cause’ you'll find that I’m petrified of coming undone."
Today was a gorgeous day. The sun was bright, the beach was beautiful, my friends were awesome, and my tan is looking fabulous. Labor Day was an alright day; or at least it started out that way. I should have known that I had too good a time at the beach for the rest of the day to be just as good. Upon leaving the sandy shores of my awesome excursion, Erin and I headed to my parents house for some good’old fashion family time.
My parents are pretty awesome. Spending time with them doesn’t suck, and making obscene comments about my love life gets the best kind of rise out of my dad. After our arrival, and the quick 30 second run-down of what’s going on in my life, my brother wanted me to take him to the movies. He really wanted to see Rob Zombies: Halloween. I didn’t really want to see it, and Erin was ambivalent about the whole thing, so by the default of my lack of protest, and there not being anything else of remote interest to see, we went to watch Halloween.
The normal theater we usually go to (Rowland), didn’t have a showtime until 7pm, so we settled on the 5pm showing at Northgate. I hadn’t been to Northgate in a number of years, and after today, I won’t be going back for another number of years. Anyone who grew up in Marin, or knows about Marin can tell you that there really isn’t a “bad” neighborhood. Marin City is about as “ghetto” as it gets, and that isn’t saying much. Northgate is like the wanna-be “ghetto” of Marin, but due to the lack of subsidized housing, and methadone clinics, Northgate can’t really obtain the “street-cred” it needs to qualify as “ghetto.”However, street-cred aside, Northgate has a steadily growing population of teenage moms and unsupervised junior highschoolers smoking the cigarettes they stole from 7-11, that all like to congregate at Northgate Mall.
As we walked through a small group of pre-pubescent boys that will no doubt be future car-jackers, we saw a young Mexican family with three little girls. The parents looked about 17, and the little girls were probably 1, 3 and 4. All three of them were dressed in matching attire that consisted of knee high black pleather boots, a jean mini-skirt, and a glitter outlined tube-top that said “hottie.” I had no idea they made hooker boots in such small sizes. I mean these little girls don’t have a chance; their parents might as well put all three of them on a bus and send them to stripper school now. Why the fuck would you dress your toddlers in baby prostitute ensembles? Are you trying to give Chester the Molester a hard on? Do you want your kids to get kidnapped and sold into child pornography? Why didn’t you just get the abortion? I mean, I’m sure someday an overweight construction worker will thank you both for raising the next generation of emotionally disturbed strippers, but come on now… Your kids look like little sex popsicles, they would have a better chance of NOT being molested if you dropped them off at Micheal Jacksons house. In fact, they would at least be rich, and Micheal just wants to "be friends" anyway, right?
Once we passed by the baby prostitutes and I had my mental “what the fuck” moment, we bought our tickets and made our way into the theater. As horror movie audiences go, I expected a large grouping of teenage boys, and obnoxious metal-heads/DDR champions. To my surprise however there was a large number of families, mom, dad, kids and baby. I thought that maybe they were in the wrong theater, but the movie started, and they didn’t move.
If you watch the trailer for the film, it’s pretty obvious that it’s basically a blood bath of weak motive killings and raunchy sex scenes, with a loosely assembled “plot” that fell out of a psych 101 text book. Nonetheless, some people enjoy this kind of entertainment, and that’s just fine. I am not one of those people, but I can stand down from my pretentious pedestal every now and again to absolve myself in some less then stimulating garbage. What I can’t understand though, is why on earth anyone human being in their right mind would bring a child to something like this? I mean, we’re talking about several 4 and 5 year old kids watching one of the most graphic horror movies I have ever seen. At least four people are brutally killed within the first 15 minutes of the film, and all by the child version of “Michael Meyers.” A child killing other children and then his own family, not to mention a pretty graphic sex scene right before he kills his sister; and you brought your fucking kindergartener to see this movie. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? There has to be some kind of law against this shit.
Seriously though, how retarded can one person be? Planned Parenthood has a pamphlet on basic child rearing, and on the top 10 list of things not to do, or be careful of, is, “excessive exposure to violent entertainment and games.” HELLO… teenage mom? Are you there? Can you read? Children exposed to excessive violence become excessively violent! During the early years of their lives, they’re learning from everything that they come in contact with. Constantly assessing what is right and wrong, and forming a spectrum of reality separate from the safety of their parents. You show a little kid people being murdered over and over, and label it as entertainment, which end of the right and wrong spectrum do you think they’re going to place it?
This isn’t rocket science, its fucking common sense.
Anyway, as one could imagine, the children in the audiences started hysterically crying, and looked like they were going to puke their guts out. Way to go mom and dad; thanks for raising the next generation of Bay Area gang leaders, I really appreciate your service to the community, now if you could please go and have your uterus removed, the rest of the us would be ecstatic.
I’m not even going to attempt a review on the grotesquely graphic death scenes strung together will snippets of poorly written dialogue and what looked like highschool theater level acting, put out by a studio and labeled a “movie.” Let’s just say, it’s a rental, if even that.
Since it doesn’t seem like birthing laws will ever make it past the ethics committee, at least not in my lifetime, I’m going to start work on my plans to secretly put birth control into McDonalds meat products. Hey, they did it with the pigeon feed in Venice to control the bird population, we should be able to do it here so we can control the horny teenager demographic, and put a tight cap on the current population of mental under-achievers.
There are things about the world, and the people residing in it that I will never understand. I rarely find myself sympathetic, or outraged by the horrible things people do to one another. Maybe I watch too many news programs, or maybe I’m just one more war away from not really giving a shit anymore. Regardless of how callous my understanding is, I will never be able to comprehend how anyone can sexually abuse a child. I’ve worked with kids for a good portion of my life, and there have been many occasions where I’ve wanted to throw one out the window, or push one down the stairs. This anger usually comes after said child has done something so horrifically evil, but nonetheless, I have never, and would never act on the impulse to throw any human being out a window, or down a flight of stairs.
Kids can be annoying as hell, and make you want to stick your head in the oven Sylvia Plath style, but I just cannot fathom the thought process of molestation. How could anyone sexualize a child like that; someone so innocent and completely trusting of your abilities to protect them? I get nauseous just thinking about it. Once the nausea subsides however, I am filled with fury. The kind of fury I would expect at the gates of hell. I have never wanted to violently murderer someone as much as I do right now.
I’ve taken numerous child psychology courses, hell; I wanted to be a child psychologist for the longest time. I understand how theses things can happen; from an outside perspective I could make an objective assessment of the victim, and the victimizer. On some level I would even be able to elate a minor level of sympathy for the victimizer. But when something like this happens to someone you love and care about, all reason and objectivity seems to fly out the window. I can’t pull any logical reasoning out of my brain. I can only find varying degrees of sadness and anger bouncing back and fourth like the most fucked ping-pong tournament in the history of paddle sports.
I don’t understand. I can’t understand. My brain won’t compute the information; it just keeps throwing it up and rejecting any and all comprehension. How could you do this? How could you hurt someone so small and innocent? How do you wake up in the morning and not feel like the filthiest piece of shit on the planet? Maybe that’s just who you are… fine. I can take that as a valid answer, but can you tell me why? Why would you do something so awful to someone completely unable to fight back? I swore I believed there was a grain of sand worth of something good inside all of us. I want to believe there is more than anything, but I really don’t think that’s true anymore. Some of us are empty and soulless creatures born from the sewers of lifeless blood. Some of us have nothing inside but badness; evil intentions, waiting to prey on those too young to protect themselves.
How could you do this to a child?
Wed, Jun. 6th, 2007, 01:53 am
On The Fence.
I don’t believe in many things, mainly because there isn’t much worth believing in. Everything is disappointing in some way, shape or form, so why bother with inevitable dissatisfaction? But yes, I know what you’re thinking, if you don’t take big risks, you will never get big rewards; but where is the median? I think it’s safe to say that I’m a very good fence walker, not literally speaking, although I do have incredible balance, but rather, figuratively so. I’ve become so good at walking the line, and not really picking a side, that I’m unable to choose what I want. There are so many options, so many choices, it seems like a much safer bet to stay on the line without ever running onto the field, but then again, if you never run onto the field, you never really get to play the game. Ok, no more sports metaphors. I don’t even really like sports, but my dad always told me that everything in life can be summed up with a baseball analogy.
The only clear variables in life are what you want, what you get, and what you need. I’m walking the fence of all three and they’ve come together to form a triangle that I haven’t even set foot in. It’s not that I’m “afraid” to go inside, I just don’t want to disrupt the delicate balance already in play. What if after I go inside, one of the walls falls down, or I make too many footprints? Being on the fence has been a safe bet thus far, and you know what they say, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” But that’s a cop out. You know it, I know it, we all know it. Fear is what keeps us on the border between this or that, here or there.
Fear is a dangerous state of mind; it’s the clanging measures of discordant hopelessness that rattles around in imprecise certainty, like the howl of a haunted house.
If my triangle is anything like the person I am, the walls won’t fall down, and the footprints will wash away with the changing tide. The incontrovertible reality of it all is that you can get hurt from any position in or on the “triangle of the tangible variables of life.” No matter how secure you are in your bunker, or how fast you can run around that fence, at any one moment, a shot can be fired where you can be hit, and fall into the muck below.
The muck can be soothing though, a reminder that you’re still alive, still human, despite your best efforts to deny the mortality of your existence… So now it’s the bottom of the ninth, your on second base, and your team is down one run. Your best hitter comes up to bat, and hits a curve ball deep into left center. Do you wait to see if it gets caught before you make a break for home? Or do you just start running with abandon, because even if the outfielder catches the ball, and your team loses, at least you'll know that you still poured yourself into the last seconds of the game.
But maybe that is just the unreasonable beauty of things, always wanting what we can’t have, never completely happy with what we get, and not quite knowing what it is we need.