Everything is relevant. We are in the midst of finding our selves. BUT our anchors are still tightly tethered to the days of swing set flying and bendy straws, of playground babble and whistles, of plastic rulers and social studies and spell check and line leaders. Not yet in the fields of mergers and quotas and meaningless banter about making rent and not being "committed". Remembering is painful, but to forget is lethal.
Every time something bad happens... like really terrible, I take a shower. And if it feels like my world's being smashed I sink down onto the floor of the shower and cry. I lay there tears streaming, but you'd never know because the water is running. Sometimes I forget where I am and almost drown, but it's a good reminder. After, I feel better, and I feel like listening to slow piano songs. I listen to the problems of who ever's singing and mine don't seem half as bad. My thoughts turn from "Nothing will be the same, no one cares about me, I will die without living" to "It'll all be okay, you know". That's how I get through it. That's how I survive my own mistakes. My own conscience.
When I was younger I used to judge people who were afraid to trust. I used to judge a lot about people who I didn't know. I'm sorry. I understand now. I understand now that everyone has left and trust is a foreign dream. I'm very flinchy, I thought I shoulder warn you. Also, it scares me when the vacuum is on before you plug it in, and it turns on as your sticking the plug into the wall. I don't like being startled. This is mindless babble. This is my brain streaming consciousness. This is a thousand ideas and one line of truth.
Thing I Hate about Myself #19
I'm afraid when I find someone they'll leave because I'll need them too much.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
For my Own Children
When people first came to this country, one of their biggest goals was the allowance of progress. More specifically, they wanted to do better than their parents. In the Old Country, a man may do no better than his father. As outlined in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn: "Provided he works hard...he may rise, but only to his father's state." But here, there was the possibility of endless possibilities. There were no limits. It was a new beginning, the chance to do whatever you were capable of regardless of what your parents were.
Fast forward a few generations. One of the biggest fears is becoming like your parents. Let alone occupation, sons and daughters vow never to be even close to what their parents have become behavior and personality wise. This, to me, is... it's ridiculous. I've observed my parents. I've watched them try their hardest to raise me and three after me. Not only raise us, but bring us up in an environment free of danger, of fear, of rape and horrific discovery and too much junk food. You can never imagine what being a parent means. I have no idea myself.
It must be Hell. To keep your baby safe in a world like ours today. You turn on the news and hear of families burning alive in their own apartments, and soldiers being held hostage with a baby on the way back home. Of children being abandoned and abused. It must be torture to succeed in teaching them love when they are surrounded on all sides by hate. I've seen it go wrong, you've seen it go wrong. You've seen kids who think they have punch smaller kids in the mouth because they are beaten at home every day. You see the kids fighting for attention because their parents ignore them. Ignore them. You've seen the kids who badmouth and abuse their mothers, who are in false control and will therefore never be able to thrive once they move out. I have no idea how fucking lucky I am.
I want to be exactly like my parents when I grow up. I want to be no different. I don't know if I can even come close to how beautifully they've done. And four different times? I'm surprised they didn't up and leave. I could never express my gratitude and amazement of how much they gave us, how much they gave up for us. I want that for my own children. And for their children. I want that.
Fast forward a few generations. One of the biggest fears is becoming like your parents. Let alone occupation, sons and daughters vow never to be even close to what their parents have become behavior and personality wise. This, to me, is... it's ridiculous. I've observed my parents. I've watched them try their hardest to raise me and three after me. Not only raise us, but bring us up in an environment free of danger, of fear, of rape and horrific discovery and too much junk food. You can never imagine what being a parent means. I have no idea myself.
It must be Hell. To keep your baby safe in a world like ours today. You turn on the news and hear of families burning alive in their own apartments, and soldiers being held hostage with a baby on the way back home. Of children being abandoned and abused. It must be torture to succeed in teaching them love when they are surrounded on all sides by hate. I've seen it go wrong, you've seen it go wrong. You've seen kids who think they have punch smaller kids in the mouth because they are beaten at home every day. You see the kids fighting for attention because their parents ignore them. Ignore them. You've seen the kids who badmouth and abuse their mothers, who are in false control and will therefore never be able to thrive once they move out. I have no idea how fucking lucky I am.
I want to be exactly like my parents when I grow up. I want to be no different. I don't know if I can even come close to how beautifully they've done. And four different times? I'm surprised they didn't up and leave. I could never express my gratitude and amazement of how much they gave us, how much they gave up for us. I want that for my own children. And for their children. I want that.
Friday, July 23, 2010
I'm a Brick.
Wait. So then how do we even know what's real and what's not? That isn't any fucking way to live. Never actually knowing? Yeah, you're such a tortured soul, you really have it fucking rough. Your life is such a infected pit of endless fucking despair.
You're forever blankly staring at that wall, just letting it pour out, out through your own eyes. A million things going through your own head, scanning the memories in your brain like a computer looking for a virus. This feeling of being dragged down by your own life, even though it's a life that feels weightless and worthless.
Who do you think you are? Telling me what I feel, thinking you can tell ME what I want. Thinking you can casually let me know what my own deepest fears and worries are. You think you can mention without a care in the world what keeps me awake in the dead of the night. No, I get it. It doesn't affect you because you don't have to deal with the consequences. You can easily taste the burnt edges of my mind without feeling the weight of it on your own fucking chest. How do you know what I'm thinking? Please, enlighten me, because I've never had my own level of pain wrapped up in front of me and tied in a neat little bow. My mistake, it's not real. It's just "hormones". So sorry, didn't realize this shit I have to put up with is a fake show put on by my fucked up age group.
What we're being told... is that we are all victims of the number of years it's been since were born. Well I'm sick of being shoved under the same stupid umbrella as everyone within 5 years of me. I'm sick of having my middle finger ripped off by some guy who thinks he knows me, whose forgotten what it's like to have your world crumple under the weight of your flaws. Just another brick in the wall.
Wait. It's just hormones.
You're forever blankly staring at that wall, just letting it pour out, out through your own eyes. A million things going through your own head, scanning the memories in your brain like a computer looking for a virus. This feeling of being dragged down by your own life, even though it's a life that feels weightless and worthless.
Who do you think you are? Telling me what I feel, thinking you can tell ME what I want. Thinking you can casually let me know what my own deepest fears and worries are. You think you can mention without a care in the world what keeps me awake in the dead of the night. No, I get it. It doesn't affect you because you don't have to deal with the consequences. You can easily taste the burnt edges of my mind without feeling the weight of it on your own fucking chest. How do you know what I'm thinking? Please, enlighten me, because I've never had my own level of pain wrapped up in front of me and tied in a neat little bow. My mistake, it's not real. It's just "hormones". So sorry, didn't realize this shit I have to put up with is a fake show put on by my fucked up age group.
What we're being told... is that we are all victims of the number of years it's been since were born. Well I'm sick of being shoved under the same stupid umbrella as everyone within 5 years of me. I'm sick of having my middle finger ripped off by some guy who thinks he knows me, whose forgotten what it's like to have your world crumple under the weight of your flaws. Just another brick in the wall.
Wait. It's just hormones.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
We are All Racist
You know what pisses me off? The ignorance of America. I know I should be proud of my country, and some attributes really do kick ass. But our pretentious over-confidence, sometimes to the point of arrogance. Like when our logic is that because we have a black president, racism is dead. What? I don't even... okay. How does that even make sense in your mind. Humans were born with eyes, meaning whether we like it or not, we are able to see color. We are able to see the difference between a black man and a white man. It's not an opinion, it's not subjective, it's a fact, we are all born racial.
Racial, not racist. The difference is that you can see the contrast, but don't have any prejudices over which is better or worse. As we grow older however, we begin to class. It's natural. Our brains like order, we like to put things into categories. It doesn't make us mean people. That also means it's not something we can control.
From the moment we leave the womb, our brains learn to see differences. That's why we are able to tell the difference between a red crayon and a blue one. It doesn't matter if you were born in the projects or a small suburban town, you are racist. It's the same with sexism. A news story about a man raping a little girl will always be viewed as worse and more evil than a woman raping a little boy. It's just the way it is, it's always been this way, it always will. You make judgments in your head based on what you see with your eyes. What we can control, is what comes out of our mouths, and what we do with our hands.
That's number 1.
Number 2: What the hell is this notion that just because Obama is leading our country, racism is dead. It's not. And it's definitely not because some guy with a darker skin color is sitting at a desk in Washington. Our brains do not work that way and it will never be "dead", unless the world goes blind and deaf, because that's the only way we won't be able to make judgments based on our environment and our experiences. C'mon people. Use your head.
By the way, I get that this is a touchy subject. Please don't get offended... I like everyone :)
Racial, not racist. The difference is that you can see the contrast, but don't have any prejudices over which is better or worse. As we grow older however, we begin to class. It's natural. Our brains like order, we like to put things into categories. It doesn't make us mean people. That also means it's not something we can control.
From the moment we leave the womb, our brains learn to see differences. That's why we are able to tell the difference between a red crayon and a blue one. It doesn't matter if you were born in the projects or a small suburban town, you are racist. It's the same with sexism. A news story about a man raping a little girl will always be viewed as worse and more evil than a woman raping a little boy. It's just the way it is, it's always been this way, it always will. You make judgments in your head based on what you see with your eyes. What we can control, is what comes out of our mouths, and what we do with our hands.
That's number 1.
Number 2: What the hell is this notion that just because Obama is leading our country, racism is dead. It's not. And it's definitely not because some guy with a darker skin color is sitting at a desk in Washington. Our brains do not work that way and it will never be "dead", unless the world goes blind and deaf, because that's the only way we won't be able to make judgments based on our environment and our experiences. C'mon people. Use your head.
By the way, I get that this is a touchy subject. Please don't get offended... I like everyone :)
Monday, July 19, 2010
Drunk Goggles
We all live in different worlds. We all see it through different drunk goggles. You can never walk a mile in someone else's shoes, we all wear different sizes.
I get scared sometimes, that I'm not good enough, that I'll never be good enough. I know everyone says the only expectations I need to live up to are my own, but frankly, that's bullshit. You can't survive happily on your own, you need other people. You need them to tell you that you're not dependable or have something in your teeth. It's how we improve ourselves. You will never hear a lonely man say he's content being alone. He's just lost his faith in humanity, and it's better than the idea being with people who constantly let him down. It's why humans created the idea of a family... we could've just ended up like praying mantises.
You know, it's pretty funny, how fast your world can shatter. One tear down your mother's face. And you can tell she's trying to hide it from you, to protect you like she always has. But you see it anyway, for one split second you catch a glimpse of your own reflection in that tear, you know it'll never be the same. Her voice "Nothing's going to change, nothing's going to-" She can't finish, she falters. Both of you standing at the cliff's edge. That sick feeling. I hate it so much.
Up until a little while ago, I didn't get why we lie so much to children. Have you noticed that? We lie to them so fucking much. We tell them that Santa's real, that it's all going to be fine, that Daddy's coming home tonight. We say that shit so much we start to believe it ourselves. And then we feel like children. Cold reality smacks us back down to Earth at the realization that it's not true.
Then I understood. It's because of that one moment, that second that we actually believe what we're hearing. They're going to need that memory when they're older. We need that feeling to fall back on, to linger on. Otherwise we've got nothing to remember.
I hate how I bitch about so much. I hate how I'm inwardly negative, and outwardly I have this stupid mask on. I could say it's not me, I could say it's the unfairness of the world that gets me down. But that would be another lie. It's my fault. It's all my fault. And it's not going to go away until I fix it myself. Until I put on a new pair of drunk goggles. Suck it up, and move on.
Myself.
I get scared sometimes, that I'm not good enough, that I'll never be good enough. I know everyone says the only expectations I need to live up to are my own, but frankly, that's bullshit. You can't survive happily on your own, you need other people. You need them to tell you that you're not dependable or have something in your teeth. It's how we improve ourselves. You will never hear a lonely man say he's content being alone. He's just lost his faith in humanity, and it's better than the idea being with people who constantly let him down. It's why humans created the idea of a family... we could've just ended up like praying mantises.
You know, it's pretty funny, how fast your world can shatter. One tear down your mother's face. And you can tell she's trying to hide it from you, to protect you like she always has. But you see it anyway, for one split second you catch a glimpse of your own reflection in that tear, you know it'll never be the same. Her voice "Nothing's going to change, nothing's going to-" She can't finish, she falters. Both of you standing at the cliff's edge. That sick feeling. I hate it so much.
Up until a little while ago, I didn't get why we lie so much to children. Have you noticed that? We lie to them so fucking much. We tell them that Santa's real, that it's all going to be fine, that Daddy's coming home tonight. We say that shit so much we start to believe it ourselves. And then we feel like children. Cold reality smacks us back down to Earth at the realization that it's not true.
Then I understood. It's because of that one moment, that second that we actually believe what we're hearing. They're going to need that memory when they're older. We need that feeling to fall back on, to linger on. Otherwise we've got nothing to remember.
I hate how I bitch about so much. I hate how I'm inwardly negative, and outwardly I have this stupid mask on. I could say it's not me, I could say it's the unfairness of the world that gets me down. But that would be another lie. It's my fault. It's all my fault. And it's not going to go away until I fix it myself. Until I put on a new pair of drunk goggles. Suck it up, and move on.
Myself.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Parallel Realities
It's currently 2:38 AM.
I tried to lucid dream tonight. But not really. I mean, I didn't throw myself entirely into it because... well because it scares the hell out of me. Lucid dreaming is where you make yourself dream, while being entirely aware that you are dreaming. There's a whole process you have to go through to get to it. This basically means that you keep yourself conscious as you fall into a dream. And so, you are able to control what happens in your own dream. You can do anything. Anything can happen to you. You have full control... or do you. Something inside me says "What the fuck are you doing, don't you dare screw around with this shit." Supposedly you can tell if you're lucid dreaming by looking in the mirror and not seeing your reflection, or switching on light switches without any light levels changing, or looking down and noticing that you have 596869 toes. Those are lucid dream signals that occur in every lucid dream. It sounds like a horror movie.
That's what scares me. Anything could happen. How do I know if I wake up? What if I don't wake up. What happens to the real world if I stay in this parallel reality forever. I wouldn't even know...
I don't think I fully understand the size of this idea... that one can experience anything they can fucking imagine as if they were awake, as if it was really happening. Makes me wonder why they haven't built a machine that permanently sticks you in create-your-own-reality mode. Why does this terrify me?
It's currently 2:57 AM.
PS: Fun fact. If you squeeze your left thumb in your left fist as hard as you can for 4 seconds, your gag reflex shuts off. Try it. Go ahead. Now stick your index finger down your throat. It's amazing.
I tried to lucid dream tonight. But not really. I mean, I didn't throw myself entirely into it because... well because it scares the hell out of me. Lucid dreaming is where you make yourself dream, while being entirely aware that you are dreaming. There's a whole process you have to go through to get to it. This basically means that you keep yourself conscious as you fall into a dream. And so, you are able to control what happens in your own dream. You can do anything. Anything can happen to you. You have full control... or do you. Something inside me says "What the fuck are you doing, don't you dare screw around with this shit." Supposedly you can tell if you're lucid dreaming by looking in the mirror and not seeing your reflection, or switching on light switches without any light levels changing, or looking down and noticing that you have 596869 toes. Those are lucid dream signals that occur in every lucid dream. It sounds like a horror movie.
That's what scares me. Anything could happen. How do I know if I wake up? What if I don't wake up. What happens to the real world if I stay in this parallel reality forever. I wouldn't even know...
I don't think I fully understand the size of this idea... that one can experience anything they can fucking imagine as if they were awake, as if it was really happening. Makes me wonder why they haven't built a machine that permanently sticks you in create-your-own-reality mode. Why does this terrify me?
It's currently 2:57 AM.
PS: Fun fact. If you squeeze your left thumb in your left fist as hard as you can for 4 seconds, your gag reflex shuts off. Try it. Go ahead. Now stick your index finger down your throat. It's amazing.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Into the Woods
I didn't see a bear. It was actually pretty fun despite that fact. Of course the first night was torture considering we were all holed up in the same plastic bag, essentially. The tent was definitely big enough, but damn... sleeping in one room would not have been my strong suit, had I lived in the early 1800s... or whatever.
Around 5:30 AM, the rain started. It was pounding the tarp draped above our tent, so loud that we had to shout to each other if we wanted to be heard. I just plugged myself into Ke$ha and laid in my sleeping bag watching the droplets stream down the sides of the bright red plastic. At one point during the night my brother's ear buds had got tangled in my own, and ended up in the same sleeping bag. When I followed the chord down and found an unattached jack, not knowing it wasn't the same set as was in my own iPod, it wigged me out. I thought Ke$ha was broadcasting right into my skull. I had gotten minimal sleep, alright? Cool it. Gawsh.
The storm felt like it took hours to finally subside... but then everything feels like it takes hours when you're lying in the middle of the woods. Time is a funny thing when you don't have a clock next to your head. Your mind starts to make things up and you just arbitrarily believe yourself even if you might be way off.
Nighttime is wonderful in the woods, second only to dawn. We were in a campsite, which means we were surrounded on all sides by a bunch of other families, although they seemed distant in the early hours of the chilly morning. But when it got dark, we all felt like one big family. One guy brought his guitar a couple sites over, and we could hear his slow, quiet strumming late into the night. It was very cliche, but I was in love anyway.
However, when that sun rises, there's just no way to describe it. Beautiful is far from the right word. I remember my father took me hiking in the Appalachians one winter weekend. A couple of mornings earlier I had inquired of him why our family didn't go to church more often. This was years ago. That day at dawn, the sun rose over the snow-capped mountains. A field covered in its own blanket of white powder was spread out before us. It was wild, chaotic, untamed, yet peaceful, silent. Utter awe and tranquility filled my entire being, I was stopped in my tracks.
"This is my church," my father had whispered, standing right next to me.
Around 5:30 AM, the rain started. It was pounding the tarp draped above our tent, so loud that we had to shout to each other if we wanted to be heard. I just plugged myself into Ke$ha and laid in my sleeping bag watching the droplets stream down the sides of the bright red plastic. At one point during the night my brother's ear buds had got tangled in my own, and ended up in the same sleeping bag. When I followed the chord down and found an unattached jack, not knowing it wasn't the same set as was in my own iPod, it wigged me out. I thought Ke$ha was broadcasting right into my skull. I had gotten minimal sleep, alright? Cool it. Gawsh.
The storm felt like it took hours to finally subside... but then everything feels like it takes hours when you're lying in the middle of the woods. Time is a funny thing when you don't have a clock next to your head. Your mind starts to make things up and you just arbitrarily believe yourself even if you might be way off.
Nighttime is wonderful in the woods, second only to dawn. We were in a campsite, which means we were surrounded on all sides by a bunch of other families, although they seemed distant in the early hours of the chilly morning. But when it got dark, we all felt like one big family. One guy brought his guitar a couple sites over, and we could hear his slow, quiet strumming late into the night. It was very cliche, but I was in love anyway.
However, when that sun rises, there's just no way to describe it. Beautiful is far from the right word. I remember my father took me hiking in the Appalachians one winter weekend. A couple of mornings earlier I had inquired of him why our family didn't go to church more often. This was years ago. That day at dawn, the sun rose over the snow-capped mountains. A field covered in its own blanket of white powder was spread out before us. It was wild, chaotic, untamed, yet peaceful, silent. Utter awe and tranquility filled my entire being, I was stopped in my tracks.
"This is my church," my father had whispered, standing right next to me.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Harry Potter Head
Tomorrow, I leave for New Hampshire. Yeah, that's right. This an actual blog, instead of a confusing stream of abstract ideas (because that's seemed to rear its head as my forte, one way or another). What? I can switch it up. Don't look all surprised.
Anyway, I'm actually pretty excited about it. I mean, I haven't left my one horse town at all this summer. However, I'm pretty sure I've never heard a pleasant camping story. Maybe I'll see a bear. Do they even live in New Hampshire? I hear if you come in contact with a bear, you're supposed to play dead. Who the hell came up with that? If I somehow accidentally get close enough to a bear that I can shake its freakin' hand... I'm booking it out of that shiz. Actually, I'll probably just faint... that's just as good right?
Is it terrible that one of the biggest reasons I'd rather not go is the lack of technology that will be available to me? I'm going to have to go 4 days without Facebook, without twitter, without TEXTING. Oh jeez, by Day 3 I might be the crazy kid looking for the bears. Suicide by bear. That would be a cool way to die. Except if my mom told my friends what happened to me they'd probably just laugh. Thanks, guys.
The one thing I absolutely hate about going anywhere is the packing. It skyrockets my OCD. I also get that dumb What Did I Forget feeling. Every time. Oh well, what are ya gonna do.
I really hope Megan's stitches don't come out or anything. My mom's blood pressure would have its own zip code if something like that happened. Okay sequence of events last night, circa 9:10 PM...
I'm chillin' like a villain downstairs with my dad watching TV. My mom's in the kitchen (Irony). Suddenly we hear bloodcurdling screams, one after the other. We don't even look at each other, my mom was up the stairs first, of course. My sister apparently fell off her bed and stabbed herself in the forehead with a piece of plastic. Blood is gushing out of her skull, and she's just shriek-fest. Long story short: I end up having to babysit the other kiddies while my mother and father rush her to emergency room to get 6 stitches on the outside and one on the inside of her head. They get back around 12:30. And it doesn't help that my dad is cracking Harry Potter scar jokes the entire time. She's all sad because she think she's ruined her face.
I still think it's adorable. She now hates Harry Potter. Her loss.
Anyway, I'm actually pretty excited about it. I mean, I haven't left my one horse town at all this summer. However, I'm pretty sure I've never heard a pleasant camping story. Maybe I'll see a bear. Do they even live in New Hampshire? I hear if you come in contact with a bear, you're supposed to play dead. Who the hell came up with that? If I somehow accidentally get close enough to a bear that I can shake its freakin' hand... I'm booking it out of that shiz. Actually, I'll probably just faint... that's just as good right?
Is it terrible that one of the biggest reasons I'd rather not go is the lack of technology that will be available to me? I'm going to have to go 4 days without Facebook, without twitter, without TEXTING. Oh jeez, by Day 3 I might be the crazy kid looking for the bears. Suicide by bear. That would be a cool way to die. Except if my mom told my friends what happened to me they'd probably just laugh. Thanks, guys.
The one thing I absolutely hate about going anywhere is the packing. It skyrockets my OCD. I also get that dumb What Did I Forget feeling. Every time. Oh well, what are ya gonna do.
I really hope Megan's stitches don't come out or anything. My mom's blood pressure would have its own zip code if something like that happened. Okay sequence of events last night, circa 9:10 PM...
I'm chillin' like a villain downstairs with my dad watching TV. My mom's in the kitchen (Irony). Suddenly we hear bloodcurdling screams, one after the other. We don't even look at each other, my mom was up the stairs first, of course. My sister apparently fell off her bed and stabbed herself in the forehead with a piece of plastic. Blood is gushing out of her skull, and she's just shriek-fest. Long story short: I end up having to babysit the other kiddies while my mother and father rush her to emergency room to get 6 stitches on the outside and one on the inside of her head. They get back around 12:30. And it doesn't help that my dad is cracking Harry Potter scar jokes the entire time. She's all sad because she think she's ruined her face.
I still think it's adorable. She now hates Harry Potter. Her loss.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Mr. Rogers
Remember when joy tasted so much sweeter when you were little. Surge after surge of pure happiness floats into your soul, then explodes like the knowledge of illegal fireworks on the fourth of July. And you know you can't tell anyone that this makes your life a snugger place to be, a place that fits you easier, but in some ways it's better. It's like your own secret haven, where every decision works out, and the summer days last as long as you are able to remember them.
Remember when you would get nervous about the stupid stuff, like the dark closet in your room, or running out of highway when you got sleepy on long car rides, or trees potentially falling into the house? Or your father being swallowed up by the monstrous waves at the beach so that you are no longer able to see his bright yellow swim trunks? Growing up begins to define itself, Captain Hook is replaced by the rapist alerts on CNN, and the irrational fears fade away into the mist, are replaced by more practical ones. And those are so much scarier, because they might actually happen.
Remember when you were small, and got angry... like... REALLY pissed. Just at everyone. For the stupidest shit. The dog knocked over your blocks, or Mom friggen threw away that your box of valentines from your whole 1st grade class? And your house no longer felt like a home and you just wanted to run away to Alaska because it was the farthest place you could think of... and then two seconds later you just completely forgot about why you were mad... because Mr. Rogers was on. He was great.
Have you ever looked back on your memories from when you were really little, too little to know what everything meant on a large scale? Too little to recognize the toll these experiences would have on you once you grew up? Have you ever looked back and thought..."That's why I did that" or "That's why that happened"? I do that all the time. It makes me feel like I'm time traveling. Don't judge me.
Sometimes I wish the world never knew sunlight, and Earth was always shrouded in nighttime mystery. And then one day, out of the blue, so to speak, the sun would rise. And I just want to see every one's reaction. We would all feel like children, afraid of the big sphere of fire up above us. I think if that happened the word beautiful would have a whole new meaning.
Sometimes I hear people say that they have a fear of not being remembered. I think I'm the opposite. I don't want to be remembered. I want to die without leaving my dirty fingerprints on Earth. I want to be the quiet strumming of the acoustic guitar in the back ground, that fades away before the climax of the song. I want to be the left hand of the piano. I want to have an effect on people, but have it be invisible, so that they don't remember why they're like that. I want to be the change you only see if you're looking for it.
Please look for it.
Remember when you would get nervous about the stupid stuff, like the dark closet in your room, or running out of highway when you got sleepy on long car rides, or trees potentially falling into the house? Or your father being swallowed up by the monstrous waves at the beach so that you are no longer able to see his bright yellow swim trunks? Growing up begins to define itself, Captain Hook is replaced by the rapist alerts on CNN, and the irrational fears fade away into the mist, are replaced by more practical ones. And those are so much scarier, because they might actually happen.
Remember when you were small, and got angry... like... REALLY pissed. Just at everyone. For the stupidest shit. The dog knocked over your blocks, or Mom friggen threw away that your box of valentines from your whole 1st grade class? And your house no longer felt like a home and you just wanted to run away to Alaska because it was the farthest place you could think of... and then two seconds later you just completely forgot about why you were mad... because Mr. Rogers was on. He was great.
Have you ever looked back on your memories from when you were really little, too little to know what everything meant on a large scale? Too little to recognize the toll these experiences would have on you once you grew up? Have you ever looked back and thought..."That's why I did that" or "That's why that happened"? I do that all the time. It makes me feel like I'm time traveling. Don't judge me.
Sometimes I wish the world never knew sunlight, and Earth was always shrouded in nighttime mystery. And then one day, out of the blue, so to speak, the sun would rise. And I just want to see every one's reaction. We would all feel like children, afraid of the big sphere of fire up above us. I think if that happened the word beautiful would have a whole new meaning.
Sometimes I hear people say that they have a fear of not being remembered. I think I'm the opposite. I don't want to be remembered. I want to die without leaving my dirty fingerprints on Earth. I want to be the quiet strumming of the acoustic guitar in the back ground, that fades away before the climax of the song. I want to be the left hand of the piano. I want to have an effect on people, but have it be invisible, so that they don't remember why they're like that. I want to be the change you only see if you're looking for it.
Please look for it.
Monday, July 5, 2010
How it Feels
It's like sitting on a wooden chair, in an empty room, and you can hear music. And the music is happy, but it doesn't make YOU happy. It doesn't fill you up, even though you know it should. And you doubt yourself, you think something is wrong with you, because this music doesn't uplift you the way it seems to do to everyone else. And then you realize that you're tied to the chair, you are being forced to face this endless self-doubt, to feel this terrifying sense of difference. Waves of lost faith crash into you, rippling the self confidence you worked so hard to obtain.
You try to fit yourself into the tune, to find its meaning and place in your own life, but it doesn't work. And you feel so alone in that dark and empty room. and no one outside the room even attempts to understand. And the music is forever getting louder. Then suddenly it hits you, like a pane of glass being smashed into your forehead: the music is coming from inside your own head. That's how it feels.
Thing I Hate about Myself #37
I give in too easily, and then wonder what would've happened had I not.
You try to fit yourself into the tune, to find its meaning and place in your own life, but it doesn't work. And you feel so alone in that dark and empty room. and no one outside the room even attempts to understand. And the music is forever getting louder. Then suddenly it hits you, like a pane of glass being smashed into your forehead: the music is coming from inside your own head. That's how it feels.
Thing I Hate about Myself #37
I give in too easily, and then wonder what would've happened had I not.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
The Power Game
I Will Not be a Victim. I will not lay down in front of my emotions, big name companies, the social cliques at my high school. I will be in control. How many times has that been subliminally furthered in life?
After sitting in history class after history class for over 10 years, I've realized the following: Human life is a game of power. Who has it, and who is controlled by it. It isn't about money, or looks, or kindness, or even how much brain you have. It's about how fast you get to the top, and who you bring with you. And more importantly, who you leave behind to tell what to do later on. The food chain is very carefully constructed.
Jesus was a Jew, just like the kingdom he governed. Hitler controlled a bunch of those as well. How many years have the Shiites and Sunnis been battling it out over 8,000 miles from here? Their conflict isn't over religion, they don't give a crap about that, at least not anymore. They all just want power over the other party. They all just want the supposed right to tell the other guy that your God isn't as good as mine.
And I don't think, for one second, that this is bigger than I am. Everything is relevant. The power game rings true in high school, and we all know what it's like to have to kneel down to it, and then turn around and victimize someone else. It sucks, but it's necessary to thrive in this world. Whether in a heated argument, an abusive relationship, or an infomercial, it's all about domination and control.
And strangely, I think that balance is necessary to be upheld.
After sitting in history class after history class for over 10 years, I've realized the following: Human life is a game of power. Who has it, and who is controlled by it. It isn't about money, or looks, or kindness, or even how much brain you have. It's about how fast you get to the top, and who you bring with you. And more importantly, who you leave behind to tell what to do later on. The food chain is very carefully constructed.
Jesus was a Jew, just like the kingdom he governed. Hitler controlled a bunch of those as well. How many years have the Shiites and Sunnis been battling it out over 8,000 miles from here? Their conflict isn't over religion, they don't give a crap about that, at least not anymore. They all just want power over the other party. They all just want the supposed right to tell the other guy that your God isn't as good as mine.
And I don't think, for one second, that this is bigger than I am. Everything is relevant. The power game rings true in high school, and we all know what it's like to have to kneel down to it, and then turn around and victimize someone else. It sucks, but it's necessary to thrive in this world. Whether in a heated argument, an abusive relationship, or an infomercial, it's all about domination and control.
And strangely, I think that balance is necessary to be upheld.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Sick
Can't you see that I'm trying?
Can't. Two meanings: either one is not allowed to or one is not able to.
Which one is it, because I'm done trying to figure it out. We are all composed of our experiences, our emotions, our reactions. We can either choose to have something happen to us or for us.
I'm sick of running my course, the course set out by other people instead of me. But if it was my own course, it would most likely lead away from the roads of other people. The roads I'd rather be on. Does that make sense? It doesn't need to.
I'm sick of my stupid OCD routines, and kidding myself, and internal lies, and light switches set in their ways. I'm sick of being cryptic and Googling my thoughts, and the fear of difference. I'm sick of wondering and wandering through my own memories to look for something I missed. I'm sick of that face I make, and how it changes everyday. I'm sick of the backspace button.
I'm sick of censorship and exposure, I'm sick of being sick.
When someone tells you something, and then that someone turns out to be a fake lie, does what they said have to be a lie too? We shouldn't be worried about self-loathing, you should, and I should.
I hate when someone says "You wouldn't understand", because that's really insulting. I think that chord that connects my brain to my spinal cord was broken once, and someone tied it together, but the knot is unraveling. Too bad I despise the thought of reaching into myself to fix the problems.
None of this connects. It's like a broken mirror, that someone drew a face on in Crayola marker.
Can't. Two meanings: either one is not allowed to or one is not able to.
Which one is it, because I'm done trying to figure it out. We are all composed of our experiences, our emotions, our reactions. We can either choose to have something happen to us or for us.
I'm sick of running my course, the course set out by other people instead of me. But if it was my own course, it would most likely lead away from the roads of other people. The roads I'd rather be on. Does that make sense? It doesn't need to.
I'm sick of my stupid OCD routines, and kidding myself, and internal lies, and light switches set in their ways. I'm sick of being cryptic and Googling my thoughts, and the fear of difference. I'm sick of wondering and wandering through my own memories to look for something I missed. I'm sick of that face I make, and how it changes everyday. I'm sick of the backspace button.
I'm sick of censorship and exposure, I'm sick of being sick.
When someone tells you something, and then that someone turns out to be a fake lie, does what they said have to be a lie too? We shouldn't be worried about self-loathing, you should, and I should.
I hate when someone says "You wouldn't understand", because that's really insulting. I think that chord that connects my brain to my spinal cord was broken once, and someone tied it together, but the knot is unraveling. Too bad I despise the thought of reaching into myself to fix the problems.
None of this connects. It's like a broken mirror, that someone drew a face on in Crayola marker.
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