I am currently guarding our volvo from my perch atop the balcony attached to the loft space that I am in. Or rather, outside of.
So far, there has been one sighting of a suspicious cat, whom I am certain was lurking near said vehicle with nefarious plans.
This is why we do not give cats driver's licenses. Were a cat to be allowed to operate a motor vehicle, I am fairly certain that nothing good would come of the privilege. In fact, I would even (well, I guess I am even) go/going so far as to say that I have firm convictions regarding the nature of the activities cats would engage in were they allowed to drive.
However, I must also take a moment to consider that from a purely objective perspective, my assumptions about feline behavior in regards to operating motor vehicles cannot be substantiated by any physical evidence, or even hypothetical prognostications.
Which in turn forces me to acknowledge another fact worthy of consideration, said fact being that there is a veritable cornucopia of physical evidence and statistical analytics which prove that humans are virtually undeniably prone to engaging in various nefarious activities with the aid of state issued licenses to drive all manners of motor vehicles.
In conclusion, I must concede that my assumtions about the dangers of cats being awarded the permission to drive cars is, at best, unfounded and at worst, virtually irrelevant when compared to the dangers of humans being granted the same permission.
That being said, I would like to humbly propose that we at least give a cat a chance to prove me wrong, by way of replacing all human taxi cab drivers with feline taxi cab drivers. This would allow for a conclusive study to resolve the completely irrelevant question of which of the the two species is less dangerous when operating motor vehicles.
Thank you.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
It's early Monday morning, and I woke up with a need to create. So I am painting on a piece of fabric - it is a challenging but interesting medium. There will be a whole other post regarding this creating thing and what it led me to discover.
But I want to just say something. I am listening to Changes by Tupac Amaru Shakur. I remember when he died, my freshman year in high school. My best friend Arlela and I cried together when the news was released (I think we got it on wild 107.7 - previously the X, now 94.9). I almost remember the exact time he was pronounced dead: 4:15 or something.
Anyways, I am posting the lyrics to above mentioned song because Tupac was my hero growing up. Back when his songs were positive, hard to be confronted with, and inspirational. Dear Mama, Changes, Keep Ya Head Up. In "Changes", there is a line, "We ain't ready to see a black president". I listen to the song often, and that line in particular, makes me so sad and confused about our existence as a conscious species, that someone so talented and with so much potential and knowledge was destroyed before he could do more.
I just hope that somewhere Tupac Shakur is watching Barak Obama campaigning as the Democratic Nominee for President of the United States. And I even more fervently hope and pray that his words do not become true; we need this. We will still have racism in every form, and day to day oppression and social ills will still plague our society and our neighborhoods, but we need a black president. This will be a monumental win, and one that should have happened long ago, when all of the people who made statements and made impacts towards something like this happening, were killed before they could do their work, out of fear and ignorance. Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Tupac Shakur, JFK, Mahatma Ghandi, Abraham Lincoln, Joan of Ark, Jesus Christ, and everyone else in the world who started to make things right, and for that were killed.
We need to each of us, every day, remind ourselves that while we may not be great leaders like the aforementioned, we MUST do everything we can throughout the course of our daily lives to change the plagues upon us as a people. Smile at people, instead of pretending not to see them. Say hello and make eye contact with the homeless, regardless of any response you receive. Visit your grandparents and the elderly people you love, if you are lucky enough to have them with you still. The elderly are the most ignored group of our society; where they should be respected and treasured for their lifetime of knowledge, feeling, and experience, we instead tune them out, put them in nursing homes so that we don't have to worry about having to help them, and at best, make perfunctory visits that are laden with thinly veiled condescension and dismissal.
Can you imagine being homeless? I doubt the not having a place to live is the hardest part. Who among us hasn't (and probably regularly) avoids and chance of eye contact or acknowledgement. I cannot begin to imagine how I would cope with life and day to day existence in a world full of people, almost every single one of which purposefully saw you, and refused to acknowledge you as a human being, or even your very existence.
I am not saying that we all need to go out and devote our lives to solving the infinite social ills we are ensconced in. But I AM SAYING, LOUDLY, that no human being alive on this planet has the right or validation to treat ANY PERSON with less than kindness and politeness. If your effort is mocked, or your empathy is taken advantage of, you should not care, or even consider it as an excuse to do less than your best. We are all flawed, and the only way to live our daily lives with dignity is to treat each other with kindness and faith. In our justice system, there is a reason that a person charged with a crime is considered "innocent until proven guilty". We need to stop excusing ourselves and pretending that our day to day mistreatment of others does not happen, by donating money to charities, or buying eco-friendly vehicles, and voting for respectable public officials to run our government. That behavior makes one an even worse human being than those who have no doubts about their racist, self-serving goals and ideals. At least they are being honest with who they are.
I wish I could make the world take just one full day (24 hours - less than half of a typical work week for most) to examine their beliefs and compare them to their actions. I guarantee you that there are only a very small number out there who would end that day satisfied with themselves.
So please, treat the people you see with respect. If you make eye contact randomly in passing on a street, don't look away quickly. Smile and say hello. If someone asks you for change, at least have the courtesy to look them in the eye and tell them if you don't have it, or don't want to part with it. And when you can, give them something. If you are going across the bridge and have ten dollars, every once in a while, pay for the person behind you. More importantly, don't congratulate yourself on doing so, and don't look for their car once you've passed the toll plaza, looking for their gratification. Giving is only truly generosity of spirit and heart when done without self-gratification or expectation of gratitude. If you expect to be congratulated (by yourself or by others) for demonstrations of human decency, then you should work harder at understanding the concept of basic human kindness.
I have on several occasions (at a gas station, etc.) said please and thank you, smiled and asked a person how they were, and seen a visible (and surprised) immediate happiness. On the other side of the equation, and we all do this from time to time, don't immediately become suspicious or aloof if someone treats you with kindness. Somehow, we have become so jaded and untrusting of our fellow human beings that we have actually trained ourselves to instinctively assume a negative, ulterior motive behind a stranger saying hello, or the person next to you at the bus stop striking up conversation. I am definitely guilty of this in certain circumstances; mainly when waiting in a public place or bar, and being approached by some guy. Even if it turns out that they do have an ulterior motive other than friendly conversation, at least give them the benefit of the doubt. Most of us are capable of deflecting a situation that ends up like that with tact and without resentment. And it is surprising how many times that happens, and you respond appropriately, and end up having an enjoyable conversation with a decent person.
There are always going to be pigs. Not everyone is a good person at heart, and if that turns out to be the case, they should be treated accordingly. But not by stooping to their level. Anger and retaliation ("an eye for an eye", "respond in kind") only hurt your quality of life and leave only shame rather than victorious gratification.
I don't know why I wrote/am writing this, but I know that it is one of the most important factors in how I judge myself as a person. I cry when I see desperation, when I am in San Francisco and see the homeless at stoplights, I cry. Really cry. If I can, I give money. When I have money but decide not to offer it, it plagues my conscience for the rest of my drive. I don't care if an obvious middle aged and drunk woman in the gas station asks me for $0.85 so she can have enough for a sandwich and then walks out with a 40 oz. Junkie, alcoholic, whatever. I am not perfect, and am not in a position to judge. I believe that even though I am being approached because a substance is ruling someone's existence, being nice and treating that person with respect makes them a little better.
One last thing before the "Changes" lyrics (I bet you thought I forgot about why I started this post in the first place; I did not). Life is life and it is full of surprises and changes and upheavals and you should firmly believe that there is a solid chance that by some random twist of fate, or an unforseen illness that leaves you with nothing, or a natural distaster like Hurricane Katrina, a debilitating addiction that crept up on you, or just poor financial decisions, you may one day be the person behind the cardboard sign. No matter how uncomfortable or painful or discouraging and disillusioning it is, always have a strong sense of empathy. Always take a moment to think about how you would feel in another's position. And then treat them the way you would want to be treated if you were them. I guess that's been said, but it is one of, if not the most, important thing in life. Treat every human being exactly as you would treat yourself, and think about how it makes you feel when someone says something or even just smiles at you. When it happens to me, my whole day is brightened, and I feel almost elated for a good time after.
It is admirable and important for people to take action against larger social and environmental problems, and work towards a greater social good, but you don't have to do that to make an impact in the world. If you treat other people with kindness and respect, always and every day, you will make a difference in thousands of people's lives. It might be for a brief moment, it might be the one thing that turns an otherwise terrible day into a good one, it might be the thing that saves a person from teetering off the brink of life. Or it might not even be noticed. But it is a way of life that every person alive should act in. People are people; and no one is better than another. Ever. This includes murderers and sociopaths and abusers. We all have the same special relationship and we are all evolved from the same path. And if there is a God, or Higher Power, or Just Something Else Out There, if we really have souls that transcend our physical presence, I am sure that we learned to be this way from them. Discriminate all you want, segregate and isolate yourself in trivial things such as worrying or even believing that your faith or code or whatever it is you believe in and live by is superior to all others. I can almost guarantee you that that higher power you put so much stock in might a) not be at all what you expected...
Funny idea: What if there is a higher power watching over us and is there to greet our souls when we leave this life? I don't understand why practically nobody considers the possibility that the big HP has a wicked sense of humor. I mean, look at us. If we have an appointed caretaker, they are OBVIOUSLY fucking with us some of the time, just for fun. I just thought about how funny it would be if the HP makes sure to greet the fundamentalist christians as Mohammad, or the Satanists as Jesus. I'm pretty sure that most religions would get that joke played on them, excepting most of the Eastern religions, who have been doing a consistently admirable job of not setting concrete expectations or arbitrary doctrine.
Anyways, I can also guarantee that if you do spend your life running around your whole life feeling superior to those who do not hold your beliefs, when you get out of here and meet good old HP, you're going to get yelled at. And if you are getting yelled at because of how certain your path was the only one, you're gonna feel pretty damn terrible by the time it's over. Even if there is a heaven or something, you won't be "in heaven" for a while. In fact, you'll probably spend a good long time realizing for the first time that you weren't a good person after all. And that will probably lead to another stretch of time where you realize that it's too late to do anything about it. Incidentally, that is one of the many reasons that I am a firm believer in some sort of reincarnation, if we really are equipped with souls that transcend the body. Just one of the many reasons. Another one is that after you have been on the planet long enough to meet a substantial amount of people, you can tell when you meet someone with an old soul, or someone who is just on their first or second go around.
To be perfectly honest, and because I have been sitting here pontificating for far too long, I actually f'irmly believe that I have lived many lives before, and am wiser than many people. This is something I have shared with very few people and I can't believe I'm publishing it on the internet...not like anyone reads this, but still, it is now out there. But, there is a catch to this. I have had this belief - almost a certainty that I am very old at heart and in my soul, for almost as long as I can remember becoming interested in spirituality, and even before that, I had an inkling that I was different from most other people. Except the thing is, when I was younger, like in high school and even college, I used this secret sense of superiority to get by without trying too hard to be a stellar human being, or work really hard (well, I worked really hard at Linguistics in college, and English and Art in high school, but only because I liked them - everything else, I fucked off). Now, over the past several years and lots of growing up, I now see that if I really do believe that I have lifetimes of wisdom under my belt, I have an obligation to do all I can with it. Everyone has one big challenge in life; I think mine is falling back on a possibly over-inflated ego to justify stagnant and unhelpful lifestyles.
Like how I once in a while would find myself looking at my co-workers and looking down on them for being satisfied with working a job just because it paid well, and finding fulfillment in shopping, getting married, having kids. I would look down my nose at them thinking, how can you be so stupid as to not even question your life, and why you define yourself through hollow pre-set parameters of happiness, accepting them and almost grateful to not have to figure out what happiness means on your own. Then I realized that I was living the same life as everyone else, which made me the worst person ever, because I knew there was something more and better, and I was too lazy to live my life accordingly; I instead just nurtured feelings of superiority to justify the uselessness that was my life. And in most respects, my life still is basically full of uselessness, to be honest. I am not preaching. I'm a conceited asshole, perfectly exemplified by this post. I could probably have done something far more productive that expound at ridiculous lengths on a blog that no one reads.
So I'm going to shower now and try to think of something good to do. Wait, I have it. Finish my painting. But before I go, here are the lyrics to Tupac Amaru Shakur's song, "Changes". I hope this November we ARE ready to see a black president.
[1]
Come on come on
I see no changes wake up in the morning and I ask myself
is life worth living should I blast myself?
I'm tired of bein' poor & even worse I'm black
my stomach hurts so I'm lookin' for a purse to snatch
Cops give a damn about a negro
pull the trigger kill a nigga he's a hero
Give the crack to the kids who the hell cares
one less hungry mouth on the welfare
First ship 'em dope & let 'em deal the brothers
give 'em guns step back watch 'em kill each other
It's time to fight back that's what Huey said
2 shots in the dark now Huey's dead
I got love for my brother but we can never go nowhere
unless we share with each other
We gotta start makin' changes
learn to see me as a brother instead of 2 distant strangers
and that's how it's supposed to be
How can the Devil take a brother if he's close to me?
I'd love to go back to when we played as kids
but things changed, and that's the way it is
[Bridge w/ changing ad libs]
Come on come on
That's just the way it is
Things'll never be the same
That's just the way it is
aww yeah
[Repeat]
[2]
I see no changes all I see is racist faces
misplaced hate makes disgrace to races
We under I wonder what it takes to make this
one better place, let's erase the wasted
Take the evil out the people they'll be acting right
'cause both black and white is smokin' crack tonight
and only time we chill is when we kill each other
it takes skill to be real, time to heal each other
And although it seems heaven sent
We ain't ready, to see a black President, uhh
It ain't a secret don't conceal the fact
the penitentiary's packed, and it's filled with blacks
But some things will never change
try to show another way but you stayin' in the dope game
Now tell me what's a mother to do
bein' real don't appeal to the brother in you
You gotta operate the easy way
"I made a G today" But you made it in a sleazy way
sellin' crack to the kid. " I gotta get paid,"
Well hey, well that's the way it is
[Bridge]
[Talking:]
We gotta make a change...
It's time for us as a people to start makin' some changes.
Let's change the way we eat, let's change the way we live
and let's change the way we treat each other.
You see the old way wasn't working so it's on us to do
what we gotta do, to survive.
[3]
And still I see no changes can't a brother get a little peace
It's war on the streets & the war in the Middle East
Instead of war on poverty they got a war on drugs
so the police can bother me
And I ain't never did a crime I ain't have to do
But now I'm back with the blacks givin' it back to you
Don't let 'em jack you up, back you up,
crack you up and pimp slap you up
You gotta learn to hold ya own
they get jealous when they see ya with ya mobile phone
But tell the cops they can't touch this
I don't trust this when they try to rush I bust this
That's the sound of my tool you say it ain't cool
my mama didn't raise no fool
And as long as I stay black I gotta stay strapped
& I never get to lay back
'Cause I always got to worry 'bout the pay backs
some buck that I roughed up way back
comin' back after all these years
rat-tat-tat-tat-tat that's the way it is uhh
But I want to just say something. I am listening to Changes by Tupac Amaru Shakur. I remember when he died, my freshman year in high school. My best friend Arlela and I cried together when the news was released (I think we got it on wild 107.7 - previously the X, now 94.9). I almost remember the exact time he was pronounced dead: 4:15 or something.
Anyways, I am posting the lyrics to above mentioned song because Tupac was my hero growing up. Back when his songs were positive, hard to be confronted with, and inspirational. Dear Mama, Changes, Keep Ya Head Up. In "Changes", there is a line, "We ain't ready to see a black president". I listen to the song often, and that line in particular, makes me so sad and confused about our existence as a conscious species, that someone so talented and with so much potential and knowledge was destroyed before he could do more.
I just hope that somewhere Tupac Shakur is watching Barak Obama campaigning as the Democratic Nominee for President of the United States. And I even more fervently hope and pray that his words do not become true; we need this. We will still have racism in every form, and day to day oppression and social ills will still plague our society and our neighborhoods, but we need a black president. This will be a monumental win, and one that should have happened long ago, when all of the people who made statements and made impacts towards something like this happening, were killed before they could do their work, out of fear and ignorance. Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Tupac Shakur, JFK, Mahatma Ghandi, Abraham Lincoln, Joan of Ark, Jesus Christ, and everyone else in the world who started to make things right, and for that were killed.
We need to each of us, every day, remind ourselves that while we may not be great leaders like the aforementioned, we MUST do everything we can throughout the course of our daily lives to change the plagues upon us as a people. Smile at people, instead of pretending not to see them. Say hello and make eye contact with the homeless, regardless of any response you receive. Visit your grandparents and the elderly people you love, if you are lucky enough to have them with you still. The elderly are the most ignored group of our society; where they should be respected and treasured for their lifetime of knowledge, feeling, and experience, we instead tune them out, put them in nursing homes so that we don't have to worry about having to help them, and at best, make perfunctory visits that are laden with thinly veiled condescension and dismissal.
Can you imagine being homeless? I doubt the not having a place to live is the hardest part. Who among us hasn't (and probably regularly) avoids and chance of eye contact or acknowledgement. I cannot begin to imagine how I would cope with life and day to day existence in a world full of people, almost every single one of which purposefully saw you, and refused to acknowledge you as a human being, or even your very existence.
I am not saying that we all need to go out and devote our lives to solving the infinite social ills we are ensconced in. But I AM SAYING, LOUDLY, that no human being alive on this planet has the right or validation to treat ANY PERSON with less than kindness and politeness. If your effort is mocked, or your empathy is taken advantage of, you should not care, or even consider it as an excuse to do less than your best. We are all flawed, and the only way to live our daily lives with dignity is to treat each other with kindness and faith. In our justice system, there is a reason that a person charged with a crime is considered "innocent until proven guilty". We need to stop excusing ourselves and pretending that our day to day mistreatment of others does not happen, by donating money to charities, or buying eco-friendly vehicles, and voting for respectable public officials to run our government. That behavior makes one an even worse human being than those who have no doubts about their racist, self-serving goals and ideals. At least they are being honest with who they are.
I wish I could make the world take just one full day (24 hours - less than half of a typical work week for most) to examine their beliefs and compare them to their actions. I guarantee you that there are only a very small number out there who would end that day satisfied with themselves.
So please, treat the people you see with respect. If you make eye contact randomly in passing on a street, don't look away quickly. Smile and say hello. If someone asks you for change, at least have the courtesy to look them in the eye and tell them if you don't have it, or don't want to part with it. And when you can, give them something. If you are going across the bridge and have ten dollars, every once in a while, pay for the person behind you. More importantly, don't congratulate yourself on doing so, and don't look for their car once you've passed the toll plaza, looking for their gratification. Giving is only truly generosity of spirit and heart when done without self-gratification or expectation of gratitude. If you expect to be congratulated (by yourself or by others) for demonstrations of human decency, then you should work harder at understanding the concept of basic human kindness.
I have on several occasions (at a gas station, etc.) said please and thank you, smiled and asked a person how they were, and seen a visible (and surprised) immediate happiness. On the other side of the equation, and we all do this from time to time, don't immediately become suspicious or aloof if someone treats you with kindness. Somehow, we have become so jaded and untrusting of our fellow human beings that we have actually trained ourselves to instinctively assume a negative, ulterior motive behind a stranger saying hello, or the person next to you at the bus stop striking up conversation. I am definitely guilty of this in certain circumstances; mainly when waiting in a public place or bar, and being approached by some guy. Even if it turns out that they do have an ulterior motive other than friendly conversation, at least give them the benefit of the doubt. Most of us are capable of deflecting a situation that ends up like that with tact and without resentment. And it is surprising how many times that happens, and you respond appropriately, and end up having an enjoyable conversation with a decent person.
There are always going to be pigs. Not everyone is a good person at heart, and if that turns out to be the case, they should be treated accordingly. But not by stooping to their level. Anger and retaliation ("an eye for an eye", "respond in kind") only hurt your quality of life and leave only shame rather than victorious gratification.
I don't know why I wrote/am writing this, but I know that it is one of the most important factors in how I judge myself as a person. I cry when I see desperation, when I am in San Francisco and see the homeless at stoplights, I cry. Really cry. If I can, I give money. When I have money but decide not to offer it, it plagues my conscience for the rest of my drive. I don't care if an obvious middle aged and drunk woman in the gas station asks me for $0.85 so she can have enough for a sandwich and then walks out with a 40 oz. Junkie, alcoholic, whatever. I am not perfect, and am not in a position to judge. I believe that even though I am being approached because a substance is ruling someone's existence, being nice and treating that person with respect makes them a little better.
One last thing before the "Changes" lyrics (I bet you thought I forgot about why I started this post in the first place; I did not). Life is life and it is full of surprises and changes and upheavals and you should firmly believe that there is a solid chance that by some random twist of fate, or an unforseen illness that leaves you with nothing, or a natural distaster like Hurricane Katrina, a debilitating addiction that crept up on you, or just poor financial decisions, you may one day be the person behind the cardboard sign. No matter how uncomfortable or painful or discouraging and disillusioning it is, always have a strong sense of empathy. Always take a moment to think about how you would feel in another's position. And then treat them the way you would want to be treated if you were them. I guess that's been said, but it is one of, if not the most, important thing in life. Treat every human being exactly as you would treat yourself, and think about how it makes you feel when someone says something or even just smiles at you. When it happens to me, my whole day is brightened, and I feel almost elated for a good time after.
It is admirable and important for people to take action against larger social and environmental problems, and work towards a greater social good, but you don't have to do that to make an impact in the world. If you treat other people with kindness and respect, always and every day, you will make a difference in thousands of people's lives. It might be for a brief moment, it might be the one thing that turns an otherwise terrible day into a good one, it might be the thing that saves a person from teetering off the brink of life. Or it might not even be noticed. But it is a way of life that every person alive should act in. People are people; and no one is better than another. Ever. This includes murderers and sociopaths and abusers. We all have the same special relationship and we are all evolved from the same path. And if there is a God, or Higher Power, or Just Something Else Out There, if we really have souls that transcend our physical presence, I am sure that we learned to be this way from them. Discriminate all you want, segregate and isolate yourself in trivial things such as worrying or even believing that your faith or code or whatever it is you believe in and live by is superior to all others. I can almost guarantee you that that higher power you put so much stock in might a) not be at all what you expected...
Funny idea: What if there is a higher power watching over us and is there to greet our souls when we leave this life? I don't understand why practically nobody considers the possibility that the big HP has a wicked sense of humor. I mean, look at us. If we have an appointed caretaker, they are OBVIOUSLY fucking with us some of the time, just for fun. I just thought about how funny it would be if the HP makes sure to greet the fundamentalist christians as Mohammad, or the Satanists as Jesus. I'm pretty sure that most religions would get that joke played on them, excepting most of the Eastern religions, who have been doing a consistently admirable job of not setting concrete expectations or arbitrary doctrine.
Anyways, I can also guarantee that if you do spend your life running around your whole life feeling superior to those who do not hold your beliefs, when you get out of here and meet good old HP, you're going to get yelled at. And if you are getting yelled at because of how certain your path was the only one, you're gonna feel pretty damn terrible by the time it's over. Even if there is a heaven or something, you won't be "in heaven" for a while. In fact, you'll probably spend a good long time realizing for the first time that you weren't a good person after all. And that will probably lead to another stretch of time where you realize that it's too late to do anything about it. Incidentally, that is one of the many reasons that I am a firm believer in some sort of reincarnation, if we really are equipped with souls that transcend the body. Just one of the many reasons. Another one is that after you have been on the planet long enough to meet a substantial amount of people, you can tell when you meet someone with an old soul, or someone who is just on their first or second go around.
To be perfectly honest, and because I have been sitting here pontificating for far too long, I actually f'irmly believe that I have lived many lives before, and am wiser than many people. This is something I have shared with very few people and I can't believe I'm publishing it on the internet...not like anyone reads this, but still, it is now out there. But, there is a catch to this. I have had this belief - almost a certainty that I am very old at heart and in my soul, for almost as long as I can remember becoming interested in spirituality, and even before that, I had an inkling that I was different from most other people. Except the thing is, when I was younger, like in high school and even college, I used this secret sense of superiority to get by without trying too hard to be a stellar human being, or work really hard (well, I worked really hard at Linguistics in college, and English and Art in high school, but only because I liked them - everything else, I fucked off). Now, over the past several years and lots of growing up, I now see that if I really do believe that I have lifetimes of wisdom under my belt, I have an obligation to do all I can with it. Everyone has one big challenge in life; I think mine is falling back on a possibly over-inflated ego to justify stagnant and unhelpful lifestyles.
Like how I once in a while would find myself looking at my co-workers and looking down on them for being satisfied with working a job just because it paid well, and finding fulfillment in shopping, getting married, having kids. I would look down my nose at them thinking, how can you be so stupid as to not even question your life, and why you define yourself through hollow pre-set parameters of happiness, accepting them and almost grateful to not have to figure out what happiness means on your own. Then I realized that I was living the same life as everyone else, which made me the worst person ever, because I knew there was something more and better, and I was too lazy to live my life accordingly; I instead just nurtured feelings of superiority to justify the uselessness that was my life. And in most respects, my life still is basically full of uselessness, to be honest. I am not preaching. I'm a conceited asshole, perfectly exemplified by this post. I could probably have done something far more productive that expound at ridiculous lengths on a blog that no one reads.
So I'm going to shower now and try to think of something good to do. Wait, I have it. Finish my painting. But before I go, here are the lyrics to Tupac Amaru Shakur's song, "Changes". I hope this November we ARE ready to see a black president.
[1]
Come on come on
I see no changes wake up in the morning and I ask myself
is life worth living should I blast myself?
I'm tired of bein' poor & even worse I'm black
my stomach hurts so I'm lookin' for a purse to snatch
Cops give a damn about a negro
pull the trigger kill a nigga he's a hero
Give the crack to the kids who the hell cares
one less hungry mouth on the welfare
First ship 'em dope & let 'em deal the brothers
give 'em guns step back watch 'em kill each other
It's time to fight back that's what Huey said
2 shots in the dark now Huey's dead
I got love for my brother but we can never go nowhere
unless we share with each other
We gotta start makin' changes
learn to see me as a brother instead of 2 distant strangers
and that's how it's supposed to be
How can the Devil take a brother if he's close to me?
I'd love to go back to when we played as kids
but things changed, and that's the way it is
[Bridge w/ changing ad libs]
Come on come on
That's just the way it is
Things'll never be the same
That's just the way it is
aww yeah
[Repeat]
[2]
I see no changes all I see is racist faces
misplaced hate makes disgrace to races
We under I wonder what it takes to make this
one better place, let's erase the wasted
Take the evil out the people they'll be acting right
'cause both black and white is smokin' crack tonight
and only time we chill is when we kill each other
it takes skill to be real, time to heal each other
And although it seems heaven sent
We ain't ready, to see a black President, uhh
It ain't a secret don't conceal the fact
the penitentiary's packed, and it's filled with blacks
But some things will never change
try to show another way but you stayin' in the dope game
Now tell me what's a mother to do
bein' real don't appeal to the brother in you
You gotta operate the easy way
"I made a G today" But you made it in a sleazy way
sellin' crack to the kid. " I gotta get paid,"
Well hey, well that's the way it is
[Bridge]
[Talking:]
We gotta make a change...
It's time for us as a people to start makin' some changes.
Let's change the way we eat, let's change the way we live
and let's change the way we treat each other.
You see the old way wasn't working so it's on us to do
what we gotta do, to survive.
[3]
And still I see no changes can't a brother get a little peace
It's war on the streets & the war in the Middle East
Instead of war on poverty they got a war on drugs
so the police can bother me
And I ain't never did a crime I ain't have to do
But now I'm back with the blacks givin' it back to you
Don't let 'em jack you up, back you up,
crack you up and pimp slap you up
You gotta learn to hold ya own
they get jealous when they see ya with ya mobile phone
But tell the cops they can't touch this
I don't trust this when they try to rush I bust this
That's the sound of my tool you say it ain't cool
my mama didn't raise no fool
And as long as I stay black I gotta stay strapped
& I never get to lay back
'Cause I always got to worry 'bout the pay backs
some buck that I roughed up way back
comin' back after all these years
rat-tat-tat-tat-tat that's the way it is uhh
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Process
This process.
This one, I am apprehensive about
-to say the least-
Already just imbibing it's insidiousness
as I watch it creep into my words and
conform my thoughts:
delay if lucky,
derail, but leaving hope
dissolve to destroy any fluidity...
wait, what was it again that I was saying here, hmm?
Fighting a pointless battle over a punctuation mark
This is why I left my job/life/security/independence
in the first place because I couldn't do both
I have never been good at doing both
I can't
Well, I really mean that it is really really
really so fucking hard for me
to balance the two forces that drive my soul
focus my potential
probably also contributing, as in being
a large factor, in this big
-jigsaw puzzle-
challenge of living a life
probably a factor fuck
sorry .
(fuck)
Fucking I like one side better than the other
Obviously
And now it's light and I am not easy
flowing but really
more like flailing; flailing into
flimsy flustered- those (this)
fucking
frustration laden foibles
And I am shackled again and it's
finally impossible to ignore
that I will never achieve peace nor purpose
without working
working really, really,
really hard
on making myself whole
I believe I can make a life that I can live for.
for and with
But the hurdles are inside of me. situational consequences might (fuck),
well they might just be manifestations
not causes
I quit my job and gave in entirely to a freedom I had never allowed myself to indulge in.
and just as thoroughly as I failed to find happiness
in the structured world I had never not succeeded in
and also never not felt
vaguely displaced in,
I gave in to the impulsive, implosive,
genius that has no bounds no limits no outlets
I loved it hated it cringe at it still crave it
never harnessed it
never not feeling a vague and
in the end, crushing disappointment that, well,
it kind of
slithered up around and behind me so that
after a while, I knew just what
was chasing me. So. I
ruined it more by being consumed by the serpent on my trail than,
I guess more than the reason for the hike.
As in now he bites me.
I have to make this work out, this incongruity
Create opportunities to facilitate the driven intellect and social ability I cannot
make order in my world without
And also while making time and space and focus to let the other side be seen
and be streamlined
In time, combined
For this, I have to work. Hard.
And to work I have to want need know
What must be done.
This is who I am now, I scream and
sing and cry for strength to make myself who I am and whoever I may become.
This one, I am apprehensive about
-to say the least-
Already just imbibing it's insidiousness
as I watch it creep into my words and
conform my thoughts:
delay if lucky,
derail, but leaving hope
dissolve to destroy any fluidity...
wait, what was it again that I was saying here, hmm?
Fighting a pointless battle over a punctuation mark
This is why I left my job/life/security/independence
in the first place because I couldn't do both
I have never been good at doing both
I can't
Well, I really mean that it is really really
really so fucking hard for me
to balance the two forces that drive my soul
focus my potential
probably also contributing, as in being
a large factor, in this big
-jigsaw puzzle-
challenge of living a life
probably a factor fuck
sorry .
(fuck)
Fucking I like one side better than the other
Obviously
And now it's light and I am not easy
flowing but really
more like flailing; flailing into
flimsy flustered- those (this)
fucking
frustration laden foibles
And I am shackled again and it's
finally impossible to ignore
that I will never achieve peace nor purpose
without working
working really, really,
really hard
on making myself whole
I believe I can make a life that I can live for.
for and with
But the hurdles are inside of me. situational consequences might (fuck),
well they might just be manifestations
not causes
I quit my job and gave in entirely to a freedom I had never allowed myself to indulge in.
and just as thoroughly as I failed to find happiness
in the structured world I had never not succeeded in
and also never not felt
vaguely displaced in,
I gave in to the impulsive, implosive,
genius that has no bounds no limits no outlets
I loved it hated it cringe at it still crave it
never harnessed it
never not feeling a vague and
in the end, crushing disappointment that, well,
it kind of
slithered up around and behind me so that
after a while, I knew just what
was chasing me. So. I
ruined it more by being consumed by the serpent on my trail than,
I guess more than the reason for the hike.
As in now he bites me.
I have to make this work out, this incongruity
Create opportunities to facilitate the driven intellect and social ability I cannot
make order in my world without
And also while making time and space and focus to let the other side be seen
and be streamlined
In time, combined
For this, I have to work. Hard.
And to work I have to want need know
What must be done.
This is who I am now, I scream and
sing and cry for strength to make myself who I am and whoever I may become.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Fertility in Futility
Frantic antics
and
essential enterprises
Engulf and engross us
with utmost totality
Consuming consciousness,
nibbling at grand conceptions
Fruition flickers and falters faintly in the distance
it spurns us onward
ever more enticing, inveighling
and ultimately inescapable
and
essential enterprises
Engulf and engross us
with utmost totality
Consuming consciousness,
nibbling at grand conceptions
Fruition flickers and falters faintly in the distance
it spurns us onward
ever more enticing, inveighling
and ultimately inescapable
Green Eyes
Green eyed and greasy. Not sleazy, but not classy. Rode the train just to be on the way to somewhere that other people were going to. Seeing spaces and buildings and cars and signs and trash go by, fast instant images she'd trained her mind to put in slow mode. This was so that it'd be easier to notice details, imagine whole worlds for the what flew by.
A concrete lot/yard with cyclone fencing, inside were random potted plants; bamboo, wide-leafed foliage and maybe small trees, perhaps some flowers. No one was ever in it, the attached building was inscrutable. A nursery? Could she sometime go there herself and see if she might take home something in the yard? The question goes unanswered, but still is a lingering interest, 'cause she always knows that trip won't happen (at least on purpose).
Fast it goes and fast it falls in the line that she's traveling on; replaced by new ruminations and different subjects, all of them fascinating, all of them fleeting. Preoccupation with the scenes outside the box waxes and wanes, and focuses shift to those who happen to be in transit with her.
These are trickier games, harder to observe without being noticed. Being noticed means instantly becoming a part of the story, and people act differently when they are being seen; their reactions varying by circumstance and audience. She knows that nothing anyone ever does is done without influence from some external motivation or perception, and just wants to try not to be one of them. People on phones, taking just a little too loud, to make certain that their very important life is made clear to all who surround them. People engrossed in their own thoughts and thoroughly within themselves, oblivious to all around them. People who try to appear to be that kind of person, but who are really just trying to block out and make their lives and their choices and their mistakes and their futures disappear into non-existence. It's always easier to pretend that the bad things in life aren't really there at all, easier also to erase your blunders by pointing out the wrongs and misdirections of others.
And that's why she rides the train. Not sleazy, not classy. Eyes green from the grass she sees on the other side, living a makeshift glass shielded life, if only for just now. Later, her eyes will turn back to grey, and she will rinse off the greasiness built up by the living of life, take out the trash, and show a little class. Later. Not now.
A concrete lot/yard with cyclone fencing, inside were random potted plants; bamboo, wide-leafed foliage and maybe small trees, perhaps some flowers. No one was ever in it, the attached building was inscrutable. A nursery? Could she sometime go there herself and see if she might take home something in the yard? The question goes unanswered, but still is a lingering interest, 'cause she always knows that trip won't happen (at least on purpose).
Fast it goes and fast it falls in the line that she's traveling on; replaced by new ruminations and different subjects, all of them fascinating, all of them fleeting. Preoccupation with the scenes outside the box waxes and wanes, and focuses shift to those who happen to be in transit with her.
These are trickier games, harder to observe without being noticed. Being noticed means instantly becoming a part of the story, and people act differently when they are being seen; their reactions varying by circumstance and audience. She knows that nothing anyone ever does is done without influence from some external motivation or perception, and just wants to try not to be one of them. People on phones, taking just a little too loud, to make certain that their very important life is made clear to all who surround them. People engrossed in their own thoughts and thoroughly within themselves, oblivious to all around them. People who try to appear to be that kind of person, but who are really just trying to block out and make their lives and their choices and their mistakes and their futures disappear into non-existence. It's always easier to pretend that the bad things in life aren't really there at all, easier also to erase your blunders by pointing out the wrongs and misdirections of others.
And that's why she rides the train. Not sleazy, not classy. Eyes green from the grass she sees on the other side, living a makeshift glass shielded life, if only for just now. Later, her eyes will turn back to grey, and she will rinse off the greasiness built up by the living of life, take out the trash, and show a little class. Later. Not now.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Things that blow mind my and mind me
I.
Cryingcrazy
and
cringing carnivorous at what was coming ,
what was there, really.
like tigers
it makes me think of tigers; they crouch
I could like to be one
but maybe just for a little while.
or
what if that's what I used to be
sometime stuck in somewhere
behind or ahead and
maybe up or down or in or
not at all.
something in me screams some of the time for not really
a reason or plead for
reprieve from reasons and reason
II.
that's to say
nothing but for part or piece or strand of string
that binds the universe, except
only the combination of the whole big ball of string spun into it's intended whole
knows that name.
Strings strands splits
names to define the difference from names like whole.
if my name could stop being part of the whole ball of string -
just long enough
only.
it might show what needs to be seen
at least right then for now
Now is a newer now than that above
space is what is used of it
III.
pretty things are sometimes like flowers that are soon to wilt splendidly as
pretty little streams of words
like dragonfly thoughts
flit fly land leave
IV.
dark little demons
bouncing around and digging for ways out
that secret spot, that's where they come from.
I like, like. like it there and it comforts,
and I like like like the same way it discomforts-
the darkest deep we all keep close to comfort
too comforting and too close
close comforts stay closed
V.
cold and angry dripping disappointment
sweet drops soft spill
puddles problems pretendings pretexts
cotton candy in the rain
Cryingcrazy
and
cringing carnivorous at what was coming ,
what was there, really.
like tigers
it makes me think of tigers; they crouch
I could like to be one
but maybe just for a little while.
or
what if that's what I used to be
sometime stuck in somewhere
behind or ahead and
maybe up or down or in or
not at all.
something in me screams some of the time for not really
a reason or plead for
reprieve from reasons and reason
II.
that's to say
nothing but for part or piece or strand of string
that binds the universe, except
only the combination of the whole big ball of string spun into it's intended whole
knows that name.
Strings strands splits
names to define the difference from names like whole.
if my name could stop being part of the whole ball of string -
just long enough
only.
it might show what needs to be seen
at least right then for now
Now is a newer now than that above
space is what is used of it
III.
pretty things are sometimes like flowers that are soon to wilt splendidly as
pretty little streams of words
like dragonfly thoughts
flit fly land leave
IV.
dark little demons
bouncing around and digging for ways out
that secret spot, that's where they come from.
I like, like. like it there and it comforts,
and I like like like the same way it discomforts-
the darkest deep we all keep close to comfort
too comforting and too close
close comforts stay closed
V.
cold and angry dripping disappointment
sweet drops soft spill
puddles problems pretendings pretexts
cotton candy in the rain
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Something I wrote a long time ago, and called "Book that will not be a book"
Prescript:This was soul-wrenching for me to write. Probably not very good, either. But it was exactly how I felt, and it felt good to at least try to see if I could capture it. And I did, but it wasn't what I wanted to capture, and made me realize exactly how I felt. Now I'm sharing it, just because this is a blog and I can write what I want.
How do you start a book that tells the story you’re trying to end? I guess you could start with spoons, and let it all spill out from there, in hopes of scooping it up along the way and turning odds and ends into middles and soup. In the end it really might just be in the effort, and the trick lies in the art of losing the build up and maybe nothing else. Where when how and why did the creativity leave and how the fuck do you get something back when you don’t even know when you lost it or remember that you had it? I guess that’s what it means to get lost in the act so deep you forget its purpose. And that’s when drugs start to suck and life starts to suck and you really have to take a nasty hard look at who you’ve become and decide if you’ve got it in you to turn around and make it worth it. And if you don’t, do you have it in you to quit the race because you know you don’t know what winning it means? Fuck that, it’s way to fucking deep, and I don’t know if I can make sense or make fun or make it flow like I once did. The thing about growing up is all the shit that really makes life depressing and makes or breaks you is that it’s not fun. It’s not the kind of thing you can write about or moan about or wallow in. it’s the kind of thing where all those songs you thought you related to are really about, and once they turn into your reality you don’t want to relate. That shit you loved as a teenager, all those strung out songs by junkie bands and hopeless souls you idolized when you had no idea what it meant to have to write or sing those things. All of a sudden you realize those songs are there because someone lived them, and the words start becoming too real. No more metaphors or distanced relating to your own trivial angsts. Somewhere along the road you live the songs, and realize how fucking hard it really is to write that, and what it takes to make the words resonate. It suddenly becomes apparent that the only reason those songs and books have their power is because they are painful, embarrassing admissions of a tortured soul. And that fucking sucks a hell of a lot, and what makes it worse is realizing that you are living the guilty world of defeat the junkie songwriters did, except you can’t even justify it by expression. So you end up nameless and defeated and realize that the reason artists are artists is because when a being gets to that point it is almost impossible to look at it, much less name it. There’s a time when you could write for hours and thought it was deep and important, and there’s a time after that when emptiness sets in and you sit dazed and confused, wishing and wondering why the words are gone. That’s the time that what you have to say really might be deep, and you aren’t even concerned with importance. Those, these, are the words books and songs are made from. Those fucking words you don’t ever want to read again. And you know what? Probably you won’t and no one else will either because you don’t have it in you to start a story at it’s end make it all the way back to the beginning. Like now, when continuing means torture and it’s easier to stop and justify quitting with a responsibility to pick up the pieces and try to erase the evil side of the fractured life you’re living. The up is easy to write about and the down isn’t worth the words and the sober doesn’t have the freedom or poetry to explain itself. The hardest, most important part is somewhere in between, and putting it down in words means reconciling your demons, and that’s just fucking hard to do. If you can’t be an artist and you can’t stop the cycle, you can’t write about the in between because there is no bridge between the two worlds. The addiction and the rest of your life live separately, and you realize that tortured artists are just the people who are fucked up like you but can force the limbo out and say it so that everyone forgives and gives false purpose to their failure. I used to think I wanted to be those people, but now I realize that I can’t find glamour or solace or purpose in an existence like this, no matter how beautifully or deeply I can express it. It’s not in me to be the tortured artist, and that’s why this will never be a book to read. I just hope I can give up the motivating circumstances now that they’ve lost their use. Otherwise I’m just fucked and that’s too bad. I really can’t stand the thought of nameless, typical failure. So I stop at that and hope to pick up the pieces and find my true direction.
A site I found kind of a long time ago, so I saved it
.....And just was going through stuff to post on here, and this is the easiest.....I find it exceptional mainly due to the writing; I love to read things and know that the author was typing straight from the brain to the keyboard, and it made me feel like I could see his whole psyche... It is unbelievable, yet somehow compelling; you want to stop, but you can't.
Also, I have always been interested in conspiracists. I love the theories. I think we all have our own private ideas that nothing is really what it seems. And perhaps take it a little more substantive...giving in to that private little itch. A little scratch here and there, just to gratify your (some would say deviant or crazy)......impulses. Give in (a little for most of us), and wage a private and secretly cherished battle with social conventions and unbendable labeling.
So I say, good for you, dude, for at least just taking the plunge, even if no one believes it or cares. At least you let it out there. All the way. The world needs this stuff once in a while, just to prove there are counterparts to the the mindless drones who thrive on rules already set for them. I figure myself somewhere or other right in the middle of the two, so I enjoy seeing both extremes once in a while. Here's one:
(ps-he might be right about some stuff, I can't help but think)
http://empowermentresources.com/
Also, I have always been interested in conspiracists. I love the theories. I think we all have our own private ideas that nothing is really what it seems. And perhaps take it a little more substantive...giving in to that private little itch. A little scratch here and there, just to gratify your (some would say deviant or crazy)......impulses. Give in (a little for most of us), and wage a private and secretly cherished battle with social conventions and unbendable labeling.
So I say, good for you, dude, for at least just taking the plunge, even if no one believes it or cares. At least you let it out there. All the way. The world needs this stuff once in a while, just to prove there are counterparts to the the mindless drones who thrive on rules already set for them. I figure myself somewhere or other right in the middle of the two, so I enjoy seeing both extremes once in a while. Here's one:
(ps-he might be right about some stuff, I can't help but think)
http://empowermentresources.com/
Alba's Story....a sort of beginning....
Ever since she could remember, she could remember everything. A little like the way you watch a movie and hear the words and see the images and know where it all leads, except you get the smells and tastes and the way things feel on your feet, your face, your hands, your head, your heart and stomach. She could put it all together, too, in a way, but in the beginning it was in the way that only a child can make connections. Of course, later on and still equipped with all those rememberings, the connections got more developed and less pure.
Alba, we'll call her, came into being with lifetimes already lived before. From the moment she took her first breath and opened her eyes, there was no fright, no confusion. Only inquiry. She opened her eyes, made no sound, and looked around as if saying, what the hell have I gotten myself into now?
She didn't cry, didn't yell, didn't make too much of an attempt to assert herself into the life she was given. Many questions she asked, and most were answered, as she had parents who nurtured her spirit and saw her gifts. They taught her the names of flowers, of plants, of words. When she was one year young, they took her on a picnic, and she still remembers the blanket, the field on which the blanket was spread, and the knife that they used to cut thier picnic lunch with.
Then she had a sister, when she was almost two. Except the sister was not the same as Alba. The sister was born with a perfect body, but most of her brain was only water. Perhaps it happened that Alba took so much in her own creation, there was little left for the next one. Her sister, Angel, was always sick. It was not known whether she could feel pain, physical or otherwise. But Alba loved her and did not ever consider that she was in any way with flaw. One Easter morning, she tried to share her Easter candy with Angel, feeding her one of those over-sized jelly beans kids always get, and then Angel had to go to the hospital.
To this day, she remembers the agony of how it felt to do something out of love, and to cause suffering instead. This guilt haunts her secret core.
Alba and Angel shared a room together, and one night, Alba woke inexplicably. She checked on Angel, and Angel was cold. She ran to her parents, and told them in a panic, "Angel is so cold!"
That was the night that Angel died. It was All Saint's Day, the day that is said to commemorate all those who have attained the eternal and direct perception of God, imparting supreme happiness and blessedness, enjoyed by those who are in Heaven. An Angel called directly back to whence she came, in a way only a higher power can conceive. She was one year old, plus a month or two.
Alba, we'll call her, came into being with lifetimes already lived before. From the moment she took her first breath and opened her eyes, there was no fright, no confusion. Only inquiry. She opened her eyes, made no sound, and looked around as if saying, what the hell have I gotten myself into now?
She didn't cry, didn't yell, didn't make too much of an attempt to assert herself into the life she was given. Many questions she asked, and most were answered, as she had parents who nurtured her spirit and saw her gifts. They taught her the names of flowers, of plants, of words. When she was one year young, they took her on a picnic, and she still remembers the blanket, the field on which the blanket was spread, and the knife that they used to cut thier picnic lunch with.
Then she had a sister, when she was almost two. Except the sister was not the same as Alba. The sister was born with a perfect body, but most of her brain was only water. Perhaps it happened that Alba took so much in her own creation, there was little left for the next one. Her sister, Angel, was always sick. It was not known whether she could feel pain, physical or otherwise. But Alba loved her and did not ever consider that she was in any way with flaw. One Easter morning, she tried to share her Easter candy with Angel, feeding her one of those over-sized jelly beans kids always get, and then Angel had to go to the hospital.
To this day, she remembers the agony of how it felt to do something out of love, and to cause suffering instead. This guilt haunts her secret core.
Alba and Angel shared a room together, and one night, Alba woke inexplicably. She checked on Angel, and Angel was cold. She ran to her parents, and told them in a panic, "Angel is so cold!"
That was the night that Angel died. It was All Saint's Day, the day that is said to commemorate all those who have attained the eternal and direct perception of God, imparting supreme happiness and blessedness, enjoyed by those who are in Heaven. An Angel called directly back to whence she came, in a way only a higher power can conceive. She was one year old, plus a month or two.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
there was some person
This person did things.
When she was a litte girl, she had the world at her fingertips; put up handwritten posters of quotations by Thomas Edison. She wrote her own books, and read like she was starving. Drawing, writing, reading, learning, striving!
It's a funny thing, though, about this person, And that funny thing was that the girl person had a dark side too.
When she was a litte girl, she had the world at her fingertips; put up handwritten posters of quotations by Thomas Edison. She wrote her own books, and read like she was starving. Drawing, writing, reading, learning, striving!
It's a funny thing, though, about this person, And that funny thing was that the girl person had a dark side too.
they're backwards
Chronologically.
So even if it sounds better from the beginning, I or anyone else will have to quickly scroll through till they get to the first act. And even the best scroller can't help but notice that first (last) entry, and it will confuse and defuse the intended timeline.
On that note, why can't movie studios refrain from the temptation to use the only good scenes in their trailers? Wouldn't it be easier just to make Good movies and make the same money, but not have a gazillion people walk out of the (outrageously priced) theaters pissed off as hell. Just a question.
Fool's Gold
just a thought..........
So even if it sounds better from the beginning, I or anyone else will have to quickly scroll through till they get to the first act. And even the best scroller can't help but notice that first (last) entry, and it will confuse and defuse the intended timeline.
On that note, why can't movie studios refrain from the temptation to use the only good scenes in their trailers? Wouldn't it be easier just to make Good movies and make the same money, but not have a gazillion people walk out of the (outrageously priced) theaters pissed off as hell. Just a question.
Fool's Gold
just a thought..........
I don't know if I can do this....
So I will take it slowly and wait till something other than meaningless meanderings that are fun to read but when it's done, you have no idea what any of that meant. Which I think might be an indication that I am pretty ok at stringing words and sentences together. But I would like to be able to actually write. Things with plot or meaning or anything besides self-centered ramblings; easy to write with pretty, eloquent, strings of nothings. But I could never make a book or story of that, as it tends to be self-serving gibberish.
So that's that, and it concludes my first attempt at honest, memorable pieces of art in the literary medium-a daunting undertaking. I might fail miserably. But at least I'll have access to the journey whenever wherever I want.
I hope I can keep it up for real. We will see, yes yes.
(possibly to be continued...............)
So that's that, and it concludes my first attempt at honest, memorable pieces of art in the literary medium-a daunting undertaking. I might fail miserably. But at least I'll have access to the journey whenever wherever I want.
I hope I can keep it up for real. We will see, yes yes.
(possibly to be continued...............)
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