Happy Birthday to Me (Sept. 23)

All eyes on the calendar
Another year I claim of total indifference
To here, the days pile up
With decisions to be made, I'm sure all of them were wrong
Into this song I send myself
And with these drinks I plan to collapse
And forget this wasted year, these wasted years
Devoted friends, they disappear
And I'm sorry about the phone call and needing you
Some decisions you don't make
I guess it's just like breathing or not wanting to
There are some things you can't fake
I guess that it's typical
To cling to memories you'll never get back again
And to sort through old photographs
Of a summer long ago or a friend that you used to know
And there below
His frozen face
You wrote the name and that ancient date, that ancient date
And you can't believe that he's really gone
When all that's left is a fucking song and
I'm sorry about the phone call; and waking you.
I know that it is late,
But thank you for talking, because I needed to.
Some things just can't wait.

Random Quote for the Day

Which reality is actually more powerful: that of the present, instantly absorbed by our senses and discernible, or the memory of what we experienced previously? Is the present truly more real than the past? I really do not feel capable of answering this.

Top Ranking (Blonde Redhead)

Life or something like it

I'm quite certain I'm madly in love with Miranda July. She's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Every time I watch "me and you and everyone we know" i feel inspired. I feel the need to write or draw or something.Anything. Something just clicks.

Things I need to do in no particular order..

• Find new job
• Write
• Draw/paint/something artsy
• Brainstorm
• More Brainstorming
• Find more artists for group exhibit
• Think of things to do to get exhibit started
• Email some more friends about exhibit
  
• Write some more
• Figure out what other things i need to do and make sure i do them
• Start using my lists of things to do ( i know i make hundreds but rarely use them; this is wasting my paper.)
• Plan Michelle's b day party/email friends & family
  
• Find way to pay for school books
• Call Financial Aid office
• Finish the book Sam let me borrow (though I'm not really sure he knows I borrowed it)
• Finish all the other books I started but have not finished
• Stop procrastinating
• Get more organized
  
• Find out what I need to make Michelle a kick ass b day cake just like the ones on Ace of Cakes
• Finish at least one of the stories Ive written but haven't finished
  
• Go shopping for school supplies
• Go shopping for art supplies (when I have the money)
• Find something to put all my writings in- ORGANIZATION!!
  

This Day of Age

relentless removal

still suffering from the last repercussions

radiant lies from the back of my hand

quiet raindrops of sorrow

the grayest day ive ever seen

may I take every word back

now im plagued with old memories

a familiar smell, I can never smell it the right way

listening to old songs that remind me of when(of then)

how I wish things would never change

cause I changed, you changed

and now were here on the grayest day ive ever seen

I cannot awake from this bad dream

Been trying to sleep it off, but I cant sleep

If only I could sleep forever

Something changed, when or how, ill never know

Never know how it could have been

Said all the right things, but wrote

Wrote all the wrong things, wrote too much

Too much expectance of something more

Well im gone

Ive gone into the deepest depression ive ever had

It seems so surreal, so out of place

Loss of innocence, loss of knowing better

Bounds to regrets so easily, so carelessly, so helplessly

Wanting to change what I cannot

Old news weve read before

Nothing more than a failure, another mistake

Hypocritical lies, under-developed beliefs

Another substantial thesis, better left unheard

Hold your tongue in hopes of denial

Always last to escape

Another freelance escapade, ride along

for another stupid idea

Always last to learn the lesson

Always last to realize the point

Last to see the picture

Estranged memories left for exposure, wrongful introspection

Was never that far from the soul

Of a remorseful sinner

Far below from my own potential, my own mind in its right place

On my last wall, my last mask,

Nothing more to hide,

Nothing more I can hide behind.

Apathy ( A loss of Innocence)

There’s a story behind every pair of eyes

A certain kind of fable of tragedies

I know I’ve been holding out on you

Trying to hide my lack of feeling

I remember the days when I could feel

The endless heartaches I had for weeks, years

Take me back to that childhood feeling

Cause I know I should feel more than this

This bitter emptiness

You look at me with such sorrowful eyes full of tears

And I, I stare blankly

A wide-eyed look of interest with nothing to say

I could act like I care

Put on a more expressional mask

Tell you everything you need to hear

When the truth is: There is never enough pain in the world

Our lives have begun to revolve around the need to hurt others

I remember a time when it was easier

When we weren’t so eager

When we were all sincere and happier

But that time has past.

Unresolved Issues

I'm avoiding my father. I know its wrong, but I cant help it.Sometimes it hurts too much for me. Talking to him. Being around him. Listening to him talk about my brothers. Noticing that he's obviously depressed. It hurts. It's not fair. Perhaps it will never be fair. Eight years. Eight years of his absence. No calls, no letters, no birthday cards. Nothing. He's making up for lost times now, but I don't think it will ever be good enough. I thought it would be, I was hoping it would be. I'm old enough now not to care or need a father. Old enough to put it all behind me, but he cant seem to get the idea.
I was content for a moment. I felt like it was all falling into place. All I cared about was spending time with him and having him around finally. And that's it, "finally."There should be no "finally".And no " I love yous." It shouldn't hurt to hear your father say "I love you," but it does. If he had loved me he wouldn't have missed those eight years. Yet, what hurts the most is when he calls me to tell me he misses my little brother.That he's fifteen now.
Then it occurred to me that he wasn't calling me because he wanted to talk to me and express his love;it was that he had no on else to call and I'm the only child he can speak to. He called me because he couldn't speak to my brother. Even if the whole situation might have caused him to appreciate who he does have, it doesn't help much. It doesn't make it better or less hurtful.
The simple fact is he's fighting for them, but he never fought for me. He gave up on me. He gave up.

Eric Bryant has the first and for awhile-only- Pablo Neruda book I have. It also happens to be my favorite. He's had for almost a year and a half. I keep emailing him and telling him he should mail it, but I have yet to have received it and now he doesn't even respond to me. It severely pisses me off. I love that book. I have little markings of my favorite lines in red pencil (well not all of them but half are).
I rarely let people borrow books, only good friends who I know are very good about returning things. Yet for some odd reason out of pure idiotic stupidity. I let sir Eric borrow it and actually forgot to ask before school ended to get it back. I had other things on my mind then, but still. How could I carelessly forget about my book? The book. I have no idea, but it happened. And all I want is that book back.
I have the hardest time parting with books. Even the ones from the library, they're always overdue. I accumulate books like crazy to be honest. (My cousin also has this problem; she actually has more than one copy of several books.) I particularly like getting used books on Amazon that originally come from libraries that have gotten rid of the books. (Yes, libraries upgrade their books and get rid of the rest- either that or a lot of people keep them and then get rid of them- I'm not sure which is worse. I'd say both.) And then theres Half-Priced Books, which I happen to find a godsend. I went to the local one Monday (after a horrid day at Six Flags with my sister and mother) and went nuts. They had a clearance section and many of the books were $1 to $3 or $4. It was spectacular. I got about ten books. And I also purchased two vinyl records- The Beatles and Blondie. I spent about $20 altogether which is so much cheaper compared to what one would spend at Barnes & Noble or Borders.
But I realize the best place to get books is at thrift stores and flea markets. They always have the cheapest book. The majority being written by classic writers. They're the types of books that your old English teachers always talked about; the ones they told you should read if you wanted be well educated. For instance, I always seem to find books by Fyodor Dostoevsky. He is an astounding writer. I'm currently reading a series of short stories by him. I'm still on the first-its called White Nights. I find it hard to explain the story, there's so much I relate to in it. However, I can say that I love that his focus is not on the description of what the characters looks like or how they act but on the way they think. The way they feel. The way they see and how they see. He's more concerned with their personality, their inner self than what is on the outside. He's always persistent in revealing the inside of his characters mind. I absolutely love his writing.
Thus, if you haven't read something by Dostoevsky, I highly suggest you do ASAP.

Tomorrow never knows

Just Because..

The Senate takes on FISA bill

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/25594262#25594262

I'm so frustrated on the issue I don't know where I should begin ranting.

BUT, this next article made me much more happier.

British artists create zero-gravity art in 'vomit comet' over Moscow

Theres also a video on it on the Countdown with Keith Olbermann on msnbc, its under the weird news section.

What do I want ?

I honestly flat out don't know. There are things I'd like, but nothing I want. And thats the whole problem.I'm stuck and feel left out, abandoned with no guidance. I'm feeling around in the dark. Ive always been used to the dark but this is a different type of dark and I have no idea where the fuck I am. And its hard to get up on my feet again, hard to get back what I once had. Ambition and passion. I know its there, but its buried deep down and almost unattainable. Almost.I just need to find it, bring it back. Bring back who I wanted to be. Who I was going to be.

Ive been numb and in the dark too long. Ive been running around in circles. letting it all get to me. I need to let it go. I need to let all the pain go. I just need to find my way through this darkness. Im finding me way through this darkness. Slowly, but surely.

if i finish this, im gonna title it "everyday is a decade" and dedicate it to you

I cant write anymore. I don't know what to write, I have ideas, thoughts but they don't come out like they once did.And its reflecting my life. I was once ambitious, bight, eager and determined. I had a spark, a type of unknown motivation moving me. But that was before. Before. Before was a very long time ago, a time Ive forgotten. And I'm not sure if Ive chosen to forget or if it just happened that way; that the days have blurred into one long day that keeps repeating. And every day grows lonelier than the last because it feels as if no one else is repeating the day Ive been repeating. As if no one else is aware of what I'm aware of.

And so the idea of what is real and what is not begins to linger. Because this surreal feeling of life begs the question, and as one with an imaginative mind, I cant help but start to become delusional. I see what is not there, I see what is there and then I see what is beyond what is there. I play back and forth the things I could be doing, the conversations I could have and should have, what it is I want to do and/or say, and who I want to be five years from now or who I'd like to be. It keeps me occupied and entertained, but then I remember that I am doing this all to occupy myself from the lonely never-ending day. And so I must live and adapt to my surroundings of others and what it is I am told to be: a working class hero.

I'm quite positive its permanent.Its really the only thing I'm positive about. I mean I know I can be a "debbie downer" as one friend of mine so happily put it. But honestly, some people just don't know what its like. Its not easy...you all make it seem/sound easy. Its not. It lingers there in your mind and your heart waiting for that vulnerable moment when it can resurface to make you fall apart.Its in the moments when you feel so lonely and out of place and cant help but realize the recurrence of that feeling and how much you loathe it. And one cannot help but welcome it, because you get so used to it. Its all you know. Everything else can seem foreign, all those things/feelings you rather be doing/feeling, suddenly you don't think you really want them because you cant escape that emptiness. I always thought i was meant for something else, but I feel like maybe this was what I was meant for after all. That maybe out of all this bullshit redundancy, something great, something meaningful and sincere will come out of the "depth of my existence." I just need to push myself and stop sitting around staring at the walls of my room hoping to wake up from this dream-like reality.


At times you sink, you fall
into your hole of silence,
into your abyss of proud anger,
and you can scarcely
return, still bearing remnants
of what you found
in the depth of your existence.
-Neruda

Music

Words cannot explain what music means to me. Its my morning coffee, my habit,my obsession, my religion, my lover, my best friend, my mother, father, brother, sister; its the veins and organs that run through me, making my heart beat. I feel like the music I listen to is the soundtrack to my life. Like every song I hear was unknowingly written just for me. And each song has a special meaning. Each song is assigned a to specific memory, point in my life, or person I knew. Its the first thing I think about when I wake and the last when I close my eyes as I drift to sleep. Music is what keeps me going, it keeps me sane in the crazy world I live in. I cant imagine a life without music. I cant imagine my life without music.

Observation

I spend more time observing everyone around me then living my own life. I guess I’m constantly curious, constantly trying to find some sort of meaning to life, some sort of inspiration that will get me to write. I’m bored, constantly, pointlessly bored. “The cure for boredom is curiosity, there is no cure for curiosity,” was what Dorothy parker once said. It’s true. I can get rid of my boredom by observing everything around me and trying to figure those things out. Yet I can never stop the curiosity. Once it starts, all hell breaks lose. Nothing else matters because I’m finally preoccupied.

If I don't drive around the park,
I'm pretty sure to make my mark.
If I'm in bed each night by ten,
I may get back my looks again,
If I abstain from fun and such,
I'll probably amount to much,
But I shall stay the way I am,
Because I do not give a damn.

Blogs, mixed tapes and that other thing...

I just realized I have a blog thanks to the awesomeness that is Google.And I'm not sure if I'm being sarcastic or genuinely mean that. Regardless, its getting harder for me to come up with clever titles for the mixed CDs I make. It used to be very easy with extremely clever results, but not any more and I'm starting to find as a very bad sign. More importantly I think I rather go back to mixed tapes. In a perfect world there'd still be mixed tapes.

Blog: To write entries in, add material to, or maintain a weblog.
Weblog: A website that displays in chronological order the postings by one or more individuals and usually has links to comments on specific postings.

Why do we feel the need to shorten things-specifically words? I mean seriously, do you read your friends texts and think what the hell are thinking when they shorten the words and abbreviate. I mean I know its just so they can write more, but it bugs the shit out of me. Mainly because then I start to hear people use the shorten, abbreviated words as slang. No lie. I mean its pretty bad and ridiculously sad when you have both high school and college teachers constantly reminding you that you must use proper English language and not use the IM/text messaging words. It makes me wonder what this world is coming to. We are bringing up our children-the future of the world- into an ignorant world. Does anyone really want this? I sure as hell don't. I feel as if there are plenty of educated people in the world, only the majority of them are wasting it to become part of the commercial masses; and those of us, who enjoy our education and actually use it, are suffering from those mass idiots.

I could go on but I have work in like six hours give or take and I need to get some amount of sleep. Insomnia is a bitch but I do my best to have a semi-decent night of sleep.