Monday, November 30, 2009
Ginny drives a truck.
Monday, November 16, 2009
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'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.
::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.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
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."
Friday, November 13, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, November 9, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
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?
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.
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.
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