I'll be back

No seriously... I'll be back in the saddle again soon. I seriously have five or six word files saved with outlines of some shit, hopefully interesting shit. I regret not posting them sooner. It's like a job, or like my life in general... "I'll just skeleton it out, then the rest is easy."... but the rest never happens. I actual still have the rest. It's still there. Still fairly raw. These outlines aren't so bad. Funny how I can see my emotion on the screen. I'll do the rest, and I know that either way I'll enjoy the catharsis. Hope you will too.

Busy Life

I get so upset at life sometimes, and I’m not hard to please. Everyone is so ME oriented. Or maybe I’m just too OTHERS oriented. No person dares say they’re sorry. Not one says they know how you feel. Not one says, "thank you" (at least not enough). Not one says, “what’s on your mind?" Everyone's so quick to counter with their problems; I’ll actually listen, but just hear my side in exchange. Shared experiences make us stronger. We’re all more similar than we think. I hate: “I cant talk about it, you won’t understand”, “This is different, you don’t fucking get just how serious this is”, “I have no time for you, seriously no time, I am busy every minute of every day, not one second in my day is worth your time, I’m so busy with my life that not only can I not listen to you, but I can’t tell you what’s wrong with me”, “why are you so serious all the time, I just want to drink right now, shut up”, silence… no response… silence… even after simple inquires, humorous texts, calls, emails, silence, acting like things are good when the other knows that you should no way in hell even make eye contact, but you do, in fact you engage them like nothing happened. But why? No one is that unique, or that busy.

Thought this page needed a new photo.

Pine tree, Mountain High, CA 1/23/2010

Irony?

“I enjoy writing about my own life, but I don’t like people knowing anything about me”

That was a sentence in a book I just finished reading and an inspiration to the written material that follows. The book was, Eating the Dinosaur, by C. Klosterman, but I only include that info to credit the source. In no way am I trying to appear smart or elitist because I sometimes choose to read in my free time.

First, I do like to write. Second, I like to write about my own life because that’s the life I know and I hope others can relate to it. I often enjoy writing about other topics as well, but these topics are almost always assigned for school or work. (Maybe I should just start to pick a random topic and write about it; this remains a possibility.) I find these assigned writings less rewarding because no one other than your boss or Prof. reads it. And if someone else did read it and told you it was “good” they would most likely be lying because they would undoubtedly not care and/or possibly even comprehend what the fuck I was even writing about. (A recent topic for example: how to properly foreclose on a security interest in intellectual property… I mean I don’t even give a shit about that, but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy writing about it in a clear and concise manner). But why should I care who eventually reads it anyway? Do I need to feel appreciated?

On to my next point (thirdly) I really don’t want people to know anything about me. I mean, why would they care in the first place? Or maybe I do want people to know some things about me, but just not everything. Mystery is important. If someone theoretically knew everything about you, every single experience, and each thought you ever had, you’d cease to be interesting to that person. Yet, I know I don’t want to actively control my own self-image by selectively revealing information that conforms with a certain character that I want to project to the world. If you ask me a question I will give a full, complete, and accurate answer. But I really would rather not openly reveal everything without being asked first.

Starved

It's hard to explain the feeling of wanting something so bad. So convinced that when you get it, all will be right, a feeling so overwhelming that it's almost blinding. Food for your soul that nothing else will satisfy, thus you're always left hungry. A connection that powers you, like a cord to a battery pack, without it you're never fully charged. Always running on less than capacity and with the juice slowly fading away into space like evaporating alcohol. You keep searching for that elusive outlet, praying for a flavor you'll always crave and consume until sated, longing for that fully charged state.

test

Symptoms?

First off, my eyes burn. Even when closed they feel like shampoo crept in the through the sides. My throat feels like I’ve been drinking gravel and lighter fluid for days on end. My head is light, floating above it all. My heart is heavy. Except that it’s being periodically hit with dabs of adrenaline spurring flutters or palpitations that almost make me want to vomit. My water cooler rumbles. I have the sudden urge to place my face under it, depress the button, and let ice-cold water run down my face and all over the floor until the entire contents run empty. That would be a bitch to mop up.

Good Day

... laughed about time pieces, dined at the Fish, boobs after work, Rocky's for dinner, CCR playing as I write...

back to Dena soon, but for how long? What is my purpose? Where is my home? Who comes first? Who am I?

Is four twenty really a holiday?

You know for all the internet has done these days, there’s still not a whole lot on it to read. Maybe I’m just jaded. I remember when I first had real internet access, like real high speed shit in the dorms at UCSD, we would be on it for hours, downloading, chatting, emailing, and reading all sorts of shit. Illegal music, newspapers, crazy porn. Now I’m bored after “surfing” for an hour. I guess if we all contribute they’ll be more interesting stuff to absorb. You’d think there’d be a huge demand for writers, yet with the fall of newspapers, there’s not many good ones out there. The news has been so whittled down that the most you get is a few paragraphs. You’d think sites would get traffic if they were simply written well, not just updated constantly, or filled with celebrity side-boop. What happened to developing a fresh take, supported by evidence dug up from sources, that really made you pause, think a little, learn something? Probably too much work.

Anyhow, in other news it’s 8:00 at night and 80 degrees outside. I think we all need to move closer to the beach before it’s too late.