keep keepin' your distance fool,
keep terrified I'm too close to you.
In the finest way, I've wasted time.
In the brightest say, we've said nothing at all.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
emotions. can I just surgically remove them?
i hate when i start crying because then i can't stop. I just keep going. All that shit I shove down has a way of not going away.
Seems like most of my life is a battle of not letting other people ruin my day. Everyone is so unhappy, all the people around me and it makes me depressed as fuck. I am easily pleased. It's not hard for anything to dazzle me, or effect me deeply.
I can't help how I like to care for people and just do things.. out of my heart, just because, without any real need for anything in return. It's not a reward or glorification I'm trying to prod out. I just wanted to feel human for once, you know, like really connected with someone. And not like it's this huge fucking favor to look at me like I'm interesting. Like I'm worth it. You're worth it to me. and i try... i try... i try.
But it seems like ALL the people in my life want more and I just can't be good enough.
I dont truly feel like I satisfy anyone. Makes me prefer to be alone, away from all those goddamned expectations. Ugh. Some days I could stop altogether. Ignore all those needs and requests. Sometimes I feel like a nurse... or some kind of washcloth.
Why can't people just think it's all right to be ordinary? To just makes things work? Running smoothly and simply "ok" They want more, they want extraordinary, shit they see in movies or magazines or whatever fantasy. It's so idealized.... They think they have to make all these improvements. They complicate it beyond possibility so they can never be happy with it.
But I like simple. I like plausible expectation, because then it IS possible to get fucking happy.
You don't have to dread that looming feeling of disappointment. If you're just genuine with yourself, man, you can finally see that most of what you want you already have and happiness isn't so hard.
But I need to feel connected with people to be happy. I need to matter. i must have meaning.
So I can't just run away from it all and still be happy. I rely on people and that's just the nature of being human. We do need each other. However sappy and nonsensical you want to say that is. It's true.
Seems like most of my life is a battle of not letting other people ruin my day. Everyone is so unhappy, all the people around me and it makes me depressed as fuck. I am easily pleased. It's not hard for anything to dazzle me, or effect me deeply.
I can't help how I like to care for people and just do things.. out of my heart, just because, without any real need for anything in return. It's not a reward or glorification I'm trying to prod out. I just wanted to feel human for once, you know, like really connected with someone. And not like it's this huge fucking favor to look at me like I'm interesting. Like I'm worth it. You're worth it to me. and i try... i try... i try.
But it seems like ALL the people in my life want more and I just can't be good enough.
I dont truly feel like I satisfy anyone. Makes me prefer to be alone, away from all those goddamned expectations. Ugh. Some days I could stop altogether. Ignore all those needs and requests. Sometimes I feel like a nurse... or some kind of washcloth.
Why can't people just think it's all right to be ordinary? To just makes things work? Running smoothly and simply "ok" They want more, they want extraordinary, shit they see in movies or magazines or whatever fantasy. It's so idealized.... They think they have to make all these improvements. They complicate it beyond possibility so they can never be happy with it.
But I like simple. I like plausible expectation, because then it IS possible to get fucking happy.
You don't have to dread that looming feeling of disappointment. If you're just genuine with yourself, man, you can finally see that most of what you want you already have and happiness isn't so hard.
But I need to feel connected with people to be happy. I need to matter. i must have meaning.
So I can't just run away from it all and still be happy. I rely on people and that's just the nature of being human. We do need each other. However sappy and nonsensical you want to say that is. It's true.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Untitled Poem- draft 1
This outlier waits, her need remains the same
in the silence and unreplied mail
bored eyes, restless hands
the constant grasp at words whether useful or not
she imagines she's flawed
in immense space and lack of time
no weight, no code
the blatant disregard for imposed glamour
she realizes her worth
her offering has always been the same
your pleasure or displeasure the only variable
in the silence and unreplied mail
bored eyes, restless hands
the constant grasp at words whether useful or not
she imagines she's flawed
in immense space and lack of time
no weight, no code
the blatant disregard for imposed glamour
she realizes her worth
her offering has always been the same
your pleasure or displeasure the only variable
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Hallmark.
the other day at Hallmark a lady was asking for an ornament for the father-daughter relationship and the woman who works there had so much trouble coming up with even anything at all besides an ornament. She said, "well i don't think they do that one. of course there's mother daughter. and..... well, we have just 'DAD' stuff."
I'm trying not to view it as a microcosm, or representative of life itself; It's more comforting as an isolated incident. Somehow I'm not surprised though, at the subtle relay of our family structures. Plenty of men are good fathers. But they're like the Northern Lights- grand, splendid, rare, transparent, and only in certain spaces and times.
I'm trying to see the world outside my own experience, and not slate my cold hard truths and beliefs about what's here and how we function as humanity just on what happens to me.
But it's hard to ignore these little things isn't it? It's hard to say they're not hints.
I'm trying not to view it as a microcosm, or representative of life itself; It's more comforting as an isolated incident. Somehow I'm not surprised though, at the subtle relay of our family structures. Plenty of men are good fathers. But they're like the Northern Lights- grand, splendid, rare, transparent, and only in certain spaces and times.
I'm trying to see the world outside my own experience, and not slate my cold hard truths and beliefs about what's here and how we function as humanity just on what happens to me.
But it's hard to ignore these little things isn't it? It's hard to say they're not hints.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Thoughts on John Michael
progressive bits from journal:
4-30-2011
God, today has been weird. Yesterday John died and it’s all I can think about. I don’t really know what I’m going to say; I don’t have anything grand in mind. But I start these entries like this sometimes without any real direction and somehow I end up saying that one thing I had to get out and say. Then I finally feel better.
What can I say? It’s fucking stupid that he died. I hate it. Can’t imagine a worse pick by fate to pick off.
He likes my word play; he liked “much too much love to love with” I like his wit too and I love his humor…
Sweet kind heart. So open and intellectual. So damn interesting. I called him a “sigh of relief to the human race” once. He always will be.
I took some time to read my old entries back at the end of 09 and into 2010 when we talked a lot on Facebook and I documented quite a lot of it...the heart of it anyway. We always have kept up this online friendship all this time but at that time it seemed to really explode. I mean, we’d have 4 hours chat sessions!
He always has had this striking effect on me, always. Way back even while we were at GV. He’d be in class and I’d be drawn to him, I’d notice him… seemed so familiar in the beginning even though we’d not said more than a few sentences to each other. It’s always seemed like he has a soul made from the same substance as mine; more than anything I love him like I love my brother. That particular feeling used to make me confused but now that he’s gone, I realize how it substantially and without a doubt it trumps all other feelings. He was so good, so nice. Sociable and kind to everybody.
Details are not concrete. I found a few articles:
5-2-11
The night before the morning John died a bird blew into my car. It was parked too, sitting at the library on the south side. It was probably around 7pm. I had come to pick up some holds, mainly Kaki King; the car’s engine was off, and I had one leg out from the backseat as I was searching for a lost CD (Highway Rider by Brad Mehldau)… found it under my middle console. Then I heard this tremendous THUD!
I looked up and saw through the windshield this awkwardly flying bird pass over from the right to left. He landed awkwardly about 20 feet away, fluttered his wings and feathers amongst two other birds. I sat stunned but laughed. I soon forgot it after I went inside and got the holds.
How could I possibly know what was going to happen to him in mere hours? I’ve heard of birds crashing into things like windows and cars as a omen to death, but usually for the death of the person who sees it. If it truly meant something, why so subtle? Why so ambiguous?
We always wish to go back. Agonizing time, moving and changing constantly. One moment to the next passes and you lose all opportunity. I want to go back and call him then, just to see what he was up to that night. Just anything… but I didn’t then. It’s over now.
Although, I felt compelled to text him last Monday just 4 days before he died. It was pouring rain and I was driving home listening to Eno’s Another Day on Earth, specifically the track “Just Another Day” and texted him the whole phrase “It’s just another day on earth” knowing he loved Eno too and would know exactly what I meant. I just had this overwhelming feeling I should send something to him, that it was important. Plus, the phrase felt right with the day… Of course, he replied right away telling me how that comment just made his day better.
There’s always been that kind of instant understanding of music between us, so easy.
But the bird...I don’t understand why these feelings and images present themselves to me if I’m not able to take them seriously or see the real meaning in it. What was I to do? Were there other things around that I missed, things that would have completed the warning enough for me to do something? Am I just feeling all the guilt of grief right now? Probably. But I can’t forget that damn bird…
And I hate the chaos answer, that there was nothing I could do and that there was no fault and no way to tell. Why the hell not? I want to believe we have some sort of warning system in our world, some sort of way to tell, to protect each other. Sounds better than sitting by like helpless stupid creatures.
Also listening to Eno’s Drawn from Life lately. “Rising Dust” “Persis” and “Bloom” are best.
All seems to pertain. These two albums were my focus all through last week and still now. His death just happened right in the middle.
I’ve always felt connected to him in a way that I can’t explain. There was something so similar. Maybe our too much alike dreamy & romantic sympathetic state of mind…soft-hearted and emotional. Crying at songs. Love to write. Love to be analytical, introspective, too much thinking.
Damnit I miss him. I miss feeling that, even if only in the outskirts of my physical world. But spiritually he always seemed to be right near me, like we had similar inner lining and substance. I'm sure he made a lot of people feel this way. He had a way of doing that. But he makes you feel like you're tucked away in your own corner and you have your own special time with him.
I could say the most emotionally-drenched, philosophically expanded & over-thought piece of “nonsense” and he’d put some comment on it on Facebook that made the most sense, like he was really the only one who could truly empathize. He took the time to read my blogs and notes and dreams when no one else did. We’d talk for hours on IM, or over the course of a few days through comments. Doesn’t really seem to matter to me now that we didn’t spend a lot of time together face-to-face through the last few years. He was in Alaska for awhile so it wasn’t do-able then. When he moved back last summer I guess I was just preoccupied. I do feel guilty about that. Why didn’t I try? Our online friendship thrived always, and has never really tapered off… Facebook has this immense black hole for me now. I wish we’d hung out more in person. I’m just glad I did at least once… and it was barely a week before he died. How lucky. It seemed to me that day that things would finally pick up. I sat there wondering why the hell I didn’t come over sooner. Why did I get so distracted? I felt like it was just the beginning to being real friends outside of the cyber-realm.
Now he’s just gone, ripped from life so harshly and violently.
5 11 11
I think the moment you really contribute something into the universe, you don’t realize you’re doing it. It feels the most like life so it fills you up all the way and requires all of your physical presence, including any attention to social perception… or any other kind of “impressive impression.”
What were great people thinking in their 20s? Anything remotely as silly as me? I can’t imagine not thinking anymore.
I wish John hadn’t died. I miss knowing there was someone else out there that I know I could strike up a conversation with randomly and he’d just go with it and the talking still be chalk full of meaning. He’d put so much effort into being meaningful. I miss feeling lost with him, in the same young and directionless way. The truly not knowing what to do with your life and truly being vexed by that… it’s painful enough as it is and it’s worse alone. I know I’m not really alone. But he was the best at making it feel less lonely. 90% of the time it was in indirect ways he never knew meant anything to me. Other times there’d be such a mutual feeling it was powerful. I honestly can’t understand the good his death could possibly be. Makes me believe more and more about some events in the universe being truly random and separate of divine order…. Not that it discredits God, but I can’t imagine him doing that on purpose. It’s stupid.
Sometimes I just don’t know what to say anymore. It feels better to stop, be motionless and still…. And not feel so much. Not breathe so much. It’s the hardest thing in the world to try with 0 motivation. Harder than any task itself could ever be. And it doesn’t matter what it’s asking of you. You could ask the strongest human being on the planet to disassemble a mountain and then ask me to push one small button, and if inside me I can’t find the compelling drive and passion…. then my job is harder.
5 24 11
seems like maybe eventually it will get better that you're gone. but it only gets worse as i slowly peel away my denial and the anguish slowly rises. over and over it seems so impossible in my mind, not you, you were so good. Fate really picked off the cream of the crop of humanity.
But nothing you did or said or were has anything to do with it. it's not about whether you deserved it.
we all can't help but ask: why was this allowed by God? how could it happen; where was your protection?
Is you dying a lesson for the people who love you? Do you have a greater purpose in death? i cant imagine any way i could be wiser or receive a life principle that's worth more than your life. I'd rather be stupid and have you instead.
Monday, March 14, 2011
random neurosis and my inability to be socially normal [from 02/07/2011]
ok I’m ready now to be reasonable. I really need to forget. How does one go about it, this complete erasature of an entire inner world of intense love! What am I really supposed to do? Why is it supposed to hurt?
No one ever showed me they believed in me. Not in my extraordinary sights and mind and imagination, nor my music or art, nor my writing or linguistic lush, nor creative bursts and inner songs. To them, my ways always have been goober, overly emotional or just mediocre. They react in the way you pat the head of a child.
Jesters tend to provoke more attention, but I can’t approach the world that way. So I get overlooked.
And I struggle to build up enough of my own belief and reliability. But often find I am content enough to live inside forever and never go out and change the world. I am happy with the small simple things and being alone, never making a grand alteration to humanity, never being famous. I don’t expect thousands or even hundreds to show up at my funeral. And this is totally ok with me.
It’s all so much better as a secret. At this point I’ve built up too much expectation. I don’t think I can handle disappointment. I can’t handle not being fulfilled with what is not there.
It will be like that phantom stair you think is there and you raise your leg and bring it down only on that jarring feeling of plunging through empty space.
No one ever showed me they believed in me. Not in my extraordinary sights and mind and imagination, nor my music or art, nor my writing or linguistic lush, nor creative bursts and inner songs. To them, my ways always have been goober, overly emotional or just mediocre. They react in the way you pat the head of a child.
Jesters tend to provoke more attention, but I can’t approach the world that way. So I get overlooked.
And I struggle to build up enough of my own belief and reliability. But often find I am content enough to live inside forever and never go out and change the world. I am happy with the small simple things and being alone, never making a grand alteration to humanity, never being famous. I don’t expect thousands or even hundreds to show up at my funeral. And this is totally ok with me.
It’s all so much better as a secret. At this point I’ve built up too much expectation. I don’t think I can handle disappointment. I can’t handle not being fulfilled with what is not there.
It will be like that phantom stair you think is there and you raise your leg and bring it down only on that jarring feeling of plunging through empty space.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
bleak bite
just had a sudden feeling of immense sadness, where i could feel all the meaning drain from my life... i'm starting to see it for all its bleak triviality and plainness. how unextraordinary i am and never will be. a part of me is ok with being average; i'm not trying to impress anyone. but i'm still sitting waiting for that "ok" feeling again, a calm and settled arrangement of my universe. the older i get the more impossible it becomes. the harder i try the more hope i lose. it's not going to change. all things around me change but this one thing just wont. i can never go home again.
i get older, die more every day and don't care about it. i don't feel that passionate sort of carpe diem where i want so much out of my life. everything around me is so plain and simple, more than ever it's unfulfilled and blase as hell. i'm reaching a new state of numbness i've never known... is this really adulthood?
my job is making me stupider. its making my brain mush, i can feel my IQ fading out until i lose all of any splendor i can even feign to have.
i keep trying to make friends but none of them feel real. it's never as genuine and intimate as i need. i hate all our American social conventions. i hate what's considered funny, sexy, impressive, worthwhile. talking to people has become like competing with a TV. people only want to be entertained as if you were their own personal tv show. seconds are hours to them. oh no! you stood there so silent, breathless... don't you have some quip witty thing to spout out, so plotted staged and scripted... as if they are all beginning to truly believe conversations (actual human conversations) work that way.
maybe they don't believe it fully yet, but a part of their mind's appetite wont tolerate its absense.
i only slept three hours last night, maybe that's why my mind is off... and stupider.
i tried to play piano and was astounded at how incapable i was at it right now. it was terrible. made me even sadder. i wanted to do it to feel better. music tends to be that one thing that saves me.
i guess iPod instead.
most people have no idea how sad i am. i dont really want to make it apparent because i dont care if anyone cares. i dont believe it makes any difference anyway. what can they do? i believe they are as hopeless as i am, but lucky enough to be ignorant to it. or blissfully distracted.
life is just a string of distractions. there is no meaning. it's all random chaos.
i get older, die more every day and don't care about it. i don't feel that passionate sort of carpe diem where i want so much out of my life. everything around me is so plain and simple, more than ever it's unfulfilled and blase as hell. i'm reaching a new state of numbness i've never known... is this really adulthood?
my job is making me stupider. its making my brain mush, i can feel my IQ fading out until i lose all of any splendor i can even feign to have.
i keep trying to make friends but none of them feel real. it's never as genuine and intimate as i need. i hate all our American social conventions. i hate what's considered funny, sexy, impressive, worthwhile. talking to people has become like competing with a TV. people only want to be entertained as if you were their own personal tv show. seconds are hours to them. oh no! you stood there so silent, breathless... don't you have some quip witty thing to spout out, so plotted staged and scripted... as if they are all beginning to truly believe conversations (actual human conversations) work that way.
maybe they don't believe it fully yet, but a part of their mind's appetite wont tolerate its absense.
i only slept three hours last night, maybe that's why my mind is off... and stupider.
i tried to play piano and was astounded at how incapable i was at it right now. it was terrible. made me even sadder. i wanted to do it to feel better. music tends to be that one thing that saves me.
i guess iPod instead.
most people have no idea how sad i am. i dont really want to make it apparent because i dont care if anyone cares. i dont believe it makes any difference anyway. what can they do? i believe they are as hopeless as i am, but lucky enough to be ignorant to it. or blissfully distracted.
life is just a string of distractions. there is no meaning. it's all random chaos.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
doing.
one thousand menial & trivial tasks fritter away days
and can never compare
to a mere handful of slow-paced deeply brain-delved languish and lush
array of curiosities
so tell me, who accomplished more?
and can never compare
to a mere handful of slow-paced deeply brain-delved languish and lush
array of curiosities
so tell me, who accomplished more?
Friday, February 11, 2011
There were powerful times in my life that happened during certain events, like my brother’s wrestling meets. But it really has little to do with those events. It’s only associated to it. They merely happened at the same time. But it was more something from inside myself, the way I was seeing things in my own mind rather than any external thing affecting me or triggering something.
I used to sit in empty hallways with all the lights off and only distant human voice, listening to music. One winter I smoked cigarettes in a classroom doorway. I remember those days of being a truly angsty teenager, feeling isolated but liking it a little. Even then you’re searching, but not knowing yet you’re going to spend the rest of life searching for who you are and what your life means, without getting any answers. And being sort of “bad” (the trespassing to those hallways wasn’t allowed; the doors were locked after all) seemed to give me some vague sense of purpose, or a taste of real intent. Something in my action felt alive for once. It’s the first taste at stepping outside of what you’re used to, stepping outside safety. Somehow it seems worth it to be in trouble.
I realize a lot of these times were just positioned throughout my life in moments of seclusion and introspection. They seem odd ly associated to the events around them but they stand alone. They are sectioned off as gems and only tied as if on a necklace. They string can easily give way, but the gems remain gems. They emerged more out of convenience and almost my soul’s necessary snatching. I was alone spending time at Richard’s house, my first year of college at Central, and in the hospital when I had leukemia. Rides in my car and in bed at night are shorter bursts, but made from the same substance, and me doing the same with it.
Also, the roaming in bathrooms to examine my skin and liking the old yellowish lighting in the bathrooms. Those sinks had to be from the 60s
…. more later
I used to sit in empty hallways with all the lights off and only distant human voice, listening to music. One winter I smoked cigarettes in a classroom doorway. I remember those days of being a truly angsty teenager, feeling isolated but liking it a little. Even then you’re searching, but not knowing yet you’re going to spend the rest of life searching for who you are and what your life means, without getting any answers. And being sort of “bad” (the trespassing to those hallways wasn’t allowed; the doors were locked after all) seemed to give me some vague sense of purpose, or a taste of real intent. Something in my action felt alive for once. It’s the first taste at stepping outside of what you’re used to, stepping outside safety. Somehow it seems worth it to be in trouble.
I realize a lot of these times were just positioned throughout my life in moments of seclusion and introspection. They seem odd ly associated to the events around them but they stand alone. They are sectioned off as gems and only tied as if on a necklace. They string can easily give way, but the gems remain gems. They emerged more out of convenience and almost my soul’s necessary snatching. I was alone spending time at Richard’s house, my first year of college at Central, and in the hospital when I had leukemia. Rides in my car and in bed at night are shorter bursts, but made from the same substance, and me doing the same with it.
Also, the roaming in bathrooms to examine my skin and liking the old yellowish lighting in the bathrooms. Those sinks had to be from the 60s
…. more later
Thursday, February 3, 2011
never knew sites like this existed...
but i shouldn't be surprised
http://www.beautifulcervix.com/cervix-photo-galleries/photos-of-cervix/
Just a bunch of photos of cervixes. i really wonder how she got those angles with the right lighting and everything to see it so well. Does she have a tiny camera to stick in her vagina?
I can only look at this site so long. It's not necessarily disgusting or anything it's just, i dont know. i have no interest in what her cervix is doing or to compare it to mine. I see how the only reason you'd be interested in this site is for fertility reasons. Speaking of which, by the looks of the site I'm probably ovulating now. better stay away from the sex for awhile...
http://www.beautifulcervix.com/cervix-photo-galleries/photos-of-cervix/
Just a bunch of photos of cervixes. i really wonder how she got those angles with the right lighting and everything to see it so well. Does she have a tiny camera to stick in her vagina?
I can only look at this site so long. It's not necessarily disgusting or anything it's just, i dont know. i have no interest in what her cervix is doing or to compare it to mine. I see how the only reason you'd be interested in this site is for fertility reasons. Speaking of which, by the looks of the site I'm probably ovulating now. better stay away from the sex for awhile...
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