Adam: Are you going to the playoffs this weekend? The musical?
Juliet: No.
Adam: Why not?
Juliet: There are some parties this weekend.
Adam: :( would it change your mind to know that i'll be there?
Juliet: Not Really? I want to see you. But i'm not gonna go to Carrolllton and have to stay with my mom and shit.
Adam: Oh okay. That's depressing. Well i guess i may stop by then sometimes saturday. Are you free during the day?
Juliet: Yeah i will be. it's not that i don't want to see you, but you make no effort to communicate with me anymore.
Adam: I understand. It's not like this is the first time this has happened.
Juliet: Okay.
so if you haven't been making effort to communicate with me...?
[/nothinglastsforever]
sigh.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
nothinglastsforever?
what is love, if not
forever?
even now, after it all, after all the poison dust has settled
rebecca and i still love each other
to the moon and back
we confirmed that to each other just last weekend
sigh
forever?
even now, after it all, after all the poison dust has settled
rebecca and i still love each other
to the moon and back
we confirmed that to each other just last weekend
sigh
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
progress report
There comes a point in every endeavor when one must asses the situation, asking himself: "what tha fuck am i doing?" After a thorough examination of his surroundings and the recombobulation of reality, he realizes he's doing nothing more than taking notes on oxidation and reduction, screwing around online, and listening to people ask the same dumb questions over and over again: "is the oxidizing agent the thing that's oxidized? is reduction surgery good for my health? redoxa floppy wonka toot? shwats chem?" Even after the dust stirred up on the blacktop of cognition settles, there remains an excitement that is homogenous throughout the settled atmosphere, to be inhaled with every distracted sigh. To the curious, this vague, left over energy is pursued further; and questions of intent are formed: "why the fuck am i doing what i am doing?" and depending on goals set and achievements made, there may be cause for a celebratory picnic of wine and cupcakes atop a height that looks over the sunset--and if one's truly achieved--the sunrise. for the sight of such a spectacle, with such a food and such a beverage, could symbolize an important goal in one's purpose in life--as could a variety of other physical things, people, and events, but a sunrise and sunrise have a conracopia of connotations associated with them.
pretentious, overly vague, and potently verbose introductions aside, I believe I've reached a milestone of my own. As a flamboyantly absurd aethstic and demented theorhetical artist, one of my goals in life is to be contribute to the beauty in the world. as an human artist, one of the mediums i strive to perfect is that of life. if you've spoken with me on any sort of basis of my goals and dreams, you'd know some of this. it's a crazy idea, and sounds a bit lazy, but it's an idea i'm carrying it out nonetheless (see instead: irregardless).
my goal is for every movement made, appearance (intentioned and unintentioned), word uttered, and idea thought to follow a cohesive theme. Each time i glide my fingers over a keyboard, curve my wrist, twist a curl between my fingers, stretch my knuckles, rest my right leg on my left, saunter with a mysterious gait,
all in all, i'm obsessed with the branding of myself.
and i have reached a milestone. and that is in personal beauty. i am the most physically beautiful i will be, i've reached my peak--and my peak, from my perspective, is the peak. I am able to twist my view of beauty--i have taken the phrase "beauty is in the eyes of the beholder" to a new level: 'conventional beauty' is a thing for the unenlightened, uninformed, and unthought consumers of media and pop culture--they will be told what to believe, as i will
Thus
pretentious, overly vague, and potently verbose introductions aside, I believe I've reached a milestone of my own. As a flamboyantly absurd aethstic and demented theorhetical artist, one of my goals in life is to be contribute to the beauty in the world. as an human artist, one of the mediums i strive to perfect is that of life. if you've spoken with me on any sort of basis of my goals and dreams, you'd know some of this. it's a crazy idea, and sounds a bit lazy, but it's an idea i'm carrying it out nonetheless (see instead: irregardless).
my goal is for every movement made, appearance (intentioned and unintentioned), word uttered, and idea thought to follow a cohesive theme. Each time i glide my fingers over a keyboard, curve my wrist, twist a curl between my fingers, stretch my knuckles, rest my right leg on my left, saunter with a mysterious gait,
all in all, i'm obsessed with the branding of myself.
and i have reached a milestone. and that is in personal beauty. i am the most physically beautiful i will be, i've reached my peak--and my peak, from my perspective, is the peak. I am able to twist my view of beauty--i have taken the phrase "beauty is in the eyes of the beholder" to a new level: 'conventional beauty' is a thing for the unenlightened, uninformed, and unthought consumers of media and pop culture--they will be told what to believe, as i will
Thus
I am the most physically beautiful thing this side of the universe
See me now. My curly hair growing in and out every way like a hair conditioned porcupine, like the upturned roots of a brain, planting themselves into the atmosphere to absorb its energies, like a conceptualized universe, an explosion of infinity, the big bang, the beginning and end of all.
All of that, just seen in my hair.
Travel down my head, down the perfectly proportioned jaw line, currently quilled and rough with hairs poking out and point in different directions. Growing out of the skin, into the skin, through the skin, above the skin. The ingrown hairs creating pimples, creating marks, creating red, blending in with the red blush of a scarlet sunrise, suggesting towards a hard, but scholarly nose that seperates two concentrated spiritual deranged chocolate fondue colored eyes, under the overly chapstick covered lips under a hairy nose. And all of this perfect. Even the stubble, even the hairy nose, even the un plucked eyebrows.
it's all about conceit and selfishness and self love. it's all something i don't prefer to induldge in, but only because society discourages such actions: even so, it's apparent from many of my reactions, conversations, and relationships with people. an obsession with the self is difficult to hide. this love, however, does not stop me from loving others. on the contrary, in order to fully create beauty in the world, I need to love other people.
damn, i think about myself too much.
Monday, October 26, 2009
A snapdragon by any other name would smell as sweet
my favorite flower twas between a snap dragon or one of those maneating flowers. or that one that shoots its neurotransmitters at bugs, that one's cool too. let's just go with the snapdragon.
my dad's mother used to have these in her front yard. i remember as a little kid i could fit my fingers into slots that were formed by the petals of the flower and use the flower as a puppet. what could be better than a dragon puppet made out of a flower!? it's likely my fingers are too big now...
Sunday, October 25, 2009
I wish I'd been a child of the 1990s--oh whoops, I am
Because I love the direction of the future. I want to be there and I want to rule it-- or at the very least exploit it. I'm too modern to live in the past. I never did fit in at those 80's or 70's themed parties...
Monday, October 19, 2009
better?
scourging my library for the saddest songs
to perpetuate these vague bad sentiments--
they're bad in that way that taking the last cookie feels bad:
except i'm the one taking the last cookie from myself.
blackbird, fly
fuck you adam. get something done you fuckhead.
to perpetuate these vague bad sentiments--
they're bad in that way that taking the last cookie feels bad:
except i'm the one taking the last cookie from myself.
blackbird, fly
fuck you adam. get something done you fuckhead.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
day recap:
-lunch with professor robin lumsdaine--the baharian prince fellowship person.
how neat would it be to have the title "baharian prince"!? or any distinguishable title, for that matter.
ate baja fresh (score on free food and interesting conversation!)
learned a bit about brain teasers and job interviews
scored a large bottle of sprite, but not the burritos!
-took and did not as well as i wanted to on stat test...
well, i don't know that, but hey could be true.
i turned in my regression project
studied for the test, could have studied harder. always.
-played some ds--heckyes
-IBUS meeting at z burger. shouldn't have spent money on food, but whatev.
-Hindu festival of lights. very interesting. saw cate...performing? in the ceremony
-crushit! with garyvee. was incredibly blown away
or i feel that way, anyway
'mindfucked' was the term i used
i'm not sure what field to go into anymore
no more middlemen, eh?
-talked to katie palser, my love
discovered holly wants me to talk to her? i don't know how i feel about this
i wonder about rebecca sometimes
no more middlemen.
i'm very out of my skin today.
i hung out with ben a lot. we're forming a very unique bromance--i'm basing it mostly ont he fact that we saw the crushit presenttion together, whcih was a very exhillerating event. thus, we associate the feelings from that event we lived through together to our relationship. viola!
that sam guy seems like my type
quite and awkward? love it
or maybe that's just me being desperate
i'm alright with that i think
i'll be amazing for myself and won't need anyone else
and then
i'll be happy
what i wish for right at this moment is courage.
how neat would it be to have the title "baharian prince"!? or any distinguishable title, for that matter.
ate baja fresh (score on free food and interesting conversation!)
learned a bit about brain teasers and job interviews
scored a large bottle of sprite, but not the burritos!
-took and did not as well as i wanted to on stat test...
well, i don't know that, but hey could be true.
i turned in my regression project
studied for the test, could have studied harder. always.
-played some ds--heckyes
-IBUS meeting at z burger. shouldn't have spent money on food, but whatev.
-Hindu festival of lights. very interesting. saw cate...performing? in the ceremony
-crushit! with garyvee. was incredibly blown away
or i feel that way, anyway
'mindfucked' was the term i used
i'm not sure what field to go into anymore
no more middlemen, eh?
-talked to katie palser, my love
discovered holly wants me to talk to her? i don't know how i feel about this
i wonder about rebecca sometimes
no more middlemen.
i'm very out of my skin today.
i hung out with ben a lot. we're forming a very unique bromance--i'm basing it mostly ont he fact that we saw the crushit presenttion together, whcih was a very exhillerating event. thus, we associate the feelings from that event we lived through together to our relationship. viola!
that sam guy seems like my type
quite and awkward? love it
or maybe that's just me being desperate
i'm alright with that i think
i'll be amazing for myself and won't need anyone else
and then
i'll be happy
what i wish for right at this moment is courage.
Monday, September 28, 2009
who is adam powers?
Maybe now that I'm tired (am i tired? or is that also an illusion?) I will be more truthful. Or true morer. Or maybe I'll say something of significance, something that doesn't travel around in circles. Maybe I'll shit out something pretty.
I feel...calm.
I feel...cold. Well my hands are frigid, and they're easy to feel because whisps of the air coming from the slightly opened windows rush through my fingers whenever the scurry across the keys. That coldness extends to my wrist--and that whole description is mainly for my right hand. My left is tepid. My legs and feet are petty cold, but that'd be obvious if you could see me in my plaid shorts and plaid flip flops. Is that allowed in the fashion rule book? I like it. According to one of Kennedy's photos, it's called plaiering (plaid layering). I creep on facebooks a lot, because i have nothing better to do--no, that's not it. It's probably because I don't invest enough interest in my own life--wait wait wait, that can't be it, I'm completely vain! Though when i think about it sometimes I can't help but picture myself as a flat human being. I feel sometimes that I've built myself up as a poweful idea, yet that's all that coomprises the idea: there is no actual backing or evidence or traits that the idea is made out of. I think I'm just perceiveing myself how I want to be percieved--or maybe I'm even percieveing myself as I want other people to percieve me. This is probably the most honest perspective of myself, and frankly i'm unimpressed to the point of disgust. No no, that's not true. I pity myself and I'm sad for myself, I'm not detachedly appalled at my wormy, parasitic, flat self. I think I've come to this diecision through literature. It's terribly sad when the complexity of literary characters reveal the simplicity in yourself. And by yourself, we mean myself. Well thank you Zora Neal Hurston and Janie Crawford/Killick/Starks/Cake. (yeah i should be doing my essay now). So now the problem is the solution. How do I build myself up?--No no no, that's not the way to go about it. The goal shouldn't be to be something, in fact, there doesn't need to be a goal. The way to go about it is to ask myself: "what do i like? what do i not like? what do i want to create? how?" i might even ask "why?" and when i can answer those questions i'll know myself. or at least i'll be closer to it. i don't need a complicated prodedure including dramatics and a transformative story and a long ordeal to discover insight into myself. I can go about it in a rational way: by writing a blog during an all nighter when I only have one essay left to do. logical. so...
what do i like?
what do i want to create?
how?
why?
I feel...calm.
I feel...cold. Well my hands are frigid, and they're easy to feel because whisps of the air coming from the slightly opened windows rush through my fingers whenever the scurry across the keys. That coldness extends to my wrist--and that whole description is mainly for my right hand. My left is tepid. My legs and feet are petty cold, but that'd be obvious if you could see me in my plaid shorts and plaid flip flops. Is that allowed in the fashion rule book? I like it. According to one of Kennedy's photos, it's called plaiering (plaid layering). I creep on facebooks a lot, because i have nothing better to do--no, that's not it. It's probably because I don't invest enough interest in my own life--wait wait wait, that can't be it, I'm completely vain! Though when i think about it sometimes I can't help but picture myself as a flat human being. I feel sometimes that I've built myself up as a poweful idea, yet that's all that coomprises the idea: there is no actual backing or evidence or traits that the idea is made out of. I think I'm just perceiveing myself how I want to be percieved--or maybe I'm even percieveing myself as I want other people to percieve me. This is probably the most honest perspective of myself, and frankly i'm unimpressed to the point of disgust. No no, that's not true. I pity myself and I'm sad for myself, I'm not detachedly appalled at my wormy, parasitic, flat self. I think I've come to this diecision through literature. It's terribly sad when the complexity of literary characters reveal the simplicity in yourself. And by yourself, we mean myself. Well thank you Zora Neal Hurston and Janie Crawford/Killick/Starks/Cake. (yeah i should be doing my essay now). So now the problem is the solution. How do I build myself up?--No no no, that's not the way to go about it. The goal shouldn't be to be something, in fact, there doesn't need to be a goal. The way to go about it is to ask myself: "what do i like? what do i not like? what do i want to create? how?" i might even ask "why?" and when i can answer those questions i'll know myself. or at least i'll be closer to it. i don't need a complicated prodedure including dramatics and a transformative story and a long ordeal to discover insight into myself. I can go about it in a rational way: by writing a blog during an all nighter when I only have one essay left to do. logical. so...
what do i like?
what do i want to create?
how?
why?
Monday, September 21, 2009
emosigh
just skyped with katie. asked julie to join and she said ew no. old petty trivialities still plague me.
i can't speak well
you'll notice it if you're ever around me
it's so sad not being able to communicate to people you love
--even to people you don't, to people you don't know.
but maybe that's just normal.
i'm listless in every way
all i want to do is listen to sad songs and eat and sleep.
i'm going to eat myself alive.
like a self cannibalizing snake, unhinging my jaw to slurp up the end of my tail.
and everything i write fucking sucks so it's unfulfilling
and nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
...
i have nothing to say:
the aboriginal sin of adam.
i can't speak well
you'll notice it if you're ever around me
it's so sad not being able to communicate to people you love
--even to people you don't, to people you don't know.
but maybe that's just normal.
i'm listless in every way
all i want to do is listen to sad songs and eat and sleep.
i'm going to eat myself alive.
like a self cannibalizing snake, unhinging my jaw to slurp up the end of my tail.
and everything i write fucking sucks so it's unfulfilling
and nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
...
i have nothing to say:
the aboriginal sin of adam.
job list
these are not options
these are requirements.
wandering minstrel (/bard)
glass blower
pirate (pi/rate)
marketing manager--'marketeer'
advertising executive
street magician
ice sculptor
assassin
corporate spy (espionager?)
martyr--saint--savior
paid thinker
writer (fiction, most probably. biography maybe too)
artist (medium:life. i'll create it, make it a viable, profitable industry)
poet
photographer
revolutionary
super hero
villain
human--organism
lover? (wishful thinking)
karen walker
kertarist
accordioner
mask maker--masquerade thrower?
club owner/promoter
happy
something in the field of chemistry or genetics. (a punnet squareer!)
09/21/2009
[created during chemistry]
~
[edited, two minutes later]
defense against the dark arts teacher
someone's conscience--anyone's
a father
these are requirements.
wandering minstrel (/bard)
glass blower
pirate (pi/rate)
marketing manager--'marketeer'
advertising executive
street magician
ice sculptor
assassin
corporate spy (espionager?)
martyr--saint--savior
paid thinker
writer (fiction, most probably. biography maybe too)
artist (medium:life. i'll create it, make it a viable, profitable industry)
poet
photographer
revolutionary
super hero
villain
human--organism
lover? (wishful thinking)
karen walker
kertarist
accordioner
mask maker--masquerade thrower?
club owner/promoter
happy
something in the field of chemistry or genetics. (a punnet squareer!)
09/21/2009
[created during chemistry]
~
[edited, two minutes later]
defense against the dark arts teacher
someone's conscience--anyone's
a father
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Let's last forever
i feel like i'm rocking back and forth in a sea of something--this something, of which, i've no idea. the sensation is the point that is supposed to be made; the sensation of hopeless lost desperation with nothing to hold on to: no friend to act as a buoy and no self esteem to stand on.
i wonder how miss delaney keeps in such good contact with her friends from home. i wish i could do that with my friends...i could. i'm just not. and yet i miss them all. julie, katie, rebecca, holly. i miss rachel. i miss my family. i miss the stability of a life back home where everything is promised to us, where everything is easy.
maybe i'm jaded. i feel like i've done it all before. i feel like it'll just end again, all over again, and life will continue.
that's why i'm so worried that i'm losing touch with my friends. i've got nothing stable in my life and i feel i'm just building more relationships to lose touch with.
there has to be something continuous in life. even if things don't naturally last forever--people die, words lose meaning, art loses signifigance--can't, by our own motivation, desire, and device, we make something that lasts forever?
"Let's make this last forever--
and ever
and ever--
let's make this last forever."
i wonder how miss delaney keeps in such good contact with her friends from home. i wish i could do that with my friends...i could. i'm just not. and yet i miss them all. julie, katie, rebecca, holly. i miss rachel. i miss my family. i miss the stability of a life back home where everything is promised to us, where everything is easy.
maybe i'm jaded. i feel like i've done it all before. i feel like it'll just end again, all over again, and life will continue.
that's why i'm so worried that i'm losing touch with my friends. i've got nothing stable in my life and i feel i'm just building more relationships to lose touch with.
there has to be something continuous in life. even if things don't naturally last forever--people die, words lose meaning, art loses signifigance--can't, by our own motivation, desire, and device, we make something that lasts forever?
"Let's make this last forever--
and ever
and ever--
let's make this last forever."
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
my enemy
my battle is a curious one. what i face is the carnal , self-serving, self-destroying, gluttonous, grotesque face of sefishness. i am fighting an onslaught of me's, a sea of self absorbed creatures who claw and bicker for attention, a swarm of icky goblins who pine attention and ignore all else, a gaggle of girls who claw at my table for morsels of notice, beings who greedily choke down every crumb of self recognition that they can squeeze from the minds of others.
My biggest asset and my biggest problem is that I listen--and i'm moderately good at it. And moderately good in a world of talkers is essentially me being a savant at listen. Thus
There are a few flaws in my argument: the fact that this could all be a selfish plead for myself, i don't speak my mind enough, and ...?
My biggest asset and my biggest problem is that I listen--and i'm moderately good at it. And moderately good in a world of talkers is essentially me being a savant at listen. Thus
There are a few flaws in my argument: the fact that this could all be a selfish plead for myself, i don't speak my mind enough, and ...?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
indifferent ramble--i'm sick
It's not like I have anything to say
It's just that I don't have time to say it.
Yesterday I received a honesty box message that said i'm julie's puppet and that is sad.
it would sad were it true, but i don't think i am anymore.
we're best friends and that's all i really know.
in the least latest story, i have a new best friend who took me to see weezer and blink 182--erin crandell. we've got the same music and book tastes. well eye knee, as we say down in china.
sam and victoria are awesome people also. we make a great lurk patrol.
as is life
It's just that I don't have time to say it.
Yesterday I received a honesty box message that said i'm julie's puppet and that is sad.
it would sad were it true, but i don't think i am anymore.
we're best friends and that's all i really know.
in the least latest story, i have a new best friend who took me to see weezer and blink 182--erin crandell. we've got the same music and book tastes. well eye knee, as we say down in china.
sam and victoria are awesome people also. we make a great lurk patrol.
as is life
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
perseids: texted in kid's corral
i saw a bit of the meteor shower. it was kind of raging, like a cosmic rave
i love just being out here. with the quiet ambiance of pot smokers in the background. with tumor-infested rats and rabbits and bugs and shadows to keep me company. with real air to feel and breathe. these are the moments i feel infinite.
"do you feel more yourself?"
no. i feel more than myself. universal. like i'm part of it all.
i love just being out here. with the quiet ambiance of pot smokers in the background. with tumor-infested rats and rabbits and bugs and shadows to keep me company. with real air to feel and breathe. these are the moments i feel infinite.
"do you feel more yourself?"
no. i feel more than myself. universal. like i'm part of it all.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
"do you know what it's like to die alive?"
i can't stop listening to next to normal
it has nothing to do with my situation
but of course i take bits of lyrics, halves of lines, segments of words
and bang boom wiggle wiggle--it's about me.
thus i ... create?
so i can't get it out of my head.
"take a look at the invisible girl. here she is clear as the day; please look closely and find her before she fades away"
i'm fading away.
but it's of my own accord.
you don't listen
you don't care
you don't know
don't--don't, STOP IT.
No, go ahead
blow up
you don't care
go ahead and text your little self away
...I just thought what you should know.
and it's all my fault.
it has nothing to do with my situation
but of course i take bits of lyrics, halves of lines, segments of words
and bang boom wiggle wiggle--it's about me.
thus i ... create?
so i can't get it out of my head.
"take a look at the invisible girl. here she is clear as the day; please look closely and find her before she fades away"
i'm fading away.
but it's of my own accord.
you don't listen
you don't care
you don't know
don't--don't, STOP IT.
No, go ahead
blow up
you don't care
go ahead and text your little self away
...I just thought what you should know.
and it's all my fault.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
i'm the one of us to survive
i saw rent at brookhaven tonight, it was pretty amazing.
and i remember why i love rent so much. and i remember why i got so mad when you said you hated it. i got so irrationally angry when you did, i didn't even know why myself. I told myself that it was because rent is my favorite musical.
well, it is because it's my favorite musical, sort of.
it's my favorite because it's a part of me: no, not just because i'm gay and the gay mafia commands us to take the utmost delight in rent. rent is about me.
it's about makr who has an amazing group fo friends who learn to show emotion and love and fight and yell and dance and feel and live and die. And all the while mark stands on the edge, recording it all on camera, working. He hides in his work, his pictures; he hides so that he can't face his failure, his loneliness, face the fact he lives a lie.
roger to mark: "yes you live a lie. tell me why, you're always preaching not to be numb, when that's how you thrive, you pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive"
mark to roger: "maybe that's because i'm the one of use to survive"
i'm mark...i know it's cheesy, but during that scene i had that epiphany and i just broke down. yeah the angel dying part was hard, but this is what hit me the hardest. this, saying goodbye, and the end.
this is saying goodbye, this is the end.
all i can do is keep breathing, now.
no day but today.
and i remember why i love rent so much. and i remember why i got so mad when you said you hated it. i got so irrationally angry when you did, i didn't even know why myself. I told myself that it was because rent is my favorite musical.
well, it is because it's my favorite musical, sort of.
it's my favorite because it's a part of me: no, not just because i'm gay and the gay mafia commands us to take the utmost delight in rent. rent is about me.
it's about makr who has an amazing group fo friends who learn to show emotion and love and fight and yell and dance and feel and live and die. And all the while mark stands on the edge, recording it all on camera, working. He hides in his work, his pictures; he hides so that he can't face his failure, his loneliness, face the fact he lives a lie.
roger to mark: "yes you live a lie. tell me why, you're always preaching not to be numb, when that's how you thrive, you pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive"
mark to roger: "maybe that's because i'm the one of use to survive"
i'm mark...i know it's cheesy, but during that scene i had that epiphany and i just broke down. yeah the angel dying part was hard, but this is what hit me the hardest. this, saying goodbye, and the end.
this is saying goodbye, this is the end.
all i can do is keep breathing, now.
no day but today.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
the summer is all in bloom, the summer is ending soon
i'd like to think i have a lot to say, but i don't.
these are my last days. shouldn't they be---incendiary? Instead I'm just grumpy and alone and depresso. I'm just feeling the shock effect of my wasted summer.
My justification that everything is and will be okay is that I know in the future, when remembering this summer, it will all be looked on fondly. Everything in the past looks good and happy, melancholy at its worst, ecstatic, and amazing. It doesn't matter that I'm so unfulfilled and inactive. Antispectively (think: retrospective--retrograde amnesia--antegrade amnesia), everything will be alright; so it doesn't matter what the fuck i do or do not do now, right?
i'd like to say something like "i'm the saddest i've ever been" but i can't verify that as i wouldn't know. it's all for attention anyway, because i can't communicate (period) my feelings (/anything/everything).
i'm completely emotionally immature.
can i find solace in the fact that it will all be better? that i will grow out of it? that i will learn so much in college? that i'm going to go through a lot of change?
can i find solace in anything at the moment?
i'm so sad right now.
these are my last days. shouldn't they be---incendiary? Instead I'm just grumpy and alone and depresso. I'm just feeling the shock effect of my wasted summer.
My justification that everything is and will be okay is that I know in the future, when remembering this summer, it will all be looked on fondly. Everything in the past looks good and happy, melancholy at its worst, ecstatic, and amazing. It doesn't matter that I'm so unfulfilled and inactive. Antispectively (think: retrospective--retrograde amnesia--antegrade amnesia), everything will be alright; so it doesn't matter what the fuck i do or do not do now, right?
i'd like to say something like "i'm the saddest i've ever been" but i can't verify that as i wouldn't know. it's all for attention anyway, because i can't communicate (period) my feelings (/anything/everything).
i'm completely emotionally immature.
can i find solace in the fact that it will all be better? that i will grow out of it? that i will learn so much in college? that i'm going to go through a lot of change?
can i find solace in anything at the moment?
i'm so sad right now.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
terrible
and sometimes you just want to bitch slap life right back in the face...
except you know that there is no one else to blame.
except you know that there is no one else to blame.
Friday, June 26, 2009
listening to the songs 'tiny dancer' (ben folds version specifically) and 'penny lane' on repeat forever and ever and ever...until i instinctively start a rousing chorus of 'tiny dancer' after every meloncholy moment. and i sing 'penny lane' anytime i take out my camera.
...yes that's it. excellent. i'll classically condition myself to associate happiness and rising above depression with the song tiny dancer...
the other song, well, i'll have to think about it.
...yes that's it. excellent. i'll classically condition myself to associate happiness and rising above depression with the song tiny dancer...
the other song, well, i'll have to think about it.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
clean up
Today I (this next part could be in either th past or present tense, as it's still the middle of the day and i'm still performing this task) went through a lot of different notes and books from the past few years. In the process of cleaning out my room, I need to articulately sort through every folder notebook and scarp of paper with as much precision and efficiency as possible.
But I've realized that I do not want to get rid of most of my work. All of it is important to me, it's all close to my heart. These notes are the product of the last four years; more, even. I can't just toss it all (and even if i did, I'd have to do some big brilliant licking and slurping all encompasing all consuming fire. it'd be ceremonious and ritual and beautiful and memorable. if i can't hold on to my notes for their memories, i should at least hold on to my memory of their destruction).
...
Why is it so hard for me to throw away all this paper? It's like I live in my memories--memories that weren't so entirely happy. I mean, now, retrospectively, they're all happy. I had a pretty good childhood, and I'm going places...But i remember times then when I felt I was living life unfufilled, i was wasting away, and i was terribly unhappy and empty and melancholy...but thinking about it all now, i wasn't, it wasn't. Maybe i'm too optimistic, maybe I can make the best of a situation. Knowing who I am as a person, my strengths and my many many limitations, I feel like I've had a great 12 years of schooling, a great 18 years of life.
And I tack that happiness onto my past.
I can't let go of my past.
But I've realized that I do not want to get rid of most of my work. All of it is important to me, it's all close to my heart. These notes are the product of the last four years; more, even. I can't just toss it all (and even if i did, I'd have to do some big brilliant licking and slurping all encompasing all consuming fire. it'd be ceremonious and ritual and beautiful and memorable. if i can't hold on to my notes for their memories, i should at least hold on to my memory of their destruction).
...
Why is it so hard for me to throw away all this paper? It's like I live in my memories--memories that weren't so entirely happy. I mean, now, retrospectively, they're all happy. I had a pretty good childhood, and I'm going places...But i remember times then when I felt I was living life unfufilled, i was wasting away, and i was terribly unhappy and empty and melancholy...but thinking about it all now, i wasn't, it wasn't. Maybe i'm too optimistic, maybe I can make the best of a situation. Knowing who I am as a person, my strengths and my many many limitations, I feel like I've had a great 12 years of schooling, a great 18 years of life.
And I tack that happiness onto my past.
I can't let go of my past.
"The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close-up. The shortcut to closing a door is to bury yourself in details."
life is so much more interesting through the lens of a camera.
not just any camera lens, but that of penny lane, my new camera...
...which reminds me i forgot to turn in my blockbuster movie (almost famous), oh shit.
whoiam: i'm interested in being interesting. i'm fascinated by controversy, death, depression, insanity, and lobotomy. i drool over disease, melt over maladies. I contemplate philosophies and theologies and meanings. I study manipulation, psychology, and the underworld of pop culture; cult reads, cult movies, cult rituals; sex drugs violence drinking betrayl fire destruction disparity injustice infamity superfluities strange diction magic satan my hair originality.
"All God does is watch us and kill us when we get boring. We must never, ever be boring."
Invisible Monsters, Chuck Palahniuk
But that means I'm a sham. I'm not actually interesting myself, it's just an interest. My obsession is interest. But even worse, that's what I do. I be interested in, i be fascinated, i drool, i melt, i observe, i watch, i be complascent, i take notes. I'm like one of those people who enjoy listening to rap music to such an extent that I learn the moves and the words and the beats, but I never achieve any sort of rap star status myself. Like a fan. I'll never be Kanye West, I'll just listen and sing and dance to his songs. I'm a fan of being interesting. I'll just observe and watch and take notes on what is interesting. I'll never be interesting.
"The best way to waste your life is by taking notes. The easiest way to avoid living is to just watch."
Lullaby, Chuck Palahniuk
story of my life.
not just any camera lens, but that of penny lane, my new camera...
...which reminds me i forgot to turn in my blockbuster movie (almost famous), oh shit.
whoiam: i'm interested in being interesting. i'm fascinated by controversy, death, depression, insanity, and lobotomy. i drool over disease, melt over maladies. I contemplate philosophies and theologies and meanings. I study manipulation, psychology, and the underworld of pop culture; cult reads, cult movies, cult rituals; sex drugs violence drinking betrayl fire destruction disparity injustice infamity superfluities strange diction magic satan my hair originality.
"All God does is watch us and kill us when we get boring. We must never, ever be boring."
Invisible Monsters, Chuck Palahniuk
But that means I'm a sham. I'm not actually interesting myself, it's just an interest. My obsession is interest. But even worse, that's what I do. I be interested in, i be fascinated, i drool, i melt, i observe, i watch, i be complascent, i take notes. I'm like one of those people who enjoy listening to rap music to such an extent that I learn the moves and the words and the beats, but I never achieve any sort of rap star status myself. Like a fan. I'll never be Kanye West, I'll just listen and sing and dance to his songs. I'm a fan of being interesting. I'll just observe and watch and take notes on what is interesting. I'll never be interesting.
"The best way to waste your life is by taking notes. The easiest way to avoid living is to just watch."
Lullaby, Chuck Palahniuk
story of my life.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
i...can't do something i know i'll regret.
i don't want that.
i can't do that.
i wont.
it's not me.
and i don't know how to tell you.
so...i'm sorry but, no more.
you have to understand, stranger.
i'm sorry, but i just have to be me.
bye.
i can't do that.
i wont.
it's not me.
and i don't know how to tell you.
so...i'm sorry but, no more.
you have to understand, stranger.
i'm sorry, but i just have to be me.
bye.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Be inbetween the inn between the bees.
I feel like I need to write a new facebook note soon...
because then I can utilize social facilitation to the fullest. Everyone sees facebook. Everyone. People I love, people I like, people I dislike, people I wish I talked to, people I admire, people I idolize, people I stare at, people I masturbate to, people I crush on, people I talk to once in a blue moon, people that pop into my head, people who are symbols, people who mean nothing, people who mean the world to me.
Thus, I write in an inexplicably and inescapably higher diction and syntax. I'm a different--a better person. I enjoy the attention, the recognition.
But most of all I enjoy the sense of self accomplishment.
I recently read my last facebook note 'hair 1: tick', and it was on the edge of beautiful.
it rested inbetween a golden statue of a hippo and the mona lisa.
right on the verge of meaningful art, recogniziable, appreciatible art.
(just thought of this: Be inbetween the inn between the bees.)
but there seems to be a condition for such a facebook note to occur. Indeed, a condition of unpropotiante conditions. Or not really/that wasn't a word/idkstfu.
I feel I need to, once again, experience an event of insiginificant proportions.
A glance from someone who looks like someone, but isnt.
A pencil that I found on the floor.
A dance that I did for no reason.
I need something small so that I can make it something big. I need something small so I can make it something symbolic. I need a symbol to represent the universal emotions and appeal inside me, all the feelings that this host contains. life and death and truth and beauty. I need an event a person or an objec to be my symbol.
My symbol of--what? I don't know.
But I know I need it...
Or maybe I don't.
Maybe I need a big event.
A fight.
A love.
A death.
Maybe I need something big to make it mean something small. I need something big so I can make it mean nothing. Everything means nothing.
What are you living for?
Why do you exist?
Who are you?
Oh, and to the newcomers out there...
ahem, I mean...
Dear New Readers,
I know you're out there. I know you've read one of these posts.
And I just wanted you to know I know.
You stimulate my curiostity. You stimulate my imagination.
You stimulate my special brand of magic.
(STIMULATION STIMULATION STIMULATION)
Thus, I thank you.
Really
Actually
In fact
I am so thankful, that I dedicate this blog, and all the rest of them, to you.
Whenever I refer to 'you', I mean you, reader.
Whenever I guesture to my audience or ask a question or call you a name, it's not rhetorical:
I'm talking to you.
I'm imagining you. I'm thinking of you. A sillohetted frame, an androgenous blob, a metamorphic spirit, a formless figure.
This is all you, reader. You will recieve very many nicnmames, let me tell you.
(I do this not only because I feel so so so grateful for your attention [if i still in fact recieve it: (god) if you're out there, give me a sign] but also because i feel it'll (communication to my audience, to you) will affect my social facilitation. in a good way, hopefully, but we can't get ahead of ourselves here.)
Reader,
Audience,
Person,
Lover,
Liar,
my own person God,
Thank you and
please sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.
because then I can utilize social facilitation to the fullest. Everyone sees facebook. Everyone. People I love, people I like, people I dislike, people I wish I talked to, people I admire, people I idolize, people I stare at, people I masturbate to, people I crush on, people I talk to once in a blue moon, people that pop into my head, people who are symbols, people who mean nothing, people who mean the world to me.
Thus, I write in an inexplicably and inescapably higher diction and syntax. I'm a different--a better person. I enjoy the attention, the recognition.
But most of all I enjoy the sense of self accomplishment.
I recently read my last facebook note 'hair 1: tick', and it was on the edge of beautiful.
it rested inbetween a golden statue of a hippo and the mona lisa.
right on the verge of meaningful art, recogniziable, appreciatible art.
is what i tell myself.
(just thought of this: Be inbetween the inn between the bees.)
but there seems to be a condition for such a facebook note to occur. Indeed, a condition of unpropotiante conditions. Or not really/that wasn't a word/idkstfu.
I feel I need to, once again, experience an event of insiginificant proportions.
A glance from someone who looks like someone, but isnt.
A pencil that I found on the floor.
A dance that I did for no reason.
I need something small so that I can make it something big. I need something small so I can make it something symbolic. I need a symbol to represent the universal emotions and appeal inside me, all the feelings that this host contains. life and death and truth and beauty. I need an event a person or an objec to be my symbol.
My symbol of--what? I don't know.
But I know I need it...
Or maybe I don't.
Maybe I need a big event.
A fight.
A love.
A death.
Maybe I need something big to make it mean something small. I need something big so I can make it mean nothing. Everything means nothing.
What are you living for?
Why do you exist?
Who are you?
is what I ask myself.
Oh, and to the newcomers out there...
ahem, I mean...
Dear New Readers,
I know you're out there. I know you've read one of these posts.
And I just wanted you to know I know.
You stimulate my curiostity. You stimulate my imagination.
You stimulate my special brand of magic.
(STIMULATION STIMULATION STIMULATION)
Thus, I thank you.
Really
Actually
In fact
I am so thankful, that I dedicate this blog, and all the rest of them, to you.
Whenever I refer to 'you', I mean you, reader.
Whenever I guesture to my audience or ask a question or call you a name, it's not rhetorical:
I'm talking to you.
I'm imagining you. I'm thinking of you. A sillohetted frame, an androgenous blob, a metamorphic spirit, a formless figure.
This is all you, reader. You will recieve very many nicnmames, let me tell you.
(I do this not only because I feel so so so grateful for your attention [if i still in fact recieve it: (god) if you're out there, give me a sign] but also because i feel it'll (communication to my audience, to you) will affect my social facilitation. in a good way, hopefully, but we can't get ahead of ourselves here.)
Now what I tell myself is what I tell you.
SO.Reader,
Audience,
Person,
Lover,
Liar,
my own person God,
Thank you and
please sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.
Sincerely with love and a cherry on top,
Adam Powers
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
i don't even know what to title this one.
i wish i had some strange little gimmick or catchphrase or punchline that could be the least bit indicitive of my personality, while also being clever, funny, interesting, and universal.
oh well, that's just the aboriginal sin of adam.
so there's a reason i don't know what to title this blog, post, blog entry, update, whatever--.
that reason is i'm in some sort of mood. a pissy one, a whiney one (but not unjustified), a lost one, a depressed one, and confused one, an angry one, and dazed one, a meaningless one: a mood that is the combination of every bad emotion there is, crumpled into a ball that has been tossed into a waste basket of identical balls which are then picked up by a garbage truck, taken to a landfill of. more terrible emotion balls. The landfill is then covered in skin, hair, plaid shorts, an orange shirt, and fitted with a disgruntled look to befit the fractionist of fractions of what's going on inside.
and that's just the begining of it.
there's the scope of the situation.
i wonder if wondering about the situation will help it. i'm writing and asking if writing about the feelings will settle the feelings. i'm thinking and pondering and molding my mind around this emotion, trying to ensnare the beast with thought and logic.
thought i doubt that i really see the emotion as an enemy, as an etheral, shadowy beast, bringing upon apocali after apocali; no, i'm sure that instead i'll just feed the monster and let it grow and mutate and destroy, yet at the same time i'll tame it's wild ways fod my own purposes. for art.
so why not, instead of going over and over going over and over going over and over what i'm writing about--opposed to actually writing it (WHAT A SURPRISE)--I just write? I'll go over various topics of the day, and see what i feel about each one, see what steps i took to reach this height. let's see.
so...first topic...
destruction
fire, pirates, dinosaurs, irony, words, the culling song, the grimorie, thunder, lightening, storms, twirling twisters, death, wish, god, the judas cow, pleasure, necrophelia.
destruction
why do i revel in destruction? why do i talk about destruction and death and even gross things like disease and severed limbs, with such admiration, such interest?
on one hand, i feel that everything else has become so inane that death and destruction, the ultimate end to it all, the extremes of which society reveres as disgusting and awful, are the only interesting factors left in the equation.
on one hand, maybe i don't know what things normal people talk about.
on one hand, maybe i don't know how to talk to people, but on another, maybe that doesn't have so much to do with this topic as it does with another.
[interlude: i want to talk to someone right now. anyone. everyone. but no one is worthy. no one wants to know, but even more so no one would understand. you don't understand me.]
on one hand, maybe i exalt destruction because that's my way of accepting it. i can't cope with such an unfair world, where the young are slaughtered, where just by living we destroy so much in the world, where just by living, we are slated to our own destruction. maybe i'm coping with the inevitable. maybe death won't feel so bad because i'll find it interesting. imagine that, imagine my face, happy with mental gluttony, at a funeral where ravens roam through the graveyard flooded with ordinary funeral music, or speeches, or something. or maybe i'm not a psycho, maybe i haven't really encountered such a loss, such a destruction, and maybe i really don't want to.
on one hand, maybe it's just something i'm fascinated by, and there's really no other reason behind it.
what would i do if i knew the culling song? would i kill people like carl streater did? the sound-aholics, the silence-ophobics? do i have an enemy? a victim?
sometimes i feel i would. something about power corrupts
karl marx says that we justify killing our victims to the point that they become the enemy.
--what am i saying? 'our victims'? what who am i how do i crazy fool stupid saying?--
what if i had a death note? would i create my own new world order?
sometimes i feel i would, just to have a life experience, to have a life as interesting as light's on death note.
dulce et decorum est pro patria mori
memento mori
enough. next topic
who i am.
adam, adam powers, berger, the first man, the first second sinner, of the earth, of the city, with power, kooky, intellectual, crazy, queer, quiet, introvert fighting to be an extrovert, social anxiety, closed, analytical, uptight, hurt, offended, human, alien, psycho, or just human. but different. but conflicted.
i feel as if i were someone else then everything would be easier. i wish i could just wear a mask and fall into the personality and live that life.
see, if i were a serial killer, or a psycho, everything would be easy. i would know my purpose in life, i would understand what i wanted and what i needed to do, i would know how i needed to act, what i would talk about.
but i'm no insane wacko murderer. i don't know who i am, so i don't know how to be, or what to expect, or what to be, or who i am, or what i want, or what to say, or who to say it to, or how to say it.
How do i say what i mean?
FUCK, I don't even know what i mean!?
i'm so completely fucked.
i don't know anything.
and i have no one to help me.
and this feeling, i can tell myself, will go away by morning, when i go to sleep.
"everything will be alright"
but when i wake up, everything isn't alright.
i wish i were an insomniac. i would have stoires to tell then. i would be up all night doing wild things, things i don't do now. and i would think wild things and have so much time, so much more fleeting time.
i wish i were a serial killer. i would have a life experience were i a serial killer. i would have accomplished something in my life, i would have used my mind for a purpose, and would know that purpose. and i would tell such wonderful stories.
i wish i were more opposed in life. i would be in a lower situation, everything would be harder, but i would fight back, and i would have such good stories.
why am i so quick to turn everything into a memory?
why can't i just live?
i first started going to youth first texas, my gay youth group, so that i can prove i can survive.
i started going to prove that i will thrive in college.
i started going so that i could know that i can exist as an individual with people i didn't know, people i was getting to know.
i wanted to know that i could be funny and interesting and amazing and an individual, a personality, a character, and different and special and loveable and wonderful and human but different and smart and wise and kooky and crazy and creative
to people who didn't know me, to people i wasn't comfortable with.
i needed to see that i can be me, whoever that is.
julie wanted to know why i didn't want her coming, well--that's it.
and it seems like i proved nothing.
so i guess i'll just drown in college...
i don't even know where i am at the moment.
no one is listening.
why does this come as a surprise when i don't say anything?
no one cares
because i don't tell anyone
i don't let anyone care
don't even give em the chance.
why can't i say what i mean?
FUCK, why can't i say anything?
i guess this topic system didn't really work.
organization is just a time waster.
not even i will understand this in the morning, i won't want to. but it won't matter. it'll just be another day to build up the same feelings, and come to similar conclusions and wonder in vicious, monstrous circles.
i can't be succinct because there's so much to say. there's so much left unsaid, there's so much i haven't said. so i have to be wordy and verbose and pity-pleading and desperate and nihilistic.
it's all one fucking justification after another.
next topic...
the end.
oh well, that's just the aboriginal sin of adam.
so there's a reason i don't know what to title this blog, post, blog entry, update, whatever--.
that reason is i'm in some sort of mood. a pissy one, a whiney one (but not unjustified), a lost one, a depressed one, and confused one, an angry one, and dazed one, a meaningless one: a mood that is the combination of every bad emotion there is, crumpled into a ball that has been tossed into a waste basket of identical balls which are then picked up by a garbage truck, taken to a landfill of. more terrible emotion balls. The landfill is then covered in skin, hair, plaid shorts, an orange shirt, and fitted with a disgruntled look to befit the fractionist of fractions of what's going on inside.
and that's just the begining of it.
there's the scope of the situation.
i wonder if wondering about the situation will help it. i'm writing and asking if writing about the feelings will settle the feelings. i'm thinking and pondering and molding my mind around this emotion, trying to ensnare the beast with thought and logic.
thought i doubt that i really see the emotion as an enemy, as an etheral, shadowy beast, bringing upon apocali after apocali; no, i'm sure that instead i'll just feed the monster and let it grow and mutate and destroy, yet at the same time i'll tame it's wild ways fod my own purposes. for art.
so why not, instead of going over and over going over and over going over and over what i'm writing about--opposed to actually writing it (WHAT A SURPRISE)--I just write? I'll go over various topics of the day, and see what i feel about each one, see what steps i took to reach this height. let's see.
so...first topic...
destruction
fire, pirates, dinosaurs, irony, words, the culling song, the grimorie, thunder, lightening, storms, twirling twisters, death, wish, god, the judas cow, pleasure, necrophelia.
destruction
why do i revel in destruction? why do i talk about destruction and death and even gross things like disease and severed limbs, with such admiration, such interest?
on one hand, i feel that everything else has become so inane that death and destruction, the ultimate end to it all, the extremes of which society reveres as disgusting and awful, are the only interesting factors left in the equation.
on one hand, maybe i don't know what things normal people talk about.
on one hand, maybe i don't know how to talk to people, but on another, maybe that doesn't have so much to do with this topic as it does with another.
[interlude: i want to talk to someone right now. anyone. everyone. but no one is worthy. no one wants to know, but even more so no one would understand. you don't understand me.]
on one hand, maybe i exalt destruction because that's my way of accepting it. i can't cope with such an unfair world, where the young are slaughtered, where just by living we destroy so much in the world, where just by living, we are slated to our own destruction. maybe i'm coping with the inevitable. maybe death won't feel so bad because i'll find it interesting. imagine that, imagine my face, happy with mental gluttony, at a funeral where ravens roam through the graveyard flooded with ordinary funeral music, or speeches, or something. or maybe i'm not a psycho, maybe i haven't really encountered such a loss, such a destruction, and maybe i really don't want to.
on one hand, maybe it's just something i'm fascinated by, and there's really no other reason behind it.
what would i do if i knew the culling song? would i kill people like carl streater did? the sound-aholics, the silence-ophobics? do i have an enemy? a victim?
sometimes i feel i would. something about power corrupts
karl marx says that we justify killing our victims to the point that they become the enemy.
--what am i saying? 'our victims'? what who am i how do i crazy fool stupid saying?--
what if i had a death note? would i create my own new world order?
sometimes i feel i would, just to have a life experience, to have a life as interesting as light's on death note.
dulce et decorum est pro patria mori
memento mori
enough. next topic
who i am.
adam, adam powers, berger, the first man, the first second sinner, of the earth, of the city, with power, kooky, intellectual, crazy, queer, quiet, introvert fighting to be an extrovert, social anxiety, closed, analytical, uptight, hurt, offended, human, alien, psycho, or just human. but different. but conflicted.
i feel as if i were someone else then everything would be easier. i wish i could just wear a mask and fall into the personality and live that life.
see, if i were a serial killer, or a psycho, everything would be easy. i would know my purpose in life, i would understand what i wanted and what i needed to do, i would know how i needed to act, what i would talk about.
but i'm no insane wacko murderer. i don't know who i am, so i don't know how to be, or what to expect, or what to be, or who i am, or what i want, or what to say, or who to say it to, or how to say it.
How do i say what i mean?
FUCK, I don't even know what i mean!?
i'm so completely fucked.
i don't know anything.
and i have no one to help me.
and this feeling, i can tell myself, will go away by morning, when i go to sleep.
"everything will be alright"
but when i wake up, everything isn't alright.
i wish i were an insomniac. i would have stoires to tell then. i would be up all night doing wild things, things i don't do now. and i would think wild things and have so much time, so much more fleeting time.
i wish i were a serial killer. i would have a life experience were i a serial killer. i would have accomplished something in my life, i would have used my mind for a purpose, and would know that purpose. and i would tell such wonderful stories.
i wish i were more opposed in life. i would be in a lower situation, everything would be harder, but i would fight back, and i would have such good stories.
why am i so quick to turn everything into a memory?
why can't i just live?
i first started going to youth first texas, my gay youth group, so that i can prove i can survive.
i started going to prove that i will thrive in college.
i started going so that i could know that i can exist as an individual with people i didn't know, people i was getting to know.
i wanted to know that i could be funny and interesting and amazing and an individual, a personality, a character, and different and special and loveable and wonderful and human but different and smart and wise and kooky and crazy and creative
to people who didn't know me, to people i wasn't comfortable with.
i needed to see that i can be me, whoever that is.
julie wanted to know why i didn't want her coming, well--that's it.
and it seems like i proved nothing.
so i guess i'll just drown in college...
i don't even know where i am at the moment.
no one is listening.
why does this come as a surprise when i don't say anything?
no one cares
because i don't tell anyone
i don't let anyone care
don't even give em the chance.
why can't i say what i mean?
FUCK, why can't i say anything?
i guess this topic system didn't really work.
organization is just a time waster.
not even i will understand this in the morning, i won't want to. but it won't matter. it'll just be another day to build up the same feelings, and come to similar conclusions and wonder in vicious, monstrous circles.
i can't be succinct because there's so much to say. there's so much left unsaid, there's so much i haven't said. so i have to be wordy and verbose and pity-pleading and desperate and nihilistic.
it's all one fucking justification after another.
next topic...
the end.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
social facilitation
it's important to have an audience. my best work is done when i know someone is watching, when i'm preparing a piece to show the world--for a competition (whether self contrived or not), a showing, or a comparison. whether it's on facebook, or it's an assignment, or it's a blog that i only have one person reading. maybe the more people watching the better it gets?
this concept is troubling.
can i make/write/create something for myself? or for the sake of it?
well, sure i can. it just won't be very good.
in psychology it's call 'social facilitation.' when you perform something you're good at, something you've mastered, in front of people, it increases your skill and confidence at the task; however, if you've not mastered the task, then your skill and confidence decrease rapidly.
scientifically proven.
so if i write something that is read by everyone, if i make the biggest scene, then...
___
"the summer is all in bloom
the summer is ending soon"
this concept is troubling.
can i make/write/create something for myself? or for the sake of it?
well, sure i can. it just won't be very good.
in psychology it's call 'social facilitation.' when you perform something you're good at, something you've mastered, in front of people, it increases your skill and confidence at the task; however, if you've not mastered the task, then your skill and confidence decrease rapidly.
scientifically proven.
so if i write something that is read by everyone, if i make the biggest scene, then...
___
"the summer is all in bloom
the summer is ending soon"
Sunday, June 7, 2009
white houses
in my heart it's the five of us
katie
julie
rebecca
holly
adam
we were all in love, and we all got hurt
katie
julie
rebecca
holly
adam
we were all in love, and we all got hurt
Saturday, June 6, 2009
you don't need to get your armor (or 'arm up')
i'm not sure how to say anything i want to.
and it's only because i want to whine and bitch and be annoying
yet at the same time i want to berate myself and bash myself and beat myself into submission for feeling this way
for thinking this is so important.
but love is important...
pitiful, pitiful, pitiful.
i collect the summation of stares and glances and turn them upside down all around to be as significant as i want to, and in the end they equal nothing.
(just a few saints, being turned into the sea.)/ohmax.
when will it be my turn?
do i really have to wait and hold out and hope so long?
...why am i so selfish...?
but tomorrow's graduation, it's no time to think about boys and their silly ways. no! i
must throw off all such carnal desires and think about the past and future.
that's what tomorrow is about, all we've been through and all we're going to
one of those planned moments to not exist as an actual moment in time one can live in, but to exist on a continuum of personal film reels that spread forward and back(ward).
there is no present moment
just a sugar coated past and a melancholically hopeful future--to be realists (is to be cynics), is to say that by looking at our shitty past, there really isn't any way to have any glimmer of hope for the future...
but it really wasn't all that bad.
i think the only reason i got through it all was because of friends. without friends, i really would have had a shitty school life.
thank you friends. i love you, in each of your respective moments and eras. and now, right now, the past and the future, at this moment, forever and always. (but not at the present--as no present exists).
tomorrow's a day that doesn't really exist on the calendar. we won't feel it go by, we'll just feel.
(just have to be annoying one last time; despite whatever nostalgic and universal ambience i've created)
11:11 fairy, hear me:
...i wish for a boy,
somebody to love.
and it's only because i want to whine and bitch and be annoying
yet at the same time i want to berate myself and bash myself and beat myself into submission for feeling this way
for thinking this is so important.
but love is important...
pitiful, pitiful, pitiful.
i collect the summation of stares and glances and turn them upside down all around to be as significant as i want to, and in the end they equal nothing.
(just a few saints, being turned into the sea.)/ohmax.
when will it be my turn?
do i really have to wait and hold out and hope so long?
...why am i so selfish...?
but tomorrow's graduation, it's no time to think about boys and their silly ways. no! i
must throw off all such carnal desires and think about the past and future.
that's what tomorrow is about, all we've been through and all we're going to
one of those planned moments to not exist as an actual moment in time one can live in, but to exist on a continuum of personal film reels that spread forward and back(ward).
there is no present moment
just a sugar coated past and a melancholically hopeful future--to be realists (is to be cynics), is to say that by looking at our shitty past, there really isn't any way to have any glimmer of hope for the future...
but it really wasn't all that bad.
i think the only reason i got through it all was because of friends. without friends, i really would have had a shitty school life.
thank you friends. i love you, in each of your respective moments and eras. and now, right now, the past and the future, at this moment, forever and always. (but not at the present--as no present exists).
tomorrow's a day that doesn't really exist on the calendar. we won't feel it go by, we'll just feel.
(just have to be annoying one last time; despite whatever nostalgic and universal ambience i've created)
11:11 fairy, hear me:
...i wish for a boy,
somebody to love.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
i just saw a show about cats
do you ever make eyes with some guy and you feel some sort of strange spark, like you would be good with the guy--but at the same time you're too inhibited/society is too against any notion to go and talk to him?
i feel like a silly girl talking about this. for even touching on things that touch on things like love at first sight, or shared moments and thoughts, connections in a second, being inside/out with a person in a scene that lasts however long we keep gaze...
it's depressing, in a melancholy sort of way; because you know that you'd never have the audacity or the strength, nor would this society entertain any such notion to go up to talk to him... so you just continue your everday life and remember the eyes and the face and the percieved truth and the moment as a memory. antoher unfulfilled desire, another inhibited want.
silly silly girl.
but what about you
are you filling your days with happiness and summery goodness?
i feel like a silly girl talking about this. for even touching on things that touch on things like love at first sight, or shared moments and thoughts, connections in a second, being inside/out with a person in a scene that lasts however long we keep gaze...
it's depressing, in a melancholy sort of way; because you know that you'd never have the audacity or the strength, nor would this society entertain any such notion to go up to talk to him... so you just continue your everday life and remember the eyes and the face and the percieved truth and the moment as a memory. antoher unfulfilled desire, another inhibited want.
silly silly girl.
but what about you
are you filling your days with happiness and summery goodness?
Thursday, May 28, 2009
irreglar angularity
updates:
Holly's coming monday, which is immensley exciting...
...and at the same time, unnerving.
Julie hate Holly, for reasons that most likely mean nothing now. But still, she will be jealous and she will expect me to spend equal time with everyone; a difficult task as Holly lives in another state...
oh drama.
why can't anyone let anything go?
am i the only sane one here?
you stay justified, stay adamant, and stay bitchy--and what do you get in the end? what do you expect me to say?
i'll say what you want to hear.
academic decathelon banquet was fun.
i had a very disadventageous position, chair-wise.
everything else aside, it was all very fun.
stephen and josh are likely to get together in some way
they're suited for each other:
stephen is an attention whore who can't seem to pursue social matters with initiative
and josh is an attention whore, vain, and a very silly girl.
and i'm not over (the idea of) adam. whoops.
zach seems to have fallen off of the earth; i hope he's okay.
we finished pride and prejiduice. it was all very enjoyable, i loved it. i want to see the other movie now.
koenig watches the 6 hour version once a month. crazy, loveable, pitiable woman...but maybe she's happy like that.
"and what shall you call me when you're most displeased with me?"
"and what shall you call me when you're completely and incandescently happy?"
Mr. ___________...
[creep creep tweep tweep]
senior walk is tomorrow. i feel like i will cry, i do. but i don't think i will, because the rest of our moronic senior class will be there. along with the entirety of the school--bundles of joy.
but it's all really sad. it's where my life has led up to, everything i've ever done.
it's all very happy and all very sad.
Holly's coming monday, which is immensley exciting...
...and at the same time, unnerving.
Julie hate Holly, for reasons that most likely mean nothing now. But still, she will be jealous and she will expect me to spend equal time with everyone; a difficult task as Holly lives in another state...
oh drama.
why can't anyone let anything go?
am i the only sane one here?
you stay justified, stay adamant, and stay bitchy--and what do you get in the end? what do you expect me to say?
i'll say what you want to hear.
academic decathelon banquet was fun.
i had a very disadventageous position, chair-wise.
everything else aside, it was all very fun.
stephen and josh are likely to get together in some way
they're suited for each other:
stephen is an attention whore who can't seem to pursue social matters with initiative
and josh is an attention whore, vain, and a very silly girl.
and i'm not over (the idea of) adam. whoops.
zach seems to have fallen off of the earth; i hope he's okay.
we finished pride and prejiduice. it was all very enjoyable, i loved it. i want to see the other movie now.
koenig watches the 6 hour version once a month. crazy, loveable, pitiable woman...but maybe she's happy like that.
"and what shall you call me when you're most displeased with me?"
"and what shall you call me when you're completely and incandescently happy?"
Mr. ___________...
[creep creep tweep tweep]
senior walk is tomorrow. i feel like i will cry, i do. but i don't think i will, because the rest of our moronic senior class will be there. along with the entirety of the school--bundles of joy.
but it's all really sad. it's where my life has led up to, everything i've ever done.
it's all very happy and all very sad.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
[CONTINUUM:] flower wreath-----phantom mask
I'm looking for a large expanse of grass on which i'll lie and a field of fantastic flowers through which i'll frolic.
today i went to michael's to find supplies to make my mask for gayla prom (it's a masquerade). i gave julie the idea of--instead of wearing a hat to senior walk, as her dress looks too much like a fairy's and will clash with a hat--wearing a flower wreath to senior walk. it makes her outfit look so much more sprightly.
but then i realized i don't want her to have a flower wreath--i want a flower wreath.
they make me think of dainty yet romantic poetry, orated and speculated philosophy, an abundance of emerald green grass, dew covering baby butterflies that zip around spreading dew to roses while pollunating them (i comprehend that this is an utterly and completely wrong--one could say, 'ironic'--image), smiling weeping willows, succulent freedom, sweet, honey-like words frothing from your mouth, and beauty and truth galore.
it's all just an image, as is it all a symbol.
everything's a symbol.
but my little arts and crafts project at the moment is entirely different: it will bring out the darker side of me. i'm creating a mask for the gayla prom masquerade. as of now i have a very angular, almost feminine, glove white mask, and two hot glue/dew covered vein red roses. the design for the mask will consist of half the mask covered in the rose petals of one of the roses, and the other half of the mask covered in strips of cut and torn paper. flaking, crispy, (burnt?), curled, jagged, peeling white paper. i suppose i will put the other rose in my coat pocket, for effect. to extents, it's very phantom of the opera, very dark romantic lover. i want it to say something about layers, about masks, about truth, about concelation, about mystery, about romance, and about the utter uselessness of it all.
these masks are continuums, as is sanity.
just as we're only able to concieve infinity in our minds, we can concieve infinite minds.
Paul Laurence Dunbar:
http://www.potw.org/archive/potw8.html
"WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes..."
today i went to michael's to find supplies to make my mask for gayla prom (it's a masquerade). i gave julie the idea of--instead of wearing a hat to senior walk, as her dress looks too much like a fairy's and will clash with a hat--wearing a flower wreath to senior walk. it makes her outfit look so much more sprightly.
but then i realized i don't want her to have a flower wreath--i want a flower wreath.
they make me think of dainty yet romantic poetry, orated and speculated philosophy, an abundance of emerald green grass, dew covering baby butterflies that zip around spreading dew to roses while pollunating them (i comprehend that this is an utterly and completely wrong--one could say, 'ironic'--image), smiling weeping willows, succulent freedom, sweet, honey-like words frothing from your mouth, and beauty and truth galore.
it's all just an image, as is it all a symbol.
everything's a symbol.
but my little arts and crafts project at the moment is entirely different: it will bring out the darker side of me. i'm creating a mask for the gayla prom masquerade. as of now i have a very angular, almost feminine, glove white mask, and two hot glue/dew covered vein red roses. the design for the mask will consist of half the mask covered in the rose petals of one of the roses, and the other half of the mask covered in strips of cut and torn paper. flaking, crispy, (burnt?), curled, jagged, peeling white paper. i suppose i will put the other rose in my coat pocket, for effect. to extents, it's very phantom of the opera, very dark romantic lover. i want it to say something about layers, about masks, about truth, about concelation, about mystery, about romance, and about the utter uselessness of it all.
these masks are continuums, as is sanity.
just as we're only able to concieve infinity in our minds, we can concieve infinite minds.
Paul Laurence Dunbar:
http://www.potw.org/archive/potw8.html
"WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes..."
Monday, May 25, 2009
I see in you...
I see in you a bit of me. the old me, to be specific. but i've learned, i'm better.
when does it all stop? elementary school, middle school, high school, college, work, retirement, death...?
we're all just preparing to prepare to prepare to prepare...
when are you going to take time to have fun? to have a social life? to really exist?
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[revelation]:
but what if you are
but what if you do
but what if you exist
i can't go around applying my situation to everyone. well, i can, but then i'll have too many epiphinies...and not the good kind that come in random bursts or insight, but the bad kind that come in misjudgements and wrong accusations turned on their head: leaving you embarassed and wrong. so very wrong.
still i pity you.
when does it all stop? elementary school, middle school, high school, college, work, retirement, death...?
we're all just preparing to prepare to prepare to prepare...
when are you going to take time to have fun? to have a social life? to really exist?
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[revelation]:
but what if you are
but what if you do
but what if you exist
i can't go around applying my situation to everyone. well, i can, but then i'll have too many epiphinies...and not the good kind that come in random bursts or insight, but the bad kind that come in misjudgements and wrong accusations turned on their head: leaving you embarassed and wrong. so very wrong.
still i pity you.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
(topic=...love?)
why is it the only topic i want to write about is the only topic i cannot?
it's difficult to be a wandering bard, a penniless minstrel, when i can't bring out of me a single beautiful melodic note about love.
how am i supposed to feel love when i am so detached and apart from the world?
i can see it now: a globe encased in atmosphereic ectoplasm set right in front of me. I am the giant invible man floating above earth, watching inhabitants and occasionally pressing the smite button. Occasionally parting oceans, starting apocolypses, and crying. But here I am, with the world in front of me and i am reaching out for it and it is out of reach and i am grasping and i am watching and i am giving up and i am back to my old ways. a man curled around the earth, at the begining and end of birth, curled around the earth, with no umbilical cord.
can someone join me?
can someone relate?
even without contractions, not even god is satisfied with his life.
it's difficult to be a wandering bard, a penniless minstrel, when i can't bring out of me a single beautiful melodic note about love.
how am i supposed to feel love when i am so detached and apart from the world?
i can see it now: a globe encased in atmosphereic ectoplasm set right in front of me. I am the giant invible man floating above earth, watching inhabitants and occasionally pressing the smite button. Occasionally parting oceans, starting apocolypses, and crying. But here I am, with the world in front of me and i am reaching out for it and it is out of reach and i am grasping and i am watching and i am giving up and i am back to my old ways. a man curled around the earth, at the begining and end of birth, curled around the earth, with no umbilical cord.
can someone join me?
can someone relate?
even without contractions, not even god is satisfied with his life.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
eating glass that has been sliced to ribbons
not talking
saying nothing
stagnation
painted, iridescent wallflower
pretty, listening
but quiet
a life unfulfilled
a life wrapped around my head
meticulously analyzed and inactively regretted
yet we're all facing this overwhelming force driving behind it all
that we all recognize yet can't seem to fulfill anything
in time
time
there will be time
the force is time
there will be time for time
but there isn't even an acknowledgement of time
there is no melancholy cyclical tragedy
there is no sleeping afternoons and evenings
not taking of tea
just me
quiet night alone
not part of the action but standing apart
i've been sliced to ribbons
i need to talk with katie alone
walk with katie, in a full blown
conversation on philosophy
and how we cope with anxiety
and then we'll just talk about nothing
and end up on the subject of everything
not knowing where to go
who to talk to, what to know.
this online collegesocial networking is great. although i have a hard time reading comments and responding to them, i like it a lot. it's scary, it's all scary...i love the prospect of college, of this future where i can be me unrestricted; where i can start over. i feel terrible for saying it, but it's true. i don't want to have to worry or be anxious anymore, i just want to be me. throughs, can you just let me be? can you let me be me?
saying nothing
stagnation
painted, iridescent wallflower
pretty, listening
but quiet
a life unfulfilled
a life wrapped around my head
meticulously analyzed and inactively regretted
yet we're all facing this overwhelming force driving behind it all
that we all recognize yet can't seem to fulfill anything
in time
time
there will be time
the force is time
there will be time for time
but there isn't even an acknowledgement of time
there is no melancholy cyclical tragedy
there is no sleeping afternoons and evenings
not taking of tea
just me
quiet night alone
not part of the action but standing apart
i've been sliced to ribbons
i need to talk with katie alone
walk with katie, in a full blown
conversation on philosophy
and how we cope with anxiety
and then we'll just talk about nothing
and end up on the subject of everything
not knowing where to go
who to talk to, what to know.
this online collegesocial networking is great. although i have a hard time reading comments and responding to them, i like it a lot. it's scary, it's all scary...i love the prospect of college, of this future where i can be me unrestricted; where i can start over. i feel terrible for saying it, but it's true. i don't want to have to worry or be anxious anymore, i just want to be me. throughs, can you just let me be? can you let me be me?
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Cognitive Dissonance Will Destroy (Or Save?) Us All
I'd like to preference this post by saying that this isn't some soothingly stylized poem nor is it supposed to be. Don't fool yourself, people. I'm saddened to admit, but I've turned this into more of a wastebasket of thoughts than a tabula rasa on which i scribble beauty and truth. We cope.
After that arduous (to read through, not to write; that's how i think) introduction, I've sort of forgotten what I was going to type about. Let's examine what I'm thinking, shall we?
I'm thinking about old boys, josh, american university, the honors school, exctitement/fearfearfear. (kolhberg's theory of) postconventional morality(/awareness), the invisible man, identity, radical civil disobedience, indifference to justice and morals in the face more universal/personal matters, travelling the world as a wandering bard, running away, yearbooks, finality, regret, regret, regret, what ifs, could have beens, prufrock, hope, potential, my love for regret, poetry, my inability to write poetry, self defeating thoughts, philosophy, kp, satan worshipping and virgin sacrifices, no day but today, the most important thing that you will learn, love, regret, love, regret, love unfulfilled, a life unfufilled, and regret.
I'm applying all my psychology terms to everyday situation i'm experience. 'cognitive dissonance' occurs a lot in my life, but only because i can be so persuaded and i am no man of constancy. cognitive dissonance is when actions and beliefs do not match up. here's an example:
say that i don't believe that i'm a person for hookups. say that i'm a rather unflirtatious person and consider myself (comparatively) antisexual, and i tell people this. if for some reason i engage in a hook up or hollow flirting, then i will justify my actions in the face of my beliefs agaisnt such actions. This justification will descensitize me to the concepts i believe in and eventually warp my beliefs. I can justify flirting or hooking up by saying that i'm lonely and no one else talks to me or because i have to practice for the future when it means something. At a point, I will come to see these justifications over my beliefs, and my beliefs will dissapear.
Consider cognitive dissonance and the concept of smoking. Although one may opposed to smoking, once he or she starts, he or she may justify the terrible effects of smoking by considering the social benefits. Thus we have another statistic to add to the lung cancer list.
It seems as though the concept of cognitive dissonance will destroy soceity. This is beause, generally, we are raised to hold ourselves to high morals and standards. Once tempted by sin we will all digress down the latter of morality, justifying each drag we take, making excuses for each random sexual ecounter we have, convincing ourselves of the justice behind concepts such a drugs, sex, and murder.
God knows I have.
After that arduous (to read through, not to write; that's how i think) introduction, I've sort of forgotten what I was going to type about. Let's examine what I'm thinking, shall we?
I'm thinking about old boys, josh, american university, the honors school, exctitement/fearfearfear. (kolhberg's theory of) postconventional morality(/awareness), the invisible man, identity, radical civil disobedience, indifference to justice and morals in the face more universal/personal matters, travelling the world as a wandering bard, running away, yearbooks, finality, regret, regret, regret, what ifs, could have beens, prufrock, hope, potential, my love for regret, poetry, my inability to write poetry, self defeating thoughts, philosophy, kp, satan worshipping and virgin sacrifices, no day but today, the most important thing that you will learn, love, regret, love, regret, love unfulfilled, a life unfufilled, and regret.
I'm applying all my psychology terms to everyday situation i'm experience. 'cognitive dissonance' occurs a lot in my life, but only because i can be so persuaded and i am no man of constancy. cognitive dissonance is when actions and beliefs do not match up. here's an example:
say that i don't believe that i'm a person for hookups. say that i'm a rather unflirtatious person and consider myself (comparatively) antisexual, and i tell people this. if for some reason i engage in a hook up or hollow flirting, then i will justify my actions in the face of my beliefs agaisnt such actions. This justification will descensitize me to the concepts i believe in and eventually warp my beliefs. I can justify flirting or hooking up by saying that i'm lonely and no one else talks to me or because i have to practice for the future when it means something. At a point, I will come to see these justifications over my beliefs, and my beliefs will dissapear.
Consider cognitive dissonance and the concept of smoking. Although one may opposed to smoking, once he or she starts, he or she may justify the terrible effects of smoking by considering the social benefits. Thus we have another statistic to add to the lung cancer list.
It seems as though the concept of cognitive dissonance will destroy soceity. This is beause, generally, we are raised to hold ourselves to high morals and standards. Once tempted by sin we will all digress down the latter of morality, justifying each drag we take, making excuses for each random sexual ecounter we have, convincing ourselves of the justice behind concepts such a drugs, sex, and murder.
God knows I have.
Monday, May 11, 2009
The Third Force
Reviewing for psychology today, delving into pages of freud's beautiful psychoanalysis, flipping through sections of the trait theory with my fingers, and weaved within the cognitive-social personality theory, i came upon the part of the Personality chapter on the Humanistic Approach.
And then I realized...according to my whole last post (indicating a strong internal locus of control, implying self actualization and reaching one's potentional and personal perception), I'm a Humanist!
Through studies in psychology class, I've generally associated humanism with optimistic stuffy happy nerds who make up things that can't be tested emprically.
But now I'm one of those nerds.
Oh bother.
time to study for psychology and finance...
here i go, for a final time...
And then I realized...according to my whole last post (indicating a strong internal locus of control, implying self actualization and reaching one's potentional and personal perception), I'm a Humanist!
Through studies in psychology class, I've generally associated humanism with optimistic stuffy happy nerds who make up things that can't be tested emprically.
But now I'm one of those nerds.
Oh bother.
time to study for psychology and finance...
here i go, for a final time...
Sunday, May 10, 2009
music...art...interepretation...perspective...universe
let's see if i can follow the philosophical crescendo that this concept has created in my mind, with words. (contention: linguistic relativity [contention:i don't believe in that theory])
so here we go...
the train of thought started off a comment from someone. i'll leave the name blank.
"____ said he liked all the different references because it proved i clearly understood the lyrics and song meanings"
i don't believe that there is one set meaning to music, songs, lyrics, or art in general. yes, in the creation of art there is usually a purpose or exigence or story behind the work. and yes, deciphering that story or intended meaning of the artist creates a greater understanding of the work for the audience. however, i believe that art is created to be interpreted. the true meaning of artwork is not what the artist intends, it's how the piece makes the reader/listener/audience feel and think. art is what we see it to be, it is how we interpret the world.
say, for example, i listen to a song about a boy and a girl who break up and how sad the boy is about the break up. That is the latent content of the song, but to me it means nothing. What means something is the sentiment, the feeling the song gives me. If i were to close my eyes and ears and just listen to the songs and rhythms and beats and euphony and just completely feel the song, what i feel is what the song means. nothing else matters.
thus, the way to truly understand art, is just to observe it. Yes, a deeper understand of true intent of the artist may change the meaning of
it's not hard to understand art
nor is it hard to make art
there's too much beauty and truth in the world not to create art; even if you're not consciously making a sculpture or writing, you're living. you're contributing through every emotion you feel and idea you think and word you say and movement you make.
the reason i believe this is because of my philosophy on life. All of our experiences and memories and genetics affect who we are as people. People change, it's a fact. But there's also much continuity in people. thus, we all have different outlooks on life. we all see the world in different shapes and colors, in passionate red, in calm green, in bubbly circles, in sharp corners. we all have different perspectives, and with these perspectives we create our worlds.
i am the god of my universe.
i can control what i see. i can choose to see or not see the obvious, or to overanalyze the world and objects within it. i create and destroy in my world.
my existence is the only thing promised to me, to this world.
i am the only continuous factor in this universe, and even i am constantly changing.
because i have control over everything. i control the world.
events don't happen to me, i happen to events.
this is the strongest internal locus of control one can have; and the most important.
i am the god of my world.
so here we go...
the train of thought started off a comment from someone. i'll leave the name blank.
"____ said he liked all the different references because it proved i clearly understood the lyrics and song meanings"
i don't believe that there is one set meaning to music, songs, lyrics, or art in general. yes, in the creation of art there is usually a purpose or exigence or story behind the work. and yes, deciphering that story or intended meaning of the artist creates a greater understanding of the work for the audience. however, i believe that art is created to be interpreted. the true meaning of artwork is not what the artist intends, it's how the piece makes the reader/listener/audience feel and think. art is what we see it to be, it is how we interpret the world.
say, for example, i listen to a song about a boy and a girl who break up and how sad the boy is about the break up. That is the latent content of the song, but to me it means nothing. What means something is the sentiment, the feeling the song gives me. If i were to close my eyes and ears and just listen to the songs and rhythms and beats and euphony and just completely feel the song, what i feel is what the song means. nothing else matters.
thus, the way to truly understand art, is just to observe it. Yes, a deeper understand of true intent of the artist may change the meaning of
it's not hard to understand art
nor is it hard to make art
there's too much beauty and truth in the world not to create art; even if you're not consciously making a sculpture or writing, you're living. you're contributing through every emotion you feel and idea you think and word you say and movement you make.
the reason i believe this is because of my philosophy on life. All of our experiences and memories and genetics affect who we are as people. People change, it's a fact. But there's also much continuity in people. thus, we all have different outlooks on life. we all see the world in different shapes and colors, in passionate red, in calm green, in bubbly circles, in sharp corners. we all have different perspectives, and with these perspectives we create our worlds.
i am the god of my universe.
i can control what i see. i can choose to see or not see the obvious, or to overanalyze the world and objects within it. i create and destroy in my world.
my existence is the only thing promised to me, to this world.
i am the only continuous factor in this universe, and even i am constantly changing.
because i have control over everything. i control the world.
events don't happen to me, i happen to events.
this is the strongest internal locus of control one can have; and the most important.
i am the god of my world.
DECA ICDC 2009
"I need a timer"
"I have a toaster pastry"
Salam
"Leave room for Jesus"
"That's what she said!"
Most excellent.
Totally.
Sweet.
Totally Sweet.
Chya, the parental unit.
Rckin'.
Serious thrill dude.
No worries.
Did you feel that there, we just totally shared a moment--We're totally bonding!
You so totally rock!
DUDE!
Questions?
"Where do babies come from?"
"I like to fish!"
Mondo cool.
Remember, Dreams come true
The Little Mermaid, Disney Edition:
"And they live happily ever after...alive...they LIVE...forever."
Fuze yourself with the beat
Lose yourself within the beat
True love stories never end
"preach it, girl!"
"girl, hush yo mouth, girl!
swine break oh nine
hamtharax
snout break
Stories:
Walker laughing mania
judge conspiracy
flammable rubber cement
logan charades
kacy drama
nicoles lemonade
mikey-bear
"I have a toaster pastry"
Salam
"Leave room for Jesus"
"That's what she said!"
Most excellent.
Totally.
Sweet.
Totally Sweet.
Chya, the parental unit.
Rckin'.
Serious thrill dude.
No worries.
Did you feel that there, we just totally shared a moment--We're totally bonding!
You so totally rock!
DUDE!
Questions?
"Where do babies come from?"
"I like to fish!"
Mondo cool.
Remember, Dreams come true
The Little Mermaid, Disney Edition:
"And they live happily ever after...alive...they LIVE...forever."
Fuze yourself with the beat
Lose yourself within the beat
True love stories never end
"preach it, girl!"
"girl, hush yo mouth, girl!
swine break oh nine
hamtharax
snout break
Stories:
Walker laughing mania
judge conspiracy
flammable rubber cement
logan charades
kacy drama
nicoles lemonade
mikey-bear
ROAM
I want to be where there is an expanse of ground. Where the green is abundant and there are not parameters. Nothing is bordered by sidewalks or wal*marts of roads, nothing is obstructing beauty. Just a natural expanse of land to run and play, sit and think, roll and exist.
coming out, you should try it
imhotep agrees, adam likes men
it doesn't affect anything, as you can imagine
breeze in your hair, you just don't care
you can stand up and fight, or you can sit down and write
you are free to dance, free to smile
free to limp your wrist, free to skip for awhile
free from yourself and what you think others think
and you are free from what others think
it's nothing to think about
you should try it out
it doesn't affect anything, as you can imagine
breeze in your hair, you just don't care
you can stand up and fight, or you can sit down and write
you are free to dance, free to smile
free to limp your wrist, free to skip for awhile
free from yourself and what you think others think
and you are free from what others think
it's nothing to think about
you should try it out
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
POWER
I feel like I'm abusing the privelege of having a blog; as if I can just dump any old trinket of a thought, feeling, or inclination--no, blogs are not for being facetious, nor are they for messing around. This is serious stuff, kid; although I know I don't have to tell you this.
But really--really really really, I should stop posting such meaningless gossip and trivial pursuits of thought. I feel that even now I'm committing my aboriginal sin (to talk about talking; to write about writing; to analyze analyzation; to get nowhere, to achieve nothing, and to intellectually commit suicide).
But maybe...but maybe this is art. Maybe such paragraphical musings aren't the molidest of cheeses, maybe gossip and trivial pursuits are beautiful too. Maybe I'm not required to write in perfect pristine prose and alliteration and wonderful syntax and poems and rhyming (nor am I required to edit anything, is what I tell myself) to be an artist, to be who I want to be. Then the reason I'm so ashamed, so predisposed not to write and speak and be such things (first plane shtuff), is because I'm concerend about how I come off. I have pride, dignity. It isn't considered noble to speak of such topics------------this is a lie. As long as I extrapilate the topic to such an unearhtly extent, if I take the literal meaning and flip and mold and turn and bake it for two hours, it will come out on a higher plane. So I shouldn't feel so bad, I should just exist.
[this is the problem with worrying about thinking---at a point you think about worrying, and then worry about thinking about worrying, etcetera etcetera, until you're trapped again. ah, such is the life of one with social anxiety disorder]
But I suppose everyone has to obsess over a disliked person everyonce and awhile. Especially if he means something more than the dimpy shallow person he really is. (it's funny how a shallow person can mean something deep to someone else; my personal measuring stick---now how do I judge myself?)
I shall now go muse on middle school days; oh boy, weren't those the days?
But really--really really really, I should stop posting such meaningless gossip and trivial pursuits of thought. I feel that even now I'm committing my aboriginal sin (to talk about talking; to write about writing; to analyze analyzation; to get nowhere, to achieve nothing, and to intellectually commit suicide).
But maybe...but maybe this is art. Maybe such paragraphical musings aren't the molidest of cheeses, maybe gossip and trivial pursuits are beautiful too. Maybe I'm not required to write in perfect pristine prose and alliteration and wonderful syntax and poems and rhyming (nor am I required to edit anything, is what I tell myself) to be an artist, to be who I want to be. Then the reason I'm so ashamed, so predisposed not to write and speak and be such things (first plane shtuff), is because I'm concerend about how I come off. I have pride, dignity. It isn't considered noble to speak of such topics------------this is a lie. As long as I extrapilate the topic to such an unearhtly extent, if I take the literal meaning and flip and mold and turn and bake it for two hours, it will come out on a higher plane. So I shouldn't feel so bad, I should just exist.
[this is the problem with worrying about thinking---at a point you think about worrying, and then worry about thinking about worrying, etcetera etcetera, until you're trapped again. ah, such is the life of one with social anxiety disorder]
But I suppose everyone has to obsess over a disliked person everyonce and awhile. Especially if he means something more than the dimpy shallow person he really is. (it's funny how a shallow person can mean something deep to someone else; my personal measuring stick---now how do I judge myself?)
I shall now go muse on middle school days; oh boy, weren't those the days?
Monday, May 4, 2009
I DO NOT LIKE YOU
I do not like you
there's this sinking feeling when looking at you
like a tongue plopping into water
a foot falling into sand.
You're not that funny;
you're not that interesting
you're not right
flaunting and gawking and expecting
you want me to be jealous, to dislike you, to not want you
you like having an enemy
as do i
you like being cool and being liked and being endured and being stalked and being talked to and being smart
and you like me being alone, unhappy, defeated, beaten, unadored, stupid
you like being better than me
and i can't have that.
i sit here watching you strut your stuff
showing off your new toy
my old one
'i am heaven sent
don't you dare forget...me'
the most depressing part about this whole blog is that this is the whole blog. my first blog is complaining about josh and stephen. wow i'm the lamest ever.
oh and for all you viewers out there, thanks for joining us today.
now stay tuned for some commercials from out sponsor.
there's this sinking feeling when looking at you
like a tongue plopping into water
a foot falling into sand.
You're not that funny;
you're not that interesting
you're not right
flaunting and gawking and expecting
you want me to be jealous, to dislike you, to not want you
you like having an enemy
as do i
you like being cool and being liked and being endured and being stalked and being talked to and being smart
and you like me being alone, unhappy, defeated, beaten, unadored, stupid
you like being better than me
and i can't have that.
i sit here watching you strut your stuff
showing off your new toy
my old one
'i am heaven sent
don't you dare forget...me'
the most depressing part about this whole blog is that this is the whole blog. my first blog is complaining about josh and stephen. wow i'm the lamest ever.
oh and for all you viewers out there, thanks for joining us today.
now stay tuned for some commercials from out sponsor.
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