I wrote this freshman year knowing that I would miss it. But I really had no idea how much I would miss it. I wouldn't change anything I wrote and sadly I predicted the future too well. I should have fought more. . .
From March 2008
The time has struck me with inspiration to write. Write at least something whether or not it is any good or not. I have a paper I need to write. Bryan is just jumping up and down and people are talking but i can't hear what they are saying and now landon is looking over the arm chair to peer into the computer screen to read what im writing and making a weird face. . .
anywho, the lobby is indeed a place of magical experience. and i don't use the phrase magical to try to implement some kind of corny meaning that is greater than to just say that there is something disney-like about the place. I mean it is a microcosm of a realistic utopia. A myriad of people of very different backgrounds, diverse experiences, and many different personalities converging on this strange road. Indeed we were all once strangers to each other.
It is not the place. But it is not the people. It is both, and it is a specific combination of the pair. For many people walk along this path, but few will actually return, and even fewer return with intention to stay. With this too comes desertion. But not in a negative sense. Simply another form of adaptation perhaps. Some people hike a path and can't decide the best place for camp. Some people blaze their own new way. Some just go along this path without reason but feel a calling. Just as i have written this without any real intention and now it has mutated and formed itself with these trail metaphors and adapted into a work of writing with at least some existential purpose.
The lobby has had ups and downs and even a few around the corners. I feel currently that is in a slump, most would agree. Who can explain all the reasons why; i am sure we could all agree there are many. But every member bring something here every time they enter. Sometimes the burdens they bear have unhappy properties. Sometimes they joy they bring radiates for everyone. No one can be blamed for this but certainly, there is an innate happiness that everyone here can share.
The biggest thing now, is simply the memories that have been built. And there are still memories being constructed now. For me, personally, the lobby will forever remain a kind of state of being. In my mind for the rest of my life, whether or not it is an entirely accurate representation, it shall be the apex and shining example of my college life. Everything will be related back to this moment. But the lobby can never be recreated. It will never be the same. It cannot be replicated or duplicated. It cannot be sustained with intention or unnatural motives. I have observed the fascinating aspects of this amazing embodiment. Now i feel we are on the downhill of the curve. Time is moving quickly. The days are full blurrs and the nights are practically non existent.
Everyone, please start moving towards your departing gates and be sure to have your passes and tickets ready. Pretty soon, everyone will have to leave the lobby and board the entrance gate. I shall write once more when it is really time to leave. For good. Remember this exact moment. This split second in time in which dawning realization slaps you in the face. No, not that split second. This one. The one you wish wasn't over in four weeks. The one you wish taking for granted while you have a regret that time has passed. Remember this second. The second you leave. Maybe it will be may 1st, perhaps may 2nd, or even may 3rd. But you will have all of your things packed. And you will walk past the lobby and something will feel different. Maybe better, maybe worse. But a rift will be made. And this rift will widen throughout the summer. Some may never return. Some have already left. One will be the very last to leave. But for everyone you will think back to the moment in which you read this and had a memory so good you were tempted to smile. It is this split second you must always remember, forever. It will be gone soon, its flying away with you.
Tempus fugit. Optimus dies. Prima fugit.
Your Hero
- Fife
- You should find an "existential" reason to read this blog. Let it be whatever you want it to be. But I promise that you will not find that my facade is constructed by a socialite engineer, but a real person; a person who's life you can relate to your own.
09 December 2009
06 December 2009
Self Imposed Indignities (but not really)
First off, you need to watch this music video Days Go By.
Over a month ago, I received an assignment for a group project. It wasn't really that big of a deal or that imposing of a project, but still more than a month was given to fulfill the requirements. So, it's two people plus myself in this lab group. One week goes by, then another, then another, and finally one more week. My group and I find ourselves within four days of when this project is due. Finally on Wednesday, just two days before the presentation was due, I emailed my professor inquiring about getting into the lab to perform the experiment. He emailed me back explaining that there was in a class in the lab until 6:20 and that if I came by then, that the T.A. would leave the door open for me after class. So I showered and headed over there around 6:00 to make it there by 6:15. As I approached the door, my lab instructor walked out and looked at me with incredulous eyes, "I almost left without you" in a deep African accent (I realize that African is not a language but I'm too ignorant to know which country he is actually from. . .). Without correcting him by citing the email he sent me which very clearly and explicitly stated 6:20pm, I nodded and apologized.
"Now, what is it that you need to do?" he inquired.
"Oh, well we need to perform our experiment" I excitedly answered.
"Wait, you still need to perform the experiment?"
"Oh. . .yea, well we have not had a chance. I mean, we have had plenty of chances but my group and I have yet to actually execute our intended experiment"
"Do you know how long it has been since I had assigned this project?"
"Errrm, yes I do."
"It has been one month!" he staggered with frustration.
"Yeah, it has. I am kind of the most practiced procrastinator that I know," I tried to offer happily.
He was not amused or impressed. He put his hands on his hips and started walked towards his office, which is located in the lab room. As he passed between myself and a desk, I shuffled backwards to allow for a larger opening. I removed my jacked, left arm first, as I walked toward my normal desk located near the back of the room. I put my bag down on the table silently,and pulled the chair out as I repositioned my jacket on it.
He walked out of his office and stared at me from across the room. "So, I give you one month to complete this project with your group and you wait until now to perform the experiment? What experiment are you going to perform?"
"Ahuh, well, ummm, mainly what I had in mind was an experiment similar to the one we did in class with the fermentation and the CO2 and yeah. . ." I trailed off rummaging through my papers hoping that he would just answer or walk away. But instead he just looked at me, silently. I countered his silence attack with more paper rummaging. I'm so unorganized I didn't even have to fake looking for the correct page, as it was legitimately taking me the entire time to find the page I was looking for. The silent stayed, filling the room like the fermenting yeast I wanted to experiment with. Finally, after about 400,000 years of unsettling trepidation in which my instructor stared at me silently standing hands on his hips like a greek statue the silence was broken. I could hear the crimping of his leather jacket and he moved his hands across his torso into a folding position across his chest. He stood straighter, another 400,000 years of silence passed but this time he was in a modern superstar pose.
Finally, "What were you going to do when you came here?"
I shook my head slightly looking down at the papers scattered across the table in a semicircle. Then I raised my head and made eye contact with him for a brief moment only to break it and instinctively look at the blank chalkboard for the answers I knew I wouldn't find. I looked back down at all the white rectangles. He wanted something from me and I wouldn't give it to him. He wanted me to redeem myself slightly with a justified and complete answer.
In this moment, the gears didn't turn, no switches flipped, and no lights shined through my thick skull. The words on the pages were just inconsistently dotted black lines, cryptic and illegible. I began to float as sweat started flowing out of my pores and my hair stood straight up. All the energy left my body and was converted to bioelectricity to power the light in the room, which became intensely brighter. I opened my mouth to allow for the flow of bullshit to easily pour as it normally does. But, instead I found only my breath, and the lucid transparency that came out with it. In slow motion, I stuttered for a second. "I think we were going to test for the fermentation of various foods."
"Yes, I understood that, but what were you actually going to do, this is your experiment, explain it to me," in a demanding manner.
"Well, we were going to use food extract I suppose, like rice for example, and then yeast something or other as the substrate. Then conduct the same experiment with several other items in order to scale the relativity of the various foods." I sounded rediculous and I knew it. He knew it too. He kept his arms folded but widened his stance to look at the group. He smiled and then laughed to himself a bit out loud. Then raised his head and straightened his stance a little. "What do you need from me?" His tone was almost patronizing.
"Ummm, let me think real quick," which was a total bluff, I couldn't think anything in that moment, I could only feel. What I felt was despair and comedy. I almost laughed out loud. I was not laughing with him, however. He was laughing because he took his job and position seriously. As if he, on his high horse (or high chair for class really) was in such a position to dictate to me some aspect of my life for a few hours. As if he thought he had power over me in some way because I should feel subjected to perform in some way because of him since he held my grade in hand. And as if I should take it seriously because the performance I gave in his class and at this moment somehow were connected to my own future. I should have been the one laughing. . .
He failed to perceive the key variable in this equation.
(the amount of care I have) + (the amount of time I have) = (how well I convince people of the bullshit I formulate) And so, in this particular situation the key variable was this: I didn't give a fuck and the amount of care I had was zero. If my instructor had taken the time to perform his job seriously and actually get to know his students, his students would have reciprocated that respect and if they too cared, would have taken it upon themselves to show some consideration in return. So if anyone should have been laughing, it should have been me. I was going to B.S. this project regardless of the time frame. Everyone else did the same, just a few weeks or days earlier. In not caring I had nothing to lose and he didn't hold any power over me no matter how pathetic I seemed to him.
"Yeah, well I'm very hungry and I have not eaten, what do you need from me?"
"I guess we'll just take the biueret reagent. . ."
"Okay, good luck then," as he briskly walked out away from me.
Over a month ago, I received an assignment for a group project. It wasn't really that big of a deal or that imposing of a project, but still more than a month was given to fulfill the requirements. So, it's two people plus myself in this lab group. One week goes by, then another, then another, and finally one more week. My group and I find ourselves within four days of when this project is due. Finally on Wednesday, just two days before the presentation was due, I emailed my professor inquiring about getting into the lab to perform the experiment. He emailed me back explaining that there was in a class in the lab until 6:20 and that if I came by then, that the T.A. would leave the door open for me after class. So I showered and headed over there around 6:00 to make it there by 6:15. As I approached the door, my lab instructor walked out and looked at me with incredulous eyes, "I almost left without you" in a deep African accent (I realize that African is not a language but I'm too ignorant to know which country he is actually from. . .). Without correcting him by citing the email he sent me which very clearly and explicitly stated 6:20pm, I nodded and apologized.
"Now, what is it that you need to do?" he inquired.
"Oh, well we need to perform our experiment" I excitedly answered.
"Wait, you still need to perform the experiment?"
"Oh. . .yea, well we have not had a chance. I mean, we have had plenty of chances but my group and I have yet to actually execute our intended experiment"
"Do you know how long it has been since I had assigned this project?"
"Errrm, yes I do."
"It has been one month!" he staggered with frustration.
"Yeah, it has. I am kind of the most practiced procrastinator that I know," I tried to offer happily.
He was not amused or impressed. He put his hands on his hips and started walked towards his office, which is located in the lab room. As he passed between myself and a desk, I shuffled backwards to allow for a larger opening. I removed my jacked, left arm first, as I walked toward my normal desk located near the back of the room. I put my bag down on the table silently,and pulled the chair out as I repositioned my jacket on it.
He walked out of his office and stared at me from across the room. "So, I give you one month to complete this project with your group and you wait until now to perform the experiment? What experiment are you going to perform?"
"Ahuh, well, ummm, mainly what I had in mind was an experiment similar to the one we did in class with the fermentation and the CO2 and yeah. . ." I trailed off rummaging through my papers hoping that he would just answer or walk away. But instead he just looked at me, silently. I countered his silence attack with more paper rummaging. I'm so unorganized I didn't even have to fake looking for the correct page, as it was legitimately taking me the entire time to find the page I was looking for. The silent stayed, filling the room like the fermenting yeast I wanted to experiment with. Finally, after about 400,000 years of unsettling trepidation in which my instructor stared at me silently standing hands on his hips like a greek statue the silence was broken. I could hear the crimping of his leather jacket and he moved his hands across his torso into a folding position across his chest. He stood straighter, another 400,000 years of silence passed but this time he was in a modern superstar pose.
Finally, "What were you going to do when you came here?"
I shook my head slightly looking down at the papers scattered across the table in a semicircle. Then I raised my head and made eye contact with him for a brief moment only to break it and instinctively look at the blank chalkboard for the answers I knew I wouldn't find. I looked back down at all the white rectangles. He wanted something from me and I wouldn't give it to him. He wanted me to redeem myself slightly with a justified and complete answer.
In this moment, the gears didn't turn, no switches flipped, and no lights shined through my thick skull. The words on the pages were just inconsistently dotted black lines, cryptic and illegible. I began to float as sweat started flowing out of my pores and my hair stood straight up. All the energy left my body and was converted to bioelectricity to power the light in the room, which became intensely brighter. I opened my mouth to allow for the flow of bullshit to easily pour as it normally does. But, instead I found only my breath, and the lucid transparency that came out with it. In slow motion, I stuttered for a second. "I think we were going to test for the fermentation of various foods."
"Yes, I understood that, but what were you actually going to do, this is your experiment, explain it to me," in a demanding manner.
"Well, we were going to use food extract I suppose, like rice for example, and then yeast something or other as the substrate. Then conduct the same experiment with several other items in order to scale the relativity of the various foods." I sounded rediculous and I knew it. He knew it too. He kept his arms folded but widened his stance to look at the group. He smiled and then laughed to himself a bit out loud. Then raised his head and straightened his stance a little. "What do you need from me?" His tone was almost patronizing.
"Ummm, let me think real quick," which was a total bluff, I couldn't think anything in that moment, I could only feel. What I felt was despair and comedy. I almost laughed out loud. I was not laughing with him, however. He was laughing because he took his job and position seriously. As if he, on his high horse (or high chair for class really) was in such a position to dictate to me some aspect of my life for a few hours. As if he thought he had power over me in some way because I should feel subjected to perform in some way because of him since he held my grade in hand. And as if I should take it seriously because the performance I gave in his class and at this moment somehow were connected to my own future. I should have been the one laughing. . .
He failed to perceive the key variable in this equation.
(the amount of care I have) + (the amount of time I have) = (how well I convince people of the bullshit I formulate) And so, in this particular situation the key variable was this: I didn't give a fuck and the amount of care I had was zero. If my instructor had taken the time to perform his job seriously and actually get to know his students, his students would have reciprocated that respect and if they too cared, would have taken it upon themselves to show some consideration in return. So if anyone should have been laughing, it should have been me. I was going to B.S. this project regardless of the time frame. Everyone else did the same, just a few weeks or days earlier. In not caring I had nothing to lose and he didn't hold any power over me no matter how pathetic I seemed to him.
"Yeah, well I'm very hungry and I have not eaten, what do you need from me?"
"I guess we'll just take the biueret reagent. . ."
"Okay, good luck then," as he briskly walked out away from me.
19 November 2009
Above & Beyond
(From Nov 19th.)
My ears are still ringing 19 hours later. I don't really think that's a good sign, I think that indicates some kind of hearing loss. . . Worth it, it is was so awesome.
It would be hard to describe what trance music can do to someone.
Trance music is no different from any other dance music in it's most basic utilitarian component. A DJ most certainly doesn't make you happy. And the music a DJ plays can't make you happy. But think of dance music as a recipe to happiness. For a few hours, whatever is in that set is a recipe for consistent happiness.
Dance music is intuitive. You don't have to already know the words to the song or the melody that goes with it. Just feel the bass reverberating in your chest and the music beating with your heart. And then just let go. . .
Don't think about what you look like to other people or what's going on around you just let your body move to the rhythm of the and the sounds. Here, give this song a listen Razorfish.
The best thing about dance music is that within just one song, you can feel the lows and highs of everyday life. It takes the most exhilarating highs and puts them into a build and for a split second, if you are really feeling the music, it's pure ecstasy. Still, each track also has the potential to hold the troughs of the lows. It is only from the low's in the song, and the states of lassitude in our days that we find the stimulation of other moments and the feverish elation of heights in the music we listen to. One of my favorite songs that I feel demonstrates highs and lows is Hemisphere. I'll be listening to hemisphere when the world ends.
I love trance music and at the end of the world when the sky is falling down and catastrophe has enslaved our minds. When night has has finally beaten day in their eternal struggle for light and darkness. In the very moment that everything we have and know are lost in the downward spiral of terminal destruction and absolution ruination, look for me. Amidst the ashes in the core of our desecrated humanity you will find me there at a state of peace with everything; complacent and content. You will know who I am by the sounds that you will hear. For the sounds you hear will bring to you what they have brought to me; a state of trance.
My ears are still ringing 19 hours later. I don't really think that's a good sign, I think that indicates some kind of hearing loss. . . Worth it, it is was so awesome.
It would be hard to describe what trance music can do to someone.
Trance music is no different from any other dance music in it's most basic utilitarian component. A DJ most certainly doesn't make you happy. And the music a DJ plays can't make you happy. But think of dance music as a recipe to happiness. For a few hours, whatever is in that set is a recipe for consistent happiness.
Dance music is intuitive. You don't have to already know the words to the song or the melody that goes with it. Just feel the bass reverberating in your chest and the music beating with your heart. And then just let go. . .
Don't think about what you look like to other people or what's going on around you just let your body move to the rhythm of the and the sounds. Here, give this song a listen Razorfish.
The best thing about dance music is that within just one song, you can feel the lows and highs of everyday life. It takes the most exhilarating highs and puts them into a build and for a split second, if you are really feeling the music, it's pure ecstasy. Still, each track also has the potential to hold the troughs of the lows. It is only from the low's in the song, and the states of lassitude in our days that we find the stimulation of other moments and the feverish elation of heights in the music we listen to. One of my favorite songs that I feel demonstrates highs and lows is Hemisphere. I'll be listening to hemisphere when the world ends.
I love trance music and at the end of the world when the sky is falling down and catastrophe has enslaved our minds. When night has has finally beaten day in their eternal struggle for light and darkness. In the very moment that everything we have and know are lost in the downward spiral of terminal destruction and absolution ruination, look for me. Amidst the ashes in the core of our desecrated humanity you will find me there at a state of peace with everything; complacent and content. You will know who I am by the sounds that you will hear. For the sounds you hear will bring to you what they have brought to me; a state of trance.
17 November 2009
Off Chance
I'm Stranded in Paradise
Today has been fantastic. I can't put my finger on why. But I've just felt good all day. It's been about a month since I actually wrote anything. That's OK because I have been feeling the weight of enormous pressure as of late. Suddenly today, the world is not so serious, my life is not so serious. It's safe to feel excited for the future without having anxiety about it. I have known that everything I could ask for is here right now. I don't know why I was taking everything so seriously, but today I have been able to let go a little bit and examine how much fun it is to be alive. At least for today, time did not pass so slowly. I am been thinking all day and working a little bit too. It feels good to feel alive.
Also, seeing Above & Beyond tomorrow night. Should be amazing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qg9AwJe8MfQ&feature=channel
http://www.youtube.com/user/aboveandbeyondtv#p/u/42/vwJotWv7GBk
Today has been fantastic. I can't put my finger on why. But I've just felt good all day. It's been about a month since I actually wrote anything. That's OK because I have been feeling the weight of enormous pressure as of late. Suddenly today, the world is not so serious, my life is not so serious. It's safe to feel excited for the future without having anxiety about it. I have known that everything I could ask for is here right now. I don't know why I was taking everything so seriously, but today I have been able to let go a little bit and examine how much fun it is to be alive. At least for today, time did not pass so slowly. I am been thinking all day and working a little bit too. It feels good to feel alive.
Also, seeing Above & Beyond tomorrow night. Should be amazing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qg9AwJe8MfQ&feature=channel
http://www.youtube.com/user/aboveandbeyondtv#p/u/42/vwJotWv7GBk
16 October 2009
Exhausted
Listening to this massive dance track at the moment: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0M6tcQHmIM8 - Roller Head (Klaas Remix) by Dj Shumilin
Anyway. I feel exhausted as a person. I have been feeling increasingly lost lately. I have spent the past year or so trying to justify school now to be a doctor or something later. Freshman year was just such a magical time in my life when I felt like I had it all and life would be on track. Since then, I have just been trying to reclaim that feeling without really caring about the actual moment I was in. Simultaneously, I am always trying to live in the moment like I used to freshman year and neither approach to reclaim the glorified past is working. . .
I should be studying for biology right now. I have been telling myself for the past 9 hours that I should be studying for biology right now. I have completely lost interest in all my classes. I don't appreciate that I can just completely bullshit a five page paper and get an A. Still, I don't want to work hard to sludge through a topic like chemistry (I would rather drop the class, which is what I'm trying to do). I'm not smart enough to get through all of this stuff without trying. And when I do try, I just get an A or B on the top of a piece of paper that represents a waste of time to me. My future feels so out of my own control and grasp that it seems senseless to try to work for it now. There are so many things I would rather do. There are so many things we would all rather do.
Switching tracks, literally - 9 Minutes by Jochen Miller http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rD1FsfGr9_A
AND the things I would rather do now feel like they are building better skills and more relevant knowledge for the future than the garbage I'm drudging through now. Every semester I walk away with a few cents worth of knowledge. Little tid bits of information and jargon find their way out of my head in some instances, so some stuff is getting through. Still, it seems impossible to justify the stress and anxiety that I put myself through now in addition to the actual financial cost for those few nickels of shit that has accumulated in my "pocket".
When I try to imagine myself as an actual happy person, I can't. The "happy" me is not here and is not anywhere. I'm just getting by. There are some friends I have made who are worth my time, my energy, and anything else I can lend. There are a very few people I would give everything to selflessly. And there is one person I can say I would consider dying for. In my life right now, they are the reasons I keep going. I would much rather take a nap for a month. I would much rather blow all of this shit off and decide to hit so far bottom, I can only come up. But that wouldn't be something I want have my dear friends exposed to. It is obligation and duty to them and to my societal identity, whatever that may be, that binds me here.
I can surely escape for moments here and there. My laughs are of momentary pleasure and my smiles are not forced. But, the moments I feel happy in and the moments I look back at with ease are in the severe minority.
Favorite track at the moment is this one - Ecouter (Morgan Page Remix) by Carmen Rizzo http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GAzypq1I1bY
Goosebumpy vocals!
Moving on. That's pretty much it. I'm going to drop this whole premed thing because if I can barely make it through the sludge of life now, I would probably lose my sanity in med-school which would be sadly not ironic for a psychiatrist. It was a good dream for a little while. I'll add it to my collection of 'Happy thoughts worth keeping'. There it will stay with fragments of a broken heart, childhood visions of super-star athletedom, and stumbling upon fortune before 21. I'm just slowly watering down who I am. I feel that in my past I was a stronger idealist, a more dedicated human being for change, and an advocate for profound universal truths. The only thing I'm looking forward to now, is being in the company of someone I love and playing this silly game with them in a way that is in some way sustaining. All that I ask is to be a little inspired. I want to feel like I can live a little.
With that I'll leave you with this tune. I prefer the starkiller's remix (Robbie Rivera will suffice!) but it doesn't appear to be on youtube :( - Work That Body by Robert Clivilles feat. C&C Music Factory http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1pUmU-_npw
Anyway. I feel exhausted as a person. I have been feeling increasingly lost lately. I have spent the past year or so trying to justify school now to be a doctor or something later. Freshman year was just such a magical time in my life when I felt like I had it all and life would be on track. Since then, I have just been trying to reclaim that feeling without really caring about the actual moment I was in. Simultaneously, I am always trying to live in the moment like I used to freshman year and neither approach to reclaim the glorified past is working. . .
I should be studying for biology right now. I have been telling myself for the past 9 hours that I should be studying for biology right now. I have completely lost interest in all my classes. I don't appreciate that I can just completely bullshit a five page paper and get an A. Still, I don't want to work hard to sludge through a topic like chemistry (I would rather drop the class, which is what I'm trying to do). I'm not smart enough to get through all of this stuff without trying. And when I do try, I just get an A or B on the top of a piece of paper that represents a waste of time to me. My future feels so out of my own control and grasp that it seems senseless to try to work for it now. There are so many things I would rather do. There are so many things we would all rather do.
Switching tracks, literally - 9 Minutes by Jochen Miller http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rD1FsfGr9_A
AND the things I would rather do now feel like they are building better skills and more relevant knowledge for the future than the garbage I'm drudging through now. Every semester I walk away with a few cents worth of knowledge. Little tid bits of information and jargon find their way out of my head in some instances, so some stuff is getting through. Still, it seems impossible to justify the stress and anxiety that I put myself through now in addition to the actual financial cost for those few nickels of shit that has accumulated in my "pocket".
When I try to imagine myself as an actual happy person, I can't. The "happy" me is not here and is not anywhere. I'm just getting by. There are some friends I have made who are worth my time, my energy, and anything else I can lend. There are a very few people I would give everything to selflessly. And there is one person I can say I would consider dying for. In my life right now, they are the reasons I keep going. I would much rather take a nap for a month. I would much rather blow all of this shit off and decide to hit so far bottom, I can only come up. But that wouldn't be something I want have my dear friends exposed to. It is obligation and duty to them and to my societal identity, whatever that may be, that binds me here.
I can surely escape for moments here and there. My laughs are of momentary pleasure and my smiles are not forced. But, the moments I feel happy in and the moments I look back at with ease are in the severe minority.
Favorite track at the moment is this one - Ecouter (Morgan Page Remix) by Carmen Rizzo http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GAzypq1I1bY
Goosebumpy vocals!
Moving on. That's pretty much it. I'm going to drop this whole premed thing because if I can barely make it through the sludge of life now, I would probably lose my sanity in med-school which would be sadly not ironic for a psychiatrist. It was a good dream for a little while. I'll add it to my collection of 'Happy thoughts worth keeping'. There it will stay with fragments of a broken heart, childhood visions of super-star athletedom, and stumbling upon fortune before 21. I'm just slowly watering down who I am. I feel that in my past I was a stronger idealist, a more dedicated human being for change, and an advocate for profound universal truths. The only thing I'm looking forward to now, is being in the company of someone I love and playing this silly game with them in a way that is in some way sustaining. All that I ask is to be a little inspired. I want to feel like I can live a little.
With that I'll leave you with this tune. I prefer the starkiller's remix (Robbie Rivera will suffice!) but it doesn't appear to be on youtube :( - Work That Body by Robert Clivilles feat. C&C Music Factory http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1pUmU-_npw
29 September 2009
Response to Throkr's
I obviously wrote this some time ago. I also clearly BS'd it pretty badly. Seems like the kind of thing I turned in 30 seconds before it was due, as opposed to one minute before.
English 111
September 6, 2007
The Lobbyists
Upon entering the lobby you are blasted by a vent of cold air. A commotion of voices from the font desk will find their way into your ear as you hear the double doors click behind you. Without actively thinking about it, you look over to the corner, perhaps a sound from the high-definition TV distracted you. Suddenly, you feel compelled to walk over and see what is playing. You are bombarded by a welcoming of “Hellos,” “What ups,” and “Hows it goin's” by the patrons of the corner. These are the Kreischer-Compton Lobbyists. While it may seem trivial, this dedicated group of individuals is drawn to the lobby by choice of entertainment, comfort, and ownership.
The most exciting place to be, from the entire Bowling Green State University campus, is this particular lobby. There is a high-definition television with a bass-boost, DVD player, and cable. There is a Macintosh computer with high speed internet. Above all else there are people there; always. There is a constant stream of passer byes and a consistent group of lobby users. It is a rare occurrence that an ESPN watcher is not utilizing the TV, and that someone isn't checking their email or facebook on the computer. Alternatively, a very interesting experience can come from just sitting and watching and listening from the lobby itself. The area here is much like a traffic intersection. People from all different areas converge on this one floor space for different reasons and some with complex plans. Many people who come to the lobby at night are there to meet someone or to find somewhere to go. By day the lobby thru traffic is there to cut corners and take a shortcut to class. But it is not uncommon to see a person or group drawn in by morning cartoons or exciting sports updates. Ultimately, the lobbyists were all once travelers just passing through. But slowly, they came together to form their group which will inevitably gain more people with time. Who can resist the lobbyists gaming activities like Balderdash, Pictionary, and Boggle? Or wonderful movies like Equilibrium, The Boondock Saints, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Would this kind of group, and sometimes even crowd, fit into a dorm room? Would the dorms on the other side of the wall and across the hall tolerate that kind of noise? There is no question that people have more fun when they are together watching these movies.
But what is entertainment and fun without the comfort to experience it? The lounge is filled with an assortment of very, very comfy chairs and couches. In all there are nine sets of seats with a full capacity of 15 possible seats excluding the floor. All these seats and the comfortable couches would never fit in a dorm room, or even a dorm lounge. The only place for this setup is the lobby. But not only are the seating arrangements comfortable, the entire room is quite visually easy. With brick and glass as the walls, the room does not feel closed off. At night the lighting is soft and warm, during the day it's natural. Tables sit conveniently in front of the couches for books and laptops. A simple metronome clock hangs on the wall quietly keeping track of the ticking time. If one actually observes the time closely, however, they would realize that it actually slows down completely. During the day and into the evening the conversations will not strike in any weird ways; college students talking about their days and the funny things that happened and the even funnier things that should have happened. But come 1 and 2 am, you may here of deep political motivations, philosophical discussions, and maybe even conspiracy theories. Rumors suggest an oncoming short story reading.
But why the lobby; is it really that entertaining and comfortable? There are plenty of relaxing and exciting places on campus outside of the dorm building to experience people. College is a unique experience with one very detrimental downside. With all the people around who are basically strangers, it is impossible to find any space that is exclusively their's. As one's time is spent somewhere, that place will slowly become theirs just out of sheer appreciation. This is very much a desire of ownership; to have something of their own. This is said without even taking into account that logistically, it makes sense to have a public meeting area because there are people from the lobbyist group from both sides of the dorm so the lobby acts very much as a central meeting location. With the power of a group in the lobby there is no threat in anyway, forgetting the sorority meetings of course. But even in this conflict there was a certain hilarity about the entire ordeal sympathetic to the lobbyists. It is not arguable that the lobby offers a kind of recognizable ownership that the dorm room just cannot afford.
The lobby is far more than just a lobby. On par with the first Greek forums and far more productive than the U.S. Senate, this room not only literally upholds the rest of the building, but the social ideals for which the building was constructed. Everyone goes to college with social ambitions and the lobby is many ways completes some people's ability to meet those goals. The lobbyists have realized this intriguing idea and have internalized it. Because of this, they have become as much of the lobby, and maybe even more of the lobby than any table or chair in it. If you were to go to lobby and find these lobbyists and see who they are your idea of the lobby would change. I promise that if you were to return without the lobbyists there, something would be missing. For the rest of Bowling Green State University, the lobbyists are just as much an idea as they are a group of people. Founded by the elusive longing of entertainment and comfort, they have found both, and each other simultaneously finding ownership too. They are the KCD lobbyists.
English 111
September 6, 2007
The Lobbyists
Upon entering the lobby you are blasted by a vent of cold air. A commotion of voices from the font desk will find their way into your ear as you hear the double doors click behind you. Without actively thinking about it, you look over to the corner, perhaps a sound from the high-definition TV distracted you. Suddenly, you feel compelled to walk over and see what is playing. You are bombarded by a welcoming of “Hellos,” “What ups,” and “Hows it goin's” by the patrons of the corner. These are the Kreischer-Compton Lobbyists. While it may seem trivial, this dedicated group of individuals is drawn to the lobby by choice of entertainment, comfort, and ownership.
The most exciting place to be, from the entire Bowling Green State University campus, is this particular lobby. There is a high-definition television with a bass-boost, DVD player, and cable. There is a Macintosh computer with high speed internet. Above all else there are people there; always. There is a constant stream of passer byes and a consistent group of lobby users. It is a rare occurrence that an ESPN watcher is not utilizing the TV, and that someone isn't checking their email or facebook on the computer. Alternatively, a very interesting experience can come from just sitting and watching and listening from the lobby itself. The area here is much like a traffic intersection. People from all different areas converge on this one floor space for different reasons and some with complex plans. Many people who come to the lobby at night are there to meet someone or to find somewhere to go. By day the lobby thru traffic is there to cut corners and take a shortcut to class. But it is not uncommon to see a person or group drawn in by morning cartoons or exciting sports updates. Ultimately, the lobbyists were all once travelers just passing through. But slowly, they came together to form their group which will inevitably gain more people with time. Who can resist the lobbyists gaming activities like Balderdash, Pictionary, and Boggle? Or wonderful movies like Equilibrium, The Boondock Saints, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Would this kind of group, and sometimes even crowd, fit into a dorm room? Would the dorms on the other side of the wall and across the hall tolerate that kind of noise? There is no question that people have more fun when they are together watching these movies.
But what is entertainment and fun without the comfort to experience it? The lounge is filled with an assortment of very, very comfy chairs and couches. In all there are nine sets of seats with a full capacity of 15 possible seats excluding the floor. All these seats and the comfortable couches would never fit in a dorm room, or even a dorm lounge. The only place for this setup is the lobby. But not only are the seating arrangements comfortable, the entire room is quite visually easy. With brick and glass as the walls, the room does not feel closed off. At night the lighting is soft and warm, during the day it's natural. Tables sit conveniently in front of the couches for books and laptops. A simple metronome clock hangs on the wall quietly keeping track of the ticking time. If one actually observes the time closely, however, they would realize that it actually slows down completely. During the day and into the evening the conversations will not strike in any weird ways; college students talking about their days and the funny things that happened and the even funnier things that should have happened. But come 1 and 2 am, you may here of deep political motivations, philosophical discussions, and maybe even conspiracy theories. Rumors suggest an oncoming short story reading.
But why the lobby; is it really that entertaining and comfortable? There are plenty of relaxing and exciting places on campus outside of the dorm building to experience people. College is a unique experience with one very detrimental downside. With all the people around who are basically strangers, it is impossible to find any space that is exclusively their's. As one's time is spent somewhere, that place will slowly become theirs just out of sheer appreciation. This is very much a desire of ownership; to have something of their own. This is said without even taking into account that logistically, it makes sense to have a public meeting area because there are people from the lobbyist group from both sides of the dorm so the lobby acts very much as a central meeting location. With the power of a group in the lobby there is no threat in anyway, forgetting the sorority meetings of course. But even in this conflict there was a certain hilarity about the entire ordeal sympathetic to the lobbyists. It is not arguable that the lobby offers a kind of recognizable ownership that the dorm room just cannot afford.
The lobby is far more than just a lobby. On par with the first Greek forums and far more productive than the U.S. Senate, this room not only literally upholds the rest of the building, but the social ideals for which the building was constructed. Everyone goes to college with social ambitions and the lobby is many ways completes some people's ability to meet those goals. The lobbyists have realized this intriguing idea and have internalized it. Because of this, they have become as much of the lobby, and maybe even more of the lobby than any table or chair in it. If you were to go to lobby and find these lobbyists and see who they are your idea of the lobby would change. I promise that if you were to return without the lobbyists there, something would be missing. For the rest of Bowling Green State University, the lobbyists are just as much an idea as they are a group of people. Founded by the elusive longing of entertainment and comfort, they have found both, and each other simultaneously finding ownership too. They are the KCD lobbyists.
28 September 2009
Get Written Up
This semester is my third of living on campus here at Bowling Green State University. I have made many good friends here in the dorms and together we have shared countless precious moments. I will always have a great sense of nostalgia for this place and these memories. At this point I could say that these lifetime friends and heartfelt moments could not have been experienced and acquired had it not been for good lo' Bowling Green State University's ability to instill this place with such a sense of community. I resent giving the baby sitters and super visors of this facility such credit but I have no choice. Honestly, I have to give Bowling Green my congratulations in how well they maintain the structure of community that has strengthened my ties to the people I live near. If it had not been for the ridiculous rules, preposterous impositions, and insulting guidelines I'm not sure the people I share most of my time with would have anything to complain about and relate to. Just by enforcing such bogus measures upon such respectful, thoughtful, and intelligent individuals, the supervisors of this domestic complex have lost all my respect. And, while I never fully trusted in their ability to maintain true order and fair justice in a relatively balanced manor, I never suspected that such claims against me would ever be made without at least some closer and respective look to the situation at hand. Then again, relativity would assume at least some respect for who I am as a person, withholding that I am outstanding student within the Bowling Green community.
The main issue I have with this particular "educational sanction" is that within this fortress of critical thinking and analytical development that we call a university, I am basically just being forced to regurgitate rules. In doing that, the enforcers of such policies take it upon themselves to assume that, I, the student am unintelligible enough to understand rules clearly stated and conveyed both in writing and verbal all throughout the building. Now, what does that really say about the university and the students they accept? Unless of course, I am misinterpreting some aspect of such an "education sanction."
I think everyone here knows what this is really about. This is about creating a punishment that is of such severe reprimand that an offender of the rules such as myself must be more careful in the future about breaking said rules. Again, to verify, I have "allegedly" (though I'm not sure how allegedly I did anything considering I admitted guilty to the offense and there are three witnesses. . .) offended the sacred policy of quiet hours. Such a policy falls under part 6. A. of "Community Living Standards." So, the thing to ask here, is whether or not the crime actually fits the punishment. Was I breaking quiet hours out of malicious intent? Well of course Satan told me to blast house heavy dirty bass techno throughout the heavens. The idea that my actions, which so obviously were a complete accident, are punishable by a waste of my time equal to a formal meeting, walks with the RAs, plus the development of this essay are totally inappropriate in my opinion. Moreover, I am insulted to think that the baby sitters who run this complex don't trust me enough, as a twenty year old citizen and student, to have the thoughtful consideration and conscious concern for the people around me to play a major role in my actions.
I suppose the part that irks me the most is that all of this could have easily been avoided by the simply admission that indeed it was a mistake and since the circumstances that preceded it were in part because of the one time setup of my roommate speakers. To put a mistaken and minor offense of this nature in the same category of other offenses that could occur within this joke of "Community Living Standards" is preposterous and if I had any power or mind to change such a moronic system I would. With that being said, I will no longer keep you in suspended anticipation of the purpose of this essay.
Educational Sanction
Quiet hours are set in place to uphold one of the most important aspects of the community here at BGSU; respect. Respect is one of the cornerstones of life as a resident here within the dormitories. Without respect, there can be no trust or real concern for the people living within such close proximity. And while on the surface the rules may seem preposterous, superfluous, and insulting in some cases, they do actually serve the purpose of upholding the guidelines that will allow for such respect to occur and therefore lay the groundwork for community. Quite obviously the goal of community is the most sensible reason to enforce such guidelines as the end means are so sacred these regulations are justified. But, however, there are essentially three reasons for a resident to follow quiet hours on their own accord outside of following these regulations for the fear of educational sanctions (such as this one). Those reasons are for the discretion of the Resident Advisors, the respect and consideration of others in the hall, and for yourself.
It would seem that generally being an RA can be quite a task. With several friends as RA's and with following other RA's for their walks, I was able to learn more about their job and responsibilities. This was rather enlightening and brought new perspective to my previously narrow minded assessment of their position. Each night a pair of RA's must walk through both sides of the building twice. The first walk is to ensure all is well within the community. It's a good time to give friendly reminders to people about courtesy hours and quiet hours. The RA's must also check the fire extinguishers to make sure they are in working order and have not been tempered with. In addition to that, they must check for any propped doors. In doing this, they are taking a preventative measure to ensure a safer community. During my walks with the RA's, two different attitudes seemed to occur on the two different walks. During the community walk, the Resident Advisors were far more friendly and able to interact with the residents on an amiable level. Any comments made were similar to comments you might hear from two friends or neighbors lacking in authority. This was not at all awkward and interaction was definitely encouraged. But during the second walk, the attitudes were more tense and less friendly. Interactions between residents and the RA's seemed nervous and awkward. The switch occurred because this is not a walk to strengthen community, but to impose it. Rules were being enforced or strictly reminded on the basis of fair warning for possibility of penal action to be taken. Residents cowered in fear or cloaked themselves in disrespect when the RA's knocked on the door or asked residence to shut the door and keep their sound volume down. RA's are primarily students too. They conveyed to me that getting people in trouble is something they don't necessarily want to do. If they had a choice, nobody would get in trouble. But, they simultaneously have a duty to uphold as they are being compensated for the job they must perform. And in being a paramount aspect of the community itself they should be respected not just as RA's because of the higher power they possess, but also as members of the community. In that sense, it would be within any given individual's best interest to not violate the rules strictly under the condition that the RA's would rather not be placed in that awkward relationship to the resident.
Community is all about being conscious of the people around you. Nothing is more important for building community than to give as much respect and consideration to everyone. Without that, it is impossible for the other residents to feel comfortable where they live. While this building may belong to BGSU, it is the very thing that makes the residents more than just different people living in the same place. Because we share this place, it is the thing that makes this dormitory a community and a sanctuary. This is a sacred thing and it is not fair for anyone one individual or group of individuals to take that away. In playing my house-heavy-dirty-bass techno obnoxiously loud, regardless of whether or not it was by mistake, I single handedly took away other residents ability to feel comfortable where they reside. Most certainly it is unfair to expose my fellow residents to such interference and disregard. And in doing that, regardless of intent, I most certainly threatened the cornerstones of respect that are essential elements to nurture and strengthen a healthy community atmosphere.
Quiet hours force residents to generally change their routines and let their minds become more settled for rest. Residents that follow quiet hours will be forced to stop heavily involved or noisy activities upon the enforcement of quiet hours. Everyone knows that college is stressful, and sleep is never more important than during times of high stress. Quiet hours allow for the hallways to become more relaxed. For individuals who need to wake early for class, this could be crucial in allowing them to get adequate sleep for their specific needs. From a personal health context, routine is vital for the human body to regulate itself and handle stress in a more efficient way. Quiet hours most certainly facilitate that routine and help to hold that routine in place especially for the sake of circadian rhythm.
In conclusion, I feel I have more than adequately learned a lesson in respect for the community and my fellow residents. I regret the unfortunate actions that I initiated and will do my best in the future to consider with higher regard and solicitude the feelings and sensitivities of all the other residents around me. In a sense I feel glad that I was able to experience this situation in the way that I did, as I was able to get so much out of it. If I had not violated quiet hours, I may have never experienced a day in the life of an RA (or rather two walks on two nights) and gained such valuable perspective. With that being said though, I will do my very best to do a better job of assessing my actions before I make them in the hopes that don't violate the precarious conditions upon which such valuable merits for this community rest.
The main issue I have with this particular "educational sanction" is that within this fortress of critical thinking and analytical development that we call a university, I am basically just being forced to regurgitate rules. In doing that, the enforcers of such policies take it upon themselves to assume that, I, the student am unintelligible enough to understand rules clearly stated and conveyed both in writing and verbal all throughout the building. Now, what does that really say about the university and the students they accept? Unless of course, I am misinterpreting some aspect of such an "education sanction."
I think everyone here knows what this is really about. This is about creating a punishment that is of such severe reprimand that an offender of the rules such as myself must be more careful in the future about breaking said rules. Again, to verify, I have "allegedly" (though I'm not sure how allegedly I did anything considering I admitted guilty to the offense and there are three witnesses. . .) offended the sacred policy of quiet hours. Such a policy falls under part 6. A. of "Community Living Standards." So, the thing to ask here, is whether or not the crime actually fits the punishment. Was I breaking quiet hours out of malicious intent? Well of course Satan told me to blast house heavy dirty bass techno throughout the heavens. The idea that my actions, which so obviously were a complete accident, are punishable by a waste of my time equal to a formal meeting, walks with the RAs, plus the development of this essay are totally inappropriate in my opinion. Moreover, I am insulted to think that the baby sitters who run this complex don't trust me enough, as a twenty year old citizen and student, to have the thoughtful consideration and conscious concern for the people around me to play a major role in my actions.
I suppose the part that irks me the most is that all of this could have easily been avoided by the simply admission that indeed it was a mistake and since the circumstances that preceded it were in part because of the one time setup of my roommate speakers. To put a mistaken and minor offense of this nature in the same category of other offenses that could occur within this joke of "Community Living Standards" is preposterous and if I had any power or mind to change such a moronic system I would. With that being said, I will no longer keep you in suspended anticipation of the purpose of this essay.
Educational Sanction
Quiet hours are set in place to uphold one of the most important aspects of the community here at BGSU; respect. Respect is one of the cornerstones of life as a resident here within the dormitories. Without respect, there can be no trust or real concern for the people living within such close proximity. And while on the surface the rules may seem preposterous, superfluous, and insulting in some cases, they do actually serve the purpose of upholding the guidelines that will allow for such respect to occur and therefore lay the groundwork for community. Quite obviously the goal of community is the most sensible reason to enforce such guidelines as the end means are so sacred these regulations are justified. But, however, there are essentially three reasons for a resident to follow quiet hours on their own accord outside of following these regulations for the fear of educational sanctions (such as this one). Those reasons are for the discretion of the Resident Advisors, the respect and consideration of others in the hall, and for yourself.
It would seem that generally being an RA can be quite a task. With several friends as RA's and with following other RA's for their walks, I was able to learn more about their job and responsibilities. This was rather enlightening and brought new perspective to my previously narrow minded assessment of their position. Each night a pair of RA's must walk through both sides of the building twice. The first walk is to ensure all is well within the community. It's a good time to give friendly reminders to people about courtesy hours and quiet hours. The RA's must also check the fire extinguishers to make sure they are in working order and have not been tempered with. In addition to that, they must check for any propped doors. In doing this, they are taking a preventative measure to ensure a safer community. During my walks with the RA's, two different attitudes seemed to occur on the two different walks. During the community walk, the Resident Advisors were far more friendly and able to interact with the residents on an amiable level. Any comments made were similar to comments you might hear from two friends or neighbors lacking in authority. This was not at all awkward and interaction was definitely encouraged. But during the second walk, the attitudes were more tense and less friendly. Interactions between residents and the RA's seemed nervous and awkward. The switch occurred because this is not a walk to strengthen community, but to impose it. Rules were being enforced or strictly reminded on the basis of fair warning for possibility of penal action to be taken. Residents cowered in fear or cloaked themselves in disrespect when the RA's knocked on the door or asked residence to shut the door and keep their sound volume down. RA's are primarily students too. They conveyed to me that getting people in trouble is something they don't necessarily want to do. If they had a choice, nobody would get in trouble. But, they simultaneously have a duty to uphold as they are being compensated for the job they must perform. And in being a paramount aspect of the community itself they should be respected not just as RA's because of the higher power they possess, but also as members of the community. In that sense, it would be within any given individual's best interest to not violate the rules strictly under the condition that the RA's would rather not be placed in that awkward relationship to the resident.
Community is all about being conscious of the people around you. Nothing is more important for building community than to give as much respect and consideration to everyone. Without that, it is impossible for the other residents to feel comfortable where they live. While this building may belong to BGSU, it is the very thing that makes the residents more than just different people living in the same place. Because we share this place, it is the thing that makes this dormitory a community and a sanctuary. This is a sacred thing and it is not fair for anyone one individual or group of individuals to take that away. In playing my house-heavy-dirty-bass techno obnoxiously loud, regardless of whether or not it was by mistake, I single handedly took away other residents ability to feel comfortable where they reside. Most certainly it is unfair to expose my fellow residents to such interference and disregard. And in doing that, regardless of intent, I most certainly threatened the cornerstones of respect that are essential elements to nurture and strengthen a healthy community atmosphere.
Quiet hours force residents to generally change their routines and let their minds become more settled for rest. Residents that follow quiet hours will be forced to stop heavily involved or noisy activities upon the enforcement of quiet hours. Everyone knows that college is stressful, and sleep is never more important than during times of high stress. Quiet hours allow for the hallways to become more relaxed. For individuals who need to wake early for class, this could be crucial in allowing them to get adequate sleep for their specific needs. From a personal health context, routine is vital for the human body to regulate itself and handle stress in a more efficient way. Quiet hours most certainly facilitate that routine and help to hold that routine in place especially for the sake of circadian rhythm.
In conclusion, I feel I have more than adequately learned a lesson in respect for the community and my fellow residents. I regret the unfortunate actions that I initiated and will do my best in the future to consider with higher regard and solicitude the feelings and sensitivities of all the other residents around me. In a sense I feel glad that I was able to experience this situation in the way that I did, as I was able to get so much out of it. If I had not violated quiet hours, I may have never experienced a day in the life of an RA (or rather two walks on two nights) and gained such valuable perspective. With that being said though, I will do my very best to do a better job of assessing my actions before I make them in the hopes that don't violate the precarious conditions upon which such valuable merits for this community rest.
24 September 2009
18 September 2009
Confirmation.
Hmmm. I'm trying to think back to the moment when I decided I was going to go to med school.
It was a cool spring night in the week of exams. I was looking at deejay equipment around 3 or 4 am. Suddenly, I just really wanted to go to med school by day and deejay by night? I don't really know, I can't really describe why it hit me like that. But I envisioned myself as a secret psychiatrist. I mostly just wanted to help people? Who knows really. But, it was a happy thought. I considered it under severe sleep deprivation and deliriousness from stress. Then, exam week ended and I caught up on sleep. Soon after, I realized I had made a 4.0. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I could do this. So I went back to my old school on a mission.
Chemistry
Biology
Math
All things I remember doing well on in school. I remember hearing nightmare stories about chemistry. I couldn't wait to get in there. I wanted to take something difficult and interesting. I remember seeing equations on the board and knowing them instantly. My name was always in the top of the list for grades in that class. It just didn't feel that difficult.
I admit I have not taken any classes like that for a while. But I figured it would just come back. I assumed that I would just feel that way again. Hell, even if I needed to relearn it, wouldn't be that bad. Did I let my ego inflate too much? I've never considered myself anywhere near genius or brilliant but I could get it and I could do it.
Point being I just carpet bombed the shit out of a chem exam I thought I was ready for. While I was taking it, I was thinking to myself, this is not as bad as I thought it would be. I've got this under control. This is so great, I'll get away with a B on this!
Except I didn't. And I've probably put more into this class than ever before. As in, I care. I have not worked very hard at it, but I don't work hard at any classes ever. I joined a study group and actually takes notes. Those things feel like huge steps but apparently not big enough. How much do I really want to put into this class? And what about when the classes become more difficult?
Peace out medschool, it was a good plan and a fun thought. I'm just not up for it. :/
It was a cool spring night in the week of exams. I was looking at deejay equipment around 3 or 4 am. Suddenly, I just really wanted to go to med school by day and deejay by night? I don't really know, I can't really describe why it hit me like that. But I envisioned myself as a secret psychiatrist. I mostly just wanted to help people? Who knows really. But, it was a happy thought. I considered it under severe sleep deprivation and deliriousness from stress. Then, exam week ended and I caught up on sleep. Soon after, I realized I had made a 4.0. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I could do this. So I went back to my old school on a mission.
Chemistry
Biology
Math
All things I remember doing well on in school. I remember hearing nightmare stories about chemistry. I couldn't wait to get in there. I wanted to take something difficult and interesting. I remember seeing equations on the board and knowing them instantly. My name was always in the top of the list for grades in that class. It just didn't feel that difficult.
I admit I have not taken any classes like that for a while. But I figured it would just come back. I assumed that I would just feel that way again. Hell, even if I needed to relearn it, wouldn't be that bad. Did I let my ego inflate too much? I've never considered myself anywhere near genius or brilliant but I could get it and I could do it.
Point being I just carpet bombed the shit out of a chem exam I thought I was ready for. While I was taking it, I was thinking to myself, this is not as bad as I thought it would be. I've got this under control. This is so great, I'll get away with a B on this!
Except I didn't. And I've probably put more into this class than ever before. As in, I care. I have not worked very hard at it, but I don't work hard at any classes ever. I joined a study group and actually takes notes. Those things feel like huge steps but apparently not big enough. How much do I really want to put into this class? And what about when the classes become more difficult?
Peace out medschool, it was a good plan and a fun thought. I'm just not up for it. :/
15 September 2009
A Passage of Time
They just fit the look like a glove. You can spot them across campus, in class, and hear them in the halls. When I think about why it's so obvious, I can't come up with an answer. But they do stick out like a sore thumb. 9.5 out of 10 times the judgement call on them is right, furthering all evidence to their ridiculously distinct presence. I am, of course, talking about the freshman.
I have nothing against them at all. It is mostly just odd that non-freshman have the ability to smell out the freshman like the K9 drug sniffing team.
The Top 3 things to DEFINITELY look like a freshman:
1. Wear the silly lanyard that you received at orientation
2. Wear the "warrior" shirt that you got for being part of the class of 2013
3. Buy all of your books before your first class at the bookstore
Oh, while typing this I should have been NOT postponing my studying for TWO exams tomorrow. Damn.
I have nothing against them at all. It is mostly just odd that non-freshman have the ability to smell out the freshman like the K9 drug sniffing team.
The Top 3 things to DEFINITELY look like a freshman:
1. Wear the silly lanyard that you received at orientation
2. Wear the "warrior" shirt that you got for being part of the class of 2013
3. Buy all of your books before your first class at the bookstore
Oh, while typing this I should have been NOT postponing my studying for TWO exams tomorrow. Damn.
07 September 2009
N/A = Not Attentive
Hmmm, I shouldn't be typing anything other than the paper that is due tomorrow that I have yet to start. But, yes, defiantly (defiant oh whom, you ask? --who am I kidding, you're not really asking. . .) I am putting this paper off even further into the night. I do this to keep a personal and public reputation.
The personal reputation is this. I type paper's when I am exhausted, in the middle of the night/beginning of the morning. I start my papers with lots of drugs; a brilliant combination of adrenaline and caffeine. The adrenaline is from stress induced panic attacks. The caffeine is from cheap crappy coffee and green tea. I pride myself on the ability to bullshit papers without even thinking about them. Then, after the rush of the stimulants passes my body, I find myself barely functioning, yet, pressing on (the keys that is) into the next day in order to finish spreading the manure evenly through the pages. The next day, I wake to find a beautifully crafted paper sitting on the desktop of my computer, ready to be spell checked and printed. Though I might not remember exactly what I typed, I usually like the way it sounds.
My public reputation for not typing papers is fairly outstanding as well. In general people are surprised when I open up a blank word document before 1am to get started. There are also a few notorious stories in which (my apologies for being so vain here) I have stayed up until the sunrise just bitching to everyone around me about the paper I had to write itself, rather than spending less time just writing the paper and getting it over with. But who are we really kidding? We all know it's not about the paper, it's about how the paper is written; how well it asks the good questions and makes the astute critiques. So, generally I find myself getting excited about funny things to put in the paper and pushing the ridiculousness of the topics to their extremes. But, my dear reader, tonight, this paper is a whole different beast.
It is, I'm afraid something I almost dare not even say. Yes, it is a "Critique Essay." Really? I want to meet the assholes here who say that this is a good idea. I want to speak to the people who assume that by reading an essay by another, I gain ability to assess that paper, by writing a critique of it. Sure, sure the heads of the english department are all academic head honchos who probably wear their accolades and academic awards like war medals for all the political ass kissing - - I mean intellectual pioneering they have done.
Felt good to get all that out there, time to down this coffee and get this shit done.
Oh AND I ALMOST FORGOT. Apparently, over this just newly passed Labor Day Weekend, there were not ONE but TWO online math assignments due. . . Who is the dumbass who didn't check the calendar for that one? Two!? Is that entirely necessary!? Time to stop acting like the freshman I wish I was and start acting like the junior my tuition says I should be. . .
The personal reputation is this. I type paper's when I am exhausted, in the middle of the night/beginning of the morning. I start my papers with lots of drugs; a brilliant combination of adrenaline and caffeine. The adrenaline is from stress induced panic attacks. The caffeine is from cheap crappy coffee and green tea. I pride myself on the ability to bullshit papers without even thinking about them. Then, after the rush of the stimulants passes my body, I find myself barely functioning, yet, pressing on (the keys that is) into the next day in order to finish spreading the manure evenly through the pages. The next day, I wake to find a beautifully crafted paper sitting on the desktop of my computer, ready to be spell checked and printed. Though I might not remember exactly what I typed, I usually like the way it sounds.
My public reputation for not typing papers is fairly outstanding as well. In general people are surprised when I open up a blank word document before 1am to get started. There are also a few notorious stories in which (my apologies for being so vain here) I have stayed up until the sunrise just bitching to everyone around me about the paper I had to write itself, rather than spending less time just writing the paper and getting it over with. But who are we really kidding? We all know it's not about the paper, it's about how the paper is written; how well it asks the good questions and makes the astute critiques. So, generally I find myself getting excited about funny things to put in the paper and pushing the ridiculousness of the topics to their extremes. But, my dear reader, tonight, this paper is a whole different beast.
It is, I'm afraid something I almost dare not even say. Yes, it is a "Critique Essay." Really? I want to meet the assholes here who say that this is a good idea. I want to speak to the people who assume that by reading an essay by another, I gain ability to assess that paper, by writing a critique of it. Sure, sure the heads of the english department are all academic head honchos who probably wear their accolades and academic awards like war medals for all the political ass kissing - - I mean intellectual pioneering they have done.
Felt good to get all that out there, time to down this coffee and get this shit done.
Oh AND I ALMOST FORGOT. Apparently, over this just newly passed Labor Day Weekend, there were not ONE but TWO online math assignments due. . . Who is the dumbass who didn't check the calendar for that one? Two!? Is that entirely necessary!? Time to stop acting like the freshman I wish I was and start acting like the junior my tuition says I should be. . .
29 August 2009
Back to School
Hmmm back in school. So many things that don't play a role in real day-to-day life come up, hopefully because of good things? It's weird to be back here. My mail is behind by about three days, so sorry to all the fans who write in. . .kidding.
I try to categorize my life whenever possible so that I can label that section of my life with something. So the top news stories in my life.
Laptop Broken
About two or nights ago, my laptop would not turn on. It has been kind of flaky lately about getting out of bed, but this time it wouldn't wake up or anything, it just kind of went comatose on me. I have narrowed the problem down to either a logic board problem where it is no longer operating correctly with the video card, or perhaps it is strictly a video card problem. Either way, my computer appears to turn on but nothing appears on my screen on the output of the external monitor. . . So that's pretty sweet. I suppose I should be grateful it happened now and not later in the year, perhaps during a procrastinated paper or before a final exam.
Still Depressed
I feel not quite like myself. I feel dumb. I can't seem to recall anything from anywhere. I feel like I don't have quite enough energy or drive to do anything. I feel like I'm always on autopilot? I find myself completely blanking out on walking to class or climbing stares. Certainly I can see where splitting of the consciousness would come into play here, but it has never happened like this to me before. I feel like someone else with all my memories climbed into my skin and took over driving, and now I'm just the co-pilot. Perhaps just a phase or something I'm not really sure.
Turn Tableism
I'm quite a shitty DJ. I bought all the equipment I need to start off with the basics -tables, a mixer, the music, and tons of expectations. I hear other deejays who are professional or quite capable and I can hear what they are doing with the music but I can't seem to perform the same transitions or builds up to par. Though it's been less than a week of serious attempt, I can't help but feel like I'm improving in stalled slow motion.
Lo
I can't seem to do anything without missing her. Day and night I look for her in things I have, and the things around me. I look for her face on the people I pass and I try to find her voice in the jungle of sounds around campus. With no luck time after time, I just play her playlist which is more like a soundtrack really. It's a small price to pay really, she is worth so much more than the cost. But being away from her certainly doesn't make things easier.
More on the way I'm sure. Eventually I'll get around to being inspired and saying the things I want to say, saying the things I need to say, and saying the things people think I should say. But until then, find your own soundtrack.
23 August 2009
Back to school we go!
Tonight/the next five hours will be my last here at "home" for a while. Pretty soon, I will be headed back to school. Goodness.
I'm dating someone now. And yes, it's going very well, thank you for asking. She came to visit here last week. We had only gone nine days without seeing each other. The countdown to her coming here was like an endless river of time leading into a vast ocean of togetherness. But, it was all a mirage apparently, because now I'm sitting here alone and three hours away from her in a desert that used to be an ocean of time. But that's how those things are really.
Saw '500 Days of Summer'. Good movie, lame ending, won't give anything away. Also just got back from 'Inglorious Basterds'. Liked it much better than I thought I would, considering I'm not exactly much of a Tarantino fan, just looked away for the more gruesome parts, but mostly it was a very good movie, some solid moments of humor and emotional turmoil.
I promised some good friends from the old neighborhood that I would hang out with them tonight. And I passed up three other options in order to stay committed, understanding that the plans were set. But, apparently, they weren't cause half of our group bailed. Awesome minus awesome plus lame. So, we went to see Inglorious Basterds instead of confirming my global domination on a risk board. Kind of a letdown for the planet, I'm well aware, but I'll raise my armies another time to conquer evil doers!
The drive home was interesting. I don't remember it, except for the second half of the 40 minute journey. Mostly because I was having babyish labor pains (pun). Kidding on the labor pain, I don't want to offend anyone and pretend I could endure them, but literally I was sure for about 10 seconds that an alien was had been growing inside my stomach was going to jump out and face hug me right then. So, I three real options:
A - Pull over to the side of the ride and punch myself so the IBS inflicted pains seemed infantile in comparison (another pun)
B - Do a Sigourney Weaver and kill the alien inside of me. Then make a trilogy.
or
C - Just wait that shit out and have painfully explosive diarrhea once I got home
I went with C, and I have to say, in this particular moment I'm fairly pleased with the results, though a few minutes ago on the commode I was screaming profanities to myself in three different languages.
So, now I'm kind of off to bed. I need to make a post about my mother, just to generally vent about my frustrations from her, and my inability to cope with them for my own soul. Trust me, I'll still sleep peacefully.
I leave in less than five hours to make the long haul and then move in. Still, it feels like I'll never get out of the prison of a house to be in the place I want to be. Hopefully, I'll be writing much more very soon, as there is much to write and much time and inspiration just around the proverbial corner (proverbial in this case would actually be directly referring to a 3+ hour drive endured with the silence of my father and then gruesome hauling of my wasteful-American-materialist-sized shit into my actual room at school.
So, until next time, (insert catchy/deep phrase here)
If you get injured there is always some 'First Aid' for your ears from Super8 & Tab from the Anjunabeats Melodic Trance 04 album. It's a superb track.
I'm dating someone now. And yes, it's going very well, thank you for asking. She came to visit here last week. We had only gone nine days without seeing each other. The countdown to her coming here was like an endless river of time leading into a vast ocean of togetherness. But, it was all a mirage apparently, because now I'm sitting here alone and three hours away from her in a desert that used to be an ocean of time. But that's how those things are really.
Saw '500 Days of Summer'. Good movie, lame ending, won't give anything away. Also just got back from 'Inglorious Basterds'. Liked it much better than I thought I would, considering I'm not exactly much of a Tarantino fan, just looked away for the more gruesome parts, but mostly it was a very good movie, some solid moments of humor and emotional turmoil.
I promised some good friends from the old neighborhood that I would hang out with them tonight. And I passed up three other options in order to stay committed, understanding that the plans were set. But, apparently, they weren't cause half of our group bailed. Awesome minus awesome plus lame. So, we went to see Inglorious Basterds instead of confirming my global domination on a risk board. Kind of a letdown for the planet, I'm well aware, but I'll raise my armies another time to conquer evil doers!
The drive home was interesting. I don't remember it, except for the second half of the 40 minute journey. Mostly because I was having babyish labor pains (pun). Kidding on the labor pain, I don't want to offend anyone and pretend I could endure them, but literally I was sure for about 10 seconds that an alien was had been growing inside my stomach was going to jump out and face hug me right then. So, I three real options:
A - Pull over to the side of the ride and punch myself so the IBS inflicted pains seemed infantile in comparison (another pun)
B - Do a Sigourney Weaver and kill the alien inside of me. Then make a trilogy.
or
C - Just wait that shit out and have painfully explosive diarrhea once I got home
I went with C, and I have to say, in this particular moment I'm fairly pleased with the results, though a few minutes ago on the commode I was screaming profanities to myself in three different languages.
So, now I'm kind of off to bed. I need to make a post about my mother, just to generally vent about my frustrations from her, and my inability to cope with them for my own soul. Trust me, I'll still sleep peacefully.
I leave in less than five hours to make the long haul and then move in. Still, it feels like I'll never get out of the prison of a house to be in the place I want to be. Hopefully, I'll be writing much more very soon, as there is much to write and much time and inspiration just around the proverbial corner (proverbial in this case would actually be directly referring to a 3+ hour drive endured with the silence of my father and then gruesome hauling of my wasteful-American-materialist-sized shit into my actual room at school.
So, until next time, (insert catchy/deep phrase here)
If you get injured there is always some 'First Aid' for your ears from Super8 & Tab from the Anjunabeats Melodic Trance 04 album. It's a superb track.
09 August 2009
Late Post
Hmmm it is August 7th, I'm sitting on the bottom bunk of my bed in my cabin. None of my four campers are here so I'm sneaking (kind of) on my laptop. I'm also chewing bubble gum as evidenced in the photo (another no no). But I'm making an exception for this particular day. It's the day I never imaged actually coming. It's also the day I have dreaded the most for the past five weeks.
What is today? Well, it's the last day of camp. I have serious conclusion, exit, exeunt, ending, etc. problems. I just end up wanting to make every event ceremonious and exceptional. But, things just seemingly go by normally without admittance of the termination of a time. Everyone knows what is happening, but the day is just passing by normally as if nothing will be different tomorrow. And it's killing me.
I can remember the first day I drove up to look around the place I would spending my sea of time (the summer). And the first night I slept here at camp, I couldn't sleep at all. And in the morning, I thought to myself, "it's going to be a very, very, unbearably long summer. . ." The first week soon became a blur, however. Then every day after that added to the blur until the memory of the summer was just one blob of a day that lasted seemingly forever, yet in this moment, the summer was infinitely short.
The problem with camp is that it's so removed from the real world. I felt so lost when I first came here. My sense of direction was completely gone and I think i had lost some sight of who I was and what I wanted. Here at camp, I found myself and someone else. And within that, I feel satisfied completely for my time here. I made the money I needed for deejay equipment, I met a person I want to let change my life, and I put myself back on my map of my future. More than I agreed to gain when I signed my contract, so I'm thrilled. But, the end of camp is more the rebirth of the real world. And when I return, I'm not sure I'll be ready. My biggest concerns won't be counting campers, keeping the cabin orderly, or keeping a group of totally ADHD campers remotely interested in topics they don't find interesting. But, grades that dictate my (highly competitive) career options, money (for school and everything else), and the maintaining and nurturing of my newly found flourishing romance will be threats (not in that order) and catalysts for anxiety. So, when all of those things come crashing through, will I be able to maintain the things I have gained at camp. Will I still be able to look on the map of my future and find myself. Will I be able to uphold the hopes that I have recently found? We shall wait and see.
The absolute worst part about leaving camp is the people. It's weird to consider the only constants in my life for the past eight weeks have been the people and the schedule. And, the single constant above all of that is my increasing interest and attention towards a kind of miniature love. I'll touch this base after camp ends and I'm back home.
The last supper is coming soon, I'm going to come back to these thoughts briefly during my night off. Here is to hoping I don't black out from exhaustion at dinner or council fire. . .
20 July 2009
This was Sunday Morning
From Sunday morning. . .
This is the halfway point for camp (technically a little past). Five weeks ago, I would have said the halfway point would be good. But, now I'm feeling irresoluteness about the whole thing. Time is flying by so quickly; too quickly.
But in this moment I suppose life is pretty good. It's 9:54 and I'm listening to Paul van Dyk's 'Home' with some $5 JVC earbuds. I realize I sound like a snob, but my $100 Sony MDR-V6's were stolen from here at camp. So, I'm kind of pissed off about that because now I can't experience songs in all their heavy hitting bass glory.
OK Scratch everything I just said. At this particular moment I feel, something. I can't quite put my finger on it. To begin with, this post is completely useless and pointless. I just switched tracks to One Night in Tokyo. Fuck it I'm going running. ..
Most days now, I can't run to the edge. Mainly because I don't have enough time to run long enough to get there. The edge is the runner's high. I started my run today not knowing how long it would go. Ten minutes passed, and my right leg started to build up so much lactic acid, it felt like a lead boot. But, after continuing my run for a while it went away and it was pretty much just running on the music that was playing in my ears. I ran around the entire lake which is about a 1.5 mile stretch, then back around to the other side and then in a loop. So all told it was probably a 5-6 mile run. It took me a little under an hour. On my way back, I stopped by the pier on the lake and looks at the rolling clouds. My heart was beating so fast it looked like the clouds were getting sucked from the sky and out past the distant tree line.
Running is a good time to think and a good time to escape. In the last five minutes of my run, I could feel the endorphins released. . .
What a useless post really. Oh well.
This is the halfway point for camp (technically a little past). Five weeks ago, I would have said the halfway point would be good. But, now I'm feeling irresoluteness about the whole thing. Time is flying by so quickly; too quickly.
But in this moment I suppose life is pretty good. It's 9:54 and I'm listening to Paul van Dyk's 'Home' with some $5 JVC earbuds. I realize I sound like a snob, but my $100 Sony MDR-V6's were stolen from here at camp. So, I'm kind of pissed off about that because now I can't experience songs in all their heavy hitting bass glory.
OK Scratch everything I just said. At this particular moment I feel, something. I can't quite put my finger on it. To begin with, this post is completely useless and pointless. I just switched tracks to One Night in Tokyo. Fuck it I'm going running. ..
Most days now, I can't run to the edge. Mainly because I don't have enough time to run long enough to get there. The edge is the runner's high. I started my run today not knowing how long it would go. Ten minutes passed, and my right leg started to build up so much lactic acid, it felt like a lead boot. But, after continuing my run for a while it went away and it was pretty much just running on the music that was playing in my ears. I ran around the entire lake which is about a 1.5 mile stretch, then back around to the other side and then in a loop. So all told it was probably a 5-6 mile run. It took me a little under an hour. On my way back, I stopped by the pier on the lake and looks at the rolling clouds. My heart was beating so fast it looked like the clouds were getting sucked from the sky and out past the distant tree line.
Running is a good time to think and a good time to escape. In the last five minutes of my run, I could feel the endorphins released. . .
What a useless post really. Oh well.
08 July 2009
Day and Night Divided
Yesterday was a good day by all standards. And there was nothing really stopping last night from being a good night either. So when I fell asleep (probably with a smile) before midnight last night, I imagined myself waking around 6:50 and going for a morning run. Few battle plans survive when contact is made; with the enemy, or when the next morning comes apparently.
I awoke about 5 am with an incredible amount of itching around my ankles. Two night ago they were pretty much eaten alive. I have swollen rings around each ankle from being the victim of a mosquito fest. So, at 5 am they itched so bad it hurt and sleep seemed hopeless. . . But honestly, the worst part of the morning was waking to find my wrist in total pain. Unless I hold my palm to my hip, my wrist expels enormous pain. So typing this now is actually not the brightest idea and it puts my wrist at an awkward angle. Sever strain, maybe even a break? I don't know. Regardless, with being doomed to being awake, I decided to go for a run around the entire lake, something I have yet to do.
So to main I went, to grab my ipod. Put on a new found mix and started running.
It was still pretty dark as I started off. I could see light above the tree line but between the tress, forget it, it was almost as good as night. As I left the woods to trek the road, the dome of canopy above my head broke and the sky opened free. I ran below and epic divide in the sky. To my right, night was in retreat with feathered clouds holding gray and darkness against a the coming blue. On my left, the distant tree line was slowly becoming silhouetted by the golden shine of the sun beyond it. And above that horizon, creamy clouds swirled with fluffy bright pinks and silvery blues to make atmospheric cotton candy. As I ran down my narrow path, half of me in night and half of me still in day, I could not help but to feel a new appreciation for the morning. While in the evening, the night battles out the day in the reverse fashion of what I was witnessing, there is far too much noise and an overload of distractions to see it happening in full, unless you plan to. On this morning, I saw no person nor heard any motor. As a looked across the farm field on my left, I saw deer at their safe distance straddled between the woods and the field. They watched as I ran and I watched as they stood. It was an equilibrium that formed as I crossed the road into the diffusion of night.
Well, reveille (from the French 'wake up!') is about to go off so I'll throw up this moment of absurd existential reflection now.
The title is also from one of my favorite songs - Waiting Here for You by The Thrillseekers
I awoke about 5 am with an incredible amount of itching around my ankles. Two night ago they were pretty much eaten alive. I have swollen rings around each ankle from being the victim of a mosquito fest. So, at 5 am they itched so bad it hurt and sleep seemed hopeless. . . But honestly, the worst part of the morning was waking to find my wrist in total pain. Unless I hold my palm to my hip, my wrist expels enormous pain. So typing this now is actually not the brightest idea and it puts my wrist at an awkward angle. Sever strain, maybe even a break? I don't know. Regardless, with being doomed to being awake, I decided to go for a run around the entire lake, something I have yet to do.
So to main I went, to grab my ipod. Put on a new found mix and started running.
It was still pretty dark as I started off. I could see light above the tree line but between the tress, forget it, it was almost as good as night. As I left the woods to trek the road, the dome of canopy above my head broke and the sky opened free. I ran below and epic divide in the sky. To my right, night was in retreat with feathered clouds holding gray and darkness against a the coming blue. On my left, the distant tree line was slowly becoming silhouetted by the golden shine of the sun beyond it. And above that horizon, creamy clouds swirled with fluffy bright pinks and silvery blues to make atmospheric cotton candy. As I ran down my narrow path, half of me in night and half of me still in day, I could not help but to feel a new appreciation for the morning. While in the evening, the night battles out the day in the reverse fashion of what I was witnessing, there is far too much noise and an overload of distractions to see it happening in full, unless you plan to. On this morning, I saw no person nor heard any motor. As a looked across the farm field on my left, I saw deer at their safe distance straddled between the woods and the field. They watched as I ran and I watched as they stood. It was an equilibrium that formed as I crossed the road into the diffusion of night.
Well, reveille (from the French 'wake up!') is about to go off so I'll throw up this moment of absurd existential reflection now.
The title is also from one of my favorite songs - Waiting Here for You by The Thrillseekers
28 June 2009
Camp Week One Review
Here is a highlight reel for the first week of camp:
Dinner campers from hell.
Not much is worse than a bunch of picky and snobby campers. I will admit I don't really have any management skills and I don't deal well with children, but these kids were still awful. Most of the meal, all seven of these little snots were screaming to me what they wanted, then screaming when they didn't like it. Oh, AND, they didn't like any of it. I spent so much of the meal dealing with it, that I barely ate anything myself and what I did eat, was just left over side dishes. Good night.
Also the hive mind.
There are two different groups here at camp that seem to combine brain power using telepathy in order to make up their "minds." I know it's pretty normal for middle school, but it still drives me crazy. I'm going to assume that there will be at least one group of girls like that for every week here.
Oh, imagine that, break is over.
The huge downside to this job, is the lack of leisure time. Seriously, I have never been so busy in my life. Most days I am up by 7 am and then busy all day until about 10:30 pm. Then there are usually more things I need to take care of, outside of my campers and that lasts until 11 or so. Then it takes up to an hours to fall asleep. So most nights I have getting less than 7 hours of sleep for days that last 16 or 17 hours. That's a definite first for me.
Perhaps more soon. Until then, take care.
Dinner campers from hell.
Not much is worse than a bunch of picky and snobby campers. I will admit I don't really have any management skills and I don't deal well with children, but these kids were still awful. Most of the meal, all seven of these little snots were screaming to me what they wanted, then screaming when they didn't like it. Oh, AND, they didn't like any of it. I spent so much of the meal dealing with it, that I barely ate anything myself and what I did eat, was just left over side dishes. Good night.
Also the hive mind.
There are two different groups here at camp that seem to combine brain power using telepathy in order to make up their "minds." I know it's pretty normal for middle school, but it still drives me crazy. I'm going to assume that there will be at least one group of girls like that for every week here.
Oh, imagine that, break is over.
The huge downside to this job, is the lack of leisure time. Seriously, I have never been so busy in my life. Most days I am up by 7 am and then busy all day until about 10:30 pm. Then there are usually more things I need to take care of, outside of my campers and that lasts until 11 or so. Then it takes up to an hours to fall asleep. So most nights I have getting less than 7 hours of sleep for days that last 16 or 17 hours. That's a definite first for me.
Perhaps more soon. Until then, take care.
23 June 2009
First Camp Weekend
I wrote this on saturday so. . .. copy/paste
The Weekend of Vacation from Vacation
Last night was the first night that I had slept in the "new cabin." By new cabin I mean that it was the first night all the guy counselors had not slept in the same cabin as part of the staff training.
Oh, I should preface this by explaining how this situation occurred exactly.
In February, I decided I wanted to just go away for the summer. The first place that came to mind was Vietnam. I had heard you could just go and live on the beach for around $10 a week. So I started planning a trip to vietnam for the summer. I wouldn't take anything except clothes, money, a notebook, and a camera. But then I soon realized that the cost of the a roundtrip to Vietnam could cost over $2,000. So, I wouldn't be going to Vietnam anytime soon. Then I talked to a friend from school and she told me about how she was going to be a camp counselor. (Terrific!) So then I spent about two hours online looking around for types of camps and camp accreditations etc. Then I found campfire USA camps and decided to search by state. I found the camp I'm working at now by deciding that six hours was a pretty good distance from home.
I would just run away for the summer. Submerge myself entirely in a regimented life filled with new worries and anxieties. I would trade physical comforts for mental comforts. At 300+ miles from home, busy from sunup to sundown when would I have a thought about my parents, or my ex girlfriend, the helpless and immovable future of the world, or even my own life? The perfect plan I thought.
But, what has actually happened is quite the opposite. Instead of just running from my current issues, I have only magnified them. Meeting all the other counselors begged me to compare myself and my experiences to them and theirs. I have had to explain over a dozen times where I go to school, what I study, and why. Each time, I find myself giving a slightly difference answer. Lately, I have even admitted I don't know.
I took this job to make the money to get new deejay equipment and avoid figuring out who I am. What I am experiencing this weekend, is not what I bargained for.
So, in my assuming and ignorant thoughts about camp, it never crossed my mind that other counselors wouldn't be there on the weekends! Really!? So, when I showed up and everyone was talking about what their weekend plans were, I was baffled. I figured I would just hang out in the camp alone and read and walk around and sleep and write. But then as I thought about doing that for two nights in the middle of the woods alone, I became horrified. A few people offered their nearby homes to me on the lake. But that felt imposing and too advantageous to accept.
So instead, I took the offer of one of the junior counselors to hang out with him and his family. Thus, I am here now, writing from the comfort of his family's camper.
Hmmm, this is where it gets tricky. I never considered that I would ever want to write about someone who would actually read this. Hopefully, the person I am talking about will not find this.
Anyway, I'll sugar coat things and write as professionally as possible rather than an emotional conviction about him. He's fucking smart and fucking ignorant. While I have only known him for a few days now, I get the distinct impression academics bore him. I have heard him say he got in trouble in school a ton. His knowledge and skills lie in the practical and rational; mechanical and electrical. His knowledge of these things seems endless. But, at the same time, he is childish and naive. Perhaps this helps him solve his engineering issues and abstract technical puzzles.
I am totally against his entire lifestyle. I have lived my entire life in a conservative medium sized city with rich history and political significance. To me, this place I am in now (which I will describe shortly) and the people I am with are the definition of hillbilly's or rednecks, whichever you feel more inclined to accept.
Which, would explain why right now I am camping out with them, yet simultaneously in an air conditioned, fully furnished, and fully wired room with all the amenities of a normal house. Really? Like what is the point. Guys let's go camping in a fully modern and operational house in the middle of the woods. I'm just confused. I enjoy camping because you not only become grateful of all the things that give your life more comfort, but you also realize how dependent your schedule and life are on those comforts. You also get to experience the raw power of nature and the intricate systems of life that exist within it, that we have managed to somewhat separate ourselves from.
Anyway. . . So I got invited to a camp out for the weekend. I said "Yeah, sure, it sounds like fun," with enough fake enthusiasm to win an academy award if I was saying the same quote just before the start of a porno. But I definitely imagined hiking/tenting or something like that. Rather, what "camp out" actually meant was "A bunch of grown men hauling thousands of pounds worth of home with their wives and children into the middle of a field with their ford pickups, and making a mobile trailer park for the weekend in order to properly drink four kegs of bud light with the pig they just roasted from the back while comparing how many tv stations they get in their campers. My favorite quote so far has been, "Two doors on this bitch? You've come a long way." Seriously? No wonder people in the city make fun of this culture. . .
At the same time, I guess people of the country like to see the prospects of freedom in material goods rather than in traditional ideals and I can give some kudos to that. It's rather wasteful, but whatever.
I think for now, I am done being such an esoteric, arrogant, elitist bastard. You would think with all my lacking and knowledge of my own shortcomings and failure I could manage to at least sometimes not be a prick. Sadly, my greatest shortcoming is ironically not getting over myself. Maybe I just pretend to be interested in people, or perhaps I only deem some people worthy of being interested in. Yeah, that's it. Well, I'll work on that. Until then, I'll let karma take it's toll.
The Weekend of Vacation from Vacation
Last night was the first night that I had slept in the "new cabin." By new cabin I mean that it was the first night all the guy counselors had not slept in the same cabin as part of the staff training.
Oh, I should preface this by explaining how this situation occurred exactly.
In February, I decided I wanted to just go away for the summer. The first place that came to mind was Vietnam. I had heard you could just go and live on the beach for around $10 a week. So I started planning a trip to vietnam for the summer. I wouldn't take anything except clothes, money, a notebook, and a camera. But then I soon realized that the cost of the a roundtrip to Vietnam could cost over $2,000. So, I wouldn't be going to Vietnam anytime soon. Then I talked to a friend from school and she told me about how she was going to be a camp counselor. (Terrific!) So then I spent about two hours online looking around for types of camps and camp accreditations etc. Then I found campfire USA camps and decided to search by state. I found the camp I'm working at now by deciding that six hours was a pretty good distance from home.
I would just run away for the summer. Submerge myself entirely in a regimented life filled with new worries and anxieties. I would trade physical comforts for mental comforts. At 300+ miles from home, busy from sunup to sundown when would I have a thought about my parents, or my ex girlfriend, the helpless and immovable future of the world, or even my own life? The perfect plan I thought.
But, what has actually happened is quite the opposite. Instead of just running from my current issues, I have only magnified them. Meeting all the other counselors begged me to compare myself and my experiences to them and theirs. I have had to explain over a dozen times where I go to school, what I study, and why. Each time, I find myself giving a slightly difference answer. Lately, I have even admitted I don't know.
I took this job to make the money to get new deejay equipment and avoid figuring out who I am. What I am experiencing this weekend, is not what I bargained for.
So, in my assuming and ignorant thoughts about camp, it never crossed my mind that other counselors wouldn't be there on the weekends! Really!? So, when I showed up and everyone was talking about what their weekend plans were, I was baffled. I figured I would just hang out in the camp alone and read and walk around and sleep and write. But then as I thought about doing that for two nights in the middle of the woods alone, I became horrified. A few people offered their nearby homes to me on the lake. But that felt imposing and too advantageous to accept.
So instead, I took the offer of one of the junior counselors to hang out with him and his family. Thus, I am here now, writing from the comfort of his family's camper.
Hmmm, this is where it gets tricky. I never considered that I would ever want to write about someone who would actually read this. Hopefully, the person I am talking about will not find this.
Anyway, I'll sugar coat things and write as professionally as possible rather than an emotional conviction about him. He's fucking smart and fucking ignorant. While I have only known him for a few days now, I get the distinct impression academics bore him. I have heard him say he got in trouble in school a ton. His knowledge and skills lie in the practical and rational; mechanical and electrical. His knowledge of these things seems endless. But, at the same time, he is childish and naive. Perhaps this helps him solve his engineering issues and abstract technical puzzles.
I am totally against his entire lifestyle. I have lived my entire life in a conservative medium sized city with rich history and political significance. To me, this place I am in now (which I will describe shortly) and the people I am with are the definition of hillbilly's or rednecks, whichever you feel more inclined to accept.
Which, would explain why right now I am camping out with them, yet simultaneously in an air conditioned, fully furnished, and fully wired room with all the amenities of a normal house. Really? Like what is the point. Guys let's go camping in a fully modern and operational house in the middle of the woods. I'm just confused. I enjoy camping because you not only become grateful of all the things that give your life more comfort, but you also realize how dependent your schedule and life are on those comforts. You also get to experience the raw power of nature and the intricate systems of life that exist within it, that we have managed to somewhat separate ourselves from.
Anyway. . . So I got invited to a camp out for the weekend. I said "Yeah, sure, it sounds like fun," with enough fake enthusiasm to win an academy award if I was saying the same quote just before the start of a porno. But I definitely imagined hiking/tenting or something like that. Rather, what "camp out" actually meant was "A bunch of grown men hauling thousands of pounds worth of home with their wives and children into the middle of a field with their ford pickups, and making a mobile trailer park for the weekend in order to properly drink four kegs of bud light with the pig they just roasted from the back while comparing how many tv stations they get in their campers. My favorite quote so far has been, "Two doors on this bitch? You've come a long way." Seriously? No wonder people in the city make fun of this culture. . .
At the same time, I guess people of the country like to see the prospects of freedom in material goods rather than in traditional ideals and I can give some kudos to that. It's rather wasteful, but whatever.
I think for now, I am done being such an esoteric, arrogant, elitist bastard. You would think with all my lacking and knowledge of my own shortcomings and failure I could manage to at least sometimes not be a prick. Sadly, my greatest shortcoming is ironically not getting over myself. Maybe I just pretend to be interested in people, or perhaps I only deem some people worthy of being interested in. Yeah, that's it. Well, I'll work on that. Until then, I'll let karma take it's toll.
18 June 2009
Elasticity of Time
Tonight marks the fifth full night that I will have been at camp. But, it feels like I have been here for years, it is as if this is all I have ever known. Here is the routine that has solidified: (roughly?)
8:17 - I wake
8:20 - flag
8:30 - Breakfast
9:15 - Activity 1
10:00 - Activity 2
10:45 - Activity 3
12:00 - Lunch
12:45 - Quiet Time
2:00 - Activitity 4
2:45 - Activity 5
3:30 - Activity 6
4:15 - Activity 7
5:00 - Dinner
6:00 - Whole Group Activity
8:00 - Camp Council
9:00 - Cabin Commitee
10:00ish - 10:30ish lights out (at counselors descretion)
Repeat.
Again.
Again.
And again.
I'm fairly happy with the selection of the group of kids I'm with, the other counselors in my cabin, and the location of the cabin) So all, in all, I can't complain yet. There are a few people here I could build good friendships with and let foudations for friendships form. But, in contrast, more people I would rather not become close with. Hell, honestly there are people I don't want to be as close as "far" from them.
Unfortunately, a handful of people here are far too self involved to ever even consider the thoughts that other people may have, unless those thoughts were with themselves as the targeted of those thoughts. I can certainly be totally agreeable to people who are narcissistic and/or self-obsessed when they somewhat blend socially with the people around them. My big problem is when you get swaggering, egomaniacal type, who not only boast being in love with themselves in the way they walk and appear, but, ALWAYS (by always I mean talking every second spent awake) talk about themselves whenever they talk. It might even be tolerable if the stories were told once. But they are told over again and again incessantly without failing to use the pronoun "I," in mythical proportions. The self proclaimations seem to tour through the camp as if campaigning for the office of cool. The thing is, I remember people doing this in middle school, hell maybe even a tiny bit in highschool. But, really? You're in college? Jesus H. F. C. grow up. By the end of this time in camp, you will hear these words from my mouth - "You cannot possibly hear me now, over the sound of your own arrogance, which muffles the sights and sounds of the world around you like the fog and the wind. I do not hope for bad things to come to you, but I do hope for your sake that you have not yet blinded yourself of others by only having sight for yourself." But then I remember why I would have to say it at all, and I realize the irony. More this weekend, as I will be all alone out here in the wild.
8:17 - I wake
8:20 - flag
8:30 - Breakfast
9:15 - Activity 1
10:00 - Activity 2
10:45 - Activity 3
12:00 - Lunch
12:45 - Quiet Time
2:00 - Activitity 4
2:45 - Activity 5
3:30 - Activity 6
4:15 - Activity 7
5:00 - Dinner
6:00 - Whole Group Activity
8:00 - Camp Council
9:00 - Cabin Commitee
10:00ish - 10:30ish lights out (at counselors descretion)
Repeat.
Again.
Again.
And again.
I'm fairly happy with the selection of the group of kids I'm with, the other counselors in my cabin, and the location of the cabin) So all, in all, I can't complain yet. There are a few people here I could build good friendships with and let foudations for friendships form. But, in contrast, more people I would rather not become close with. Hell, honestly there are people I don't want to be as close as "far" from them.
Unfortunately, a handful of people here are far too self involved to ever even consider the thoughts that other people may have, unless those thoughts were with themselves as the targeted of those thoughts. I can certainly be totally agreeable to people who are narcissistic and/or self-obsessed when they somewhat blend socially with the people around them. My big problem is when you get swaggering, egomaniacal type, who not only boast being in love with themselves in the way they walk and appear, but, ALWAYS (by always I mean talking every second spent awake) talk about themselves whenever they talk. It might even be tolerable if the stories were told once. But they are told over again and again incessantly without failing to use the pronoun "I," in mythical proportions. The self proclaimations seem to tour through the camp as if campaigning for the office of cool. The thing is, I remember people doing this in middle school, hell maybe even a tiny bit in highschool. But, really? You're in college? Jesus H. F. C. grow up. By the end of this time in camp, you will hear these words from my mouth - "You cannot possibly hear me now, over the sound of your own arrogance, which muffles the sights and sounds of the world around you like the fog and the wind. I do not hope for bad things to come to you, but I do hope for your sake that you have not yet blinded yourself of others by only having sight for yourself." But then I remember why I would have to say it at all, and I realize the irony. More this weekend, as I will be all alone out here in the wild.
15 June 2009
I think I just got a spider bite
I never really laid out the timeline of this job. The first week is just staff training. Campers won't show up for about another week. So, yesterday which was day one (but more of a half day really) was mostly spent just hanging out with people getting to know everyone, touring the camp, and getting generally acquainted with "the flow" of everything.
Currently, I am sitting under a maple tree, while on my laptop, listening to Shawn Mitiska's remix of Andy Moor's 'So Much More". It's totally ironic of course. Here I am in the beautiful and protected outdoor woods of Michigan tuning out the sights and sounds around me for something less complex, less meaningful, and
less scenic.
Perhaps I was too harsh about Day 1? As fair as it was to consider it "shallow" as I stated, I do think that should be taken as a negative judgement towards people. Many of the people here are already friends. I do think I am mostly in the minority when it comes to wanting to know people based on their beliefs and experiences. Should I have really expected most people to want to just jump right in and go at it on the first day? Probably not.
Regardless, second chances are deserved.
Last night, a few hours after the first post, I came back to the cabin and looked up at the clearing in the sky which revealed the stars in as many and as bright as I have ever seen. The whole sky was filled with light. Being from a city that has massive air and light pollution, it's not something that I see every day. Whatever bad that could have come from yesterday could never outweigh just one minute of watching the sky and looking at the stars in all their awe and beauty.
It turned out to be a good night, in retrospect. But today is less than half over, we'll soon find what it could hold as well. Anyway, off to swim testing, so, signing out.
Currently, I am sitting under a maple tree, while on my laptop, listening to Shawn Mitiska's remix of Andy Moor's 'So Much More". It's totally ironic of course. Here I am in the beautiful and protected outdoor woods of Michigan tuning out the sights and sounds around me for something less complex, less meaningful, and
less scenic.
Perhaps I was too harsh about Day 1? As fair as it was to consider it "shallow" as I stated, I do think that should be taken as a negative judgement towards people. Many of the people here are already friends. I do think I am mostly in the minority when it comes to wanting to know people based on their beliefs and experiences. Should I have really expected most people to want to just jump right in and go at it on the first day? Probably not.
Regardless, second chances are deserved.
Last night, a few hours after the first post, I came back to the cabin and looked up at the clearing in the sky which revealed the stars in as many and as bright as I have ever seen. The whole sky was filled with light. Being from a city that has massive air and light pollution, it's not something that I see every day. Whatever bad that could have come from yesterday could never outweigh just one minute of watching the sky and looking at the stars in all their awe and beauty.
It turned out to be a good night, in retrospect. But today is less than half over, we'll soon find what it could hold as well. Anyway, off to swim testing, so, signing out.
14 June 2009
Camp
So, here I am. . .
It's like 9:00 or something. I am sitting next to an area that looks designated for camp fires. Here is a crappy picture of where I am with no relevance to anyone or anything, oh well.
I woke today around 6am, after falling asleep shortly after 4am. I had packed all my things the night before, but out of anxiety of forgetting, I unpacked everything and repacked it just after I woke. Then we (by we I mean my parents and I) drove here. The drive was estimated at about six hours but it ended up only taking around five. I ended up being here an hour early, which being with my parents, became a miniature stroke catalyst. Both of my parents walked around (my dad can't hear very well) talking very loudly/yelling, both of them seemingly oblivious to common courtesy or decency.
I unpacked my things from the car eventually and put them in the cabin. I looked around curiously and ominous knowing this would be the heaven or hell (most likely to be more like a limbo) where I wold remain for the next eight weeks.
Then two people came into the cabin, they would be fellow counselors. . .
They were talking together, clearly with an already structured friendship. I felt awkward and somewhat ignored. They were, afterall, talking about newcomers. I walked into the room and they both looked at me without any real look, and then continued talking. How rude, I thought to myself. Seriously, not that I am important, but wouldn't it be good to be respectful and friendly to another person you will be spending your time and space with?
Oh well, I imagined all the other possible counselors that would show up. At least one of them I would have to instantly have some kind of friendship with. Who knew expecations could be so dangerous. I now feel naive thinking I could just be myself to get along with people at a fucking summer camp.
Obivously, I brought my laptop. But instantly, before everyone had even arrived, people were checking the wi-fi and more interested in the amenities of the new lounge than the people who would be ACTUALLY in it. Perhaps I just expected to come here and build relationships with people out of "teambuilding" exercises and community hardships. Maybe it is because I only got two hours of sleep. Maybe it's because I'm only doing this to run away. But maybe, just maybe, I really am the trulycynically corrupted judgemental egotistical ignoramass that I have been told I am (not by people here). I suppose when I meet new people, it is strange and foreign that I would want to want to really meet them. You know, find out what they like, what they dislike and why, etc.
Mosquitos are killing me. To wrap up. The first day has been shallow and a letdown.
It's like 9:00 or something. I am sitting next to an area that looks designated for camp fires. Here is a crappy picture of where I am with no relevance to anyone or anything, oh well.
I woke today around 6am, after falling asleep shortly after 4am. I had packed all my things the night before, but out of anxiety of forgetting, I unpacked everything and repacked it just after I woke. Then we (by we I mean my parents and I) drove here. The drive was estimated at about six hours but it ended up only taking around five. I ended up being here an hour early, which being with my parents, became a miniature stroke catalyst. Both of my parents walked around (my dad can't hear very well) talking very loudly/yelling, both of them seemingly oblivious to common courtesy or decency.
I unpacked my things from the car eventually and put them in the cabin. I looked around curiously and ominous knowing this would be the heaven or hell (most likely to be more like a limbo) where I wold remain for the next eight weeks.
Then two people came into the cabin, they would be fellow counselors. . .
They were talking together, clearly with an already structured friendship. I felt awkward and somewhat ignored. They were, afterall, talking about newcomers. I walked into the room and they both looked at me without any real look, and then continued talking. How rude, I thought to myself. Seriously, not that I am important, but wouldn't it be good to be respectful and friendly to another person you will be spending your time and space with?
Oh well, I imagined all the other possible counselors that would show up. At least one of them I would have to instantly have some kind of friendship with. Who knew expecations could be so dangerous. I now feel naive thinking I could just be myself to get along with people at a fucking summer camp.
Obivously, I brought my laptop. But instantly, before everyone had even arrived, people were checking the wi-fi and more interested in the amenities of the new lounge than the people who would be ACTUALLY in it. Perhaps I just expected to come here and build relationships with people out of "teambuilding" exercises and community hardships. Maybe it is because I only got two hours of sleep. Maybe it's because I'm only doing this to run away. But maybe, just maybe, I really am the trulycynically corrupted judgemental egotistical ignoramass that I have been told I am (not by people here). I suppose when I meet new people, it is strange and foreign that I would want to want to really meet them. You know, find out what they like, what they dislike and why, etc.
Mosquitos are killing me. To wrap up. The first day has been shallow and a letdown.
Off to Camp
Hey, I leave in about 4 hours. So I should get some sleep and actually finish packing or whatever. Hopefully, I'll get a chance to describe my new two-month home tomorrow nightish?
cool, that's all for now, I know you're sorry for that too.
-Fife
cool, that's all for now, I know you're sorry for that too.
-Fife
10 May 2009
Home and Lawn
It's roughly 4am according to the 4 clocks within my reach. But after sleeping for 18 hours I suppose it's OK to be awake. Also, one should note that the song "The One," by Sharam has been on repeat for the last 3 hours. It's so good. The One - Sharam
This post will be rather lengthy if I pace myself properly. Thoughts to write have been in the limited works of my mind for the past few days. Now, with exams over I have time to write them.
They all started the morning I woke up on Tuesday. Tuesday I slept about two hours. I had a huge paper to turn in as the final for my Soc class. Even though I planned to grab six or seven hours, I was so paranoid that I would miss the turn in time of 1 pm, that I couldn't relax long enough to fall asleep. Finally, around 8am, I passed out with exhaustion only do disappointingly awake two hours later.
I took my paper to class and unceremoniously handed it to my professor. She said to me, "Thanks you, it was a pleasure to have you in my class, your insights were always good."
I said, "Thanks for teaching the class," awkwardly turned around and returned to my previous state of semi-consciousness. I walked to the union where I bought my final two coffees of the year. These would get me through the that day and my final day. God bless coffee during exam week.
Walking back to the shuttle with coffee in bag, bag in hand, and headphones on head, a sudden thought occurred to me. While it was blatantly obvious it was more the realization of that moment that struck me more profoundly than the discovery of such an obvious fact; this was the last time I would walk out of the student union. I looked over at the center of campus and then down the hill to the lake. "I will actually really truly miss this place," I thought to myself.
I looked up at the sky with wonder of the infinite gray. It was so bright and so powerful yet not at all beautiful. But, it encompassed everything with such still momentum I could not help but gaze in amazement. When I looked around the world that was held under the blanket, the color was gone. I looked for saturated hues of blues ard red but they were nowhere to be found. The concrete of the walkway and the buildings only further isolated the true palette of possibility from the gray matter embracing the horizon.
I put my headphones on and turned the volume up all the way (which is locked at halfway). I put on Armin van Buuren's A State of Trance 400. His live mix from Wuppertal Germany spoke to me when John O'Callaghan's 'Find Yourself' blasted into my ears. The world certainly did not have any color but the sountrack was brilliant. I put my iPod back into my pocket and looked back up at the sky. Whatever happened in that moment, I thought to myself, couldn't change the perfection of thatsingle instance walking across campus.
"You'll find yourself, you'll find yourself alone." That was my mantra. The lyrics applied too perfectly to my situation. In my heart I wanted to believe that she would find herself alone and think of me and everything I had to offer. Oh well, fuck her.
I looked at my watch and noted that I had about an hour and a half to get all my stuff together for my next exam which was speech. As I considered this, a kind of sadness crept up this perfect moment. Speech class was crazy, in a good way. Everybody in there was so laid back all the time about everything. It was. by far, the most unstressed course I have ever taken. We usually spent about half the class just talking about random and trivial events or stories. But somewhere in there we covered structures and techniques to speaking almost every day along with the astronomical amout of presentations that were given over the semester. I would attribute it all to the professor, who was one of coolest instructors ever. It was sad to realize that on that day, I would walk into the room with that class and then leave to probable never see any of them again and more and almost indubitably never walk into that classroom again. With this, I picked up a kind of solemness about my day. It dampened the earlier euphoria that I had momentarily gained, but I trudged on.
When I got back to the bistro, the food tasted the same but better. I think I even went back for seconds! My starchy lunch picked me back up a bit and I had a wave of happiness ripple over my anxiety worn soul. I gathered my stuff soon after, and headed out for the final hoorah of speech. When I walked in it felt very much the same. People were talking and conversing just as usual. Then the exam came. I finished it quickly, not that it was difficult. But I didn't want to turn it in. I flipped it over back and forth as if to check my answers, but I just didn't want to turn it in and leave. That would just be it. But, finally after much hesitation about hesitating to hesitate I put the paper down on my instructors desk. He graded it promptly and told me my grade. The entire remainder of my classmates then discussed my grade and changed their answers. It was a fabulous moment and the very thing I needed to experience just before leaving that moment of time forever.
The rest of the day soon became a blur, but I won't forget the reflection of the moment easily. Nor will I probably ever forget the moment that marked the end of such an enjoyable class and contemplative morning.
More later. Until then, check this out: CDJ400
This post will be rather lengthy if I pace myself properly. Thoughts to write have been in the limited works of my mind for the past few days. Now, with exams over I have time to write them.
They all started the morning I woke up on Tuesday. Tuesday I slept about two hours. I had a huge paper to turn in as the final for my Soc class. Even though I planned to grab six or seven hours, I was so paranoid that I would miss the turn in time of 1 pm, that I couldn't relax long enough to fall asleep. Finally, around 8am, I passed out with exhaustion only do disappointingly awake two hours later.
I took my paper to class and unceremoniously handed it to my professor. She said to me, "Thanks you, it was a pleasure to have you in my class, your insights were always good."
I said, "Thanks for teaching the class," awkwardly turned around and returned to my previous state of semi-consciousness. I walked to the union where I bought my final two coffees of the year. These would get me through the that day and my final day. God bless coffee during exam week.
Walking back to the shuttle with coffee in bag, bag in hand, and headphones on head, a sudden thought occurred to me. While it was blatantly obvious it was more the realization of that moment that struck me more profoundly than the discovery of such an obvious fact; this was the last time I would walk out of the student union. I looked over at the center of campus and then down the hill to the lake. "I will actually really truly miss this place," I thought to myself.
I looked up at the sky with wonder of the infinite gray. It was so bright and so powerful yet not at all beautiful. But, it encompassed everything with such still momentum I could not help but gaze in amazement. When I looked around the world that was held under the blanket, the color was gone. I looked for saturated hues of blues ard red but they were nowhere to be found. The concrete of the walkway and the buildings only further isolated the true palette of possibility from the gray matter embracing the horizon.
I put my headphones on and turned the volume up all the way (which is locked at halfway). I put on Armin van Buuren's A State of Trance 400. His live mix from Wuppertal Germany spoke to me when John O'Callaghan's 'Find Yourself' blasted into my ears. The world certainly did not have any color but the sountrack was brilliant. I put my iPod back into my pocket and looked back up at the sky. Whatever happened in that moment, I thought to myself, couldn't change the perfection of thatsingle instance walking across campus.
"You'll find yourself, you'll find yourself alone." That was my mantra. The lyrics applied too perfectly to my situation. In my heart I wanted to believe that she would find herself alone and think of me and everything I had to offer. Oh well, fuck her.
I looked at my watch and noted that I had about an hour and a half to get all my stuff together for my next exam which was speech. As I considered this, a kind of sadness crept up this perfect moment. Speech class was crazy, in a good way. Everybody in there was so laid back all the time about everything. It was. by far, the most unstressed course I have ever taken. We usually spent about half the class just talking about random and trivial events or stories. But somewhere in there we covered structures and techniques to speaking almost every day along with the astronomical amout of presentations that were given over the semester. I would attribute it all to the professor, who was one of coolest instructors ever. It was sad to realize that on that day, I would walk into the room with that class and then leave to probable never see any of them again and more and almost indubitably never walk into that classroom again. With this, I picked up a kind of solemness about my day. It dampened the earlier euphoria that I had momentarily gained, but I trudged on.
When I got back to the bistro, the food tasted the same but better. I think I even went back for seconds! My starchy lunch picked me back up a bit and I had a wave of happiness ripple over my anxiety worn soul. I gathered my stuff soon after, and headed out for the final hoorah of speech. When I walked in it felt very much the same. People were talking and conversing just as usual. Then the exam came. I finished it quickly, not that it was difficult. But I didn't want to turn it in. I flipped it over back and forth as if to check my answers, but I just didn't want to turn it in and leave. That would just be it. But, finally after much hesitation about hesitating to hesitate I put the paper down on my instructors desk. He graded it promptly and told me my grade. The entire remainder of my classmates then discussed my grade and changed their answers. It was a fabulous moment and the very thing I needed to experience just before leaving that moment of time forever.
The rest of the day soon became a blur, but I won't forget the reflection of the moment easily. Nor will I probably ever forget the moment that marked the end of such an enjoyable class and contemplative morning.
More later. Until then, check this out: CDJ400
08 May 2009
This My Friends, Is The End
To whom it may concern,
I am sitting in the lounge of J-wing in the enclave of the honors hall here at my dorm. I have removed every last thing that was in my dorm room, leaving it with the eight bare walls and no resemblance of anything my own. The building is currently emptying out too, the same kind of emptying of my room, on a larger scale. Soon it will just be a building and everything about it that ever made it special or memorable will be gone. The point of course, is that the people are the common denominator of significance. To be totally fair and honest, I am leaving this place for much longer than just the summer, because of the people. Not because the people here at lacking in anything, but because I suppose I'm on a quest to regain a fraction of the wonder and awe that was my freshman year at BG. I am always struck by the lack of ceremoniousness about all of this. Everything happens with a terrific lacking in cliches. I want to let myself cry as I see people, who came to mean so much in so little time, pass me by with their belongings for the summer hiatus. The truth is that I didn't come here for friends. When the real reason I came here changed, I was still not here for the people. But slowly because of how wonderful most everyone was, it became OK to let my resentment for this place's attachment to my scnenario slip and for me to enjoy the "honorable" company around. But in doing this I have been left with only resentment for my own weakness and actions. There were far too many moments when I acted outside of the person I am. There were far too many instances where I had chances for redemption but only dug deeper into portraying a facade that I am not. So I suppose my regret is that I gave back so very little to the community that meant so much. I feel bad that the people who are here don't know me like I know myself. It is in this too that I realize it's not entirely my fault that only a sliver of who I am shown through my worried skies.
The main thing here I suppose in this dumb assessment is that this was a substantially impactful section of my life thus far and I cannot express with deeper appreciation that the people I was with for this time were the honors residents of this dorm. Some of you were especially important to me, whether or not I expressed it to you (definitely not). But most of you will be remembered for a long while regardless of favortisms :). I hope to come back and visit. I hope to keep in touch. I hope that one day, whenever it is needed, that I can be such a support for each of you as this entire community has been for me. I have taken much and given little back and for that I am sorry.
Good bye to some and See you later to others, you will all be in my heart and on my mind.
Thank you,
-Fife
I am sitting in the lounge of J-wing in the enclave of the honors hall here at my dorm. I have removed every last thing that was in my dorm room, leaving it with the eight bare walls and no resemblance of anything my own. The building is currently emptying out too, the same kind of emptying of my room, on a larger scale. Soon it will just be a building and everything about it that ever made it special or memorable will be gone. The point of course, is that the people are the common denominator of significance. To be totally fair and honest, I am leaving this place for much longer than just the summer, because of the people. Not because the people here at lacking in anything, but because I suppose I'm on a quest to regain a fraction of the wonder and awe that was my freshman year at BG. I am always struck by the lack of ceremoniousness about all of this. Everything happens with a terrific lacking in cliches. I want to let myself cry as I see people, who came to mean so much in so little time, pass me by with their belongings for the summer hiatus. The truth is that I didn't come here for friends. When the real reason I came here changed, I was still not here for the people. But slowly because of how wonderful most everyone was, it became OK to let my resentment for this place's attachment to my scnenario slip and for me to enjoy the "honorable" company around. But in doing this I have been left with only resentment for my own weakness and actions. There were far too many moments when I acted outside of the person I am. There were far too many instances where I had chances for redemption but only dug deeper into portraying a facade that I am not. So I suppose my regret is that I gave back so very little to the community that meant so much. I feel bad that the people who are here don't know me like I know myself. It is in this too that I realize it's not entirely my fault that only a sliver of who I am shown through my worried skies.
The main thing here I suppose in this dumb assessment is that this was a substantially impactful section of my life thus far and I cannot express with deeper appreciation that the people I was with for this time were the honors residents of this dorm. Some of you were especially important to me, whether or not I expressed it to you (definitely not). But most of you will be remembered for a long while regardless of favortisms :). I hope to come back and visit. I hope to keep in touch. I hope that one day, whenever it is needed, that I can be such a support for each of you as this entire community has been for me. I have taken much and given little back and for that I am sorry.
Good bye to some and See you later to others, you will all be in my heart and on my mind.
Thank you,
-Fife
04 May 2009
Love is Luck
The odds of finding love at all
are dwarfinly microscopic to towerously tall
Still, if you're fortunate enough for a happen upon
by the time you realize it, it's often gone.
Chance cares not about actions or thoughts,
but the side of the dice and amount of dots.
The odds are stacked monstrously tall,
and once you're in, you have to call.
Love is luck and a gamblers game,
and for you my dear that's an awful shame
because I cared enough to make this sacrifice,
but all that mattered was how I rolled the dice.
are dwarfinly microscopic to towerously tall
Still, if you're fortunate enough for a happen upon
by the time you realize it, it's often gone.
Chance cares not about actions or thoughts,
but the side of the dice and amount of dots.
The odds are stacked monstrously tall,
and once you're in, you have to call.
Love is luck and a gamblers game,
and for you my dear that's an awful shame
because I cared enough to make this sacrifice,
but all that mattered was how I rolled the dice.
11 April 2009
Yay Easter!
Easter marks the culmination of spring. You've got this whole good weather thing (hopefully) going on. Then you've got some pretty impressive colors blooming from every plant worth imagining. Don't forget a bunch of animals are out of hibernation now, soaking up the sun and wreaking havoc and just generally being hardcore (especially all those easter bunnies in your garden). Finally, you've got this whole "new life" mantra "sprouting" (see what I did there?) out with Jesus' resurrection and what not.
I know that the intro up there sounded like I'm a big advocate of spring, but I have yet to tell you anything about summer, fall, or winter. . . so don't go telling everything that I'm pro-spring just yet.
Don't let me deceive you! In all actuality I could not give a damn what time of the year it is because I've still got pieces of my own heart shattered into dust and smithereens strewn all over the place. Lately, I've been giving advice to people about how to carry on with being dumped or being the dumpee. I like to say, "Don't worry in the future it will all be easier," or this winner, "You will be able to say it's OK."
The truth, however, is that I need my own advice as I am far from OK. I miss her. I don't miss the conversations, the experiences, or plans; independently and exclusively. I don't even miss the memories. I miss her; the personality, charisma, ideas, and habits that made up her person. I miss her eyes and her smile. She carried infinite beauty with her wherever she went, leaving it along the way, to brighten my world and lighten my face.
Tell me that four months is too soon! Please, convince me that within the foreseeable future it will not be this way. Bribe me into thinking the future will shake me of this phase. Whatever it takes you may even lie to me. Life goes on, I know this, obviously it has. But the quality of my life feels as if it has diminished with the absence of this love. Sure, call me incredulous, but before you give me one of those garbage life-long-wisdom-lines about "what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger" and "it is better to have loved and lost than not love at all" or "there's a lot of fish in the sea" -Are you alone? Do you feel abandoned?
If yes, don't believe that crap. If no, exactly, see how easy it is to say that to someone else? Consider this: almost everyone at some point will experience this. We only accept it to move on and continue living. Human bullshit is the most impressive survival tool. In science, it is called the 'Placebo Effect.'
So here is the life lesson I'm going with for now: I was in love. I got dumped. It sucks A LOT. Who knows what will happen.
So cheers to Easter, new beginnings, and false hopes!
I know that the intro up there sounded like I'm a big advocate of spring, but I have yet to tell you anything about summer, fall, or winter. . . so don't go telling everything that I'm pro-spring just yet.
Don't let me deceive you! In all actuality I could not give a damn what time of the year it is because I've still got pieces of my own heart shattered into dust and smithereens strewn all over the place. Lately, I've been giving advice to people about how to carry on with being dumped or being the dumpee. I like to say, "Don't worry in the future it will all be easier," or this winner, "You will be able to say it's OK."
The truth, however, is that I need my own advice as I am far from OK. I miss her. I don't miss the conversations, the experiences, or plans; independently and exclusively. I don't even miss the memories. I miss her; the personality, charisma, ideas, and habits that made up her person. I miss her eyes and her smile. She carried infinite beauty with her wherever she went, leaving it along the way, to brighten my world and lighten my face.
Tell me that four months is too soon! Please, convince me that within the foreseeable future it will not be this way. Bribe me into thinking the future will shake me of this phase. Whatever it takes you may even lie to me. Life goes on, I know this, obviously it has. But the quality of my life feels as if it has diminished with the absence of this love. Sure, call me incredulous, but before you give me one of those garbage life-long-wisdom-lines about "what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger" and "it is better to have loved and lost than not love at all" or "there's a lot of fish in the sea" -Are you alone? Do you feel abandoned?
If yes, don't believe that crap. If no, exactly, see how easy it is to say that to someone else? Consider this: almost everyone at some point will experience this. We only accept it to move on and continue living. Human bullshit is the most impressive survival tool. In science, it is called the 'Placebo Effect.'
So here is the life lesson I'm going with for now: I was in love. I got dumped. It sucks A LOT. Who knows what will happen.
So cheers to Easter, new beginnings, and false hopes!
26 March 2009
My Personal Progenitors
I don't hate my parents. I hate my situation with them. But the situation that I have with them is so complex that I tell people that I hate my parents to keep it simple and move on.
My parents have been wanting to go out to dinner with me for a while now. So we finally went out tonight. They treated me to a wonderful Italian restaurant. I also have left overs in my fridge! Afterward, my dad had to go play music at a bar/club close by. I carried his instruments inside for him. He set up with the rest of the band, who had already started playing. As he joined them I found myself starting to cry. Even as I type this now, the tears are returning.
My dad is seventy. He is old enough to be my grandfather. For his entire life, he has played music. For over sixty years, he has played formally. For over fifty years he has played professionally. So when my father plays saxophone or clarinet, it is not just a person articulately pushing air down a tube, he is actually building an audioscape masterpiece that has been refined and chiseled for most of a lifetime. I can count the days on one hand that I was at my house and did not hear him playing.
I wanted to stay and listen so badly tonight. I wanted to be there to see him perform this masterpiece. But I felt a certain shame for tears in that moment and now I feel more shame for leaving.
I suppose I will now attempt to describe the relationship I have with my father.
My father is one of the most kind people I have ever met. His generosity is endless and infinite. There is nothing I could ever ask for that he wouldn't try to give me. But he is also cold and miserably alone. I've never seen him happy. Before I go any further, I must clarify here that we never have personal or deep conversations beyond, "How is school?" or "How are your grades." So I don't feel like I even know anything about him. There were a few times that we played catch when, but most nights he did not feel up throwing the baseball around. So I never really got the time with him as a kid, that I saw my friends having with their dads. When we are in the car alone together, we don't speak regardless of whether or not the radio is on. It's not that we don't try to talk, but it's like he can't hold up a conversation. I know his interests; sci-fi, literary classics, and jazz. Around 7th grade, I horded every scrap of Coleman Hawkins, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, and Charlie Parker that I could get my hands on. I listened to them religiously, in the hopes that it would help me build a connection with him. But that was about as successful as penguins flying. He smiles at me when he's proud. But I'm convinced it is only because I'm his son. I could just as well be his ex-druggie daughter who overcame the drug problem and he would probably be just as proud.
I suppose the worst part about this is that I recognize it is not his fault. After all he's basically like an elderly grandfather, disconnected and out of focus from the distance in time. So how could he know any differently? It would also seem the way he was raised was different too. But the real point is that for all my life my father has been a wonderful symbol of talent, nobility, and humanity. But trying to communicate with him or any of those things is more impossible than learning another language or attempting to acquire one of the many skills he has.
That is why I didn't want to leave. That is why I had to hold back the tears. That is why I can't be there to listen now.
My parents have been wanting to go out to dinner with me for a while now. So we finally went out tonight. They treated me to a wonderful Italian restaurant. I also have left overs in my fridge! Afterward, my dad had to go play music at a bar/club close by. I carried his instruments inside for him. He set up with the rest of the band, who had already started playing. As he joined them I found myself starting to cry. Even as I type this now, the tears are returning.
My dad is seventy. He is old enough to be my grandfather. For his entire life, he has played music. For over sixty years, he has played formally. For over fifty years he has played professionally. So when my father plays saxophone or clarinet, it is not just a person articulately pushing air down a tube, he is actually building an audioscape masterpiece that has been refined and chiseled for most of a lifetime. I can count the days on one hand that I was at my house and did not hear him playing.
I wanted to stay and listen so badly tonight. I wanted to be there to see him perform this masterpiece. But I felt a certain shame for tears in that moment and now I feel more shame for leaving.
I suppose I will now attempt to describe the relationship I have with my father.
My father is one of the most kind people I have ever met. His generosity is endless and infinite. There is nothing I could ever ask for that he wouldn't try to give me. But he is also cold and miserably alone. I've never seen him happy. Before I go any further, I must clarify here that we never have personal or deep conversations beyond, "How is school?" or "How are your grades." So I don't feel like I even know anything about him. There were a few times that we played catch when, but most nights he did not feel up throwing the baseball around. So I never really got the time with him as a kid, that I saw my friends having with their dads. When we are in the car alone together, we don't speak regardless of whether or not the radio is on. It's not that we don't try to talk, but it's like he can't hold up a conversation. I know his interests; sci-fi, literary classics, and jazz. Around 7th grade, I horded every scrap of Coleman Hawkins, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, and Charlie Parker that I could get my hands on. I listened to them religiously, in the hopes that it would help me build a connection with him. But that was about as successful as penguins flying. He smiles at me when he's proud. But I'm convinced it is only because I'm his son. I could just as well be his ex-druggie daughter who overcame the drug problem and he would probably be just as proud.
I suppose the worst part about this is that I recognize it is not his fault. After all he's basically like an elderly grandfather, disconnected and out of focus from the distance in time. So how could he know any differently? It would also seem the way he was raised was different too. But the real point is that for all my life my father has been a wonderful symbol of talent, nobility, and humanity. But trying to communicate with him or any of those things is more impossible than learning another language or attempting to acquire one of the many skills he has.
That is why I didn't want to leave. That is why I had to hold back the tears. That is why I can't be there to listen now.
21 March 2009
Performing A Void Dance
Avoidance. That pretty much sums up my coping with issues for the past five weeks. It's a little "dance" that I have gained considerable skill in. So I will now write with clarity and intention in the hopes of revealing a new understanding for myself about the topic I have been so diligently dodging. . .
I tried a similar attempt a few weeks ago. It began like this. . .
Indeed, writing this could be an impressive error on my behalf, but I'm OK with making this mistake as I slept for a total of about three hours last night.
Yesterday I took a quiz in one of my classes. Whatever the reason may be, I opened the far back compartment of my backpack which, apparently, I had not zipped open in quite a long time. A stack of notes from Diana emptied, queuing a deluge of memories. I had put some notes in my backpack for the idea, that a part of her was "as physically close to my heart as possible at all times. . ." while at BG. One note in particular practically dropped me to my knees.
"GOOD MORNING!
-hope you slept well. Have a GREAT DAY! I'll Call when I get out of school. (heart) Diana"
----------------------
I walked into the classroom. Names were on the tables to assign us our designated seats. Two weeks previous to this, I had visited an art school. Feeling confident in having no confidence about what I wanted to do with my life, art school just seemed like a good idea? So when I went to visit art schools as a highschool junior with no art credit or portfolio they gave some weird looks behind even weirder looking glasses. So I said, "hey! art classes!!!". So here I was sitting at the end of a table, that was connected to other tables, that made a big square border within a big square room. I had no ambition. I had no imagination of my future. I had no expectations. My life wasn't bad. I was not terribly depressed. But I was also unfulfilled.
I was kind of a clown. As you can imagine with basically no real trail to follow I was blazing a path to nowhere. . .
Diana sat two seats away to my right. From the first time I talked to her, I liked her. She was engaging and real. After about a week of school I added her on facebook. One morning before school I wrote on her wall about how quirky our art teacher was. Later that week I forgot to bring a no. 2 pencil to class and Diana let me barrow one of her's. She told me to give it back and I confessed I had no idea where mine was and therefore no intention to return her pencil. She told me that I owed her a picture. The night before the next class, I took about an hour to sketch a rose with charcoal. We started dating soon after. That rose stayed on her wall next to her bed for over two years. I have no idea if it is still there or not.
The more than two years that we dated are a big blur. Anytime I think of my in that compartment of time, Diana is there. Whether I remember taking her coat in the front room of my parents house or knowing I was only five minutes away from seeing her for the first time in three weeks.
I remember looking out the bathroom window of my dorm to see her ride pulling into the parking lot.
I remember opening my eyes in the morning and seeing her face.
I remember purposely irritating her with stupid games like, "hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana," until she became so annoyed she would stare me into submission with only "David, stop."
I can't write anymore. I will revisit this topic at a later time.
I tried a similar attempt a few weeks ago. It began like this. . .
Indeed, writing this could be an impressive error on my behalf, but I'm OK with making this mistake as I slept for a total of about three hours last night.
Yesterday I took a quiz in one of my classes. Whatever the reason may be, I opened the far back compartment of my backpack which, apparently, I had not zipped open in quite a long time. A stack of notes from Diana emptied, queuing a deluge of memories. I had put some notes in my backpack for the idea, that a part of her was "as physically close to my heart as possible at all times. . ." while at BG. One note in particular practically dropped me to my knees.
"GOOD MORNING!
-hope you slept well. Have a GREAT DAY! I'll Call when I get out of school. (heart) Diana"
----------------------
I walked into the classroom. Names were on the tables to assign us our designated seats. Two weeks previous to this, I had visited an art school. Feeling confident in having no confidence about what I wanted to do with my life, art school just seemed like a good idea? So when I went to visit art schools as a highschool junior with no art credit or portfolio they gave some weird looks behind even weirder looking glasses. So I said, "hey! art classes!!!". So here I was sitting at the end of a table, that was connected to other tables, that made a big square border within a big square room. I had no ambition. I had no imagination of my future. I had no expectations. My life wasn't bad. I was not terribly depressed. But I was also unfulfilled.
I was kind of a clown. As you can imagine with basically no real trail to follow I was blazing a path to nowhere. . .
Diana sat two seats away to my right. From the first time I talked to her, I liked her. She was engaging and real. After about a week of school I added her on facebook. One morning before school I wrote on her wall about how quirky our art teacher was. Later that week I forgot to bring a no. 2 pencil to class and Diana let me barrow one of her's. She told me to give it back and I confessed I had no idea where mine was and therefore no intention to return her pencil. She told me that I owed her a picture. The night before the next class, I took about an hour to sketch a rose with charcoal. We started dating soon after. That rose stayed on her wall next to her bed for over two years. I have no idea if it is still there or not.
The more than two years that we dated are a big blur. Anytime I think of my in that compartment of time, Diana is there. Whether I remember taking her coat in the front room of my parents house or knowing I was only five minutes away from seeing her for the first time in three weeks.
I remember looking out the bathroom window of my dorm to see her ride pulling into the parking lot.
I remember opening my eyes in the morning and seeing her face.
I remember purposely irritating her with stupid games like, "hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana, hey Diana," until she became so annoyed she would stare me into submission with only "David, stop."
I can't write anymore. I will revisit this topic at a later time.
11 February 2009
Changes
My life has changed a little bit. While thinking the other day a short rhyme came to me, why not post it?
Right about now, you're probably wondering where the hell did I come from?
Changed your name, and changed your place, even changed the beat of your own drum.
But I followed you here because I know your ways
You changed your whole life for just a short phase
You reached up so high while I was feeling so low
I was going too slow so you just let go
Leaving me only memories to grasp
while your fingers lost their clasp
Im falling, ever falling, in slow motion. . .
But I embrace the ticking clock, the constant motion of time
I allow a thin blanket of solitude to surround my anti-serene being
Ever tormented by time itself, I cannot seem to let solace in
I am under the unrelenting interrogation of my past
And the burning bright light on my face is your caustic image
Drowning under a deluge of emotional turmoil
The world slips from beneath me, and I falter
I barely keep myself on the overlapping fabric between reality and my own perceptions
Indeed I feel the fringe of my sanity slowing un-threading itself
My solitude brings winter to my heart
But even surrounded by love, spring doesn't thaw the cold
There is no sunshine here, only invincible shadows
They cloak my colors in gray and steal my smile
And as the whole world fades to black and white
Everything becomes binary; and everything switches off
Infinite loops of zeros become chains that bind me
My own mind is my own prison, and,
I don't want to be freed.
Right about now, you're probably wondering where the hell did I come from?
Changed your name, and changed your place, even changed the beat of your own drum.
But I followed you here because I know your ways
You changed your whole life for just a short phase
You reached up so high while I was feeling so low
I was going too slow so you just let go
Leaving me only memories to grasp
while your fingers lost their clasp
Im falling, ever falling, in slow motion. . .
But I embrace the ticking clock, the constant motion of time
I allow a thin blanket of solitude to surround my anti-serene being
Ever tormented by time itself, I cannot seem to let solace in
I am under the unrelenting interrogation of my past
And the burning bright light on my face is your caustic image
Drowning under a deluge of emotional turmoil
The world slips from beneath me, and I falter
I barely keep myself on the overlapping fabric between reality and my own perceptions
Indeed I feel the fringe of my sanity slowing un-threading itself
My solitude brings winter to my heart
But even surrounded by love, spring doesn't thaw the cold
There is no sunshine here, only invincible shadows
They cloak my colors in gray and steal my smile
And as the whole world fades to black and white
Everything becomes binary; and everything switches off
Infinite loops of zeros become chains that bind me
My own mind is my own prison, and,
I don't want to be freed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)