Twenty-Ten

Time for that obligatory moment of reflection that comes with this passing of time, as we not only pass forth into another year but into a new decade.
2009 was a good year. I mean, it had ups and downs. Some of the downs were pretty low, but I cannot forget the times I smiled. I turned 21 in Chicago, surrounded by some pretty spectacular people. I went to NYC, which I set up all by myself and was able to acquire room with great people (versus paying tons of money on some shitty hotel.)  I had many an exploit in The City (Chicago,) meeting some pretty cool people during the Spring months. I lost a shit ton of weight, and I've worked on further bettering myself as an individual; which was marked by my cousin David noting how I have become "a man." I mean, when the hell did that happen? When did I grow up?
Sure, this year had some lows; but the fact that I have made my way through them only shows that I was a survivor, that I took my licks and hopefully took away a lesson or two. I think that's how I've felt most about this year. I feel that it's really been transformative. I've really developed myself into who I want to be for the rest of my life. A lot of the ways I've wanted to be, I've been that guy. I got the tattoos I've wanted, bought the clothes I've wanted, planned the trips I've wanted to go on, etc, etc. I've made so much happen, and it's really been empowering.
And so in this final hour of 2009, I happily greet the new decade, but bid a grateful farewell to that which I leave behind.

Hide And Seek

Breann and I have known each other for quite a while, now. This picture was sent to me a year ago, where she is wearing the bracelet I gave to her. We had had a short falling out before this picture, and she was showing me that she'd held on to it.

Breann is the most secure friendship I have. Not because it is without fights or problems. Bre and I have probably stopped talking more times than anyone I know (like the story I mentioned above.) But that's just how we work. We argue, we go back to our separate corners, and then we go back to being close friends again. And that process of coming back, the way we return to each other so willingly, that is what shows our closeness.

Bre and I are the antithesis of one another, in some ways. She's a Conservative, card-carrying Republican, and I'm a Liberal, Tree-hugging something-or-other. And we end up picking fights with each other whenever we get stressed, fighting for no real reason other than because we know we can. We drive each other crazy, and yet there is no mean spiritedness in it. There is no malice. The arguments are hollow, this game is childish at best, meant to only work as an outlet for our tensions and not to harm the other. And really, we both know this.

Bre isn't perfect. Neither am I. She's crazy, I'm crazy. But somehow we've always found comfort in each other. When Bre attempted suicide, I was the last person she spoke with. I wasn't very kind, because I knew she had been abusing medication. I told her if she wanted to kill her pain so badly to use a drug like alcohol, where she would at least know what organ she was damaging. So much frustration, and those could have been my final words to her; the final words she ever heard.

I don't like thinking about that. I appreciate that she survived. I like having her in my life, because I can count on her. We're loyal to each other, if nothing else.
If I believe that there is some kind of fate to things, that some of us are tied to one another in some kind of cosmic fashion, I believe that about Breann and myself. The two of us meeting through random connections, sometimes afraid that she could hurt me, somehow we still ended up cradling the other; talking late into the night, as she fell asleep on the end of the line, making me swear not to stay on the line. She'd swear she wasn't tired, swear she just wanted to keep talking.

I'm not going to hang up the phone, Bre. Not until you're fast asleep, and I know you're safe. I'm not going anywhere.

"No lists of things to be done. The day providential to itself. The hour. There is no later. This is later. All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one’s heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes. So, he whispered to the sleeping boy. I have you."
Cormac McCarthy, pg. 54, The Road

Prose

The sun was the one star in the sky I kept, and you were my sun. And I found that every day I lived in fear of the night, and in the night I sat shivering. Where were the other twinkling lights of the evening? Kept away by the sun's fire. So alone I was all those nights, longing for the warmth I was given on the schedule of day and night. I never had a choice. I had no say. Only the sun decided when it rose and sat. But what if one could learn to live in an eternal night? What if you wish to be reunited in dark union? The void could be your Confessor.

Secular Celebrations in Christendom

It was the archetype of Midwestern Days: smokey skies on the crest of the sun.
Christmas day, 2009.
I didn't have much to ask for this year,  there was not much I wanted
I didn't even make a list, but I got it all. Everything.
I had my family's love

No matter the circumstances, our family always has a good time; come rain or come shine.  It is no Christmas Miracle that things be that way.  We're just lucky. To have the family we have, so full of love.

It's 4am.

She texts me in the night.
She flirts. I flirt back, and ask,
Are you into me? Is that what this is?
A long pause before her response.
Why do you need to know?
I don't need to know, I say. Just curious.
Well, she says.
I like the way you treat me. And sometimes I think of what it would be like to lie there, head on your chest, watching a movie off of your favorites list.
Really? I say.
And kissing you, she says.
I smile and trace the outline of the screen of my phone. We have known each other so long. I have wanted her for so long.
Maybe if things were different, I say.
Yeah, she says, maybe sometime.
I sit in the silence, when my phone buzzes.
No matter what I will be here, she says.
I wanted to find the words to say the same.
She smiles.
I smile.

From: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

“And then later in the darkness: Can I ask you something?
Yes, of course you can.
What would you do if I died?
If you died I would want to die too.
So you could be with me?
Yes. So I could be with you.
Okay.”

"Did you think I could hate you
Or raise my hands to you?
Now come on, you know me too well
How could I hurt you,
when darling, I love you
And you know I'd never, never hurt you."
- Billy Vera, At This Moment.

Mmmm, Toasty.

I'm caught up on Mad Men, having watched Seasons 1, 2, and 3.  Now I've wrapped Dexter Season 3, and am on the verge of beginning Season 4. Jordan (male) texted me, anxious to see if I'd started Season 4. He's excited to talk to me about it.
I like having these kinds of shows to come home to, each night - something to tuck under the warm covers and watch.

I also need to start burning CDs, tonight, for my family's Xmas gifts. I need to wrap this up, because I'm going out there tomorrow night, and I might just stay up in Rockton (slumber-party style) until after Xmas. Seeing as I still don't have a car of my own, yet, and probably won't for a little while longer. Until whenever my mom is ready to pay to have it towed up to Rockton. Having it toward from DeKalb already cost she and I a fortune (seeing as how we split it.) 

Kim and I spent time together, today, with Matt. We did some Xmas Shopping for Kim's family. Good times. I bought us all some Quiznos for dinner. I hadn't had Quiznos in a long time.

The Event Horizon

There's a point when you just can't let things bother you anymore. A point when you go from being affected to becoming calloused, almost apathetic. I suppose it's a defense mechanism of sorts.
I know that's beginning to set in for me, as we near 2010. I think of how little drama I would like to deal with in 2010, and the ways I intend on avoiding it; mostly by refusing to engage.

I'm thinking of a lot of new things to take place in 2010, including some regression backward into who I once was. I feel like I lost a lot of who I've been, someone who worked hard to do what was right; someone who worked to be "morally brave." This last year, I've lied, stolen, cheated; I had started down a road that was shameful, at best. And I found reasons to justify my behavior, but I knew better. And that's something I've learned, that I need to trust my instincts; if I have to justify things to myself, I need to take a step back and analyze the situation. Like the lies I told to get out of class, including using death as a reason to get out of class. How could I? There is a reverence in death. It needs to be respected. People suffered from her death, and I exploited that. I used the reverence felt by teachers, I took advantage of it. And for what? To get out of a day's class. I'm really ashamed of that.
I'm done with these manipulative games. Living this life of seeking self-gain, it's been damaging to my soul. So I need to go back to being honorable: telling the truth, being compassionate, being reverent of life and death. I'm too old to act as selfishly as I have. I'm too old for excuses. My friends tried to just roll with it, taking a "to each his own" attitude. But they didn't really like who I was becoming. I feel embarrassed knowing that. Knowing how I'd behaved. But 2010 is a new year, and I intend to make the most of it.

I don't know how I take Kim for granted like I do. She's been the best person I know.
She has loved me since I was that chubby boy in the plaid shirts and awkward work boots; when I lacked style, nerve, and direction. I was this little broken sparrow, and she just took me as I was. She didn't try to change me. She didn't make me cooler. I was accepted for what I was.
And she's just rolled with the changes. She just let me be. She took care of me when I went mad. She forgave me when I was short tempered, in love with a woman who was tearing me apart. She's been there 24/7.
I can't repay her.

The thing about war...

...is that we forget that there are casualties on both sides.

G'Night.

We live in this world where we cannot fall asleep from the thoughts in our heads. Not philosophical thoughts, mind you. Thoughts of worry. We can't sleep because we fear this yet undetermined future, what it could do to us. It's all such bullshit. But I will gulp my vodka down, and sip the chaser. And I will take that as a metaphor for life.

Let me sleep.

5 Days.

I'm preparing myself for Christmas, and it feels really nice. I've decided to wear what I wore to the Van Camp wedding, my white shirt and red tie - only I don't know if I'm going to tuck it in. We'll see. That'll be my Christmas Eve outfit, seeing as how Eve always seems to be a more formal affair than the next morning.  I've also decided that this year I am going to bring something to Christmas Eve. I've chosen Hot Buttered Rum. We're all adults now. The youngest, Emily, is 17 years old. I think we're all at an age where we can begin to be more adult. I mean, last year, we spent Christmas Eve talking about how pot should be legalized. If my white-collar, straight-laced family can have that discussion, they need to learn to drink more than wine or an occasional beer. I'm happy to prepare the lesson plan.
I still need to wrap the gifts that I have purchased, but I suppose I can do that over the weekend.

Damn Hipsters. Damn Yuppies. Damn Old People.

We’re all “damn” something or others, all part of some group that is going to be disliked and marginalized by one person or the next.
So you might as well be yourself, and be disliked for being something real. Right?

Update of Self

I wish things could've been different.

Then again, I don't know the greater consequences of my wish.

If you're using me, do it slowly. Make it last until I have to go.

I don't feel very well, suddenly, this evening. I think I've stressed by body too much over the last 24-hours. I haven't slept much at all, and I was out in the cold a lot. I really should crawl in bed, and I don't think my body wants to hear another word about it.

Adri's father was in an accident, today. His car was struck by a train, going 140kph. Apparently he was in bad shape. She seemed to be reacting like.... well, like someone whose dad was just nearly killed. I hope that he recovers, for her sake. I hope that she finds comfort in whatever she must.

Sometimes I am surprised by how closely my voice resembles my dad's. Sometimes I say something and it's like I can hear him. I wonder, when he dies, what that will be like; hearing the voice of a ghost, coming from my own lips.

I can't wait until my family is all in town. My cousins really are a lot of fun. My cousin Sara and I used to bicker something awful at times, growing up. We were the exact same age; she was the youngest, and I was an only child. I think that left us both kind of headstrong and independent, which left us battling for leadership. But now, she and I get along quite well, and it's really refreshing.
I can't wait. To see all of them. We're going to all have so much to share.

Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?

It's like the lifting of a fog. Only it's not that enjoyable. No, it is more like having the Novocaine wear off.
I come to a realization, but it isn't unfamiliar. It isn't something that I haven't told myself a thousand times before. It is something that I knew, only something that I tried convincing myself otherwise; because when I before believed it, there was a blinding pain that came along with it.
It's so hard when you're emotionally tied, when you allow yourself creative, elaborate justifications for actions you know to be untrue in their end. You keep acting on these feelings, knowing that they are the realest thing you feel, but not accepting that they are only so true because everything else is a lie.
I've been forced to let go of my pipe-dream, lately, and people keep telling me... and well, showing me... how liberating this really is. And it really is, only that one still looks back on the Grad Illusion and wishes it could have been true. It's hard to let go of a dream like that. It's hard to wake up on a rainy day.

No Cars Go

Tonight is freezing. It's 1-degree, and it feels below that.
This morning I drove into DeKalb to hang out with M, Jordan, and Marta. I felt bad, because Stephen texted me and asked to hang out - of course, on the first day I've been away.
Marta and I went out for dinner and some drinks, as Jordan stayed home and gamed with some of the Durand guys, online. It was a good time, even though the bartender didn't know how to make an Old Fashioned. Marta had a Long Island and a couple Stone sours. I stuck with whiskey, as well.
I spent time back at her apartment, with Ryan and she, until about 9pm. I drove back, calling M, telling her that a Harry Potter night was in order. But of course, just as I came to pick her up, my car started to act up. I'll summarize, but basically a good 30min of my night, tonight, was spent pushing my old wagon around, M at the helm, and random strangers helping me to push. My poor car. She tries really hard. I hope to find out what troubles her.
The cold was bitter. Jesus, was it awful. M and I got to my apartment, and we were running the last few feet. We spent the following 10min inside tending to our frozen parts, waiting for the feeling to return.
Once we could feel our extremities, we had a really good time. We decorated a Gingerbread House (if you were to eat it, it is 3,000 calories!!,) made pistachio pudding, and watched Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.
It's been a really good break so far (YAY for passing Spanish!!) Its been so comforting. Next week my family comes in, which is always a really good time, and who knows what else is going to happen in the next few weeks.

Macaroni Heart

We set it in the back of our mind,
like a project we intend to finish, but do not presently have the time
We keep a hold of it, like a trinket
a postcard from a long trip, which we’d sent to ourselves
We look at it every moment or so,
we thinking of how we ought to revisit it, and yet we never do
and we know it is for the best

Because the truth of it, in our heart of hearts
we know, she no longer loves us
We believe her to be the woman we knew
but she’s become something else entirely:
a lover, a mother, a student
or most disturbingly,
a friend

Do we just forget?
No, we do not
We cannot forget, like we cannot unknow Columbus setting sail in 1492
It is history, a wrinkle on our face that reminds us
of the laughter, anger, angst, joy, and pain
of everything she has made us feel,
and then some

Why Violence?

I have found that nothing leaves me passionate the way non-violence does, the discussion over the need of violence and its practical uses. I see no need, no good in the use of force; I see harm, injury, and murder, even in defense, as nothing more than evil and retributive.
We are not animals, we know better than wolves and lions about the greater damages our outbursts cause; we are aware that being quick to anger, able to cause harm may not hurt our bodies, but do damage our souls (if such things can exist.)
Violence has never set right with me, always being a great cause of distress: knowing of how people hurt one another, especially physically, and even witnessing it myself. I always found myself instinctively heartbroken by such aberrations, which never made sense to me. Why would causing harm ever be good? It made no sense to me in the form of punishment, even when used as a way of "preventing" further wrong-doings. To me, I felt that forgiveness and rehabilitation always made more sense; beliving that men are generally well meaning, if selfish, but that men are not trying to do evil - if anything, they are only as children: short-sighted in seeing how their self-interest can cause a greater harm to those around them.
I've often felt moved by the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, as well as those of Ghandi and Tolstoy. They have all professed love over violence, asking their followers to do no harm - even against those who may harm them. Tolstoy often cited the Quakers, who as Christian men took the teachings of Jesus to be quite clear. Matthew 5:39, "But I say, do not resist an evil person! If someone slaps you on the right cheek, offer the other cheek also."  To the Quakers, to Tolstoy, and to Gandhi (moved by Tolstoy,) agreed with these sentiments. To not cause harm to one who acts evilly, but forgive them, love them, and bless them.
I find comfort in these men, who have come before me in a time when violence was even more justified. I take their words as solace, as I resist the same things they did: war, vengeance, capital punishment, corporal punishment, mass incarceration, and terror. How have we not learned by now, when we are always claiming progress and a new dawn for modernity? Have we made progress, because I do not see it. I see the same excuses for our actions, when there are no reasons as to why using force is good.

Hunger hurts, but I want him so bad, oh it kills

I've begun to watch Mad Men: Season One. It's a fantastic show. I wasn't sure if I would get into it, but it really is fantastic. It's full of characters that you might find difficult to like: womanizers, adulterers, cut-throat business men, Republicans, etc (hehe, jk.) But in the end, they reveal how vulnerable each of these characters is, and show you how to like every one of them.
The show is also full of interesting social issues, as the world of 1960 finds progress being made in the world; homosexuality, educated/strong women, divorce, the need for psychiatry, etc. You find these people being challenged, their hegemonic lifestyle being faced with change. I've always found Post-WWII society to be such a fascinating era, the way we have written it as this Golden Age.

Also, my mom and I shared this little moment today. It was this moment where, I could tell, we saw how we both share the same human experience. We were talking about love, and how you love someone long after you're with them; how it carries on with you. It was a nice moment, and it's been that way more often. Because there was definitely a time when my mother and I fought more than we did talk. And can my mother and I fight. My mom and I fighting would be quite the spectacle, if we were to ever fight outside of privacy. She likes to raise her voice, which I rarely find a use for. That's how you know when you have breached me, when I have started to raise my voice. Even my temper is often silent, up until the point of my feeling violent - which takes a lot. But sometimes, if you can get me in just the right emotional mood, I can't help but begin to raise my voice. But it's only with people I love, with people I believe I'm safe enough to be that uninhibited with.

Love was Invented to Sell Nylons

Today was one of those days that I appreciate having a station wagon. All of my doors were so frozen shut that I couldn't open them. This would often leave one shit out of luck. But instead, as I have done before, I opened the glass on the back hatch, crawled over the back seat, and then kicked the door open from the inside. Even that wasn't easy, with how frozen the doors were, but it did work in the end.

Also, I went to Barnes & Noble with Marta and ran into Martha. I've never understood why she targeted me as someone to playfully antagonize, when I've always been such a quiet person; but, that aside, today I felt free to give her hell. Marta was very glad to learn that we knew each other, seeing as how we were treating each other - not the average customer-employee relationship.

I'm still waiting for all of my grades to pour in. A little anxiety.

I need to crash. I was up at 7:30am, in order to help avert disaster, and now it's caught up with me.

You Need Not Find a Cure For Everything That Makes You Weak.

Tonight is cozy, knowing that the storm is wrapping the outer walls of my apartment like a blanket. I feel so safe, with no place to go; and I don't even need to start a car for days, if I don't want to. I have all I need. Everything I need is right here.
I've been missing Rev. John Ames, the character of my last book, and I'm eager to begin reading another. But I have chosen to put off reading until all of my finals are over, so I can focus on my studies. But, even while I wait, I have anticipated a few books that I'd like to consume over break. The main one being The Kingdom of God is Within You by Tolstoy. I've owned it for a couple years now, but I've never made it all the way through. It is quite dense. But I know that is has been catalyst for the beliefs of both Gandhi and Dr. King both, and am very interested in actually taking it all in. I also have a book by Dr. King that I'd also like to read this break. I'm trying to take in some solid intellectual texts that have been by some of the most influential thinkers for non-violence and pacifism of the last 100+ years. I'm unsure of what else I might read in those areas.
I'd also be curious, at some point, reading more religious texts: The Qur'an, the Book of Mormon, The Gospel of Thomas, God Speaks, Tao Te Ching, and the Gnostic Gospels to begin.

Magic

You're the best part of my day and you don't even know. I don't think I'd want you to, which is the funny thing. I like the sport of it. I like that you're fulfilling my wish without meaning to. It's like magic, this way.

Laughing with a Mouth of Blood

It was hard for me to fall asleep, last night. This time it was not from stress, but from a nap I took between the hours of 7:30 and 11:30pm. It was alcohol induced, after spending the day with Jordan and Marta, and starting drinking at 3pm. It was fun, and we had a good time, but it did leave my internal clock messed up.
When I woke up, I found that Jordan and Nick (home from work) were plastered. So, getting up from the couch, I told Marta that I would be going home. My mind was clear, except the hangover that was already setting in. I should have known better. I never drink, so my body took a real hit.

Also, Colleen wrote me and asked if we could go together to the U.U. church in Rockford. It was a really welcome question, considering that I have been looking for someone to go with. Kim had told me that she'd like to keep church something reserved for funerals, and Girl Jordan (even before the Great War) wasn't a candidate because I know her allegiances are solidly with Christianity. Which is fine. But it is what it is.

I've been trying to write up a list of resolutions for the coming year. One being that I would like to attempt to speak ill of no one. I'm not really one to gossip, in many ways, but I do find that can easily get caught up in that sort of crowd - and honestly, I don't really admire it. I just don't see how it serves anyone. So I'd like to do that, if nothing else.

From a Letter to Hungary

I never really understood [the] concept anyhow, How we are expected to know who we are in the course of only one lifetime. I feel like we spend our entire lives learning everyone else, with psychology, sociology, anthropology, when really we'd be better off if we could just know ourselves. That's what they should be teaching us: how to look inside and search our souls for our greatest wants and deepest desires.

I'd Rather Sink in Peace Than Count the Stories as I Fall

A great weight has been lifted, this week. It's felt so nice to reconnect with Marta and Jordan (and the gang,) though I wish that I could still find some more time to see Jenks. Between work and this homework she's left with this semester, I'm not even certain that I will see her before Spring. We shall see. If it is meant to be.
I have also been able to spend much time with M. It's been so strange, this lifestyle change. DeKalb feels fresh and new, like it did last Fall. It feels fun again.

Also, I found out that I'm actually doing pretty well in Spanish, today. So, as long as I don't blow the final, I will still graduate on time. Excellent news.

I've been doing a lot of reading on religion, lately, and it's all because of this book: Gilead. It really has re-opened that interest in me. Today I was reading about the concept of purgatory, of Karl Barth, Nirvana, Limbo, Existentialism, the Summa Theologica, et al.
I've been really interested at trying to educate myself, and I'm hoping to soon visit the Unitarian-Universalist church. I had started to go back on that desire, because of my social anxiety. I had written my friend Jake to tell him that I might just go back to the Christian church he and I (I assume) are both still members of (officially.) But when I wrote him this letter, he responded by telling me that maybe I should try the U.U. church - because my beliefs reflect theirs in many ways, and he thinks that I would feel quite welcome. He seems to know the minister there, and he told me to feel free to arrange a meeting with him.
I felt like Jake mentioning the U.U. church to me without my prompt was some kind of divine affirmation.

Fucked Me Right Up - Sean Hayes

Don't know that she knows
What it is she doing
Don't know that she knows
How deep this will cut
Can't believe you really think
We'll make it through this oh
You fucked me right up
Just fucked me right up

Don't know that she knows
What it is she doing
Don't know that she knows
We are throwing it all away
Tell me how you think
We're gonna make it through this oh
You fucked me right up
Just fucked me right up


Don't know that she knows
Or even if it matters
The cut's been made
The dice have been thrown
What was our love worth
If it's something we could gamble oh
You fucked me right up
Fucked me right up


Goodbye goodbye
Goodbye goodbye

The last few days have been alone.

And alone isn't quite so bad, until it is.
I've been finding it hard to sleep enough as it is, due to the compounded stresses of this semester's end; and the lack of sleep has left me vulnerable to exaggerated fears. And I can hear those fears laughing deep, down in their bellies. It gives me goosebumps.
Last night was especially hard to sleep. I told this to my mom. I felt fear to go up to my bed, where I didn't have the voices of the television. I tried using the radio, but I never wanted to hear the music. I found myself staying awake, waiting for the DJs to come back to talk to me. They did. But it just isn't the same as the television. It just isn't the same as falling asleep to Roseanne and waking up to Dora.

Also...

...on Tumblr, CopyCats reblogged me!!! That totally did make my day.

Ginny drives a truck.

Helped Ginny do some moving, today, in Roselle, IL. I am tired. I just got home about 10:30pm. *yawn*

I have been writing a lot, lately. I've found that I've had a lot of thoughts, and a lot to say about them. Because that's what I often say/write. Not what's in my head, but the commentary surrounding what I am thinking.
I've had so much "commentary" that I have had to keep multiple blogs. This blog is for you. If you are reading this, it was intended for you and the people like you.
If you are not reading this, it was not meant for you.
You are not reading my other blogs, and so those are not meant for your eyes.
This kind of seperation (from myself and my specific readers) keeps me sane. It allows me to segregate all of these different parts of myself, divvying them up for who I'd like to share. Some parts have many readers, some have none; and that is the way I feel most comfortable.

I would never use a Kindle. I prefer real books. There is something true about the ink on paper, about the anticipation of turning the page, the satisfaction of seeing the progress as you make your way through. And when you get to those last few pages, that sadness you feel when you know the story is slipping away.

::Also::

I find that I still feel responsible for my father, and for his alcoholism. He's been trying, for the last week, to give up drinking; and when he calls, and I'm not in the mood to talk, I feel this sickness - like I'm not providing the company he might need to stay sober. I know he's an adult, he needs to be responsible for his own actions; but as a child, one who is so desperately wishing for them to succeed, a part of you wants to do anything that will help them.

Who?

Today, I heard about some young, famous person named Justin Bieber. I have heard of him, but I have no idea of what he does. It was in this moment that I realized it has begun. I have started down the slippery slope of becoming uncool. One day, 20 years from now, young people will roll their eyes at me, and tell me how old I am.

Change is Hard, I Should Know.

I find myself disturbed by the idea of violence, the concept of racism, of thought of inequality; I feel this deep contempt for such philosophies that might accept these concepts, in any shape or size. How can people carry such practices out, and justify it? How can hate or fear ever be good?
I often find myself concerned with the actions of others, and hoping desperately that people will make the choice that I feel is morally correct; to abstain from these practices that separate us from each other, if not from ourselves. But today I came across an idea that brought me, at least some, comfort: that one affects the world around them just by being; by being, one is acting upon his/her environment with whatever they are. Sure, one may spread hate by acting hateful; but that one can spread love by being loving, the concept of that is quite comforting to me.
It gives me hope that I can change the small part of the world I am a part of, just by being kind and caring; that there needn't be deep philosophical discussions, panels, debates in order to create change. It reminds me of this idea that was taught to me when I was still a Christian: that one can spread the Word of God by living it, more so than one might by preaching it. I think that there is some truth in that idea; that the conscious collective is influenced by action more than it is by mere word.
It has been said to me that "Love is a Verb, Not a Noun." That love is not this beautiful poem we read, but that the poetry of love is revealed in our action. When we hold a door, or when we smile; when we give a friend a hug, or when we let someone know we have been thinking of them. This is love. Love is what we do, what we are; not what we profess it to be.
I believe this. I can believe that to be true. It gives me hope for this world, which seems to popularize the easy choices of short-temperament and anger; maybe there's still chance for us to grow.

An Old Arab Tale....

"Death speaks: There was a merchant in Baghdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, “Master, just now when I was in the market-place I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me.” The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, “Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?” “That was not a threatening gesture,” I said, “it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra."

They Say It's Your Birthday...

Last night, Jordan and I went to see Ray Lamontagne. Jordan had just made it back into town, after what I can imagine to be an exhausting day of a funeral. I wish that hadn't been the way Jordan spent her birthday week, dealing with a loss; but I know that she is happy for Sydney being free of pain and suffering.
When we got into Chicago, we had little time to do much else than park and make it into the theater. I bought Jordan a Ray Lamontagne sweatshirt for her, "to make up for her shitty birthday." Looking back, I highly doubt that a sweatshirt compensated for the death of a little girl; but despite my poor choice of words, I do hope that it at least tipped the scales a little bit.
After watching the open act, Jordan was hungry, and I was getting cramped, up in the upper-balcony, where our seats were located. We were much farther away than we were for Monsters of Folk, and the people in this balcony were just kind of noisy; which between the chatter and Ray's whisper, it became quickly evident that it would be hard to hear his between-song banter. Ray Lamontagne started playing at 8:30pm, and I told Jordan that I thought we should cut out by 9pm. So, we listened to RL play two songs, "Empty," and "Jolene." Two of my absolute favorites. And then, while he mumbled about something or other, Jordan and I cut out. We went across the street to this little Thai place we like and ate Sushi and other delights. It was great night, despite it not being what we had planned.

I felt bad by how exhausted was over the span of her birthday. She slept to and from Chicago. I knew that she had felt an emotional blow, and I tried to just let her be; or let her talk, whatever she needed. But I felt the night she turned 23, when I gave her Mary Tyler Moore on DVD and her card; she seemed happy. We watched a movie 'til she fell asleep, and as I krept from the room, she awoke and whispered "I love you." I smiled in the dark, for no one to see, "I love you, too, Jordan."
My big sister. The one I never had. The supplemental family I was given by god. Happy Birthday, Jordan.

Sometimes I feel like kindness is a disease. Because sometimes I care until I'm sick.
I give and give and give, and I really do care; with all of my heart. But by the time I am finished, I have given everything. And there I sit, impoverished.
You always hear about how the man who loves will never be poor, will always be replentished. Not to be a pessimist, but that is bullshit. It is. Because somedays I have given every last drop I have, and I feel nothing but broken and alone.

That being said... I feel like I'm dying. Not from caring. From a can of baked beans.

Grimm

I should be sleeping, already. In fact, I'm soon to try.

I admit, I'm scared. Terrified, sometimes, about what I am going to do with myself until I'm a grown up. How do you become one of those, anyhow? I don't understand. All of your childhood, you're asked what you're going to be what you grow up. What are you going to be? What are you going to be? As if, one day, you will find that you've magically transformed into this new person. You're suddenly a Doctor, a Fireman, an Attorney, a Janitor. But as you get older, as you grow up, you are left without such a climactic experience. There is no build, no great transformation. You grow up, earning credits, earning degrees... and you realize, one day, that you're never going to be this person. This Grown-Up. That, in fact, you are grown. You have grown in the upward direction, and you're still as uncertain of the world as you were at the age of 7. You've learned new things, and you've gained experience; but really, you're just you. Nothing magical.
What are we, now? What do we have to aspire to be? If we've become the grown-up, what's next? Maybe this is the quarter-life-crisis: the implosion of the childhood fantasy. Realizing that you're only getting older, with no one to be but yourself. You have to ask yourself if you're really okay with who you are, every day; totally fine with the person in the mirror. You're no longer able to dream of becoming someone else; the Astronaut, the Police Officer, the Construction Worker. You're just you. Is that okay?

Late Night Rant

I've spent, tonight, buying used books online. I know I haven't made much time for reading, and probably shouldn't in the coming weeks (with long papers and exams to complete;) but I figured that these books would be good company in the winter, and that I should get better versed in literature.
My new purchases won't be around for a little while, though, and so I'd like to ask my mom if she would front me some money to buy a new book, tomorrow. I already have it on hold.

I have found that no matter how hard I try to disbelieve in the idea of a god, I find that there will always be a side of me that is fascinated and reverent to the concept. I am not a Fatalist, nor do I believe that Jesus or anyone died for my sins; there is no Hell, and Man was not born of Sin. But I do have beliefs that I am firm in, if I believe anything at all.
I do believe it possible that there is a higher power at work, a god; I do not think that force would have a gender or a preferred name. I believe that there could be a heaven, but that it may be more of an Eastern concept: a place we return to, if only on an ethereal level. No pearly gates, no clouds, but maybe all of our energy returning into the cosmos; fueling new stars, new planets, new lives to be born.
I do believe that we are learning. That we are not born sinners, but we aren't perfect either; that our lives are a series of lessons and trials. I believe that we are allowed mistakes, but that our goal should always be to work towards progress, enlightenment, knowledge, peace, and truth.

But most of all... I just believe that people need to be good to one another. Because if there is no god, and there is no life beyond this one, then all we have is each other. All we have is now. And I can't imagine wasting any time by hurting each other, by generating fear or hate. I can't believe that hurt can ever be a tool or productive. I can only believe that love is the true name of progress, and that only through love can we move forward together.

Tu Amo

I didn't recognize the words when they came out of my mouth; full of quiet anger, such ire. "I don't try to dissect every fucking thing that's important to you." I'd sworn. I hadn't noticed until after, and I felt that it was too much; but it was real, and I couldn't take it back. We sat in silence, and I knew she must be upset with me. I didn't know what to say. I wouldn't go back on my need. I loved her, which was evident; she was my dearest friend, but I needed her to do this for me. Not because she understood why, but because I asked. Because I said it was important. I had my reasons, but they were mine to know and mine to understand; I just needed her to understand that going meant something to me.
"I'll go," she whispered. It had seemed like an eternity in silence, before she broke it with those two words. "What?" I said, inciting her to repeat herself. "I'll go." I knew she wasn't happy, but I felt pleasure wash over me. Not because I'd gotten my way, but because I knew she really must care.
I make all of these petty sacrifices; because to me, that is love. Love is learning to speak another language; the personal language of an individual. And sometimes you won't be able to comprehend, you won't know the right words; but you try your best to fill in the gaps. And I think that's the most important part of loving anyone: parents, friends, lovers, siblings, pets. It's the little ways you try to connect, to communicate, even when you can't understand.

(P.S. Thank you)

Gripping Tightly to the Memory of Hope

Sometimes I lose my mind. My mind fills with emptiness, and suddenly the thought of being alone for even a second seems unbearable. As if the darkness would take me, if I were to be left in it by myself.
I have felt this way for a week or so; and yet I've found myself on the other side, once again. And I wish I could remember this, hold on to this memory; so when the darkness comes for me, I could remember. I wish could remember that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and that there is always hope; that there is a god in each of us, in the love and the beauty that is.
I don't want to lose it ever again: the beauty. I don't want to have it taken from me again, where I cannot see the goodness in living. I want to remember the joy of giving, and to never fear that the love of friends will run out; and I look to the heavens and beg whatever deity may exist, Please, let me remember this. Let me always know love. And more importantly, let me recognize it when it has been there all the while.

A friend walks into the forest to collect water from the river. And as I wait from outside it's borders, I hear a roar echo through the trees. Suddenly I am afraid, and I find myself ready to burn the entire forest down; just to find them, just to make sure that they are okay.

Maybe Someday We'll Figure All This Out

I spent the weekend in Rockford. It was nice. I felt like it was another weekend of planning the future, securing living arrangements and planning part-time jobs.
We got to spend time training more for the 5k, coming up in one month; this time with Sarah as our cheerleader and trainer.
We also got to see Alex Powell, and he was as sweet as ever. I love that little kid with all of my heart. I can only imagine how his aunt feels. Jordan is so great with him, especially for a 23-year-old. I love seeing her take care of him. Such a great aunt.

I wish my instincts weren't still fueled by such testosterone. I find that in my urge to protect those I love from danger, I find myself drawn to violence; that I would retaliate, an eye for an eye. This is not my heart, this is not who I wish to be. It makes me no better than those I would wish to counter-act. You cannot solve violence with violence. You cannot end war with more war. I know this. I believe this. I feel it deep down. I believe that only love will ever be an answer, and if I believe that firmly enough... then I must live it, as well, no matter what. Yet I still hope I'm never tested on my convictions.

I feel happy with where my life is at; amongst the static of unimportance, the white noise of everything small that society has pushed upon me. But I take comfort, both in my self-assurance and confidence in who I am... in the in the love that is inescapable.
Kissing Anna was not important because of Anna, as sweet as she may be. It was important because it reminded me of myself, of the beauty and passion that lurks down inside of me; and how well I can, most certainly, execute it.
I'm a good man, a compassionate and deeply caring man; and I am an artist. I believe these things, not in spite of my flaws - but because of them."
I am moving ahead with Bicycle Built for Two Productions, with Jordan as my partner; and I have never felt more passionate about any project. Usually I put all of my heart into people, but this... this is my way of putting heart into myself. To seek my own loves, desires, wants... and fulfill them.

Fog on the Mirrors

I stand in my tub, underneath a leaky showerhead. The water comes slanted, awkward; but I don't mind, as long as it's hot. I need the heat, the sensation, the feeling. I need it to be there, to wash over me, to run over my shoulder and down my back. It does, and I am thankful.
As the steam rises up from the tub floor, from my body, I find it difficult to breath; it's choking me. I can't inhale, and my lungs feel labored. The humidity is strangling me - or is it the world? Is it this shower, or is the the conditions that await me behind that vinyl curtain? Anxiety disorders, sleep deprivation, expectations, and never enough time to fit life into living.
I sit beneath the spray, and I close my eyes. The water pounds against the back of my head, where my skull meets spine, and I feel peace. I imagine myself a fetus, enclosed in the womb of my mother - warm, cradled, and so unsure of what I will become. I wonder if it even matters: being something, proving your capability. I'd rather just love and be loved, to fall in love with the void of everything we're not. That's where the charm is, anyhow; in the little ways we fall short, in how we trip and stumble - wobbling like babies, unsure of how to manage their tiny legs. People laugh, we laugh, it's beautiful. I want to be beatiful. Not something meaningful. I just want to be beautiful, in everything that I'm not.

I got my new Nikon D90 the other day, and it's working fantastically. I've had a lot of fun taking pictures, and playing with the video functions.
I'm hoping that it will soon start to pay for itself, with business prospects that have begun to roll in. I have my first client, today. We're taking headshots for her work in theater.

Rummaging Through Past Lives

Jordan wrote me, today, saying:
"I'm really proud of the decision you made. I feel really confidant about our future regarding the business. Thank you for always being real and available on so many levels. Things are looking bright! Boston, London, Chicago, wherever we go- we'll be the beauty chasers."
It meant a lot for her to send this to me. It did. BUT...
it also has driven me crazy, because the phrase "beauty chasers" gives me such deja vu. I feel like I've written something lately, where I said that Jordan and I will "chase all that is beautiful." And yet, rummaging through old messages and e-mails, I can find no such phrasing. I must know where that phrase has come from, where my mind goes when it reads those words.

I wouldn't mind, but you are my only hope.

I'm starting to read again, I'm pretty certain. When going through Jordan's bookshelf for some books related to LGBT studies, for a video I was working on, I found the book Brave New World; which I'd been wanting to read for sometime. A part of me felt like reading it wouldn't be enough; I felt that I needed to buy it, as I read along. I felt that owning such a book was an important thing. But when I began to think about it, I realized that the book is never important. What is important about literature is how it changes you. The evolution of the reader: that's what is lasting and most important.

I'm to see who I'm becoming, each day, as I move forward in my life. I feel like I can see the changes, the lessons I've learned, in my actions each day; an enduring strength, an expanded moral compass, a greater resolve. I'm proud of the man I'm shaping up to be; because I am not attempting to be ordinary. I'm attempting to live up to an ideal that does not exist. All I am is me.

Tomorrow, I've invited Erin over for dinner. I'm proud of it. Because I wanted to know her better, wanted to extend that friendship; and I did, in such a short period of time. I'm making burritos, which I still need to shop for, and she's bringing the beer. I'm glad we'll be drinking.

Jordan has a new girlfriend. It makes me want one. Like a child envies a friend's new toy; only my toy would have feelings and a heart to break.

Today, I went to the Apple Orchard with Jordan's family and their family friends. Their family friends just lost one member; a close friend of Jordan's, who died of an accidental over-dose. It's interesting to see how it has brought that family together. Jordan's friend... his fiance seemed very close, still, to his dad. It led my imagination to a place set aside for writing; a storyline I came up with, where they were sleeping together because she saw part of her lost beloved in his father.

Touching on what was said before, Jordan's new girlfriend is really cool and nice. Jordan is nervous, and it's cute; but she needn't be. This girl is clearly into her, and I know that there is a good chance at them really making something of it. Jordan's a great girl, and this girl seems to really see that; from what I can tell, Jordan needn't do nothing but enjoy.
We all went out, last night; I mean, Jordan and I saw a lot of people last night, but we also spent time with Sarah (the girl.) Booze is what it is: social lubricant. And I really appreciate that. Because I feel like it made our lives really happy.

Chillax

Sometimes, people need to chill the fuck out.
I have little patience for people with no patience and a short fuse. It's kind of an irony: that I become the people I dislike when I'm around them. But I can't really help it. I just find it ridiculous how unreasonable people can become, for no reason. And when people lose their tempers around people I care about, it's the only time I truly envision myself being violent. It's a sort of defense mechanism: just not in defense of myself. That's pretty justifiable, right? I guess anything is justifiable with the right logic.

I bought a new jacket, today; as well as a new hoodie, to go under it. I felt kind of bad, spending that $60. But I have to remember that those things are an investment. I'm going to wear them all Fall/Winter, and through some of Spring; and they'll hopefully last for a few years.

I've been downloading some new music, and I'm really into Unmap by Volcano Choir. It has touches of Bon Iver (who is a member of the group) with a sort of ambient over-tone. It's pretty awesome. I recommend it.

When I close my eyes, I'm alone.

Sometimes I don't understand myself. I can only imagine how others must feel, trying to figure me out. But really, they probably don't. Most people probably don't think the way I do; having the need to know how people work all the time. Because I think the true reason I need to know how people tick is because maybe I can stop fearing them. If I can know someone inside and out, maybe I can see it coming when they get ready to run away.

Sometimes I fear being single, and yet I know why I do. And that's what scares me most.
Because I don't fear being alone forever because I'm ugly or fat or anything like that. I fear being alone for the rest of my life, because I'm not sure I know how to connect with people on a really deep, fundamental level. I want to. I want to with all my heart. And yet it frightens me. Because what if I really put my heart into someone who matters, who I think will last... and then they fail me. Could I take that blow? I really don't know. And I won't, if I never take that risk. But I also won't know a lot of other, beautiful things.

Acknowledgements

One night, Jordan and I were talking about Boston; and I got really defensive, because I felt that she was telling me that she'd go with or without me - that she'd take care of herself, with no consideration of me.
This wasn't true. I knew it, she knew it.
But after the small quiff was all over, after a moment of silence, she said to me, as if out of the blue, "I'm sorry if I made you feel like I would abandon you." And in that phrase, she said it all. I, at first, denied that it had anything to do with abandonment; only, she had it exactly right. I don't want to be left behind. By anyone, but especially not by her: this friend I trust so much.
But that she could see my fear, recognize it, and acknowledge it. That meant a lot.

Eccletic Thoughts

Jordan is playing guitar again. She plays every night, and I show disinterest. I just keep my eyes on my computer, I type, I click. But sometimes I just wonder if she knows that I enjoy it. That I do listen. I take it all in, and I digest every word she's chosen to sing; whether it be her words or someone else's.
I wonder if she enjoys playing for me, sometimes; compared to just playing alone. I know that she would play either way, but I wonder if she likes having an audience. Because I might be a small crowd, but I'm a loyal following.

I haven't talked to Kim in a time, and I feel bad about that. I love Kim, and she's in my thoughts at many times; but out here in this no man's land, it's hard to keep up with anyone who isn't in reaching distance. I'm so often too tired to talk on the phone or exert any real emotional energy, and Kim and my relationship suffers just a bit for that.

I've been talking to Maggie at night, a lot, lately; and I find that she gives me a certain energy that I lack during the day. She helps keep me on my toes, keep me honest. I appreciate that. I appreciate someone who keeps me hyper-extended in some way: emotionally, intellectually, physically, spiritually, et cetera. Kim does that for me in many ways; keeps me thinking about things far past the point I think I can. It's a good exercise.
Maggie gives me a work-out, in the realm of wit. She's razor sharp and it takes something for me to keep up; but I love the ways I do keep up, and how entertaining it all is.

I'm find it hard to conceptualize myself, lately; which seems strange, cuz most everyone seems to know who and what they are. It might not be true, or it may be exaggerate, but everyone seems to have a concept. I don't. All I know of my life, and who I am, are the ways I live. Sometimes I feel kind of lost, when I end up comparing myself to others; they seem to know what fits into their lives and what is "them." They seem to know what kind of shoes fits their personality, while I'm left trying every pair on; and then, I'm still not sure which felt most comfortable.

Sometimes I still feel alone, and I wish that I hadn't ended my relationship with Liz; but I know that it's only because I liked having someone on-call, and not because I especially cared for her. That seems cruel, now that I've typed that out... but it's probably the most honest way of putting it. I liked having someone for the times when I got lonely, but I didn't like having to feed anyone else's emotional needs. That's the problem with a relationship. You no longer give because it's nice, because you want to; you end up giving because you feel obligated, like you have no other choice. And that's what I don't like. That's what I couldn't handle. Kindness out of law.
If I'm going to give, I want you to know it's because I want to; and if I don't want to, then I won't.

Modern Medicine

Sometimes you just want to feel better. Sometimes you hurt and you just want the ailment to leave you. And so you take something sharp, in a drastic attempt, and you cut yourself open; you keep digging around inside, hoping to find what is causing the pain - so you can stitch yourself up, so you can finally begin to heal.
That's how I feel when I fight with someone I care about, someone I love; I'm cutting at them, desperate to make myself feel better, only to remember that I'm hurting myself. Cuz when you fight with someone you really do care about, you hurt when they do. Their tears are your own. And so as you hurt them, intentionally or not, you look down to find your own blood on the kitchen floor. You find that you're still aching and sore, still finding it hard to breath; now in a new, and totally different, way. And sometimes you second guess having taken action at all, if it was even necessary. You wonder if things would've gone better if they'd been left alone. You toss and you turn, doubting everything you've done; trying not to pull out the stitches you've finally put in place, to hold you together.

It Takes [At Least] Two.

Today, I have wanted nothing more than to skip all of my classes. I wanted to roll over, sleep for 300 years, wake up, pull my head through my t-shirt, and run down stairs. I wanted to see how liberating and beautiful the world is, how care-free life can be, when you have no other responsibility in life; other than to breathe deep breaths, move freely, and be grateful.
As it is, I did none of those things. Instead, I drug my heavy limbs out of my futon, and staggered down the steps to my living room. I sat on my sofa, and did so all the way up until the time when I realized that my first class had begun. [I also received a message that my second class, Spanish, had been canceled.]
Creeping down the stairs, Jordan arrived to my surprise; me having incorrectly assumed that she had gone to her first class. "So, I really don't feel like going to any of my classes," she informs me. I laugh, "If you don't go, I won't go" I tell her. "I feel like if we both stay home, it'll be power in numbers." Even though she and I have none of the same classes, I find that karma would still be in better balance by the two of us skipping classes simultaneously. It would keep the Universe on a level plane, if things were done in even pairs. And besides, socially speaking, things are never wrong if done by large numbers of people. Then it simply becomes a trend. (Some exceptions include: burning Jews, shackling blacks, underestimating women, or doing harm to any other group of people are deemed useful to the White, Male Protestant majority.)
Jordan, in the end, decides she will be going to class; which means, sadly, that I will be forced to go to my two remaining classes, as well. I am disappointed and slightly angered. I am out of excuses, out of reasons to default on my education. Fuck.

Listless in the Living Room

Lifetimes can be boiled down to moments like this one: sitting around, bored, doing absolutely nothing at all. It is what broken dreams are made of; and as I sit here, in this timelessness, I yawn. I yawn for my generation, for those who have come before me, and for those who will take these reigns year from now.
Jordan sits on the sofa across from me, her instrument in hand; a guitar, personalized to fit both her physical and metaphysical attributes. She sings as she plays covers of songs that bore witness to the recent events of her life; lyrics and melodies sewn together, in a warm blanket of familiarity. As she recreates the songs, she seems to be recreating the emotion of her past; squeezing out the last drops of feelings from those memories, so she will no longer need to carry them with her. She is comforted, and I am brought comfort as well; to listen to my friend sing her heart out, in golden tones.

As she sings, I type up lists; first, neatly organizing them in the digital realm, then laying them down on paper with a pen - something more real. I make lists of questions and thoughts for the new assignments I've been given for work.
Assignment #1: Unemployment for College Graduates - How it is difficult for students to pursue careers in their fields, one that pay a living wage, in this economy. How many students graduate to find themselves working the same jobs they have before school: Best Buy, Barnes & Noble, and McDonalds. I need to develop this story, but I will be seeking the thoughts and input of current students, people in the career-services department, as well as college grads.
Assignment #2: Kite Fest - A fun day of Kites and other festivities! I think! Ok, so I am not totally sure of what Kite Fest will entail, but it's definitely a fluff piece. It's a little sweetener, and I find no shame in covering that.
So while one story may have more gravity, I do believe that the goal is about effort; that whatever it is you are doing, do it the best way possible. And so I will make Kite Fest the most exciting, playful package possible; even if it doesn't change lives or stir souls.

I grow tired and restless as I write, and my eyes itch with the desire to sleep. So I close the screen of my laptop and wrap my cord, and Jordan begins to close up shop, as well. And like a father, and as the patriarch of our household, I make the rounds; shutting off lights and locking doors, making sure that we all rest soundly. Jordan dashes up the stairs, her footsteps heavy; and as I follow behind, in her echo, I pass her room. "Good-night," she tells me, and closes her door with a click. And it makes me happy, brings me purpose, as I make my way through the hall; to know that I am the last one out and stirring, like the night-watchman, the shepherd with care for his flock.