gibdashdish

If ever, if ever. Sainging rhythmatically into the utters of space, i find myself progressively deepened into the madness of light, of time spheres, of the ethereal places we call the day. because we have the day, we call the darkness night. camp station is far away from my mind right now. the only thing i see when i close my eyes is dark blue, and yellow lights. and sometimes when my hair is down i see my bangs. wenter is coming soon i can feel it creep, even in the silence of the ticking tocking time, the coldness it creeps. and suddenly so hot so hot so hot right now turns into high up-zippered sweater and socks are the creation of beauty. 

the fear of writing

I like to write with words of all sorts of things, seen, communicated, and interpreted by words. But in the essence, in this confusing monologue, what I am really trying to communicate (with words) is something that I have perceived but have not yet achieved the words for it. And in this I struggle. As illiterate as I am, I am still capable to acknowledge wonder- and thus be called to a responsibility to lay witness to it. As much lay I am to the bare of myself, I have the capacity to acknowledge that at least something is greater than myself, more beautiful, or more powerful. Therefore, let me re-introduce myself. I am mere nothing, but the eyes at which I have seen the things I have seen. And know I speak. And what I speak of is what caught my eye. I hesitate, I've been living and thinking in a world with seemingly no meaning- the blunder of daily grueling life. I am wealthy healthy and well. But in a deep sleep. Lulled away by a faithful revival, the new day with plenty time afore to anticipate. I have space from the intensity of others. I have a hole to hide in. There is always a brake pedal for me, and I wonder if it is better to just throw it out. Because I have yet to find the speed... at which I can see that that is all I am and that I can go no further. 

the only thing Al Gore was right about was man-bear-pig.

Adderall, this summer

I have this amazing feeling right now. Yes, at times it makes me moody. Confused really. Because it makes me thoughtful, deeply thoughtful. And when somebody thinks too deeply about something, say the human race or the condition of my life, you will see all the flaws. and when a million tiny flaws are all lined up and measured together with everything else, you will see monstrous tragedies. So yea, at times, when Adderall sinks in and hits me when i have exasperated myself of anything to do, it does make me sad. On the other hand, I have no hunger, I smell like human sweat, and I am nervous and extremely productive. My mouth is dry, but I am going crazy with the millions of thoughts of things and things to do and things that can be done. When I take adderall, a million doors that were once hidden are all before me, flashing brilliant lights and trumpeting the day. I am like sticky goo, stretched from here to there. Maybe the only thing keeping me here is this quiet Simon & Garfunkel guitar infused tune and the fact that my adrenaline/adderal pumped fingers really like to punch the keyboard in such a repetitive fashion. Oh the woe of this rocket life. I was a 115 pound slug yesterday, once again letting this cute and evil laptop suck away my day. The only thing that separated me from the fresh summer air and the beautiful brilliantly bright sun was 1 inch of glass, inches from me. It is now, at this age, at this point in my life, that I should be shedding the comforts of home and childhood, of laziness and a refusal of reckoning. And doing is a crucial part of growing up. But I like this shell and I should admit it's probably what is keeping from becoming anything else then out of place and out of age. Yes, I should be taking a responsibility to learn skills to survive, and yes, prosper. But what have I become? Emotion without Reason. And that is sad. You see, the beauty in emotion, is the reason behind it. This, thus this... wow! But simply emotion? A bright annoyance, shifting to a gloomy nonsense. There is nothing for anyone, me or anybody else, this dull reasonless emotion. I cannot help myself nor anyone in this mad state. This seemingly endless state. It's a fallback for me. And yet a fallback of the past year. Maybe my actions in the next few weeks will take me out, and stick me somewhere else- a path to a job teaching in the outdoors. I am physically capable and experienced, yet to show that how will I do it? What is better- a true and willing heart, or a stubborn and cynical pro? But maybe I am better, because all I really need is a change of heart. With clean air and a quick [   ] to shot me up I am there. The trick is staying there. 

Desire and Gifting

Living at home can be difficult. Especially when you have a younger brother blossoming into a man. Welcome the teenage explosion. He's emotional, rebellious, arrogant, lazy, stubborn, messy, and experimental. He's my little brother and I love him. He's behind on subjects in school, caught smoking and with unmentionables. He's gullible, will just as quickly (and attempts to) dilute his senses with a myriad of substances. He's full of muffed brilliance... and before I say it, let me question it- what is brilliance? 

How valuable of an asset is potential, gifting, or brilliance? When you add all the pluses and minuses, the positives and negatives, and weigh the probabilities, potential comes out to a broken mirror. I know I'm rambling, it's most of what I say / think / do / write. But bear with me. 

There is:

Gifting and Desire

1 [ Gifting ] As with the given traits-

(that which makes you who you are)

Conscious gifting / brilliance

- prone to either utilizing or purposefully denying

Unconscious gifting / brilliance

- secretly aids success, or a forgotten waste

 and

2 [ Desire ] your own personality morphing and molding - 

(that which you make who you are)

Advantageous use of gifting

- what your momma told you to do

Self cultivated skills in areas gifting is absent or lacking

- you have strong desires

So in these two areas - that which you have been given [Gifting, we shall say 1] and that which you get [Desire we shall call 2]- 

Number 1 does not really play into EFFECT unless applied in Number 2. To lack fully in Number 2 (desire), you can consider Number 1 null, and it simply and only applies as a gray shading by which your form is colored. Therefore, a blundering fool! 

Looking at myself, I can see, yea, gifting, as does each and every person in a various way (that's the half that makes someone unique- that God swept down his hand and gave them each little person on earth a little sumpin' sumpin' special)- but really a lack of cultivated worthiness in number 2. 

So have this mentality amongst yourselves- forget Number 1 (gifting)- resist using it as a means of comfort or reason for contempt or laziness. Think only in terms of Number 2 (desire) and follow it heartily and with energetic curiosity. What number 1 can apply to in number 2 will happen naturally- that follows, and leave it be to be as it may. 

Therefore, once you can achieve a balance of the two - you being a person that you have made yourself from desire, and that you yourself are unique with the varying birthmark of tendency and brilliance, you can focus on making number 1 play more and more with cultivating number 2. Think of number 2 as a method to grow a garden (number 1) to it's full potential. or just a good enough. 

Will you be a better person? Not really. What is it that makes someone "better" anyways....? But you will have your signature on your own body. Not that of genes, the color of your hair, or the way you squint. You will have played the hand of God, and your back will straighten. 

you will know your limits and your soul, and in knowing yourself better - to exhaust yourself of the "mystery" of you (and those talents that you once used to regard highly of yourself), you will reach the road and realize it isn't that long- that is you are just a simple person- with pluses and minuses and not a great potential aurora. you will be simple and yet wise, quiet and yet loud, in that the truths that you find will play a more profound effect on what you do and how you think. 

So to number 1- don't leave it as a muddle: don't weave emotion to rank yourself, nurse yourself, appease yourself, muse yourself.... Seek to see things as they are. Have desires and blind yourself to noticing the given. Have independence in thought - an explosion of something entirely new and you.... and yes, rambling, again... :)

Know thyself. 

it's kinda scary how my new meds look like the blue pills Sara Goldfarb took on requiem for a dream. 

- 

i can't stand to have anything around my neck, i really can't. i can't wear necklaces or anything

and i don't like touching my throat. 

yesterday a doctor was asking me questions to see if i had an eating disorder- i have some strange regurgitation issue- but the thing is, i can never have one- if it is bulimia related: i once tried to throw up, so that i knew what to do quickly if i consumed poison, etc

but i couldn't! i couldn't stand the feeling of touching the back of my throat. i'm a wuss. well, i read that there is a way to diminish your gag reflex. which would be cool. but i don't think i could handle such a maneuver. 

cm lie love and terror cult combination poem

look at your game girl, 

know it well like the back of your hand

you might find you have an ego

greater than the mechanical man

people say i'm no good

but don't worry about me

i always find that

home is where you're happy

you're not happy where you not free

don't go to arkansas tonight

i promise i'll never say never to always

don't end up in a garbage dump

by doing something illegal

if you go to that slick city, 

you might just cease to exist

if you do go there..

find the big iron door

there i was knew a man... with the eyes of a dreamer

rough recordation of travels... in writing

My Travels: each and every of my trips are out of the ordinary and take a little more creativity, nerve and guts then the tpically comfortable route of the american tourist

so here it is: the travels of i

the world as my backyard

chapter 1: backpacking in bermuda

so the initial plan was london. stewarts fam was this time around situated in the grand ole uk and it only took a 20 mile hiking trip to come to the idea for spring break. 

it was... not called for- you know, the usual conversation college students engage in, places they want to go, countries to visit, cool people of places met, etc

i had driven out from gaithersburg md to purcellville, va, about an hour's drive for a long day hike on the AT. we were going to start at Raven's Rock and make north for harper's ferry, come home and make a meal or something. it was tim raveling, sophomore at patrick henry college and stewart lundy, a junior, also at phc. i had done this hike 3 or more times with tim and other phc students before. i was a little apprehensive- it had been more than 6 months when i last hiked more then 15 miles. i was a little late, even though i left home early, but we did eventually set of on a decently overcast morn around 9:30am. we walked. that's it. and while walking, talked. about the current status of our lives, school, people we know, music, movie, books, and history, and things we wanted to do and see and places we wanted to go to, life after college, careers, etc. aka, the typical conversation. 

blast. geez, their shower was dirty. but it felt good to be clean after hiking up 18 miles of grime. it was an icy then muddy walk, various landmarks laid out etch a sketch my year before at phc. good times. 

tim was making dinner - it smelled good and i think i picked to often at the red onions simmering in the jack daniel's sauce

stewart... or was it tim? sat up and said, 'what if we just... go somewhere for spring break?' stewart wanted to go to ethiopia. the laptops before us said no- ticket prices to africa were hefty. we tried asia. the same. europe? tickets to the uk were not too bad. "we could hike hadrian's wall" stewart i swear almost giggled at showing up on his parents doorstep during spring break, what a surprise that would be. dublin? irish pubs, hell yea! but still we were looking at around $500 per person. then, us, n our innocent youth, derived NOT to purchase any tickets whatsoever, but the moment class got out, head over to the local airport in the morning and demand to be sent out of the country, (with fingers crossed for great britain.) it was february? middle of the month i recollect. 

in the next few weeks i tried to keep my excitement and plans on the down low, telling nobody. i requested off work for that time, with the excuse that i was probably going caving in west virginia ( i have never been caving). in my mind, i laughed silently at my insanity. we were 3 poor college students, deliberately choosing NOT to plan! it was madness, and brilliance! i had no idea AT ALL what would happen during spring break, or even more importantly where the hell we were going. it was comfort to me, and carried me through- dropping all my classes- one which i dropped by accident, and it occupied my thoughts, even when i got to go rock climbing outside, something that i rarely get to do. yet i was crazed, silent, smiling, imaginative. it could have easily gone nowhere. and that's what we thought when

one bright morning, the 19th of march, i asked my mother to take me to dulles airport in sterling. the coolant pipe in my car had broken off, causing coolant to drain from my car, and causing the engine to overheat within 30 minutes of running. so i was screwed, especially looking into the cost of fixing it- i had to buy another coolant tank, running around $300 for the part itself. i doubted i could install it myself, but when you're broke, that's kinda what you have to do- scrounge around for tools in the house, and utilize to the maximum the powers of google and internet car repair forums. at the time i needed to fix my car, which had just broken a few days before spring break, i had almost no money in the bank, probably about $200 with all my accounts combined. so i loaned 200$ from my parents, and crossed my fingers. the night before the drive to the airport, i had fled scuba class because i had left my bathing suit at home and was also tired from a long shift at work. all in all, i was a broke quitter, hiding from everything important. if i didn't go on this trip, which i had knowingly no idea what it held i knew things could blow up for me, i was due and ripe for disaster. so the break was also going to be for me a flee, an escape from responsibility and necessity. good. 

it was early and cold! i was glad i brought a wind shell. all i had packed up was in a 40 liter backpack on my back. i also brought running shoes and a digital SLR camera. so i felt a little shamed when i saw that tim and stewart had packed much less. it was a day ago that i talked to tim on the phone and he told me that max shrumpf, their roommate decided he was coming too. i didn't tell my parents that i was planning to flee the country with three boys. oh well. it just sounded strange, i knew each one of them was fine and cool. still, it felt a little strange. 

with packs strapped on our back, tim, stewart, and i entered the dulles airport. apparently max was still awaiting the arrival of his passport and didn't come this time. 

it was awkward at first, but after the first try, it got easier. 

"Hi.... we're basically 3 poor college students who want to fly out of the country for spring break."... "um specifically? the uk we hope... oh. okay. thanks. bye." 

the airport was filling up. we were there at how early? 8 or 9 am. not too early. it was bustling. there were no tickets to be found. instead, most desk attendants at the various airlines, advised us against what we were doing- or rather the method of it. the internet, the commended to us. sigh. back to square one. 

but another hole to crawl through was found - airline 1-800 numbers. from jet blue to taca to united airways there were 3 various youth buzzing of by windows with packs, requesting to be sent anywhere. 

i called taca. an airline like ... taco. apparently they only had flights going out to countries in south america. and all the tickets to south american countries were gone. PROOF of the vast amounts of illegal immigrants in the US the freaking airline sells out! 

then tim called jetblue again. rebecca? the name of the phone attendant...? she found tickets to a place called bermuda, for 525 dollars, leaving in 3 days on sunday, tim cupped a hand over his cell, and called out to stewart and i. all that went through my mind was a book when i was ten or twelve. it was about the bermuda triangle, a mysterious whirlpool that swallowed up ships and sea worthy vessals. it's out there in the carribean, said tim. okay, i'm in i said after maybe 2 thoughts - the recollection of the book and the color of the water there. 

525$ is a lot of money to pay for a plane ticket. but then again, it's not the death. at $500, the ticket beckoned to me, it's vitality. it wasn't a $500 ticket to puerto rico or costa rica. it was "bermuda" to me an island aligned with scientific mystery. excitement is worth $500. i could survive $500. yea... yea, i could! 

about bermuda

the plan to survive

showing up at the airport

losing my cell phone

bursting out in the rain: the moment we landing in bermuda, i unbuckled and popped up. i was excited and wanted out. i looked up the window, already i knew it was stormy and at a minimum raining. we had experienced turbulence on the way in. ii put on my raincoat, caught a breath and with a heave pulled my pack over my back and buckled up, bursting out of the plane in the pouring rain. it was warm, not hot, not cold. nyc was cold. sterling was windy. bermuda was warmish. and rainy. as we entered the terminal, we walked by a middle-aged native man, set up by tourists i love you and your money, wearing a hawaiian shirt, and playing jolly ole island music on a small guitar. the americans before and behind me were happy by this show of hospitality. we checked out, all of us passing through customs, lying through the teeth that we planned to reside at "aunt nia's inn"  we exited the airport and taxi drivers hailed us, trying to get us to enter their miniature vans. a lively elderly black man succeeded in apprehending us and led us across the street to his vehicle. he had a strong british accent and his car played island music from the 1950's. "where to?" "are you heading to St. George?" "what hotel" "where in st. george do you want to go?" "are you going to st. george's club?"

"uh... sure" said stewart, not sure what he was saying sure to. so the taxi drive took us away from the airport, across a bridge, to a little hotel / cottages in the town of st. george, called st. george's club. max went inside and got maps. it just hit me now, that i never entered the hotel the taxi took us to. i just waited outside each and every time we found ourselves there. 

every time we passed a cluster of loitering happy locals, i kept thinking of the lines in the jack johnson song, holes to heaven, the part when they sweet talked local officials and bribed them with cigarettes and booze. and after a trip to one of the many many liqueur shops within the second day, during stewart and max bought aged bacardi rum, the words were quite fitting, as we found havens from the weather around the island, in trails and on the beaches, with obvious markings of local hangouts- many butts and bottles, and cartons for seats. tim carries tobbaco, paper, pipes, and pipe tobacco, max a variety of cigarettes, and every time we sat for a bit we brought out the rum and the tobacco. we didn't carry food, just the essentials, as you can see. 

...tbc. 

i'm going to finish reading candide today. i wanted to be back on the beach, napping in the suN!

to the new day

today is the day i change my life

today is the day i start afresh

you're pulse is a rhythm 

it makes me quick

stand up take a hit

stand up take hits

you walk down the street 

the sun all around

we glow now

hold down the tongue

i move my throat 

because i shake it off now

riff of red rafters

hiding the birds

can't be long now

soft and warm

weathered and worn

two bends i hang on tight now

i guess it's a bet i made

i guess it's my life i gave

my fingers are red

eyes flying up

fight the revolution in my stomach

fight the brightness of the sun

with the power of the squint

i move past frozen gimmicks

toward the night

hi and find you 

i hope

let us put away what was never there

the part of me that has changed is that i longer put up with my own bullshit. that is. pure crap, aggressively pursued. i used to be nice to my heart, to lie to my soul and keep dibs with those who i have and should have nothing in common with, me with them, or i with them. and usually they pursue a real illusion, and i a false truth, in order to continue knowing each other. so i have put away with that bullshit. my heart is calm when i ignore phone calls and voice mails and emails. we are through and the time that you thought were weren't well i'm just sorry for leading you on. i didn't really think about what i was doing until now. and i know that to be nobler i must put away the bullshit: the kindest thing i can do is to be a blank stare and an empty chair, say I was never supposed to be there in the first place and the least i can do is disappear. same as to you to me if needs be. i won't ponder what you must walk through. but it's happened to me and i am thus quelmed with respect for honesty and the proper placement of the silence of the past. that is where i'd like to be. gone for good. 

i have ten blank stares for the weather 

ten blank stares from me today

ten for me and none for you. 

well. ten for you and inside there is a storm of me, 

but even steal a glance- i'd never give it away. 

livid i take it you've lived through hell, 

coming up by strides you don't mean to waste the ground

i see in hands clasped in grips you carry something 

of nothing to you and everything to everyone

like spittle the afterspray a careless cough the window scattered water sparks

it's gray and 4pm the general haze of the day. 

when with the winter pulls i'm sighed, sad and sorry

the belly of the day heaves and gives forth

a pregnant soul and desolute mind

the rythm of the ethereal

the eye of the smaller then you and me

eyesore

candy is a displeasure to the king

he sings of high and lows and how you must be _

if there was only something that was real we'd be fighting for at least a cause. 

I'm not really concerned on the content or whether in thoughts it's the right or the wrong or the naive or the stupid to fight for i just want to give a bout of passion for something to push myself forth and make a tiny dent or a scratch. the uncouth youth you read about the assassinate and are bewitched by aged evils and selfish sinisters and overaged idealists that candor at ease great terror, mass killings, and protests of stupid gains. that's where i'd like to be. possibly if the cause has no soul or real merit the passion, will be purer because that's all there is. it will be harder for me to sustain a passion in something that is not valid and does not test through. therefore i would have to fight within myself to show all the passion i can. i will be resorted to a daily and difficult struggle: to create a pure and sole passion for something that is blatantly not worth fighting for or against. the meaningless screams and rants and shouts and the consummation of human energy, i want to propel myself towards aging, i want to propel myself to whatever is next, the sun or death, the moon or the sand. 

so here is my challenge today: yes shallow as they may be. to learn more words, to read a book, and to tear the muscles in my stomach. 

so much like rivers is HE

because of this. or rather the aspect of it. it in a model functions to flow. 

The love of God is impossible. Yet on it flows, transcending and changing everything in its path. I find my heart ever heavy on thought and empty shallow and hungover when not. A continual hum- that of being awake and breathing sharply, and that of being dead to all i hold dear. i hate this swinging pendulum, this me.

Sound and Meaning

I don't like things because they are good. if so, my heart beats a resounding yes, and i want to repeat the words in a variety of ways aloud. but for most cases, i simply like words and words together because of the way they SOUND: 

here is one example of a simplex poem i wrote awhile back:

who hears the panther leap
quiet pads the softest feet
bare into the jungle night
and take me down, a triple feat:
blood, guts, and gore to eat

not much, but things like this i like oft saying, making up, and repeating (or trying to remember) to myself. 

My Coolant Tank, SOL, and what am i gonna do

I woke up this morning, late, from going to bed in the morning, early. I couldn't run, i could only run. to my car, but it was a little too cold for flip flops. [and i don't want to be a selfish thinker] so when i did try to do it, the holds were so small. i had to be a spider, with sticky little fingers, wrapping them around the tiny nobs that poked off the cold smooth rock. i liked the sandy parts, and i liked the cracks and grooves that i could slide my hand along. i liked to try the ones that were too hard for someone like me, and i like the part when you try to stick again after once again falling. i liked the fact that the top got easier as you got along, and how it was confusing, was i good, horrible, or just plain cheat? 

then along i traipsed to dr. williams, the shrink. and as i stepped into the elevator, it was with a busybody- she looked jewish, rushed and yes(!) shorter then me. i finally felt bigger. then it shot up, from 1st to 3rd, then 3rd to 6th. he seemed half awake, as usual. i think being a shrink is the easiest job: you let the awkward silence go long enough, until you ask another open-ended question, that is loosely related to the answer just spent. in a proper spacing of one hour, one only needs to formulate 3-6 simple questions, a comfortable armchair, and a hot cup of tea. what an entertaining afternoon!

but i drove onward, making parts of my face a blotchy red, from mary's handiwork, atypical in a ethnic/racial/occupational kind of way, and got stuff i didn't need

i pulled over at the VOB BMW bc my engine temp was wacked. yes, smoke. well the whole fucking pipe had broken off. coolant spewing out like poison juices. just like that. curses i know him

but yea, another 200 later i might just be okay. 

so i feel like this song. a broken thought to live in a city! by a busy road where death is made! yes!

shout out louds - please please please

[ i want to smell an old shirt] 

Long time ago

The times we had were so and so
It was the worst date of your life
So I called your home your so-called father was on the phone
he wasn't easy to ignore

But we're all happy cause the streets they're always there for us
and it's quite scary when you wake up in the same old clubs
It's getting darker and I know this time wasn't meant for us
So won't you please please please come back to me

But yesterday when i saw your eyes in a black haze
You didn't even know my name
So I walked on pretending that you still belong
but it will never be the same no more

But we're all happy cause the streets they're always there for us
and it's quite scary when you wake up in the same old clubs
It's getting darker and I know this time wasn't meant for us
So won't you please please please come back to me

It's like a picture of a loved one in disguise or
it's like finding something pretty in a jar of lies and
if you want just hide your eyes behind your hair
but you can't see me then you can't find me anywhere

But we're all happy cause the streets they're always there for us
and it's quite scary when you wake up in the same old clubs
It's getting darker and I know this time wasn't meant for us
So won't you please please please come back to me

Come back to me
Please please please
Please please please 

moving around

so i've been starting up biking to work, and running more oft.

but yesterday i mulled about, in a frequent manner that would make an old retrospectual gasp. but i do ( and i know i will [gasp and/or cry] too.

i looked out the window for a bit though, and pondered if i should run. then i wanted to run. it was beautiful outside. it took me another 4 hours to get my ass out there.

but it was good. near the end of the first 2 miles, i decided i would do the loop 4 x, which equates to a little over 6 miles. and i did, my pace paralleling 10:00 pr mile. it was amazing because this is the first time in my life that i have run that far nonstop.

i know i'm on a high these days, in consequently, a runner's high, but i'd like to train for a half-marathon. it makes me sad to know that i can only cross my fingers.

smak

am i making myself fond of what i have become so that in a better light i may refrain from shuddering?

metel mouth as of today, yes that is me

it's official

as of today, i'm a metal mouth

i don't think i have any threatoning appointments in the next two years, so i should be good. there's not much i can do with my mouth for one, and there doubly not as much eating wise with this gastronism-thingy. so i'm down to blender foods? we shall see.

what really pisses me off though is that they put rainbow colored brackets on my teeth. I didn't see this till everything was placed. but now it looks like there's a million little things in my mouth. :(

in the rador today: BLOC PARTY! and subtly now: fisher

idealistic morality

When we accept a sense of morality as ideal – meaning moral ideals instead of moral rules the problem is that we accept the ideal- an ever shifting sense of direction, purpose, validity, and morality as perfection itself. Morality is not meant to be achieved. It shows us how flawed we are, but also, causes reason for striving, which is an apt definition for living. Moral perfection is in a sense an ideal, because we cannot ever achieve it. Therefore, if we reduce the requirement by which we live and strive to achieve, any ole recipe’d ideal can be achieved- thus inferring perfection. But do we really want to achieve simply an ideal and settle at that? Something flawed, different, specific, and misgiving is an eternity from perfect and completion. And I’m afraid that if we take the shortcut out, meaning, if we are too uncomfortable to accept the fact that we strive after an impossible perfection, then we will find ourselves with a lack of definition. And thus, we would throw out the whole game, it’s shitty.

Speaking of shitty, that’s how I feel today. I crawled out of bed, barely ready for my day, knowing I had to present a whole plan for writing up a PSA. I went to editing class and thought to myself, now if I only devote one hour to getting the editing project done that’s due today, I can type up a whole plan. I didn’t. I stayed until two making a stupid bumper. After I did image adjustment and changed the color type (to include a brown paper joint for my little stick man) Premiere refused to accept the PSD. So I just threw half of it out because I didn’t want to compromise the colors AND I didn’t have time to figure it out. Layers are confusing. So this little guy runs about in a little jumpback, then looks at a laptop, throws it out, runs off screen, and then we faze into his face. Titles lame as ever- Life Hack… solutions for modern productivity. And then I got up and walked home. I want to run away from anyone who knows me. Today I am going to try to run a little longer- three times around – with good music or something. I want to do something bigger with my life. Even a long run will qualify. Although it’s not exactly long, I’m just still the wimp. It will probably be about almost 5 miles. Gaa.

I am quite a lonesome self. I realized today that I didn’t have any best friends and truly the fault is my own. I walked down the lot and thought about how I wanted to be a producer or maybe a talent. I want to be an onthefield producer and also talent. We shall see. I need to have conviction and direction and wings to propel me forward first. Otherwise I think I’d drift into being an editor. (silent no)

hemingway, the sea, and smoky the cigarette

found this amazing quote by hemingway, i printed it out and put it on the wall in my room:

“There isn't any symbolism. The sea is the sea. The old man is an old man. The boy is a boy and the fish is a fish. The shark are all sharks no better and no worse. All the symbolism that people say is shit." - hemingway

last night i slept by the window as it rained. i couldn't curse god because the sky was overcast. he got to hide his face from me.

smoking is a disgusting habit. it wasn't till i haven't for so long that i realize that now. i just smoked my first cigarette of 2008 and it was cruel, harsh, and smelled to strong of bad odor. yuck! i am so glad i stopped smoking. now if i could only get kyle to stop.....

wanson, and not sore

lo. ilc here

yesturday i did three (or more things)
one_hiked 18 miles
two_ate the most amazing food
three_watched amelie
or more_caught up with good friends

i am thankful to those i have witnessed that i know of such good character, that through thick and thin i am in awe and respect. i long to be in the deserts of az. and i long to sporatically walk up, and disappear. i am not sore today, and i am very glad of that. i don't feel like "filmmaking" today, but it's how the story always goes so i shall go. i put Elmer's glue all the cuts on my hand. maybe it'll help. i wish i - i hope i have time to run today. it will feel good for my legs and a long stride will ease the soreness in my buttocks. haha, i just had to say that word. it sounds funny.

buttox

thursday, valentine's day

Today I had a less then productive day. I could not get the internet to work at mayorga. again, i curse the face of microsoft. die. I wore red because it's valentine's day. i went to class at 9:41a and found out we had none. but project 2 is due today. what is project 2 anyways? we have to write up psa's for writing for tv and video. they will be read on live actual radio. oh boy. I took 20 mg of adderal and two pills of tripticil or whatever that is called. finally remembered. i was frustrated with my father for moaning about finances. he makes over 100,000 a year. he should be good. he just doesn't manage his money. that's it. micah tol me he'd go running in the dark with me but he's been napping on the couch since 6pm and it's 9:30p now. I still have to write up this employee challenge grant request. i wonder if lnt course is actually going to happen for me. i am now gonna hang from a hunk of heavy plastic screwed to an old bedframe.
-L

Ramblings:

Small children:
I always find it funny that small children like to run in any direction, again and again. Until they are completely breathless. And then proceed to run some more.

um:
So I woke up this morning, as usual in the afternoon. With no end in sight.
u know that uncomfortable feeling that you get whenever

the imperfect world:
Lived. Rather then livid. Yea i know what it's like to turn your back on everyone you had hoped in. It's saturday. Clinging east I turn on a movie. I fly away from everything not perfect. That doesn't mean I'm refusing for settling for less. That means that I'm settling for none. Which doesn't really work in the earth. You gotta just take what life gives you. You know. There is no clean wood cut table here. Everything is a reflection, a shadow, a beautiful whisper of the best. And all these things that aren't completely, you just have to accept as okay, will-do, and appreciate them for exactly what there, nothing more and nothing less.

about the little things, written in missouri

But those of us who have seen the light, when we fall back into darkness, it is unnaturally dark to us. It reeks of mold. It is not good because we cannot possibly find happiness- a fulfilling slightly-longer-than-futile type of happiness. No matter where you are and how far you go, you will always remember a time that was at least .. brighter, bolder, and more defined. In essence no matter the distance we strive for a thing the past will always be brighter then the dimness we [seek to] see in the future. It was better that you could at least breathe easy, and the sky did not breeze dark and wheezing into dizzying smoke clouds wasn't the only alternative to breathing. So it comes to say in a respite of "diary momento" the moment I walked into the "prayer room" at onething, i saw to the many degrees of worship and experiencing God that people we falling into. And I did (maybe just think) that I felt a real presence. I wondered as I walked by the silent, the praying, the wailing, the dancing, and the crying... should this be how man should be, always positioned at all times, prostrate in awe of the One? I realized what I had been missing for a very long while- not as it were an obligation I had been skimping out on, but as an ongoing event, state of being, rather, that continued to pour out, no matter the time or place. I sat down and opened a NT that was da-da-da- ESV which really doesn't matter but they were the little things that I found myself marveling at, like how John the Baptist leaped for joy in the womb: He preached faithfully, yet not until 30 years later did he see the face of whom he lept for so long ago, and even then, when the man came, John said that he was not even worthy to touch the straps on his sandals. It was the little things that I found to be... quite big.

yesturday.

I always find it funny that small children like to run in any direction, again and again. Until they are completely breathless. And then proceed to run some more.

So I woke up this morning, as usual in the afternoon. With no end in sight.
u know that uncomfortable feeling that you get whenever

Lived. Rather then livid. Yea i know what it's like to turn your back on everyone you had hoped in. It's saturday. Clinging east I turn on a movie. I fly away from everything not perfect. That doesn't mean I'm refusing for settling for less. That means that I'm settling for none. Which doesn't really work in the earth. You gotta just take what life gives you. You know. There is no clean wood cut table here. Everything is a reflection, a shadow, a beautiful whisper of the best. And all these things that aren't completely, you just have to accept as okay, will-do, and appreciate them for exactly what there, nothing more and nothing less.

I appreciate Notepad so much. I think that it is the most useful software that comes with microsoft windows. From it my sould has soared, my mind has rambled, my days were planned. It is the cure all to every ailment and need. It's the bomb. Tell me, honestly, if there is any better freebie component of windows. I tell you, there isn't. None can beat the wonders of notepad!