all of this is fiction, except when it's not

2011-12-16T03:20:00.004-05:00

I think it's crazy to have expectations. It's crazy because even though it makes perfect sense to expect at least some fraction back of what you put in, you know that people are not perfect and are selfish and are bound to disappoint you. So don't have expectations. Do things for people and with people, but without any reciprocation expected. Of course, this is impossible, because we do expect reciprocation. We're built on it. But still there are times, days, nights, when people find a way to disappoint, all at once and it's frustrating. It makes you want to scream and it makes you wonder if there's really anyone who you can be truly trusting with or if there's anyone who has the capacity to care and involve themselves like you do. because you care so so so much and you just want everyone to care just a little bit and to step outside the normal kinds of cares. you want them to lose the cares that drive a man or a woman crazy. but they cannot and they are stuck and afraid, more than anything, of being free, yet all you want is to be free with them and help free them. freeing people makes you feel free because helping is what you're about, really, deep down. nonetheless, don't expect anything of anyone and you can't be disappointed with what you get. impossible, yes, but it's at least something to strive for, something to keep in mind to dull the impact when your favorite people do your least favorite things.

2011-12-05T13:19:00.008-05:00

some things can't be said smoothly. "i have diarrhea" "let's go look at the stars" "i love that new twilight movie" "i like you" "i really do like PBR"

and we generally accept this, accept the limits of language and our tongues. some of us are more blessed with a so-called gift of gab, can annunciate and deliver a clarity unlike many. some of us can smooth out battles with even the fiercest foes and calm the waters of any raging storm with our words. some of us can convince anyone who's open-minded enough of just about anything we put our minds to. some of us, despite all of this, despite this natural gift, cannot seem to express ourselves when it is most important to us. some of us have trouble looking people in the eyes, but not all people. in fact, we can look just about anyone in the eyes and sometimes we do it just to defy or intimidate. it is a certain kind of person, the kind that gives us nervous butterflies when we see them, the kind of person who, when they laugh and smile, make us laugh and smile so much more, the kind of person who keeps appearing in our dreams in ways we only wish they would in the waking world. this is the person we have trouble looking in the eyes, the kind of person who takes away from us that gift of gab, that power of always knowing what to say and how to say it. they unintentionally rob us of our normal course of things and muddy up our instincts. those goddamn butterflies, fluttering in our stomach, flapping their wings so hard that we seem to gain a second heartbeat when they're around. we are the openly passionate ones and we know how to express it. everyone knows the fires that burn inside us and so these people trouble us. we have so many fires burning, butterflies flapping erratically. oh, if they only felt our heartbeat when they were around. they would know, she would know. she would know that there's so much waiting to burst out, so much i want to say and scream into the air, so much fire i want to breathe, so much i want to tell her with my eyes and so much i want to learn from hers. but it is this time, much like the many others, where our instincts guard us and we put up walls of stone around ourselves. we remember the last times we encountered these types, these flapping, fluttering, fucking butterflies and we let the fear hold our fires at bay to burn hotter and hotter and die, with all those extra heart beats having been good for nothing at all.

2011-11-22T20:54:00.005-05:00

experiences aren't hollowed out and pointless

and if they are hollow, it's because they're flutes,

because they have air coursing through them,

and solid things do not,

it's because no two people play one note the same,

that no two flutes are exactly alike,

and that everything will sound beautiful to someone.

and if they are pointless, it's not because they are restrictive or meaningless.

it's that experiences are more of a flow, a beginning-less and endless journey,

than they are an achievement of a point or an end.

it is that pointlessness that gives us freedom, to be, to make ourselves as we desire.

2011-11-15T17:51:00.001-05:00

it so simply slips away sometimes

every once in a while.

2011-10-26T17:19:00.006-04:00

every once in a while, you meet someone who is different, so different that you find yourself telling them things you haven't even told some of your good friends because somehow this person gets you, is so easy to look in the eye, understands you and maybe that's because you're made of the same "stuff," you know, the same experiences, the person you are at that very point in time is so compatible with who they are, but then again maybe it's just something about the way they look or the things they say, maybe it's that each of you have something figured out that the other wants so desperately to know or maybe you realized how great of an adventurer they would be, and you can see yourself climbing things together and shouting things at the sky "just because," and you know how short friendships can be in this time, this transient collegiate era, and you realize all the restrictions you have, your existing friendships, your schoolwork and obligations and you muse about how great it would be to runaway for the sake of doing it, even though you know that at the core of all of this lies something far greater and more powerful and you will probably never have the chance to realize it fully, so like most other things, you accept it and go through the usual motions once again, shunning the risk and rejection as if it's not the stuff of life, even when you know it is.

amazing

2011-09-23T13:18:00.000-04:00

whenever, whatever

2011-09-23T10:42:00.002-04:00

They sat outside, on the porch, sipping wine while she smoked a cigarette.

"I find you interesting," he said to her, as if he were thinking out loud.

She flashed a smile and applied another coat of lip gloss. "Interesting?" she asked.

"Yeah, you've got a way. You smoke those cigarettes with your arm crossed over your chest, as if you're holding yourself, as if the cigarette were holding you the way you wish someone would. And you tap your feet. Good lord, don't you know that tapping your feet is a serious thing? It means something, something indistinguishable but palatable. Maybe you've got thoughts swirling and attacking and you have scores of the strongest men holding them off. Maybe you're watching them fight and you're anxious, don't know if you're going to make it or if you're going to feel sane again," he said.

She looked at him for a minute, her eyes narrowed, and took a long drag before letting the smoke float out of her lungs and mouth.

"That and you seem so confident," he said, "but every minute you're tipping off the whole world, those of us that understand these things, you're tipping us off that you're not so confident underneath and maybe you're a little bit vulnerable. And just maybe someone will come along and notice. I want to know the things that are fighting in your head. Like I said, I find you interesting."

"I find it interesting," she said, "that you think you're qualified to make conclusions." She laughed. "Isn't it everyone who battles, all day long, with everything there is to battle? Isn't that me, you, and every damn person in this world?"

He smiled. "You're good, but I just think you're angry I'm starting to figure you out. Does that scare you? Maybe it should."

She looked at him for a moment and shrugged. She looked to the ground and to him again, composing herself and setting her shoulders more squarely, confidently.

"Of course it does, but it probably scares me for a reason," she said, "What about you? You're always trying to figure people out when you've got so little of yourself figured out. What are you scared of?"

"You only get more interesting," he said, before turning and walking back inside.

2011-09-06T15:15:00.003-04:00

is it in the moments? you know, the ones where you're smiling and you just forget altogether that you will die? those moments where, amongst terrible emotional agony, you find the strength and resolve to laugh, and laugh and laugh until you simply cannot laugh anymore?

is this where it lies? is it in the moment when you're lying on your back in the grass and staring up at the clouds, forgetting everything that makes up what it means to exist, to "be" ?

is it that moment when a realization strikes you so profoundly that you sit up and rub your eyes - you get that rising sense of purpose and energy - you're been struck by the lightning of your own realization! you go and go to your friends and they don't understand, but you're spastic with excitement and revelation! oh how could they NOT understand? not KNOW? but it's alright, because with every inch of you, you will make them know?

or is it in the moments when you're simply overwhelmed and collapse, uncertain if there's a point to going through this exhausting exercise of "life" ? that moment when you think of everyone you know and you wonder if any of them truly love you?

or is it in this moment, muddled and confusing, an in between, where nothing is so clear to you, your emotions are simply a jumbled mess of signals and nothing stands alone?

2011-08-24T13:57:00.004-04:00

This blog post is to bring attention to the following NYTimes "debate" about education: Is college worth the cost?

The link is here: Do We Spend Too Much on Education?

The positions are interesting, as you might expect. Some believe that college is worth the money, but that there is no guarantee it will lead to anything; it is what you make of it, whether or not you take advantage of it.

Others' opinions are varied. Some say to spend smarter - go to lower priced schools that still give a high quality education - it's only undergrad, right? One view is that college is good for social development. Many others talk about college as more than just an education in the classroom, but a multi-faceted opportunity to grow socially, as a leader, intellectually, etc. One, much in the vein of Peter Thiel, doesn't think education is worth the investment at all.

Buried beneath all of these commentaries was one by Pamela Burman, an education policy analyst, called "Is It a Priority to Teach the Poor?" She asks the question that the other commenters do not. When thinking about education and education reform, the other commenters are missing the fact that the poor rarely go to college and, if they do, are saddled with loans that will take many, many years to pay off. Other students can afford college because of their parents' incomes and they are best prepared for it. Their parents "value" it, because they can pay for it.

When thinking about this point of view, it's important to look at that question. Is it a priority to teach the poor? The obvious answer is no. It is not a priority, right at this moment, to teach the poor. We have made it one of our lowest priorities, providing secondary public schools that exist, as they are required to, but that operate on impossible budgets and have dropout rates well above 50%. There is absolutely no doubt that we have little intention of teaching the poor in a way that represents a sense of equality, and if not equality then equality of opportunity and access to information.

President Obama has planned to cut into interest deferments for federal loans and has reduced Pell Grants significantly already in this term in office. It's clear that some states care more about secondary or post-secondary than others - like comparing Massachusetts to Rhode Island to New Jersey to South Carolina. Massachusetts and New Jersey have the two best education systems in the country for secondary and below. South Carolina has the second worst system in the country for secondary and below, but has a wealth of money that it provides for in-state students based on merit when applying to college. Do well as a poor student in SC, and you can go to a state school for nearly free (that's what happened to me).

All of this makes me think: What are we missing when we talk about education reform? The New York Times is perhaps the most intellectual of the major news publications and is widely read. The commenters for this article are well-informed and experts in their fields, so what's the problem?

I personally believe that we are framing the problem incorrectly, just as we frame many of our problems incorrectly (global warming as simply ice melt, sea level rise, and sad polar bears -vegetarians as solely opposition to animal cruelty, etc). The education problem comes down to a values and attitudes issue. It's not simply economic. We know that dollars spent on education are some of the most valuable dollars we can spend for our economy. Paying teachers more will not solve the problem. Giving money to poorer schools will not solve the problem.

The problem is systemic and has a long history relating to oppression, be it for racial reasons or class reasons. It intersects with religion and with personal experience. How can a single mother working 80hrs/week read to her kids each night like my mom did? How can we expect students to excel in school if their parents encourage sports education over academics, seeing a more viable path to wealth? How can we expect students to stay in school when dropping out to make an income will save their family from losing their home? How do we expect misguided kids to get the guidance they need when there's one guidance counselor for 1100 kids? How can children learn from ineffective teachers lacking the necessary tools and classroom materials to even approach effectiveness?

How can we expect our poorer students, who might speak differently or have a completely different schema of the english language, to get the necessary scores on the SAT (which, as most know, are biased toward wealthier, white individuals, with Jews scoring best)? How are children surrounded by crime supposed to avoid being mixed up in it?

I think you get the point here so I'll digress into a story.

At the Moore Student Research conference, the President of Wofford College gave a speech to us in honor of his great friend Bill Moore (my former advisor) who died a little over two years ago. It was about the way that people perceive and value education in South Carolina.

Wofford was prepared to give out one of its first full scholarships to a girl living in rural South Carolina. She was beyond poor, eligible for Pell Grant and other need-based scholarships. Her family before her had never attended college. They were very devoutly religious people. For a private school with high tuition like Wofford, this was an exciting prospect for her. The girl intended entirely to go to Wofford College.

But then Wofford heard that she had decided not to go to the college. The President of Wofford went to the girl's house to talk to her directly and see why she did not want to go to Wofford College. When he arrived, the parents were there. He gave his prepared pep talk, hi speech, to the girl, explaining that she should go, that it would give her so many opportunities. He was impassioned, persuasive. She nodded and nodded, but said nothing. It was then that her father excused her from the room so that he and his wife could talk to the President alone. They told him thank you, but no thank you, that their daughter would not be attending college because it wasn't for her. They wanted her to stay in their home town, not move away, and that they had consulted God on the matter and they felt this way.

Not to be deterred, the President left frustrated, but contacted the girl's minister/pastor. Upon discussing the situation, they decided that they would meet with the parents together. When they arrived, the father invited them in and tried to excuse the daughter from the room, but the pastor ordered him to keep her in the room. He asked her whether she wanted to go to college. She said yes, she did. The pastor probed as to why the father didn't want her to. And the pastor said directly, that God wants her to go to college, that she is old enough to decide this for herself. He told the father that he would find himself in Hell if he stole this incredible opportunity from his daughter.

And the father relented. The father deferred to his pastor, someone with whom he had great admiration and confidence, and this girl attended Wofford College. I don't know the result of her time there, whether she took full advantage of her years and flourished, but I'd like to think she did.

I'll leave it up to you to explore the many, many angles of this story, the role that religion plays, the difficulties of being rural or urban and poor, even if you are a great student. And I think you should imagine all of the students out there who are victims of their circumstances, who did nothing wrong except be born into their town, their system. And then you should think about yourself and how just like everyone else, most of who you are is because of the accident of your birth. Sometimes it's a good accident, sometimes it's not.

2011-08-23T15:19:00.004-04:00

Everyone is so confused.

So few of us walk around, assured in our thoughts and actions, comfortable with our skin and bones, certain of the important of our existence. Most of us refuse to ask and for those of us who do ask, we come back with very few answers. There is comfort in denial, of course, but we see denial manifested repeatedly in acts of anger and violence.

Those of us who ask, who open our minds to the possibilities of our reality, have a small semblance of certainty. And I think we walk the most comfortably, though we may not always seem to be. Those of us who are not afraid of our bodies, our physical selves, do a lot less pretending and a lot more being.

Nothing is better. We know that. Not everyone does, but that's not better either.

I'm not sure what I've written here, but like I said, we're all confused, me perhaps more than most.

2011-07-25T11:22:00.002-04:00

I never thought I'd feel old. You know, when you're young and you're playing Donkey Kong 64 and your parents tell you about High School and you just can't imagine what that would be like. You don't care and don't give it much thought and all of a sudden you've played your last Little League baseball game and you're doing algebra and precalculus and you're noticing peoples' changing bodies and then all of a sudden college has come and gone and you're not so sure you've changed that much, but when you look, you know that you have changed so much and that five, seven, ten years is a long, long time, so you think about all the things that old people say, like life can pass you by and once you get older, time just flies and you wonder and hope that this is not true, but every year it seems like your birthdays are closer together and that your seven day week has been shortened to two because you spend most of it occupied by other things and this is ok, you think, because you were warned of this, you were told that this would happen, but somehow you're still not ready to believe.

a letter from a friend who is losing his mind

2011-07-24T21:05:00.003-04:00

Dear friend,

It's me again and I'm losing my mind. I'm not sure why, really. It seems like every day I say goodbye to close friends who understand me well. Voids are opened up and I'm not in any place to take to filling them.

I am lost in a certain sense, but it is not systemic. I am lost some of the time, but certain and comfortable for most of it. Tonight I am lost. As I write, I am lost. I do not expect this feeling to leave. It will go on vacation and return when I am vulnerable, as it always does. And I will vent to you, friend, because we calm each other down, because we understand each other well.

I keep getting told that I think too much, far too much. I'm not certain if this is true. I think that I think just enough, perhaps too much from time to time. I wish to be simpler, to understand less, to be content with usual existence, but I am not. I do not believe in a god and I am certain death is an end. I love my friends and family, but know that I will lose them all and that I will soon be lost to them, as well.

And other times I believe, like when I leave my friends to sit on the rooftop and look up at the sky because it's calm up there and the breeze feels right. In those moments, I choose to believe hopeful things because hopeful things make me smile. And I start to believe the hopeful things, knowing full well that later they'll come crumbling down. I just think it is easier this way, easier when we're smiling and hoping and laughing.

I hope you are well. When you need that calming voice, I will be here.

Best,

Your friend

2011-07-20T11:37:00.010-04:00

hold yourself under summer sun

blunt and open, undone for once.

don't roar at clouds

in hopes to stun,

to keep the rain

from falling on.

because what is done with only one?

raindances weak with rust

can't shake it off

cause trust is lost

when people push

and you are tough.

and she can't find you

on any kind of roof top.

she doesn't know you're not

the kind who runs.

you dare the storm.

if it comes, it comes.

2011-07-17T11:04:00.005-04:00

And then he took a shot in the dark, because his aim wasn't true in the light. He didn't expect to hit anything. No, he never does anymore. He just shoots wildly into the dark, caring little if his bullets or arrows or sharp glances catch the flesh of another, or collide with an idea as it floats down to the ground like a feather shed by a weary, migrating bird.

He loves the idea of acknowledging so directly someone else's existence. And he is no fool. He loves when his existence is acknowledged so directly, too. He smiles more this way. With his eyes, he sees everything as if it is new, because he is new everyday and failing to acknowledge this would be criminal. He has learned this, has learned so much more because his eyes are more open, dart around more often, and crunch up like crows feet on the sides.

2011-07-16T01:03:00.008-04:00

I'm tired. It's late. This will be jumbled, but here it goes.

Why? Everyone asks me this, every day. I hear it over and over.

Why are you a vegetarian?

Why do you eat organic, local?

Why do you care about climate change?

Do you crave meat?

Do you eat seafood?

Why are you going into the Peace Corps?

I should probably start my response by explaining where I see humans situated in the world. I consider us animals, we are physical beings residing, made of skin and bone and flesh and organ and we all live, all die. We will perish and rot in the way that anything rots, our phosphorous and carbon returning to be recycled and used again. I don't wish for things to be this way, but I do believe they are. I think that human beings are miraculous and that life is an incredible gift, that our depth of analysis and understanding of ourselves and our universe is jaw-dropping. I see so much joy in people. While I am certain that, subjectively, life is a value to me, I am not sure that it is objectively valuable. I am not sure that the continuation of human life on Earth is necessarily a good thing, nor am I sure that life is at all important objectively. I simply know that I value these things. First, it's human life. And second, it's the conquering and reduction of suffering.

I don't know if my "why" is good enough for any of these questions. The why is simply that I have assessed things, taken in as much as I could about everything - our food system, the changing climate and planet, the realities of living on under $2.50 a day (as over 3 billion people do), the difficulties of reconciling "sustainable development" policies and differentiating development theories, and most importantly, who I am and the kind of person I want to be, so absolutely present and alive in each moment and so connected to the realities of existing as a human being on a planet with diverse environments and cultures.

First, I am a vegetarian because I do not believe our planet can sustain a population of 7 billion meat eaters. I have learned, through my academic studies, that it is highly unlikely that we have any kind of chance of this. It cannot sustain 9 billion or 12 billion. Industrial agriculture (especially animal agriculture, but also plant) threatens the health of our oceans, rivers, forests, and has contributed to extinctions and degradation already. Industrial agriculture is one of the leading contributors to climate change, which will have catastrophic implications for many centuries to come. The implication, for me, from what I've learned, is that the act of eating meat is not only unhealthy in many instances, not just unsustainble, but that it could be contributing to the deaths of millions, maybe billions of people. There's even a chance, if we continue on this path, that it might eventually lead to the extinction of human beings themselves.

Eating meat is a choice. I can understand the problems with access to food, the problems of food security for impoverished areas. I do not blame others for eating meat, but I do caution that eating meat frequently is not sustainable. It cannot continue this way if we wish to sustain our planet's rich biodiversity (including humans).

It's about sustainability. It's why I buy the organic, local Kefir and the hemp protein powder instead of Whey. It's why I bike most places and carry around re-useable shopping bags. It's why I put my AC on 80 degrees instead of 74 (which I want to do SO badly every day). It's why I buy food with less packaging sometimes, and why I cringe when I buy bananas. It's why I take the trip to Whole Foods or Trader Joes over Harris Teeter. It's why I ask the question, when I drive to Whole Foods, whether the trip and the resulting carbon footprint is actually making everything worse off.

Is an organic strawberry trucked from California better than one that was bathed in pesticides but grown only six miles away and by a guy named Jim?

Sometimes I wonder if my education has ruined me, if my knowledge has betrayed my ability to enjoy life and live presently. But I think I desire to know for some kind of reason. I think my happiness relies on a pursuit of knowledge and a striving to construct better realities for people, including myself.

When I think about climate change, I get upset.

George Carlin discusses it pretty well here with a quote at 0:49 seconds in this video. Humans have squandered their gifts and our future is far from bright if we don't act soon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KPEJNGAlqw&feature=player_embedded#at=49

Most importantly, though, I want to get into why I want to do Peace Corps.

I'm not doing it to run away from our disgusting civilization, because I think technology has ruined us and I want to live in "the middle of nowhere" in a hut. That is not a reality, but a false perception of one.

I plan to do Peace Corps because I believe that I must experience the daily realities of individuals in what is termed the "global south," the area of the world that is so impoverished. Three billion people. Under $2.50 a day. I said this earlier. Can you imagine what that is like? What that means, day in, day out, living like that? Can you even imagine a billion people? Do you know the Earth's population is approaching 7 billion? That's a lot of people. And I'm isolated from this fact of extreme poverty daily. I am wholly unaware that the clothing I wear, the coffee and fruit I get at the grovery store, are the product of what Americans would call slavery.

To ignore the realities of the world, to live in this comfort, would not be a true existence for me. I am human and I am strong. It is time for me to live life as these people do. And there's diversity. Of course there is. Peace Corps on the Ecuadorian coast is entirely different than inland Ecuador, nevermind the difference between the Georgian (the country) countryside and the tiny island of Tuvalu.

But who am I to deny this experience, this chance to grow, this chance to anchor myself more firmly and approach some kind of self discovery? Who am I to rob myself of an opportunity to overcome a challenge and grow? I have faced many challenges in my life, but none are so enormous. Over two years commitment to living an entirely different lifestyle, being isolated from friends and being challenged with a sense of loneliness that you've never even touched the surface of before.

There is the acknowledgement that what you're doing is not "development," but a diplomacy tool for the US government that may, perhaps, if you do it just right, better the lives of the people you come into contact with. And even then the effects you have will probably fade quickly. The fact that you are powerless, that you can dedicate yourself entirely, for decades, and never feel like you've achieved anything of great meaning when it comes to development. But at the same time you can realize that maybe, just maybe, all everyone needs is to love and be loved and that you will spend your time loving the best ways you can and maybe it will all be worth it. Maybe it's that and maybe there's a bit of a sense of adventure, of self-development and searching. Maybe there's a quest for understanding, nestled deep beneath the layers.

And you'll never, ever know if you've helped.

Most people don't ask this question and live fine lives anyways.

Me, I won't settle for that. My curiosity leads me everywhere.

2011-07-12T11:26:00.006-04:00

She loved him because he was quotable, because he could put into words all the swirling thoughts she couldn't. And he knew how to love when she didn't.

She hated him because he was so willing to lose himself in her and she was too scared to admit how lost she was and has always been.

He loved her because they were so different and she was so beautiful when the light was shining and more so when it wasn't. He loved her because the door to her heart was open just a crack and he wanted to swing it open, wildly, release it from its hinges.

He hated her because she guarded the door with armies of millions of men and though he was strong, had always been strong, fielded millions of his own men and women, knights and kings alike, it would take a fight, a battle to open the door and they'd both collapse, vulnerable and looking into each others' eyes, wondering why they fought at all.

But he was clever, is clever, is brilliant when it comes to people, to convincing, to changing minds and showing truths and confronting reality. He is everything. And he saw that the doorway to her mind was open, so wide that he and his friends could ride elephants, side by side, through without impediment. And he thought to himself that the door to the mind can lead to the heart.

But sometimes she is clever, too and guards her heart in a million different ways. Nobody brings an army into someone's mind, one goes in alone. His cunning led him, as it always had, to another door, inside the mind but to the heart. And it was open, wide open.

And then he remembered he is scared, terrified of a door open so wide that he could be swallowed and able to come and go as he pleased, scared that maybe he'll go through the door and never come out. He realized then that he needed to fight, to battle, to pry the door open from a crack, to burst the door from its metal hinges, despite the strength of millions of men, in order to love her.

And so he knew he did not love her. And when he could not pass through that door, she knew she could not love him and wondered if she had ever really loved him. She knew she did not.

But they both remember this fondly and he is ready for a battle at any time, his men and women, spears and shields at the ready, his cunning ready for use at any moment, like a gun cocked and resting at his hip.

And she's alone but smiling, not so sure she's for fighting wars anymore.

to an old friend returned from his journey

2011-07-06T11:13:00.005-04:00

I am scared in the same myriad of ways that you are scared. They're different, of course, but it's all the same.

We know so much for the time we've spent but so little when considering all there is to know. It's probably the not-knowing that scares us the most, because what we know is easy. We know we live, we sometimes laugh, and we die. We know that grass, to us, is green and that we (most of us) have fingernails.

We know that brushing teeth can make them last longer and that a sewage system does wonders if you want clean streets.

But what we do not know is why, for any of this. And we're always looking for why. My dear traveling friend, I don't believe we can know "why," but this does not by any means dictate my search for why. This does not stop me from wondering and trying to reason out emotionally and rationally why why why why why why why. Why do I do this? I don't know why, but I do. You do, we do.

But do not fret, journeyman. We are all scared of the whys and living with uncertainty. But don't be, don't don't don't.

Everything is going to happen to you and there's nothing you can do to change that. Everything is happening all the fucking time and don't let everything happen to you without allowing yourself to happen to everything and everyone else. Why? No reason. I think it's more fun that way.

Erase those expectations from your tired soles and stop walking with such heavy legs. You have a long road behind you but a longer one ahead. Tread lightly, skip, run, sleep, leap, jog, and fly and, if you happen upon one, you may choose to carry a big stick. They are sometimes useful. They sometimes encumber.

Everything is yours if you want it.

2011-07-06T11:00:00.003-04:00

-Why are you crying?

-If I told you, you would cry.

-I do not know how to cry.

-You will learn.

-I will not.

-You don't have a choice.

2011-07-05T11:03:00.003-04:00

-I need some kind of zen bullshit to wipe my mind clean.

-It's not zen if it's bullshit and it's not going to be a magic rag.

-It's whatever I need it to be and I want it now and yesterday but sometime tomorrow.

-You don't make sense.

-Who does make sense?

-Sometimes, I make sense.

-When?

-That time that mom was in the hospital and it didn't look good and I sat there and I kept trying to hope that she'd be ok, but after a while I stopped. I couldn't hope anymore because it finally seemed to me that hope itself was hopeless. She would either make it or not and there was nothing I could do about it, so I just waited.

-That's what you had in your fucking head? All I did was look up at the sky, at some absent God figure who has never been there and I pleaded and fucking screamed out at it, at him, at her, at whatever the fuck resides in that cloud-filled paradise with way too many white robes and halos. I don't believe in God, but if there was ever a time I tried, it was then.

-You hope, I don't. You dream in color and I dream in black and white. What's better, in the end? Why does it matter?

-It doesn't matter, but in every fucking goddamn way I'm going to try and make it matter. With every ounce of thrust I have in my fist, I will punch through indifference and nonchalance until everything matters to everyone, all the time. And I will fuck it up, I'm sure, but who gives a shit?

-Do you remember when we were kids and played in the sandbox? I always built myself sandcastles. Filled my buckets up and then let the water seep in, flipped them over and they were perfect. You were perfectly happy throwing sand around and digging holes, playing with your X-men action figures in some kind of epic battle, riddled with quicksand. And i just worked and worked and worked and I never liked a sandcastle. Not a single one.

-Are you out of your mind? Your sandcastles were glorious, meant to be photographed and taped up on walls in hundreds of American homes. Hell, they were meant to be hardened, struck by lightning and preserved in glass form. I would kill for your sense of order.

-Order is nothing without chaos. Back to the zen "bullshit." You don't need zen - you won't find zen. You don't want zen. Your mind is chaos with a little bit of order and mine is order with a little bit of chaos.

-You make sense, except for the screaming fact that you don't make any fucking sense at all. You think things are that logical, that simple? So easily deduced? Jesus fucking christ, you need a Mach truck of reality to smash into your face. Look around you. Everything is living and dying simultaneously and there's nothing we can do about it. You're growing and living until 22 and then you're dying, slowly, decaying. And fuck it if I'm going to take it lying down. I want to feel anything and everything and run through concrete wall after concrete wall and get there, to the end, battered and broken but smiling, smiling so wide that I could disappear right then and everyone i know and love would be smiling so fucking wide, like i could stretch their cheeks over the fucking mountains thousands of miles away.

-I hope that is the order of things.

2011-07-01T23:24:00.002-04:00

my friend and i, we have a system. a tradition that we spend one day a year living like kings. we take and do everything fantastic and exciting and wonderful and we use them to surround ourselves in something of ecstasy, all packed into a single day.

we’re not sure how this affects our happiness, because we deprive ourselves many of these pleasures year round so that we can heap them on in a single day. no craft beer during the rest of the year, no fine wine, no five star restaurants, no escargot. no new technology or dishwashers. no massages. we wonder if we’d be better off disbursing these kingly things throughout the year. we wonder briefly and only briefly because we haven’t the time to truly consider such things, to arrive at some kind of rational conclusion.

people like us, we put a hell of a lot more time into coping with unfortunate situations and looking at the brighter dimensions of things because sometimes life isn’t bright and you bitch and you moan and you want to cry and break down. but us, we never break down, we fight and fight, breaking through everything. and fighting is hard but fighting can be beautiful and struggle is still universal. and we look ahead to those moments, the days as king, with so much more excitement because they lift us higher off the ground. because when things are hard and tough, there are so many more things that you’re grateful for.

we do not ponder our happiness.

we have no time for such things.

2011-06-23T22:34:00.004-04:00

the air is thick from a raging fire hundreds of miles away,

small pieces of ash stick to my sweaty legs

as i move under the heavy light of an even more distant fire.

my mind is ripe for a field and can simply brush headaches away.

i feel a part and a whole, but small and aware of it.

and i think about death and misfortune.

but i think of it as a man so enamored with the people and experiences in his life

that he hasn't the time to ponder, why?

2011-06-09T22:15:00.002-04:00

i like what i'm made of.

flesh and bones and skin.
and muscles.
fat.

i like every inch of bone (they're rocks, you know. living rocks).
i like those masses of meaty muscle, full of tension and power.
blood fills and flows through them, turning seeping into strength.

i like each squishy mass of fat.
all pokable and all absurd at the same time.
i look at them and think "that's just energy i'm saving up"
sometimes i use it up, sometimes i don't.
sometimes i collect more.

i really like the things that are growing on me.
fingernails. - they itch things and grip things.
those of the toe variety. Kind of gross (and so HUGE compared to fingernails).

hair. a way to trap some heat.
TEETH! The beasts who help me feast!
eyebrows. the collectors of my sweat!
nosehairs! the guardians of my sinuses!
eyelashes! the guardians of my eyeballs

but but but! oh, there is a but.

what i like the most, what i LOVE the most, is not what i'm made of, but how it's put together.

all of it.
being a human is a cool gig. i think i'll take it.

2011-05-25T01:41:00.002-04:00

How are you?

"I could not be more in pieces."

"Where will you go? And why?"

"I'd give a normal line about finding purpose in life

but I know that I'll go anywhere far away from lonely.

I don't know the distances between where I am and where I'm going and the more moments I have to wonder, the more I'm alone.

I think the answer is quite simple, it's one so many have found.

Find some good distractions until they put you in the ground."

"How do you exist?"

"Like anyone else, just as outwardly sure and inwardly confused, wrestling with mortality and purpose, often times sitting sedentary in front of televisions and computer screens as they pump blood in my veins.

And like anyone else, I like to believe that I am everything powerful and strong and confident and that when I move, I cut through the night itself and burst into the company of others, smiling, shouting every right and energizing thing, refusing to sleep because sleep is giving up, slowing down, so i cut through the night, content just to be moving because if we stop, we stop forever and stopping is never OK because stopping leads to thinking and thinking leads to that same nauseating realization that perhaps all i've ever learned from my existence, like that fact that i matter, that i am important, has all been for naught, has been a farce and that even more painfully, i am unavoidably connected to hundreds, thousands, millions of people who are taking part in the joke, wholly unaware that in the end, they will end and it will have been for nothing."

"Yikes."

"Don't get me wrong. Do not, for the love of god, get me wrong. There is every reason to move along, delusional and cut through that fucking night air like it was put there just for you to cut through and believing that every sunset and cool breeze touched you the way it did because, god damnit, it was supposed to."

Table legs & dominoes

2011-04-09T12:31:00.003-04:00

In a moment, what seems in sync can get twisted and pulled and ripped apart. Sometimes it is a comment or a musing, perceived in an unintended way, that sends your carefully placed dominoes, sitting atop that wobbly table, tumbling with a clacking roar.

And you feel the threat that this may pose, how much potential this has to collapse the legs of the very table on which you had stacked your dominoes. And so desperation sets in - you grasp at these legs trying your hardest to keep them standing, lying on the floor and using all of your limbs in a frantic attempt at stabilizing, dominoes falling all around you. One even lands on your front tooth, sending a sharp, familiar pain into the center of your head.

Your legs flailing (and you know this is coming), you kick one of the legs out from under the table. An accident of course, but you're working with a three-legged table now. And in a desperate attempt to keep the table standing, you receive assistance from another - someone just as desperate and invested in these dominoes as you - as this person gets to her knees to hold the table up, she crashes into the side and the opposing leg falters, tumbles.

At this point you are angry. Your table is half way ruined, which, for a table, means it's entirely ruined. Your dominoes have fallen and fallen again. The remaining legs are strong - so strong - as you grasp them in your hands. They will not break the way that the others did. But you cannot contain this anger. You have contained it all too long. You tense your arms, your shoulders, legs, the muscles on the tops of your feet, your jaw; your brow is furrowed. And you break those legs off - snap them right off that fucking table with a jolt of your powerful arms. You throw them against the wall, throw the table top across the room. You clear the floor entirely of everything you'd been trying to cultivate and construct for so long. And you sit there, cross legged, staring at the remnants across the room, wondering if your careful placing of everything ever meant anything at all.

And because your scared, because you're more scared then you've been in months, you break down. Not emotionally, but physically. You go from cross-legged to splayed out on your hardwood floors. The discomfort is welcomed, because it's easier that way. And you just hope that maybe, with everything collapsed, that this other - this person who tried so hard to save your joint-creation - that she will break down, too, will splay herself out and lie on the hardwood. And you both will lie, calm, measured in your breathing, content just to be together and oh, so glad that the dominoes have fallen because you both know you'll never set them up again.

moving so fast

2011-03-20T12:57:00.009-04:00

I had this dream last night where I am moving so fast, feel so alive, like a speed boat in the ocean, WHAAP! WHAAP! on the waves, the shore speeding by. I am with a girl. She is Russian, maybe German, does not speak English well. But she is moving so fast, too, so it is OK. We move, we do not worry about why or where we're going, so long as we're moving.

Walking on the edges of this dream is "her," that one who haunts you because something didn't end right. She's that person, "the" person. And I ignore her. She is in my dream, she sees me and I see her, but I do not acknowledge her. I move fast, so fast I don't think she could ever catch me because I move fast and she does not. I don't know if she even moves at all, yet she keeps up with me, is always on my tail or far ahead. her speed is a mystery.

And I arrive, at the focus of the dream, the central part. A carnival-esque ride in the middle of the ocean. Waves pour into a closed in area where a dock used to be. They pour in and send everyone up and down and up and down - a renown ride that people come to from around the world. The ride, so crowded that it's dangerous, can sweep you out to sea, can end your life. but everyone goes on this ride. everyone. young children, old men and women. the timid and the bold. they go because why not go? what is death, danger? what is living? we can move, so fast, up and down, and together, so close to one another. so we go. my German, my Russian, we find the entrance, take the stairs down and down.. and up and up again. we arrive at the entrance and she is ready, I am ready. and like a tidal wave, SHE is there, waiting at the door, at the entrance and I am facing her. I cannot look away, not from the pain in her eyes. We hug, hug for so long, so hard, squeezing because we think that maybe, just maybe we might squeeze into each other. but i am scared and i pull away. i see her face, her eyes red and full of tears. and my face is stoic and strong. i fight my tears with the strength of hundreds of men. we ignore her younger sister who does not actually exist, but is standing nearby. my Russian has gone on the ride and we are alone.

and i feel alone. so close to someone i love, but so alone. so i move, fast, through the door and into the chamber, riding the waves up and down and up and down

until i wake for another day.

How to: Make a self-development check list

2010-11-16T12:05:00.005-05:00

You want to type your self-development check list in a word document or write it out in a nice, black pen.

When you begin, be sure to keep these three rules in mind:

1) Items on the list will be written in second person, as if directed at yourself. "You need to drink less." "Stop drinking so much, you moron, what are you doing with your life?"

2) This is your best attempt at one your own psychological diagnoses, so please, be honest. You must be honest.

3) Have a battle plan. This isn't about venting frustrations only, put a plan into place with some expectations and try to meet them.

Be witty, if you must. Self-deprecation is important. Don't hold back. This is about self-improvement, the only kind of autonomous improvement. You better not fuck around with it and make it a joke. Seriously. Don't. fucking. do. it.

Let us continue with a sample of a list:
____________________

Breathe fire. And I mean fire, not any of that holding-a-lighter-to-your-mouth-as-you-spit-out-alcohol-or-flammable-mist bullshit. BREATHE FIRE. Make your words hot and powerful and make them last. You're here to make an impact on things, shake things up, change people, change yourself, and be remembered.

When you drink, stop going to bars so often. You know you don't really like them. Have people over. Who cares if this apartment isn't quite as good as the last one? It's not where you are, it's who you're with.

Speaking of who you're with, I haven't seen many new friends. What is all this talk about loving to meet new people? Stop saying it if you're not going to meet new people. Don't talk about how much you love it and want to do it while doing absolutely nothing to change it. You're an asshole.

Don't be afraid to change things and take risks. And often. What's the point of being conservative in your actions? Danger? Pfffft. You're as likely to die in a freak car accident as any other way, why waste time conserving something that's not guaranteed? Take some risks.

For Christ sake. Stop doing the same shit over and over again. Class. Study. Class. Yoga. Hang out with same exact people in same exact ways at the same exact times. NO. Stop it. You're boring me. ZzzZzZzzZzzzzz.....

______________

Please, my good friends, listen to this last tip about writing a sample list:

End with a quote, because yes, someone HAS said it better than you.

"And we will be ready, at the end of every day will be ready, will not say no to anything, will try to stay awake while everyone is sleeping, will not sleep, will make the shoes with the elves, will breathe deeply all the time, breathe in all the air full of glass and nails and blood, will breathe it and drink it, so rich, so when it comes we will not be angry, will be content, tired enough to go, gratefully, will shake hands with everyone, bye, bye, and then pack a bag, some snacks, and go to the volcano--"
-Dave Eggers

i wrote this one for you.

2010-10-18T14:17:00.004-04:00

don't apologize for how you feel.

don't allow others to access your emotions, like a typed list and delete, delete, delete. to copy from a list of pros and deposited in a list of cons.

don't believe there's anything right or wrong to feel. there is only what you do feel - the only thing you could feel.

don't smile if it's hard to smile. don't smile if you don't want to smile.

mourn. but mourn, not out of duty and disappointment, but out of loss. a grieving. grieve over things you have let go. grieve until you can't be bothered to grieve anymore.

and then smile, but only when you can stretch those lips from an impulse. when, even if you tried to resist, your lips would stretch themselves to show your teeth.

love. and hope. but love and hope only when it helps you to love and hope. don't hope for hopeless things. and love the proactive kind of love. don't love as an obligation, but as a fulfillment of desire.

see what you want, what you may even need, and take it. see it. take it.

but in the course of seeing, you must acknowledge where taking might mean hurting, where others might be damaged and repairable or not, pause. pause just long enough so that you feel the weight of all of these things. feel the competing emotions of regret, of joy, of sympathy - feel them battle for your mind, crashing, as waves do, into walls of rocks.

understand, in the simplest way, that your emotion is true. that it is real. that the one undeniable thing that you have in this world is the fact that you are feeling something. and it will conflict you. it will make you want to close your eyes and cringe, clenching your fists over scrunching blankets which are too thin to lessen the intensity of these conflicts.

lose yourself in your emotions. and embrace them fully. get lost, i say. as lost as you can. but don't forget the paths you've traveled. no matter the hopelessness of your current state, no matter the agony, do not forget the day you loved. or the year you flew higher than you'd ever flown before. don't let them fade. keep them strong.

and they will wage a war for the ultimate condition of your soul. the combination of your heart and your restless mind.

and you will win. but not in the sense of peaceful happiness. you will win in the way that we all do. we all win our human dignity by having entirely unique human experiences. we win this for the benefit each other. and at the expense of one another, altogether and at the same time.

don't apologize for how you feel. we all feel.

and for those saddening thoughts, like drifting in a night-time thunderstorm in the middle of the Pacific, let's hope the paths you've traveled are bright enough to guide you to home, to where you want to be instead of where you're going.

the mouse

2010-10-11T13:15:00.001-04:00

you never know what you're gonna think about in an international development theory course. you never know what conversation you'll call back to.

i was recently thinking about mouse traps. and during a recent late night conversation, a friend brought up how much he hates the term 'pest control.'

he said it's not pest control at all. a group of people come to murder bugs in your home and take them away. totally a misleading advertisement.

but how much we love this misleading advertisement. it's best to have things like roach motels, mouse traps, 'pest control,' and others. it removes us of the guilt of having to kill so many living things ourselves and without very good reason. there are rats that live below my house. they have never done anything to the tenants living there. they simply come out and play with each other, running around. but what did my neighbor say to me after she discovered them? she said she's going to tell the landlord to get pest control over here to kill these rats.

that way, she is not involved in the killing. i say, if you want to kill bugs, animals, 'pests,' then do it your fucking self. if you can stomach the guilt or the results of murdering a living thing for no reason, go ahead and do it. squash your own cockroaches, don't buy slow-killing poisons which put the cockroach through hell.

don't put out cheese or peanut butter as a gift for a mouse to lure it into a death trap. And I mean the loud POW! BANG! and SNAP! sounds when a mouse's spine is snapped in half and its organs inside explode. And then you retrieve the trap and empty the carcass. you usually throw it into the trash can, i know. in a trash bag. a fitting burial, of course.

but i want you to realize something. and maybe it will change the way you act. maybe not. you are the mouse.

and by that i mean that your life has the same impermanence as the mouse. at any time, an enormous metal rod might come down and snap your neck. or you might be filled with a poison which slowly kills you over time. and when you die, you're going into a plastic bag, too. sure, it's a dressed up plastic bag. it's really some wooden coffin which is as nice as the price your family was willing to pay for it. and you'll get a stone to mark where you died, but within 2 generations it will be forgotten as acid rain eats it away.

you are the mouse. you can't escape it. you can barely embrace it. but maybe you don't have a choice.

The best part of driving is acceleration

2010-09-28T00:45:00.005-04:00

To my friends who may not read this and the imaginary blog followers who undoubtedly will,

Nobody really lusts for those times when they hit their cruise control and lean back on the highway. Sure, it feels nice with the windows down and, if you've got a good set of speakers, the music can be out of this world. You know, like when a middle class woman is telling her friends that the fudge brownie sundae at Friday's is "Out of this world." That's the same woman who, when asked if she wants a piece responds, "Oh, I shouldn't." She'll pause, looking at the brownie for another moment and ultimately proclaim that "one bite can't hurt."

So, sure, the music is good. But the best part of driving -- the best part -- is the few moments when you've been at a stop and you feel the engine power itself against its will to that sixty, seventy or eighty miles an hour (90-100 for those of you who have cars which do not shake at those speed).

Once you're back to going a steady speed, no matter what it is, it's never as good.

And you're probably thinking right now, "Adam, I don't give a shit. Everyone drives."

And then you'll wonder, and quite correctly I might add, if it's a metaphor for living your life.

I hate routine. And I mean hate. Any period of time which is, by definition, categorized by a repetition of similar experiences is a horribly depressing concept for me.

As I continue to write this blog entry, I realize more and more the limits of this car metaphor. I wonder if there's another, more appropriate one and I'm sure there is. There has to be. But that's neither here nor there (Ok, it's technically here (the blog)).

The point to be taken from this musing, should you consider that there is anything to take at all, is that autopilot is an awfully meaningless way to go through life. Our work days and school days and family days and workout days and leisure days that seem like work days aren't easily changed. We are creatures of habit (have you ever heard that one before?). We do things and then we do them again. And if we like it enough, we do it again and again and again. And then we die as boring people.

Some of us, at least.

For me, my biggest fear is to be completely and totally normal. Average. Plain. I'd hate for nothing about me to be great or spectacular. I want to be the most unique of all the unique people out there (not really, but you get the point). It's about the aspiration to create and to laugh and to dance from time to time. The aspiration to meet new people who can open the doors to new experiences.

That's what accelerating is. That's what its like to press the pedal down and feel yourself launched forward.

None of us can accelerate forever because we'll hit a wall.

But at the very least, do yourself a favor and stop sitting in your bed, depressed and watching Netflix. I don't want to hear about how much you really just need to stay in on Friday and read a good book. I don't want to hear excuses for an addiction or your hundreds of justifications for being in a destructive relationship. Sometimes, it's best to let go and press the pedal down.

Maybe this makes sense. Maybe it doesn't. Maybe I don't understand half of what you do about living life. Twenty one years is a long time, contrary to popular belief, and I'm happy as hell to share these thoughts. Maybe those of you on autopilot will join me at a bar, say Upper Deck, on a future night. Maybe we can do something new and fun, and interesting.

Or maybe, like is often the case, nobody will read or comment on this and I will walk away from my computer feeling content that I let out some bottled (and potentially explosive) thoughts. In my experience, road trips tend to be more fun with company.

Best,

Adam

diversification of your portfolio of experiences

2010-09-14T13:08:00.004-04:00

remember three days ago? you probably do. chances are that three days ago was a lot like two days ago and eerily similar to yesterday. and your expectation probably is that tomorrow will mirror, in its major events, three days ago. its been this way for... since.. well, since you can remember.

today, i have class. i am sipping on an iced coffee in a coffee shop. i will be in class shortly. during this time, i will think about what i am going to do later in the day. i will think about my bachelor's essay, my various friends, and i will sift through the same exact options for my leisure time, knowing i won't find anything remotely revelatory.

and i know this. and it's kind of cool. kind of. the best nights i can remember have consisted of new faces that i'm newly fond of. and sometimes i end sentences with 'of.' it's something i'm proud of. but, moving on, back to three days ago.

or three weekends ago. or three minutes ago. whatever. the point is, what are you doing with your time? are you bending and massaging it into incredible shapes and sizes. are you shaking up routine, like a snow globe? except not a snow globe. a snow globe has the whole "globe" aspect keeping the flakes in. shake up your routine, instead, by throwing a snow globe at the wall. and make sure you throw it hard. it needs to break. if this snow globe does not break, you will not have succeeded in shaking things up. it would result in some anti-climactic thud. in fact, do it outside against a cement wall. but make sure it's on your property. your place of residence. this is not for the purpose of avoiding possible police action for being recklessly and unexplainably violent. this is a suggestion made because you want to have this revelation close to home, whatever that is.

i'm not convinced about much of what 'home' is. so many have told me, for so many years, that there is a home. and i believe them. there's a home. everyone's got one. sometimes places 'feel like home.' i believe there is a home. but i have no idea what it is. but make sure that you at least have a semblance of an emotion that indicates you might feel somewhat at "home" when you throw this snow globe.

and don't touch it after you throw it. after it shatters, stand there and look at it. give yourself five or ten seconds. and then walk away. don't look back at the snow globe on your way down the street (you can't go home after doing this for at least three hours. why three hours? it seems like a long enough time for something interesting to happen. you're a 'new self,' now, aren't you? you don't want to waste the first few hours back in your room).

after all of this talk of snow globes, what if you don't have a snow globe? don't worry. i've got you covered. if you live in an area which people sometimes visit (charleston, for instance), you can find them anywhere. you could buy a snow globe at a cvs, for under $10.

but please, for the love of god, do not buy a snow globe simply to throw it at the wall. that would be moronic. you have no connection to this newly purchased snow globe. the information on where to buy one was simply for those of you who wish you had a snow globe. it can be a useful item to have around.

ok, who am i kidding? snow globes are completely useless. and don't you even dare say it can be used as a 'paper weight.' who has wind in their offices, blowing their important papers around? and who, for the love of god, at our age, has an office? or even stacks of paper which they want to keep within a certain 8.5" x 11" area.

back to those of you who object to this prescription because you lack a snow globe or, in addition, if you like Gandhi and you believe that a violent act is simply not going to exact change on your life, i understand. i sometimes feel the same way. but here's the bad news for you. it's gonna take much more for you to change your boring routine. every day, you're going to have to test your routine.

if you study at 2:00pm, you will now be studying at 8:30am, right after your morning jog. not a jogger? you are now. at 7am.

but don't worry, in a week you'll be boxing instead. and dust off that old frisbee. seriously, it's getting disgusting. nobody wants to play with a disc covered in dead skin.

and on tuesday you're gonna dance. not every tuesday - that would be too routine-y. but this tuesday, you're gonna dance. unless of course something incredibly different which you do not want to do comes up. but make sure it's something you don't want to do. and do it. do it against your better judgements and see how it goes. try to make something out of the experience. but at the same time, don't try at all. you don't want to force these things.

think about your friends. and then don't. think about the new friends you don't have yet. and by god, when you're waiting in line for coffee, talk to the person in front of you. or behind you. you're gonna want to do this approximately 100.00% of the time.

this next piece of advice seems imperative. because it's born of immediate experience. a mosquito was just feasting on my foot and i slapped the shit out of it - i mean, that thing just gushed out blood all over my ankle and my hand. right now, it's drying on me. this is inconvenient. you know this. you should know this. when the mosquito is on you, it has already bitten you. you have lost. it has won. instead of being a sore loser and murdering it instantly, try and flick it gently or coax it away with a gush of air. this is the one piece of practical advice i will give in this ramble.

when you walk, do not attempt to seem as if you do not care about things. it's wonderfully defensive, but people will assume you're self important. which you are. you totally are. you may, perhaps, be the most important person on the face of this planet. or that's what you've come to think.

i'm going to give it to you straight. you're not the most important person on this earth. you're not even the most important person in this state. to get even narrower with this, you're not important whatsoever. but instead of getting upset about this, think about it for a moment. if you're not important, then thinking about this may not be so important after all. plus, being unimportant gives you a lot more leeway in how you act. try to realize, objectively (ha! if there only were such a thing), that nothing matters. nothing. not you or me. and once you've grasped that - oh, and i mean nothing, start to think of the implications.

and so next time when your friends ask you to come on a camping trip, go to a bar you just plain don't like, or someone insults your integrity, remember that it doesn't matter. and then make a choice. and approach the consequences of that choice with an open mind - and i mean open, not that eye-of-a-needle bullshit, i mean the door is wide open and it's a huge fucking door kind of open.

because if nothing matters, don't waste your time missing out on all the fun you can have before, well, you know what happens at the end.

i'm convinced that being convinced is the worst thing there is

2010-06-14T17:55:00.003-04:00

i've created value by my actions, unsure of whether i really value these actions. and i look to my friends and i see them questioning their own actions, ie: expressions of value.

when socrates was blabbering about, saying that nothing is black and white, but shades of gray, i was listening. i spouted it off to my friends and family as if some universal truth had been revealed to me. of course, i later found out that socrates emphatic dogmatism was as dangerous as any other.

i have quite a bit of doubt as to whether creating value is authentic or inauthentic, because of the realization that there is no way to truly recognize whether created value is in line with ones own beliefs. and that beliefs don't truly exist. and that the terms authentic and inauthentic don't actually exist.

and that words are creations.

so why do we attempt to create value? i think it's obvious. we have come to the conclusion that nothing is truly and inherently valuable and that we must, in order to live happily, convince ourselves that something in undeniably beautiful. whether that be alleviation of suffering, pursuit of material, or the elimination of the ego, it's something that i believe takes a certain dedication.

how does one commit to something fully when they know well that it has no inherent value beyond the value they have created for it within themselves? maybe i've yet to encounter what i could consider undeniably valuable and that is why i come to this troubling impasse.

i've got a lot to think about in every moment, but i have trouble assigning any value to any activity. i wouldn't call it apathy, because i care so much about being able to care. i just can't quite care about much besides the well-being of others around me. and i'm not so convinced that really matters either. i just know, for some unexplainable reason, that i would like the people i know and "care about" to be happy.

but knowing is a far cry from believing. i don't believe, undeniably, that the people i know deserve to be happy any more than anyone else. obviously, i value them more than others because of their connections to me on a personal level. but, should we believe for a moment that some objective good exists, is it really an objectively good thing to better the lives of people who could be considered to have incredible lives (by international standards) instead of helping people like Haitian orphans?

if i put together the funds from all the random shit i've bought for people or the time i've spent doing nearly fruitless favors, or more appropriately, all the time i spent on this ridiculous blog or sitting in my room doing nothing, just imagine what i could do with that aggregate of things and time.

i may never have the certainty that i'm searching for and i'm not so sure it's even worth searching for. maybe it's time to assign value at random and stick to it for a while, see where it takes me. that could at least either affirm or deny my current values OR it could affirm the fact that values are inherently valueless beyond the self, the ego.

how wonderful.

I found something beautiful

2010-05-20T16:11:00.000-04:00

Get a black, iced coffee.

Put cream in it.

Stir.

American Idealism

2010-04-29T18:12:00.003-04:00

America is a country of ideals and we're constantly at war with these ideals. Our media enforces them, our politicians support them, and the public impassioned by them.

American idealism has been so hardwired that it distorts our perception of reality and causes us to act irrationally.

I will explain this with the example of our economic system. The system has historically benefitted rich, white, men who have significant wealth. The system has gone from having an extreme of inequality (one man having all the wealth; ie: King) to a more equal wealth distribution. Of course, it is still overwhelmingly in the hands of a few rich men, but it is less concentrated so that more people have more access to higher shares of the wealth. Laws have evolved over time around this idea, providing for the change in wealth distribution.

Despite this obvious fact, the Republican party touts the idea of free market, laissez faire capitalism as having an existence in the real world. They act as if it has always existed and that wealth and opportunity is distributed equally. The end result of this equal distribution of wealth and opportunity is the level of wealth each person has.

That is simply not the case. The argument Republicans make against a redistribution of wealth is that it is taking someone's money that they are entitled to away from them. If a government is supposed to represent all the people who constitute its members, why would it be a bad thing to take some wealth away from someone who has an excess of wealth in order to provide a suffering member of its society a drastically better life?

That's just it. They have succumbed to ideology. They propose to make policy which panders to the ideology and not to the actual workings and make up of our society. In case nobody was paying any attention, free market capitalism does not exist. It has never existed. It will never exist.

The public has caught on. Nearly half the people in the United States have bought what they're selling and believe in proposing policy which prohibits significant increase in economic opportunity for over 95% of the population.

They have done this by spreading the idea of communism. They have associated the opposing ideal with the opposing party. Democrats are considered, by the Republican base, to be Communists trying to take their money away. People know what happened in Russia and they know how the economy was unable to provide some basic necessities. They are scared that a complete change in the laws governing the economic system, that it will threaten their way of life.

Of course it will. That's what communism is - it's in opposition to the ideology of free market capitalism. We're more of a capitalist economy than a communist one. There is no doubt about that.

But what are Democrats advocating for? Are they advocating for an extreme economic ideology?

That's just the thing. They aren't. Democrats are arguing for what 95% of the public would benefit from. They are arguing that some of the people whom have benefitted from the laws and hold most of the wealth should be entitled to slightly less of that wealth. There isn't an attempt to mandate an equal wage for everyone.

The focus of the Democrats' policies are to guarantee and equal chance at entering the market to compete. They are working towards equal footing at the starting line - not a country-wide tie race at the finish. There is no appeal to an extreme ideal, emphasizing a total equality. I do not make a judgment on whether communism is bad, but I know that most Americans oppose it. Since this is about them, it's important to discuss how salient the Democrats' message *should* be.

The Democrats socialism is not a devise to take money from all Americans and redistribute. It's an attempt to take resources from the 5% of people who most benefit from the laws the most and allow the other 95% of the population to utilize them. It is no radical policy. It is not extremism.

I'm afraid in this case, it's the Republicans who are practicing extremism. The Democrats are advocating for applicable, proven-to-be-successful programs to allow for a more equal footing which does not hinge as much on where you're born, but on who you make yourself to be.

So how did the Republicans convince the 45% of society who don't benefit from their policies to vote for them?

It's a mystery to me. But I've got some ideas.

swallow

2010-04-13T17:06:00.003-04:00

When a school bus goes tumbling off a cliff, we feel pangs as darts pierce our chest, head, hands. We can't stand. It's too overwhelming to imagine a child, who probably never had a sense of self, who never got the chance for a Sweet 16 or to walk across the stage at high school graduation --- that they are gone. that they were cut short, unexpecting, unknowing.

the bus just went. off the cliff. giggles turns to screams and then nothing's left.

it's because it scares us. we try to think we're young and that so many days are ahead of us. we won't even allow ourselves to consider otherwise - we could never do that. our goal is to survive. that is our instinct. we block it out.

but it's those moments when we SEE that truth and it slaps us in the face, stabs us in the chest, and leaves us there, sprawled and bleeding on a brand new carpet.

i guess the whole point of this blog post is to point you at the obvious truth that life is not a storybook. nobody is given X years or a life pattern/timeline to follow. we are not timelines like we think we are. just because the romans ruled so long doesn't mean that the next nation will. just because your friend got to get married at 35 doesn't mean you're not gonna be the unfortunate casualty of a drunk driver at 28.

what i want you to know and keep in mind is that TODAY is not even a GIVEN. do not mope around in your room watching tv or lie in bed texting and facebooking.

treat today like they are the last moments of your life. there's a reason that, when asked the question "if you had 10 days to live what would you do" you try to fit as many things in as possible which you wished you could and would do. it's because you know that time is ticking. you don't always hear the clock, but it's there.

but what if your beginning and end were not so far apart as everyone else's? how awful would it be, if it's awful at all, to be wrong about that? who are you to spend time stressing over your organic chemistry homework? is that a good use of life? of the days that you have?

most of us will live long and happy lives. most of us will touch others at their very being - making profound impacts across communities. most of us will laugh often, feel the love and the pain of parenthood, mentorship, and friendship. we will see others suffer and most of us will have the chance to help. don't waste your time. don't do it. this is me begging you, for your sake and ours...

so that we don't have to imagine the doctor you wished to be, but that we get to imagine a person complete in her or his own very way. a developed person who sought truth and expunged strife. someone who knew how to bake and knew every yoga pose. someone who cracks jokes at work and sometimes forgets an assignment or two.

instead you're walled in, strapped in the straightjacket of who you want to be instead of realizing that who you are is what matters most. own who you are and embrace. hold it tight and never let go. collapse in on yourself so that when that moment comes, you will have died who you knew you were - and who you wanted to be.

shit, or sweet symphony?

2010-03-22T12:15:00.003-04:00

i just want to see my neighbor
i don’t want to see his house
why does he have all these windows
then try to shut me out?
i.. hate... this... town.

and i wonder if my country
is just a replication
of all these little egos
ignoring starvation.

and i stop.
and i breathe.

and i hold my hand
and i clench my teeth

and i break it down
and i stomp my feet

and i wreck my car
and i smash the jars of the jam and the jelly
i used to use them to eat plain things sweet

but when i realize
some people die
eating white bread with butter
while sleeping on sofas
i won’t say to these people
that they made their beds
that it's time to lie in them.

they can lie in mine instead.

i want to break down these walls
that i put between myself
and all of the people i can’t help.

waiting in the hotel room

2010-03-22T12:13:00.001-04:00

i’m sick of all the sickness that you keep
hiding it all beneath your sheets
you keep it in pillow case
the place where you bury your face.

i’m starting to wonder
if all this world’s got for me
is a crack and some thunder
as the trees start to weep.

and the wildfires are spreading around
invading the homes of all of the proud
they’re watching from safety of hotel rooms
and the newscasters ponder, what will they do?

they’re collecting insurance
and they’re insured by you
by all the products that you keep
in boxes in your garage in heaps
they sold them to you.
you’re the sucker, the fool.

what is the point?
as all the fire starts to eat
all of those boxes
as it travels down the street
to all of those houses
that looked so fucking neat.
now they’re just ashes
void of their mystique.

these are the people
who get all the soundest sleep
working at desk jobs
on jetplanes to hawai’i

while all of us are sitting here
sitting there, sitting fear
wondering just what we need
to be just like these fucking creeps
in those same-looking houses
in those same-looking cells
with those same-looking children
who are living in hell.

but i cannot save them,
cause i’m sitting snugly
in the arms of a public university
as they continue to prime me
for the fight, for the struggle
that is coming for me.

something

2010-03-17T12:20:00.007-04:00

I can't understand the rush for the bands
who all play the same kinds of games.
Your girl's not the prettiest girl
In your self-described, little miserable world.

Do you want to be remembered?
Then sever your silly ties with outside lines
and scream some bogus, capricious lies.
They may want to hear what they've heard before
but they want not to want the wants they've wanted.
Go get your new songs started.

i may not have credit, but i have credibility
the paper mill down the street smokes a pack a day
it's been that way since I was three
i'm not staying here, no, not me.

I remember the day when all the sky-high ashes reached the ground.
I said, "i'm no sucker for second-hand cancer, i'm leaving town."

Christmas comes all year every year.
Mr. Claus is out for profit now and you can't stop it.
Barack has sunk like a rock, embedded in a river bed.
While Georgie smiles, a halo on his head, he drills
To fuel the thrill we're after.

All our western friends are dancing in the ashes, an easy mess.
Chinese kids got coal in stockings and planted trees instead.
It doesn't matter that they're on their knees, sewing shirts and canning peas.
We're buying up all Santa's gifts
And we're compelled to fill the thrift store shelves
with things we used to wear ourselves
in the name of showing off our wealth.

Dear Obama, Education reform

2010-03-14T14:37:00.004-04:00

Recently, Central Falls High School in Rhode Island fired all of its teachers. All of them. Yes. I said all of them. That's 100%.

Now, why would Central Falls High School fire all of its teachers? Well. It's obvious. The school is horrible. It is horrendous.

Read the following NYTimes article for more:

http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/2010/03/14/us/AP-US-Entire-School-Fired.html

If you read the article, you will notice that the article attempts to assess blame. It wonders: are the teachers actually bad teachers? are the parents at fault for kids skipping school? does the school fail to enforce its rules?

What the article misses (and what Obama's education reform misses) is the REAL reason that schools are underperforming. It's so obvious that it's easy to miss, I guess. It's called income inequality - the income gap. Because most school districts in the US use property taxes to fund schools, districts with lower priced property (ie, poorer people) end up with the worst schools. Duh. Can't believe we missed that.

And more - schools which do not make "progress" over time are penalized in their funding, while progressing schools are rewarded. This way, the poorer, resources-poor schools get worse and the resources-rich schools get better.

Also, teachers. You may have heard of them and you may know, too, that job markets are competitive. You may also know that good, high-quality teachers like to get paid a lot of money and teach at "good" schools - ie, high-resources schools with few kids in poverty. They don't want to be around crime and poverty and teach kids who don't learn well. They want to have an easy time influencing a large number of students in a classroom where crime is something that happens on "the other side of town." Sure, some good teachers hang around the bad parts of town, but the ratio is ridiculous.

Mr. Obama,

I understand that you cannot propose sweeping education reform which actually targets at the source of inequality of education. I am happy that you are making progress and increasing funding for Pell Grants and for poorer schools.

What I ask of you is that you don't buy into the other side's rhetoric. They have their money, they're happy, and they're gonna keep it. No matter if they realize that they are exploiting others for their wealth or not, they want their money to stay with them.

It's time to tell these people that they have too much money. It's time to tell them that they're being selfish. It's time to point out their greed. Do they really think that they 40-hour a week desk job is more valuable, profitable work than a person actually working in a factory in Detroit? They can't be that naive. They know, deep down, that people are suffering and that they each have a hand in it themselves. We all do.

So please, don't tell America that it's time to "Fire Bad Teachers" and "Keep Schools Accountable." These schools never had a chance in the first place and you just convinced a school in Rhode Island, where teachers are rare but noble enough to teach and stay, to fire all of its teachers.

If you are going to ignore the real problem, at least have the respect for our intelligence not to label it something else. If you decide to address the problem, as if it actually exists, and you want to analyze a way to fix it, we'll be in much better shape. Reform comes in phases, but let's not pretend this is good enough for phase 1.

Concerned voter and supporter,

Adam Brunelle

2010-02-11T23:19:00.004-05:00

the fruit feels fine under fingers.
first, flavor frees my mind and
in a day or two i'm left behind.

on cloudy days I lose the taste,
a waste of an endeavor.
the pace is fleeting
it changes with the weather.

i lose the want to taste at all.

and i fall.

i fall.

the terrible safety of routine

2010-02-04T17:37:00.001-05:00

i’m caught in routine again
i’m losing my feet again.
I don’t even stand on them.
i’m stumbling around
my insides are boxed in
i’m starting to blend in.

i’m a windblown leaf in a polaroid
stuck in a furious fall.
some days the wind will catch me
some days there’s no wind at all.
some days i hit the wall.

i’m caught in routine again.
i’m losing my self again.
everything’s the same
it’s in name i’m losing.
the faces aren’t moving
stuck in still motion,
waiting for the wind to blow.

they fight

2010-01-22T12:26:00.002-05:00

my whole world is rumbling.
glazed pots are shattering
as homes come crashing down.
the people of my world keep stumbling.
struggling to stand up again.

and the people of my world
shrug their rested shoulders.
they’re using their headphones
and cell phones to drown
the groaning sound around them.

and the world keeps rumbling.
the people of my world are gathering
and shouting out around them
as internet images pour
into their anxious fingertips.

the people of my world are rumbling.
speaking promises to outstretched hands
that when things fall apart,
the fallen will be lifted from the rubble
and strong arms will hold them
until they can stand on their own.

and they will stand still,
to raise clenching fists
until their knuckles turn white.
as the world keeps on rumbling,
they wait for the fight.

i wrote this for someone once

2010-01-03T00:44:00.004-05:00

when i write stuff like this, i dont consider it poetry. it's simply stuff i often have to get out, might play with later, or just something to consider. maybe sometimes i'm trying to express something that i may not be otherwise be able to express. this is something i once wrote for someone.

"you make the sun shine
when you smile the way you do
you make the wind blow
when you move the way you do
you changed my world
just by being you."

you moved away and that's okay
i've been living long without you

and as far as i've come, I've faded.
i fall and i fall and i keep falling.

To the girl I used to know

2009-12-27T00:50:00.003-05:00

I couldn't give half of what you gave to me.
I stopped it to be fair, but now I'm sitting lonely.
The clocks are creaking in my home
As the hands scrape the seconds by.

Your kiss took me to another world altogether,
But the slightest brush of bad weather conversations
Took us to places we couldn't return from,
Where bombs keep dropping on hopes and dreams.

And so this is my heartfelt apology for sleeping in
Rib to rib until the sun rose over the bridge to Folly
And all the follies we'd been slipping into together
Blurred into one big expectation I couldn't fulfill.

I'm sorry to have turned your world around while standing still.

i fall

2009-12-20T21:17:00.004-05:00

I saw a shooting star.
A lightning bolt.
A blip in the radar screen.
I saw my life flash
In your sky blue eyes.

And everything I felt
Was shining in your smile.
With each slow motion blink
And each crooked kiss
You got me twisted up in this.

reason's not my lover

2009-12-17T15:11:00.004-05:00

The lights, they go down
When the sun goes down.
The drinks, they swoosh around
Our feet move with the sound.

The strobe light flickers
And steals split second images
Of our favorite friends.
We move in slow motion.

The blood that courses
Through our pumping veins
Is sweetened with drops
From the most bitter bottles.

Reason sits alone on the porch
As instinct thrives on the dance floor.
Smiling friend after smiling friend
Is moved by the music.

Let's make the room a prison,
Lock Reason out forever.
We'll shout and scream and growl,
Lose ourselves in this tiny cell.

When the sun begins to burn
Over the horizon,
Forever will be over
And reason will be our lover until the sun goes down again.

,;:l

2009-12-11T16:42:00.000-05:00

Epic waste of time.

It's not that I don't want you to breathe.
It's that you think I'm an epic waste of time.
And every single breath you breathe
fuels your facade. The air is ammunition
as you fire cliches at strangers in the room.

But you won't fool me, not this time.
I see through the fake smiles that you do.
The things you say only work tonight.
They don't apply to tomorrow and you're
as fake from five feet as you are from ten.

But sure, I'd love to dance with you.
Let's move in motions lacking meaning
amidst the flashing lights and pumping sound.
We'll talk about that time you can't remember
And how you woke up on the floor.

I'll laugh and talk about your victory.
How you don't have to suffer remembering
the person you're pretending to be.
I'll wonder where you come from in your life
And you'll seize me with your hips and lips.

I'll want to take you to a coffee shop to see
If you see the world as a tumultuous whole.
You'll invite me to "go out" to the bars.
I'll sweep away my work and friends
And dance the night the same with you.

And at these bars, I'll buy you your drinks.
You'll pass out by 2 and I'll drop you off.
I'll go home with a fleeting satisfaction,
But I'll wake up again like I always do
knowing that the epic waste of time is you

The fight for what's right

2009-12-06T13:38:00.002-05:00

Do I compromise the fight for what's right to right a couple wrongs?

I'm wearing a muzzle on the internet where I might otherwise express everything I truly believe - what is right.

But I can't.

I will represent it all with jumbled letters, though.

Idnbgje k ein thet lisjdkjf oa sfo amriajguana beocuehd it aslkjs lidkljldjs;oi aishdjweliis idjp9wklje alksnlitjpoaysh yej osduifn hasi sjhidj.

I hope that you can glean something from that.

poetry? no thanks. this will do

2009-11-29T20:26:00.012-05:00

I walked down King Street at 2 am
Hoping to find you again,
But instead I found a gentle man.

He held a violence in his hand,
A silent violence, you understand.
He breathed it in to spout it out
Into the air he never cared about.

His potential had been all used up and his dreams remained corrupt
From a youth that never struck the luck he’d hoped to find.
Now he’s living off forgotten dimes that lie in wait,
Dropped by college drunks who couldn’t stop
To bend half-way down for a tiny piece of Roosevelt
Who spent his later life wishing he could bend at all.

The gentle man had called me over
I wasn’t drunk, but I wasn’t sober.
I had the urge to pass him by,
But there was something in his indifferent eyes,
Lacking any sense of desperation,
Or any half-tried emulation.
He seemed as ready to live
As he did to die.

What had separated he and I?
He told me I carried far more lies.
So I gave him a lie in the form
Of the printed, green tinted face of Abraham Lincoln
Then i moved through the night and kept on thinkin'
of you.

Yoga doesn't cut it

2009-11-21T20:45:00.005-05:00

You have no idea who you are.

You think that you've had time to dissect all the layers of who you are. You believe you've peeled them back, assessed your faults and your tendencies. You seem to see yourself in a new light as if you've reached some realization - some tangible idea that you've concocted that has no holes. You know who you are. You just know. You're sure of it.

Guess what? You're wrong. You don't.

Every layer you peeled back was a figment of your strange imagination. Every perception you have of yourself is merely a false prediction. Language is limiting and defining yourself can only limit you. You lack any perspective on who you present yourself to be and your analytic abilities could never begin to assess the intricacies of your intentions and your makeup. You lack an outsider's perspective of yourself and the person you present yourself to be is but a fragment of what others see you to be. Your wants and needs are justified by the flimsiest principles and rules invented on a whim and enforced as if engraved in ancient stone tablets. Principles are just guidelines for the least offensive actions - rarely grounded in anything but the concern of judgment - including your own. The inner peace that you preach about comes from the hour of yoga that you do on Tuesdays and Thursdays and is no real reflection of what's going on in your mind.

You convince yourself in such a way that your actions could not have happened any other way. You claim to have weighed the so-called "pros and cons" and objectively decided upon a course of action. You plan to stick to that course of action and you go so far as to say it's part of who you are.

But it's not. You're nothing like who you think you are.

The sooner that you admit that, the sooner the chains that tie your hands and feet so close together will fall. The sooner you embrace intricacy and accept inevitable defeat in your search for self, the sooner you'll discover pieces of who you might actually be. But you'll never really know. And you don't have to.

Just live. You'll pleasantly surprise yourself each day. Free yourself from pseudo-discovery and embark on a path to true discovery.

Or not.

the roads we travel on

2009-11-19T13:26:00.004-05:00

Dried twigs are lying on dead grass
In a hundred thousand fields
In a hundred countries cause
There's no water and no food.
No way to quell a young stomach's swell.

Lawn sprinklers whip around
In a thousand different towns,
Coating green grasses with clean
Water that rolls down the blades
To imported soil lain beneath.

A million teenage girls are frantic,
Screaming in the bathroom mirror
While tribal enemies take aim-
Shout and shoot and scream
At frantic women and children.

Men in suits are shouting out

To buy or sell the latest stocks,

While homeless children bear

Blaring winters without socks,

Without shoes, with little food.

Plastic gnomes watch over yards
And pugs patrol inside homes
While a million Indonesians scramble
To escape a tidal wave that washed

Away all they've ever owned.

I type lines of poetry on my computer
And realize its thousand dollar price
Could feed a village while
A billion people fear to speak

Or laugh or hope or dream

Of a life free of struggle, free of strife.

The New York Yankees

2009-11-05T00:24:00.002-05:00

I have dedicated so much of my life, so much of my time, every year since I can remember to watching the New York Yankees play a little game called baseball.

Early on I was rewarded - it seemed like every year, my team won the World Series. 1996, 1998, 1999, 2000, almost in 2001, and again almost in 2003.

Did I give up after the heartbreaks in 2001 and 2003? No. People called me a fair weather fan, but I showed them differently. I stayed dedicated. I kept watching. I gave so much of myself. Invested emotional. I even came close to physical fighting with people over the results.

Last year, my Yankees didn't make the playoffs.

This year, we won the World Series. I gave this season everything - and it paid off.

I love you, New York Yankees. You've given me so much and you're giving me so much again.

2009 WS Champions!!!

Haunting on Halloween

2009-10-31T13:29:00.007-04:00

I think we're all terribly haunted and distressed by the constant exercise of our minds. For me, it's borne of lacking some concrete, infallible objective toward which I can direct my most basic and most intentioned actions.

And so I hold that all of us struggle with contentment. We wrestle with ourselves on a daily basis for a tranquil ordering of our thoughts. We take comfort in hobbies and in friends. We breathe easily for much of the time, but we're still haunted in those rare moments. Alone in bed before you close your eyes to the world. In that car ride to and from wor

k. During that history paper you care little about. We are haunted and we struggle to eradicate it.

I've come to fear the power of my own mind. It can grasp and break down far too many things. Intricate and seemingly self-explanatory endeavors are called into question by my haunting spectre. Skepticism runs through him rampantly and he demands certainty before he is to commit to anything. Thinking twice before doing something is a foreign concept to me. I think 12 times for each time you're supposed to think once.

Then I fight back and act on impulse. Consequences result. Spectre lets me know I should have listened to him. I fall back in line. Apply this to all matters of simplicity and of multiplicity.

They say that in an argument, there are no winners. They say that nobody wins a fight, both people just lose a differently. I am sympathetic to this view. On Halloween, 2009, I've decided on a separate course of action. Embrace the haunting. It manufactures some of the most basic human beauty. Songs that send chills are often borne of such hauntings. Beautiful pieces of art are often borne of such turmoil. It's tim

e to turn my hauntings into something beautiful. It's time for you to do the same.

I've started dancing with the demons that float around in my head.

The boy in his room.

2009-10-31T11:56:00.007-04:00

The boy stood in his room. He liked the darkness to surround him and the light to shine through the cracks in the doorway, cracks just enough to view the faded shapes surrounding him. It's not that he chose to be there. It just sort of happened that way. A few too many times in blinding light forced him to take shelter with safe and familiar bedroom furniture, away from bright, aggressive things.

The boy just couldn't take the light. Each time his pupils clenched from gaping tunnels to needle points, he was blinded by glinting diamonds, shiny cars, and the glaring rays of the persistent sun. Even apples and oranges were tools of the sun, deflecting sharp jabs of light each time he passed them by.

He became known as the squinting boy - the boy who took in as little of the world as he could. Those who suffered his presence were glad when he walked away. He was too dark for them and he couldn't stand the way the light bounced off their toothy grins.

The boy stood in his room. He liked the darkness to surround him, because the light was more than he was ready to bear. The boy stood in his room, was swallowed by the shadows.

sing it. i did.

2009-10-31T11:09:00.002-04:00

that's what you get when you're waiting for a test

that's what you get when you forget about the rest

that's what you get when you always come in last

that's what you get, that's what you get.

so pick up your cheeks and smile hard

cause tonight's your last night in this city

and i'd rather see you go out shining than

sinking into the shadows of the streets.

Made of suit.

2009-10-30T10:18:00.004-04:00

People wearing suits look like they're made mostly of suit and only party of flesh. Head + hands = flesh. Rest of body? Made of suit.

That's why we see political figures as more prestigious in suits, but much less prestigious when they roll up their sleeves and shoot a gun or dig a hole.

Obama does a good job of looking like he's made mostly of suit.

The institution is the suit. Obama has mostly done an incredible job of appearing as the "institution" rather than Barack Obama himself. It's a good thing, too. That last guy took his suit of way too often.

Typing degrades writing.

2009-10-28T17:33:00.002-04:00

I think that typing severely degrades writing. I don't mean that it ruins the quality of content. I mean that it removes an entire aspect of writing - writing itself! Your hand used to move in circular motions and loop around. You would lift your hand up when finished a word to give it a sense of finality. When you placed your pen back down, you created a new word. You even jabbed your pen at the paper with extra force to indicate the end of a string of words.

I wonder what the effect of the motions of the hand has on the mind. Does your mind internalize the things that you write down with a pen? Does it keep record of your emotions during certain handstrokes? When you write in cursive "sad" or "horrible," is there some sort of subconscious effect?

Let's not forget handwriting. How much can we see from the spacing in someone's writing, its neatness, angles, pressure applied, color, etc?

But on here we're all the same. These letters look like one thing: Font, Georgia. Anyone who presses the same keys as me has the exact same handwriting when using Font, Georgia. It doesn't matter who it is. The angles are the same, unless of course I do that, which anyone else can do anyway. And talk about having only ONE other way to emphasize? Ok, well I guess there's caps AND bold. But in the end, we lose our voice. The thing that makes us uniquely our own. Handwriting.

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

Try and use that to solve a crime. You can't.

The girl was writing poetry

2009-10-21T11:12:00.004-04:00

The chair is holding her

Like a cupped and gentle hand

Holds a diamond or a pearl.

Her fingers flick like ticks and tocks

As she counts the words again.

She stops before she gets to ten.

When one has a better view,

The words she wrote are scribbled

As if written by child.

Her carved-out lines wind

Down the wrinkled pages

Like climbing vines are winding

Up all the walls around her.

Her pens don't bleed on pages

Like the pens of quiet minds.

Scratched and wounded pages

Scream for anxious ink to lie

In grooves she's left behind.

She stops and drops her pen,

Hangs her arm in subtle swing

like an old and rusted pendulum

whose ticks and tocks are almost done.

Breaking down

2009-10-15T18:36:00.003-04:00

I'm just a boy of twenty years

I sit lonely in this coffee shop.

I've figured out just who I am

But I can't get myself to stop

Wondering where you are.

Each warm sip to cross my lips

Tells me nothing of who you are

And each dollar that I spent

makes me dormant when all I meant

was to find you where you are.

But when you don't walk through doors

That I've camped out before,

I end up sitting in ways befitting

A lesser kind of broken man

and that is something I can't stand.

I'm done with nursing un-held hands.

1-8. Bam

2009-10-12T23:15:00.003-04:00

I have realized a number of things recently:

1: I don't understand breast implants.

2: Coffee actually tastes so bad that it's delicious.

3: Poetry comes a lot more easily when you're relaxed

4: People are ridiculously impatient no matter how much more improved our technology and society get

5: Politics is all superficial bullshit and the Republican party right now is the biggest load of horse shit around right now. They stand for nothing. Nothing at all.

6: Working out makes sense in that it is not only for aesthetic reasons; it really makes someone feel a lot better physically

7. Choices are wonderful

8. Most people don't really know who they are. They put on a persona and act in accordance with certain things, often sure of themselves, but in the end if they attempt any level of self analysis, they discover they've been surface-level their entire lives. They are most concerned with perception and would rather live in a world of fallacy than one grounded in concrete and genuine intention.

That is all.

Gah!

2009-09-30T16:56:00.001-04:00

Mechanized robots, I say!

Every goddamn day

we walk in ways

that imply we

just don't care

what each other

has to say.

Hmph.

2009-09-30T15:53:00.003-04:00

In a constant struggle to find myself, I'm fighting myself.

I try on each belief and tenet of being like an item of clothing. Something that fits today doesn't always fit tomorrow as I change and grow. When I think I've found something form-fitting and comfortable, the colors change and the fabric stretches or rips.

This clothing sometimes chains me down and prohibits growth. In these times, I reach back for each morsel of metaphoric muscle that I have and burst through. Defeating these chains often promotes permanent growth and there are times when I wonder if allowing these garments to tighten is promoting large spurts of growth instead of a steady increase. Is that necessarily better? Does the struggle and the passionate anger-based motivation make for a stronger me?

Because I insist on putting some measure of passion behind things that I believe, my mind reveals flaws in any belief that I subscribe to. How can I put passion into something if I'm not so sure I can support it? And so I often conclude that the measure of comfort that I'm searching for is unattainable and that is the biggest contributor to my overriding discontent.

I try to act in ways that I see no error in, but I most always find fault in my decisions later on. I am not speaking of remorse or of regret, but rather an acknowledgment that the decision was made on faulty principles or without genuine intent or purpose.

The most difficult thing to reconcile is the idea that I want people to like and love me for me when I have as little sense as to who "I" am as they do.

And so the drama of the stereotypical, yet unique, situation of a coming-of-age story continues. I fear, however, that the power of my mind will remain in chaos and discord, despite my efforts to bring tangible order.

Is my only solution to celebrate the brilliance of lacking common ignorance?

Poetry Writing I

2009-09-18T14:18:00.002-04:00

I wrote this poem for Poetry Writing 1 class, as my first assignment. We had some pretty limiting parameters for syllables and length, but I tried my best to convey the experience of a baseball game and how it can make other-wise filthy things seem charming. I tried to play on the fact that so many people come together to watch a group of grown men play together in a yard. Ridiculous, I know.

But i hope you like it.

At that old brick park in old Baltimore,

The peaking sun tried to freckle my skin.

Traces of stale beer and sweat-swelled kin,

and warm ketchup, mustard in trash bins,

laced the otherwise-smooth noon air.

The countless shouts from loud sounding vendors

competed with unheeded field taunters.

I moved to my seat in the orange section,

and suffered the boring pre-introduction.

The players went running and stretching themselves.

In boredom I kept folding my ticket stub,

Till a masked man let out a shout, “Play Ball!”

I heard the first fastball smack in the glove,

Heard the first crack when bat hit ball

above the many raspy, frantic fan calls.

As if some magical aura had come

The cheering, high-fiving and smiling begun.

As nine famous strangers played in the yard

with twenty-thousand strangers touching knees

looking on, witness to the turn of events,

nine big, strong men swung for the fence.

work in progress part 2

2009-09-07T21:41:00.014-04:00

remorse, branched boldly over a limitless tabletop
that distant look in your eyes pushed you for miles, while

now-useless guile did desperate trials to tap for your attention.
i begged the air to take good care and carry you my whispers

but your ears grew wings for other things of colorable candor.

and so i sat, my mind unwrapped, and asked around for answers
your rocking chair did yelp its share through wicked, wooden wailing
its creaking crying loud about anima born of ailing.
the walls kept hidden all, but paint clothing they were wearing
and windows, shuttered secretly, seemed sleeping and uncaring.

my unrepentent hands began to tremble just a little,
a tepid sign my mind was fed up with all its failures. but
tepidity turned to rigidity and my hand was clasping fast.
then, a single, clenching fist in midst of fast-amassed contrast.
risen up, it spiraled down. sudden slamming shook the ground.

work in progress

2009-09-06T16:02:00.001-04:00

tension. part 1.

remorse, branched boldly over a limitless tabletop
that distant look in your eyes pushed you for miles, while

now-useless guile did desperate trials to tap for your attention.
i begged the air to take good care and carry you my whispers

but your ears grew wings for other things of colorable candor.

and so i sat, my mind unwrapped, and asked around for answers
your rocking chair did yelp its share through wicked, wooden wailing
its creaking crying loud about anima born of ailing.
the walls kept hidden all, but paint clothing they were wearing
and windows, shuttered secretly, seemed sleeping and uncaring.

more to come...

the point of this is to show you how this poem is coming along little by little, day by day. the 10 lines above are the product of a few weeks of working on it "from time to time"

the tendency of being rewarded for insignificant things

2009-09-05T15:52:00.002-04:00

it's absolutely crazy sometimes. you know, the way that people are rewarded.

think. when was the last time you did something incredible by accident and reaped the benefits? yet, somehow, when you put forth your best efforts, they fall on deaf ears.

i'm finding more and more that when i put myself into as many random situations as possible, im more likely to be rewarded for it. and by rewarded, i'm not speaking of direct praise or of prizes. i'm talking good things happening. positive outcomes. increased experiences.

and so i figure, like many people have before, that it may be time to totally diversify the things that i do. what rewards might i be missing out on if i don't?

stepping into the library on a saturday is my first step.

who knows what is next.

2009-09-01T16:10:00.001-04:00

I'm writing two real poems right now.

it's fun.

Sir Ted.

2009-08-26T17:59:00.002-04:00

I am too busy right now, or I'd made the attempt to accurately convey exactly my feelings on the day that one of my favorite men on earth passed away, Mr. Edward M. Kennedy.

But it may have to wait and it may be in hindsight.

But today, I am crushed.

Flat.

Gone.

---

2009-08-01T22:51:00.005-04:00

he cried so that he'd feel something
besides the daily drag, the weekly grind
he cried because he forgot how to smile
and because every sunrise was in black and white,
because nothing has ever been enough.

he cried.

tonight

2009-07-29T20:50:00.010-04:00

tonight is begging to be remembered.
the wind, ever so brisk, whispering in your ears.
a million little whispers, blended together
too many voices all at once, each with a story
stories of love and of heartache
stories of adventure and of tranquility
stories of days passed, days passing, and days soon to pass

it's the kind of night when the clouds turn their backs to you,
obscuring the moon and stars,
insisting that you forget the expanding universe
to stop dreaming for once and instead look around
cause looking up won't expand the world around you
and dreams are just dreams until they're made a reality

it's the kind of night when the absent moon and absent stars
are replaced by the warm smiles of strangers
and the sparkles in a companion's eyes
when you want so badly to be caught in the rain
that you stand in the middle of the street
arms raised, screaming out to the clouds "catch me"
"pour over me - wash away yesterday and bathe me in possibilities of tomorrow"

to be continued...

coming to terms with being lost

2009-07-25T18:48:00.002-04:00

i think the most difficult thing this summer has been learning to find comfort in being lost. because i don't know where i'm going. i don't know where i am. i don't know how i got here or how i'm going to go elsewhere.

so many things in this summer have made such little sense. i've done things i never would have done before. i've done things that have hurt people. i've done things i've always done before. i've done things that hurt people. i've done things that i'm proud of. i've done things that have made people happy.

i've met people that have changed my life. you changed my life. you did, too. you did. you definitely did. but you and you, more than any, have changed my life this summer. i hope you know that. i don't know that there's another person here in charleston that i can say "wow, meeting this person has completely changed my life." but you and you have.

i'm glad that this summer happened. i'm glad i moved away from home. i gave myself a chance to grow. and i did.

i gave myself a chance to meet new people. and i did. i gave myself a chance to live in semi-poverty. and i did. i feel so absolutely contented with myself for having accomplished what i've accomplished this summer.

i cannot wait for the school year to start, but i am enjoying now. and now. and now.

i am happy. i am lost. i am happy. i am lost.

i am happily lost.

I got tired of waiting.

2009-07-18T16:02:00.009-04:00

I'm sitting in a stupor
Brought on by stupidity
Looking around me
At all of the nothing I see,
Sitting behind this wearing wheel.

Looking for some redeeming quality
In the world that I'm melded with, welded to.
Finding so many good things
But still short of redemption.

Time's passing me by
Like the world from my car window
At snail's speed,
I'm slowly swerving into everything.

Leaving a path of partial destruction
Making my mark on too many
Far from the beauty I'd intended
But potently present in all around me

Always getting caught up in the idea,
I'm left with two eyes off the road.
Where I'm going is so far from where i'm needing to be
I've lost my focus cause I'm focused on you
Expunge. Abolish. Annul. Extinguish. Expel.
You're gone.

Gone away. Off the sidewalk, out of the way.
Blazing a path now, like I always could, always would.
Flowers sprout through the cement cracks
And the sun begins to part the sky
And the world's redeemed in my eyes.

Today's gonna be a wonderful day.

-A

i'm always where i need to be

2009-07-17T18:49:00.004-04:00

I really am.
Today was proof.
You walked by.
Walked ahead.
I let you do it.
Didn't know.
Didn't know you.
Wish I did.
And I will.
I will soon.
Who you are
is what
I need to know.

Maybe I'm crazy, but lightning might strike me tonight

2009-07-14T15:41:00.002-04:00

Rediscovery might just be the best kind discovery.

Wondering often keeps you from wandering into something wonderful.

New things, people, and places always seem to be more exciting. Why not show a new side of yourself each day?

Relationships are worth it, even if they're always ending with someone's heart in more pieces than before.

I'm done waiting for sparks to fly. If they're not flying at the start, I'm not kindling any flames. I'm moving on.

Someone out there gets you better than anyone else. Maybe you have found this person already, maybe you haven't. But it's impossible for this to not be true. Just think about it.

Smiling really is contagious. Happiness, even moreso. They say it can spread through phone lines and the internet. Look out, Jose, my trusted pen pal in Argentina, you're whole family is about to smile.

Sadness and spite are also contagious. Yin and yang, you know?

Surround yourself with music that makes you smile, as good as those sad, sad songs can be when you're sad. Nothing beats a little bouncing around.

I need to go on a road trip. It doesn't need to go anywhere specific, just somewhere other than here. In fact, I'd prefer no destination. A road to nowhere always becomes a pleasant, surprising road to somewhere.

I'm on fire, blazing a trail. And I'm not going to slow down. Or put it out.

I'm done with negativity and cynicism. I won't speak negatively about it, either.

Pokemon was and is incredible. It's just undeniable.

I've gotta go - it's been too long since I last danced.

-A

anger can be your best friend.

2009-07-12T12:04:00.007-04:00

the content of my contentment is elusive
ever hiding in the shadows of my mind
deepy buried in a sea of uncertain emotion.
surfacing for but a few moments each day
before it dives back into unsettled waters.

for the first time in my twenty years
i've taken a dive of my own, in anger
like Beowulf seizing Grendle's mother
i've wrestled the beast of contentment
thrown it from the water, beaten into submission.

and don't you forget it.

2009-07-10T01:15:00.006-04:00

beautiful.
in every way.
every inch.
every day
all of you.
is beautiful.

in heart.
in mind.
everything inside.
you're beautiful.

laughing.
smiling.
walking.
talking.
singing.
dancing.
you're beautiful.

crying.
frowning.
thinking.
shaking.
sleeping.
waking.
you're beautiful.

you.
are.
beautiful.

and don't you forget it.

-A

stop. stay.

2009-07-08T09:46:00.001-04:00

Stop. Stay.
you're lost. or stuck. or confused.
you don't fit there. or here. anywhere.
pushing yourself. squishing yourself.
into a mold. stop. stay. stay away.
you're perfect this way.
one day. someday. you'll fit.
just right. slip. right in.
float down. settle softly.
stop. stay.
i love your shape today.
every day. yesterday.
stop. stay. stay this way.

-A

hungry. starving. today.
eat with me. or don't.
you're not hungry.
are you? no. you're not.
you wish you were.
you say. it would be great.
to eat with me. delicious.
delectable. tasty. mmMmmmm.
i'm not hungry. not for food.
not for drink. not for thought.
i'm hungry. hungry. for you.
all of us. we all get so hungry.
we eat each other alive.
not me. not you.
we don't. we won't eat at all.
won't taste. nothing crosses our lips.
not together. not yet.
maybe later.
if i'm hungry then.
if you found an appetite.
then we'll meet.
meet in the night.
delectable. delicious. delight.

-A

it's how you said it.
so i gave it.
three quarters.
from my wallet.
to your hand.
instantly. metal pieces.
transferred.
sounded true.
that story. the shelter.
don't know you.
hope you make it.
made it. keep making it.
where you need to go.
i hope my metal pieces.
now yours, helped.
helped you. get there.
where's there?
don't care.
just get there.
or next time,
you only get two.

-A

zzzleep

2009-07-08T01:22:00.000-04:00

i have the weirdest muscle spasm in my knee. it's a twitch of sorts, like a constant cell phone vibration.

my mind is not prepared yet for slumber and my body knows it. the twitching in my knee is just another sign that my mind is somewhat unsettled. it seems that the more i seem to learn about this world, the more i come to understand how little i actually understand. and, by extension, i understand more.

that doesn't need to make sense and it's the fact that it's not necessarily logical that makes it so true. if logic had all of our answers, we'd be free of questions. so it's time to probe my intuition.

or i could stop this twitching by rubbing my knee but im not going to ever miss an opportunity to feel something so interesting, bizarre.

twitch away, knee. we'll hang out until my eyes close.

-A

optimism is a bit like watching the stars

2009-07-06T12:15:00.000-04:00

optimism is contagious, you know, seeing a little bit of good in everyone, everything.

it's kind of like watching the stars in the city. at first glance, the sky's a midnight blue, void of light but far from black, the lights on the ground obscuring the usually clear night sky.

but if you look hard enough, you'll find a star. you can barely make it out and you're not quite satisfied with just one star, so you pan around for more. and that's when it catches on. before you know it, you're seeing more and more stars. they eventually become too many to count.

before you even realize it, your sky is lit up with an immeasurable number of stars and you begin to wonder if the light will completely overtake the black altogether.

and all of a sudden, your world is brighter and you've realized the purpose of the cliche advice of your aging grandfather or grade-school teacher: smile. try to see good in everyone. don't let things get you down. etc, etc, etc. appreciate the stars and the black sky that surrounds them.

-A

something new.

2009-07-01T13:35:00.000-04:00

i'll be the paint and you be the canvas

when i see you,
i won't risk blinking.
losing a split second
of any view of you
screams recklessness

i'm hoping that your eyes
are held open wide
when i'm passing by.
it's what's keeping me
breathlessly idling by

dreaming of you
gives me solace
in only sleeping.
cause i'd rather be dreaming
than see this world without you

and so i'll paint and plaster myself
on the walls of your mind
each and every color inside
all the reds, the yellows, the blues
revealing myself till you can see
there's got to be something
to the idea of you and me.

-A

proactive acquisitions are better than pointless inquisitions

2009-06-27T18:11:00.000-04:00

the striking similarities between love and lust
leave me lacking, losing trust

But
A rest will arrest at behest of the rest.
And that's just the test that's becoming a pest
And so I set out on most noble of quests
It's time that from you, it's your heart I wrest.

-A

it's nights like tonight..

2009-06-27T02:21:00.000-04:00

I tend to reflect on nights like tonight. when the wind blows every so subtly, just enough to move a flower petal on a flower resting so comfortably on a girl's ear. when the air is the least offensive temperature, as if standing outside lacked any temperature at all.

when my thoughts move at a constant pace, reminiscent of a child cyclist, in speed and direction.

when the stars are far from visible from my apartment window, distant memories of the beaches on which I have gazed upon them.

it's nights like tonight that remind me to live life like a dying man with one last thing to see. to use hugs instead of handshakes and breathe as if i've got only a few breaths left.

it's nights like tonight that i remember when i've felt the least and most alone. it's nights like tonight that make me think of "her." despite my indecisive, discontented nature, i'm sure of one thing: "she" is someone i want to know, inside and out, though i have my doubts.

if she were here, would she light up the sky, revealing the stars and the moon? Or would the sky be the same dark blue, obscured through the glass panes of my apartment windows?

-A

Read this. i did.

2009-06-26T18:51:00.001-04:00

page 69

"how to win friends and influence people" - by dale carnegie

"whenever you go out-of-doors. draw the chin in, carry the crown of the head high, and fill the lungs to the utmost; drink in the sunshine; greet your friends with a smile, and put soul into every handclasp. do not fear being misunderstood and do not waste a minute thinking about your enemies. try to fix and firmly in your mind what you would like to do; and then, without veering off direction, you will move straight to the goal. keep your mind on the great and splendid things you would like to do, and then, as the days go gliding away, you will find yourself unconsciously seizing upon the opportunities that are required for the fulfillment of your desire, just as the coral insect takes from the running tide the element it needs. picture in your mind the able, earnest, useful person you desire to be, and the thought you hold is hourly transforming you into that particular individual.... thought is supreme. preserve a right mental attitutde -- the attitude of courage, frankness, and good cheer. to think rightly is to create. all things come through desire and every sincere prayer is answered. we become like that on which our hearts are fixed. carry your chin in and the crown of your head high. we are gods in this chrysalis.

I. R. L. Y. A.

2009-06-26T12:32:00.000-04:00

inconsistent seas of emotion
lead to inconsistencies in devotion
i'm trying to find my way
as all my luck starts to fade
happiness is such a fickle notion

when love changes from a tiny pond to an endless ocean
finding any bond is a crazy notion.

the night dave died.

2009-06-16T19:48:00.000-04:00

He reached frantically into the deep pouches, fumbling around. It was his first - his only - his last chance. If he couldn't find it quickly, he would die. Five seconds was all he had and he knew it. He knew he was going to die.

Sweat covered his brow, his heart jack-hammered in anticipation. His hand found all but what he was looking for - his cell phone and keys nothing but a hindrance in his desperate search.

5...4....3...2...

Suddenly, he felt a rising feeling. He fingered the plastic casing and retrieved it - removing it from the pouch as fast as he could! He had beaten the clock!

And then came the fist - clenched and attached to a stronger arm than his.With the flick of a thumb, the fist was brimming with fire. It hit him. It killed him.

Smoke filled the air around Dave's defeated corpse, a reminder of the flaming fist that ended his life.

It was then that the beautiful woman turned and told him, "Forget it kid, found a light." Cigarette in hand, the woman walked into the night, forgetting about him altogether.

Do it.

2009-06-11T17:43:00.000-04:00

Smile.

get the fuck out of my way - an angry poem.

2009-06-05T20:01:00.001-04:00

I'm sure of nothing.

Nothing that matters

truly does.

it's all just a show

put on for the masses

to grab our attention.

to steer it away from

what's truly important

like starvation, and slaughter

and suffering

we rush to soccer practice

the grocery store

and best buy mega stores

oh how our lives will change

with nintendo and sony

and a nice, tight schedule

golf in the morning

investors in the afternoon

and some nice evening american television

while your mind shrinks into the tiniest ball

of meaningless slime lacking any function

but constant, repetitive, bullshit nonsense

i'm beginning to wonder the point of it all

of going to college or working in a stall

where you become quite a nice cog

in quite a nice machine

never emerging for but a few hours

in each day

going to the same fucking box

just to waste away

is that what your dreams manifested themselves to be?

wear the same goddamn suit - alternating ties

alternate your shirt, too, mix up that guise

but in the end friend, you're nothing but a mold

the same damn mold you'll be till you're old.

tell yourself your box is nice

tell yourself it's nice, twice

tell yourself a third time and i promise you

you're fucking preaching to someone who always knew

YOU. you always knew it was nothing but shit

this fucking pointless "american dream"

all my dreams say is - it's a fucking nightmare

you're packaged and shipped out every single day

in a fucking prius or honda or ford, either way

you go to the same damn stall in a box

and type away, away, a fucking way.

missing the meaning

missing the feeling

missing life in general

you fucking mindless cog

you're ignoring the most beautiful things of all

the ants on the ground

the trees in the skyline

the hills in the distance

the sun over the ocean

a smiling friend

a wave back, again

a coffee in a tea garden

when's the last time you saw the damn stars

up in the sky - they're there I say

you just need to look up once in a while

stop your damn wind-up car motions

and break from the track

what a fucking brilliant notion

go to the beach where light is scarce

where the moon and stars will blow you away

you won't fucking believe the things you'll say

you'll stay there for hours wondering what you're doing

in your goddamn, pointless boxes that move

or boxes that stay

they're all fucking boxes anyway.

think outside of your box for once

i swear it won't disappoint

it's time for a revolution of sorts

where we all say we're done with the fucking reports

as we type, type, type away.

oh sir or madame, anything else i can help you with today?

Yes, my friend. You can help me today

Quit this fucking job

you'll be okay.

move out of the suburbs - away from all of your twins

and differentiate yourself - it's a win, fucking win.

sleep in a tent or sleep on the ground

just dont sleep on your fucking tempurpedic shit-mound

it's all artificial and dumbing us down

but we're tacitly complying and clowning around

i guess we'll take any opiate in town

religion or media or a full-time job

anything to not look up or down.

i'm sick and tired of the sympathy beggars

wallowing in their petty problems

why don't you open your fucking eyes?

can't you see you're a goddamn, fucking guise?

you're nothing but an idea you're trying to portray

you have no fucking meaning, no life to display

you're mindless and thoughtless

you're already dead.

move the fuck over

get out of my way

there's no chance in hell

that im living this way

2009-05-21T00:18:00.000-04:00

vulnerable in light
like shadows, slip by

tone deaf to memories
an earshot from gone

needing separation
from inner conversation

want of love of solitude
berates the crowd
and i go down
down

me and myself
timid, tangled together
seamlessly

no time for sorrow
and overcast makes way
for resolute days

your deafening whisper
breaking silence

Go to sleep, little angel

2009-05-12T00:49:00.001-04:00

I'm sitting here on my laptop just after midnight in the room of my sub-urban, cookie-cutter home.

And I'm wondering as I always do about the ways of the world and life itself. Most of all, I'm wondering about purpose.

I saw the theatre production Avenue Q, a comedy, in which the main character is searching for a purpose in his life. While mainly consisting of puppet sex and random instances of the word "Porn!" being shouted, the play spoke volumes about purpose.

And so I sit here and I'm wondering what I'm doing with my life and I'm wondering about it in just about every way. Why do we do the things that we do each day? What is the purpose? Is there not a better way to spend my time than to be cleaning my car or selling computers to strangers? Of course there is.

But what is the significance of these activities? What am I really trying to get out of each moment of my life? What am I trying to squeeze out of this lemon we call life? I know that I want to be happy and that I want to do the things that cause me the greatest deal of happiness. But what in the world does that even mean?

How do I know what's going to cause me happiness and what does it matter in the scheme of my life? What is the purpose? I have been sitting in Myrtle Beach the past few weeks, working out, eating healthy, watching baseball/basketball, and listening to music. Last semester, I worked 45 hours a week in Washington, amongst classes and a workout schedule. This summer, I will be working at some random retail job or coffee house, serving the many tourists that pass through while living in a studio apartment.

Why am I doing these things? I've never felt a sense of specific purpose in my life and I suppose that I am looking for it now. With the realization that I have one life to live, I have begun to wonder how I can best attach purpose to things that I do. Ambition is good for these sorts of things. Attaching purpose. How the hell can I do that?

I want to feel like the moments in my life hold extreme importance to myself and those around me, and hold great significance for the world. I know that I can't really leave today and start feeding all the starving people in Africa, stop the genocide in Sudan, prevent Israel from killing Palestinians, and stop the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, but I can at least live a life with pro-active purpose instead of one of sedentary wandering.

Why is this the first time that I'm questioning why I do things? If I have to wonder about why I'm doing something, then should I be doing it in the first place? Should we not make decisions based solely on the fact that we intended to make them rather than based on the fact that our society has brainwashed us into acting as identical drones. Why did I spend an entire summer selling computers to random strangers? What kind of purpose did that give my life?

The last thing that I want to do with my life is blend into obscurity with every other person that works 40 hours, watches movies on the weekends, and loves his white picket fence. I don't want to wake up each morning and look at the woman I married while reading the newspaper and drinking my orange juice. What kind of existence is an average existence? Shouldn't I be striving for something more meaningful? Shouldn't I be climbing Macchu Picchu and viewing the Northern Lights?

There are certainly moments to live for - those times in which the beauty of the world - of life itself are revealed. Where am I going to find these moments if I'm stuck in a boring routine? I think that just may be my biggest fear - slipping into a boring routine that I can't get out of. My life will NOT be one of repetition! I will not live my life in a single town, content to drown in the sameness of our society! I will rise up, fist clenched, and claim a life that stands out against the backdrop of society! The time has come to know my purpose - to know WHY!

In my 20 years on this earth, I have experienced moments of pure bliss. Absolute perfection. Things that you just don't want to end. They don't last long and time takes them away, but they remain in memory. I can think of so many. So, so many. When I've looked at the stars on the beach or on a dock, ice skating with New York City lighting my path, and the times I've laughed all night.

Until I find the strange animal we call purpose, I can take comfort in these moments. I can breathe more easily, now.

Until next time.

I can't find the words

2009-05-03T23:20:00.000-04:00

I'm trying to find the words to express how I'm feeling at this stage of my life and it's difficult.

I'm paused without purpose,
Content with idling by.
But I'm wanting direction.

These empty days are gentle reminders
Of Sartre's timeless creed
That existence precedes essence
and that we make what we want of life

I am in the driver's seat with infinite choices
To bend or to break.
To breathe or to exhale
To reach or retract

I rely on people I haven't met
To make my days better, yet
I barely try to find them.

I'm a paradoxical conundrum
that can't be figured out
a rubix cube in black and white

I'm lacking proper longing
and longing to not be lacking
i'm dropping the ball, but
it's always been in my court

They say they don't get me
They can't figure me out
Well, i have some sympathy
Even I don't know what I'm about

Waiting for something does little good
Damnit, Godot, I think I'm through
I'm coming now to find you.

Tick.tock.tick.touch

2009-04-16T12:55:00.001-04:00

The bounce of your hair
Matches the one in your step
Oh girl, the nights we slept

Your singsong singing
Started separating
you from the rest.

Our fourth dimension
won't wait for us
It just marches on.

Tick. tock. tick. touch.

Oh girl your magnet lips
Ever-subtle swinging hips
Pulling me in again and again

The way we lie all night
Innocence and blood rush
Each time our lips touch

We move like an ocean wave
Lost in a sea of blankets
We crash, we collide, we ride away

it's your warmth in breathing
and the taste of your skin
that i'm content to drown in.

After drawing our borders
We color between the lines
Passionate, painting ecstacy

Co-captains of this vessel
Treading these wild waters
and docking in a tranquil sea

Long-closed, our eyes meet
Whilst we are entwining feet
One last kiss for exclamation

From comfort in our slumber
To bright-eyed wakenings.
Tick, tock, tick, touch.

Time, let us hit restart.

Your polaroid camera

2009-04-14T12:47:00.001-04:00

Your Polaroid camera kept flashing yesterday
The pictures y ou took, blurred as you shook and shook
Cause you were desperately clinging to what you had
You made your pictures come out in shades of gray
You're photogenic, girl, but you're no photographer
So take your camera home – we were never picture perfect

The sparkle in your eye was first to fade
That perfect blue has long since grayed
We started with a cross-room stare
You're hurting now – it’s hard to bear
Girl, I always thought you had it made

Your CD player's on repeat
Playing our songs in the summer heat
Girl, it's time for a soundtrack change
Stop, eject, replace, rearrange
There’s a vacancy in your passenger seat

The sparkle in your eye was first to fade
That perfect blue has long since grayed
We started with a late night talk
You're hurting now - it's time to walk
Girl, I always thought you had it made

I came back from college in the spring
We conquered the corners of a swing
Resisting the pulls of one another
Like on the nights we spent together
Everything you did made me want to sing

Now that I think while writing this song
I haven’t seen your face in far too long
Maybe for this whole song I’ve just been lying
Cause deep down I have been trying
And everything I’ve said’s been wrong

The sparkle in your eye – it never fades
That perfect blue it’s always stayed
We started with a timid goodnight kiss
Then it was nothing but welcomed bliss
I’ll always think we had it made

March on, American

2009-04-08T12:18:00.000-04:00

The self-supporting single girl thought she dressed herself today
She wore her favorite body mask, some pink and blue mixed in
As each piece of fabric set itself, a smile escaped her lips
She looked beautiful cause E! taught her how to dress
And so she went on her way, to strut her stuff for others

March on , March on, American
Live your life, give in to the pressures
There's no other way to be here today
Keep it, keep it, keep it up
You know how to be
Cause the televisions and talking heads
Tell you every day
It's alright, alright, it's alright
It's all the same to me

And then we have the plumber man that can't wait for the game
From what his living room friends said, it will be quite the show
"Grab a popcorn, grab a beer, I won't miss this for the world!"
He's taking the time to watch strong men compete tonight
While his son alone contemplates what it means to be a man

March on , March on, American
Live your life, give in to the pressures
There's no other way to be here today
Keep it, keep it, keep it up
You know how to be
Cause the televisions and talking heads
Tell you every day
It's alright, alright, it's alright
It's all the same to me

The educated, self-motivated lawyer man won his case today
60 hours every week is what his job entails
He'll push himself and those around him 3 weeks at a time
Never stopping, never breathing, no chance to unwind
He's coming home to a note that his wife is leaving him

March on , March on, American
Live your life, give in to the pressures
There's no other way to be here today
Keep it, keep it, keep it up
You know how to be
Cause the televisions and talking heads
Tell you every day
It's alright, alright, it's alright
It's all the same to me

You dressed yourself in a pleasant facade
We were all watching you today
Your emoticons were ironed on
What did the people have to say?
They loved you for what you put on
But not for what you put in.

March on American
You don't need talking heads
Take a look deep down inside
At the many thing we tend to hide
You'll find yourself that way
March on, march on, American
Hold on, Hold on, to these things
You'll find your direction then
So long and thanks for stopping in.

dim.

2009-04-04T01:45:00.001-04:00

This room is dim.
I'm stuck in a musical prison
And I'm starting to like my cell
I think I'll spend some time here
Until I'm feeling well.

Something I wrote

2009-03-26T23:20:00.000-04:00

This is something I wrote some time ago, but I thought I'd post it for the sake of posting something.

One thing's for sure
I'm not fitting your mold
I've been shaped already
By my own hands
I'm my favorite piece of art

To you I'm but a forsaken idol
A hammered shell of someone i'm not
You push and shove me
Through that ill-fitted doorway
A gateway to hypocrisy

Now a settling discomfort gives rise to my angst
All I want to do is tear straight into you,
Symphonize and lyricize a list of whys
That tell you I wont be criticized
I'm done with this faux exercise.

2009 NY Yankees: position battles

2009-03-16T11:53:00.000-04:00

This blog has no singular purpose, as has been stated before.

As a huge New York Yankees fan, I feel obligated to sprinkle some sports into this blog. To fail to do so would be neglecting the fact that I put a picture of a baseball in my banner picture. It's there for a reason.

This post is about position battle predictions for the 2009 New York Yankees.

Positions in question for the 2009 season include:

Right Field, Center Field, #5 starter, bullpen, and Third Base

Today's post will deal with Right Field.

Right Field

Xavier Nady: After a season in which he batted .305, with 25 home runs, 97 RBI and an OBP of .357, Nady seems poised to put up big numbers in 2009. The fact that he is in a contract year would seem to increase the chances that Nady is able to duplicate his numbers. Unfortunately for Nady, though, his numbers last year were better than in previous years. If past performance is any indication of future success, Nady will regress to his career norms in 2009. At age 30, his window for improvement is rapidly closing.

The intangible aspect of Xavier Nady is his clutch hitting ability, the same clutch ability that caused ESPN commentators to dub him the "Un-tie-er." With the Yankees last season, Nady was able to get a few key home runs in important parts of the ball game. Don't expect his clutch abilities to disappear.

But.

Don't expect anything better than a .280 avg, 20 home runs, 80 rbis, and a .345 OBP from Nady this season. It's solid, still, but might not be good enough to earn the starting job.

Nick Swisher

The trade of Wilson Betemit for Nick Swisher has been called by some to be the best trade that Brian Cashman has ever made. I wouldn't jump to conclusions too quickly, but I'd say the claim has its merit.

Swisher hit a dismal .219 last year leading off for the White Sox, hitting 24 home runs, driving in 69 runs, with an impressive .332 OBP.

Swisher's BABIP was a hideous .251 - a statistic that is usually between .290 and .300 on average. On the other hand, Nady's BABIP was an exceptionally lucky .337, where the average is usually .290-.300.

This shows that the success and failure of Nady and Swisher, respectively, was a matter of *luck* moreso than a matter of talent and on-field performance.

In an average season, Swisher is likely to hit more home runs, drive in more runs, have a higher OBP, and save more runs defensively than Nady. These things combined make him the no-brainer winner of the position battle.

For a more convincing argument, visit the following link for an in-depth analysis that includes Manny Ramirez, too: http://www.drivelinemechanics.com/2009/3/4/752173/a-stupid-position-battle-y

My likely projections for Swisher are:
25-35 HR, 90-100 RBI, .370 OBP, and a .255 avg

His defense is also likely to save more runs than the average-fielding Nady.

Two rockstars!

2009-03-06T10:18:00.000-05:00

Why, some of my many adoring fans and blog readers may ask, have I not posted an entry for a while?

There are many answers to that question - I have been busy. I have been tired. I have been slightly ill.

Let me recap the last week or so:

Thursday, February 26:

Barack Obama releases, through OMB, his budget outline.

Our office then scrambled to put together a 6-page instant analysis of the budget. It was a well-prepared document with some good information and was distributed at a 1:30 press conference with Mr. Spratt and Mr. Conrad, chairs of the House Budget and Senate Budget committees, respectively.

That night, it was my task to print off 300+ copies of that "instant" document and deliver them to be sent to all Democrats in the House. To make a long story short, I got off over 2 hours later than usual.

It was a piece of cake - a wonderful day, full of exciting and interesting interaction with members of the staff and members of Congress.

Fast forward: March 3, 2009

10:30AM

I attend a Democratic staff / Congressperson meeting with Dr. Orszag prior to the hearing. The details of this meeting escape me, as they are supposed to. A blog is not the place for such details, but I can tell you that it was very interesting.

11:00 AM
Peter Orszag testifies for the House Budget Committee and faces questioning about the budget that was just put out. Orszag handled himself beautifully and commanded the room throughout the questioning process.

It was clear that Dr. Orszag was holding back on some of his answers so that he did not put the President in a precarious situation. All things considered, he did a wonderful job.

There were sparks in this hearing, too. Mr. Jeb Hensarling made comments referring to the "Democrat" party, a key piece of Republican rhetoric made popular by King Rush Limbaugh. The fiesty, Honorable Marcy Kaptur would have none of it and informed Mr. Hensarling that such a party did not exist, asking that he have the courtesy to refer to the party as the "Democratic" party.

It was the first of many tense moments during the week. Later that hearing, Mr. Diaz-Balart, when questioning Peter Orszag, asked if OMB or the President contacted or consulted with outside sources while crafting the budget, something that President Bush was criticized for many times. Dr. Orszag responded to the question in the best way that a politician could and told him that he'd have the proper White House ethics person answer it for him.

Mr. Diaz-Balart would have none of that. Instead of moving on to another question, Mr. Diaz- Balart insisted on asking the same question in various forms over 4 times. At around the 5th time, the Honorable Chairman John Spratt intervened, informing the Congressman that he was harrassing the witness and that it needed to stop. Mr. Diaz-Balart protested the Chairman's claim with futility and his time ran out.

Interestingly enough, Mr. Diaz-Balart later posted footage of that part of the hearing on his website for his constituents to see - conveniently editing out the intervention of the Chairman.

That day, I made another 350 copies of the original next-day document, bringing the total to well over 1,000.

March 5, 2009
Perhaps the most incredible event of the week was the House Budget Committee hearing with witness, Honorable Timothy Geithner, Secretary, Department of Treasury.

Secretary Geithner has gathered quite a reputation for himself, from his tax problems to his discouraging first press conference in which he single handedly caused the stock market to plummet.

I expected the Republican party to tear Secretary Geithner apart. I expected the Democrats to need to defend him and help him defend the budget forcefully.

Boy, was I ever wrong. Timothy Geithner blew me away. I said it. He blew me away.

Secretary Geithner answered every question with certainty and assertiveness. When a Congressman interrupted him in his answer, he spoke louder and more forcefully. When a Republican made a ridiculous claim, he responded with laughter.

His performance showed the clear dominance of the Obama administration over the feeble remains of a fractured Republican party. If Republicans no longer have economic or fiscal policy on their side, what do they have?

Geithner gave us that answer: they have nothing.

And he's one of the reasons it will stay that way - for a while.

spending

2009-02-24T15:57:00.001-05:00

Many people like to wonder, is spending a good thing?

Spending the private sector is a good thing, if it is stimulative. What about spending beyond one's needs or means? Then it is probably a bad thing.

It is a good thing to use a credit card to pay for your sick child's hospital bills? What if you don't have the money to pay it off, but a surgery is necessary to keep him from going into a terrible state?

Do you spend the money? Do you max out the card? Do you let your child become sicker, spiraling into a worse condition that will cost more money and that he may never recover from?

If you're too dense and have not yet figured out, I'm using a fairly flawed and somewhat weak metaphor for the state of the US economy. Many argue that it is not the job of the federal government to spend large amounts of money and that it is imperative that we, as a country, halt deficit spending so that we can reduce our current budget deficit.

While all of that is good on paper - the idea of no longer having a budget deficit - the fact remains that the citizens of the United States of America will suffer severely if there is no spending bill that is enacted to prevent rising unemployment rates, to slow crashing stock prices, and to help the economy turn the corner.

It is not an easy problem to solve, the budget deficit. It is a delicate balancing act, with two wars, a unique recessionary crisis, and the greatest inherited deficit in the history of mankind, the President has few options to choose from. Does he allow the economy and government to collapse on themselves by allowing industries and the financial sector to collapse? Does he intervene with a package of tax cuts that decrease the follow year's revenues to the point that the deficit grows?

The President did what was ethical and practical - he pulled the credit card out of his wallet and he took care of his child. And he nursed his child back to health. Sure, the bills are piling up, but now his child can work.

His child can train his skills and hone his abilities. His child now has the ability to bring in revenue and to put himself in a better financial situation. Over time, the credit card debt can be paid off.

The President made a decision that puts his wallet in a bad position for the time being, but that will benefit this country for years to come. He cannot help what he inherited, but he can change what the next president will inherit.

I would say he's on the right track.

20. Twenty. Veinte. Venti

2009-02-23T11:44:00.000-05:00

"Clap your hands, stomp your feet, you only get one chance to be 19." - sps "on my mind"

It would appear that Justin Osbourne, lead singer of Sequoyah Prep School was right: i only had one chance to be 19.

I'd like to think that my 19th year was my best yet. I spent a portion of it in Charleston, Myrtle Beach, and Washington. I laughed, loved, and lost. Maybe I even cried. But, damnit, I clapped my hands and I stomped my feet. I only had one chance for 19 - but here's another chance - one for 20.

Here's to clapping my hands and stomping my feet until the day that I die.

I ♥ NY, NY ♥ I

2009-02-18T09:30:00.000-05:00

I love New York.

One sentence. Fewer than 5 words. I now understand why people wear the T-shirts "I ♥ NY" My day in New York can be compared to a coffee date - informal, no pressure. Just getting to know each other. We spent some time together. Times Square. Empire State Building. Trump Tower. Fifth Avenue. Central Park. I showed you me, you showed me you.
What a memorable first date, New York. You charmed me and you made me wonder what else you had to offer, but I wasn't sold just yet - What else did you have to offer? Sure, we could, at the very least, be friends. I was happy about that. But could you take it one step further?

Well, you did it, New York.

You took me on the Staten Island Ferry and showed me the view from a distance, you showed me your Statue of Liberty.

You took me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to show your cultured side - Japanese Art, Van Gogh, Chinese and Indian art, European paintings, sketches, Greek sculptures. You blew me away with your diversity of knowledge.

Then, New York, you sat down with me and you let me experience you. With Johnny and Jen off on their own endeavors and Leigh / Sophia going to see Mary Poppins on Broadway, Sanaz and I embarked on a night to remember.

Here is the story of the night that I fell in love with New York:

Upon leaving the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Sanaz and I had nothing to do but experience the city. While Sanaz talked on the phone to her father, I steered us off into Central Park. As we walked along the pavement, a tree in sight was begging to be sat on. And so we sat and talked about the ways of the world as the sun left us. We moved to a gazebo, if that's the correct term, and continued to talk about the ways of the world and the meaning of the word "love," something that fits all to well with the topic of this post and the occurences of the night.

When we decided the air was too cold and our hunger was too much, we decided to leave Central Park. What we didn't know at the time was that we'd be right back.

Do you ever come to a point where the road forks in two different ways? Where the is a road clearly put out before you, paved and straight, while the other is crooked and undefined? It is in my nature to, in these situations, take the crooked and undefined path, if only to discover what might be at the end of it and what the journey might be like.

Well, Sanaz and I had a few options when leaving Central Park. We could a) follow the path to the exit or b) walk up a random hill to try and bypass the paths. Sanaz preferred the path and I preferred the random hill. Let's just say that I decided to take the random hill, and so Sanaz followed.

There was resistance to the hill idea at first, something that is completely valid - there were signs that said "Keep off grass" and there was even a fence at the top of the hill that stopped our progress. But it wasn't the fact that we were on a muddy hill that made the hill so great, it was the fact that when we passed around the fence and continued on the path that I had chosen to take, we came upon this:

Ice skating. Central park. Buildings. Lights. Moon.

Incredible.

We stood for a while, admired the sight and curiosity about this ice skating rink that seemingly found us, as opposed to us finding it, lingered.

We ate in a restaurant that was curiously playing love songs. Rod Stewart, Celine Dion, etc as a remnant from Valentine's day (as this night was the night after). We sat upstairs and actually had a view out into the streets. We ate at a leisurely pace and enjoyed ourselves - finishing with a guilty pleasure chocolate cake and cup of coffee.

Then it was time... after less than a minute of deliberation and contemplation: we went ice skating.

It cost us $14.00 to skate. $6.00 to rent skates. And another $10 to rent a locker. But it was New York. It was Central Park. It was the right time. It was the one of the best investments ever.

We skated for over an hour - my first time on the ice went well. We navigated the ice, amidst a sea of blurred faces. I did surprisingly well for a first timer, making it through over an hour without falling. Sanaz's hand provided the steadying presence necessary for me to maintain balance. It was almost poetic at times the way that we avoided falling children and errant skaters. We even did a few child-like skating tricks. We looked up at the buildings. The lights. New York.

Bam. I fell in love with New York.

Then, there, it happened. Looking up - looking around. I fell in love with it - every part of it.

When the ice closed, we lingered in Central Park a little longer, so as the make the experience last, to savor it. We layed down on a rock near a frozen pond and looked up at the few stars we could see, despite the lighting and the tree above our heads. It could not have been any better and I will never forget it.

I. Love. New. York.

and I think it loves me, too.

Rant of the week

2009-02-17T14:11:00.001-05:00

Do you know what really drives me crazy?

People who judge other people for not being more like them.

Boy does this just grind my gears - makes me cringe. Makes me want to let loose a scream that echoes in their thoughts for eternity.

You know when you're in a room full of people who are hanging out and the conversations become incredibly offensive, without the knowledge of the parties involved?

Let's take a look at a few exchanges:

Person 1: Who do you consider to be a good person?
Person 2: I really admire John and consider him a great person because he is a strong Christian.
Person 1: Yeah, you can really tell that John is a good person.

I cannot tell you how much this conversation stings and burns me up! The room is full of, say, 7 people. Persons 1-5 are all "Christians" by definition (3 catholics, 1 baptist, 1 lutheran). Person 6 is an atheist and person 7 is an agnostic.

Here comes analysis: Do persons 1-5 not realize the implications of their statements to persons 6 and 7?

This supposed "John" fellow is apparently a man following the faith of Christianity, one of a diverse array of mankind's religious followings. Christians account for approximately 33% of the world's population, which is nowhere near half the population of the world. Muslims come in around 20% and Hindus around 13%, (Jews only make up 0.23%). Atheists and non-religious people, combined, make up over 13% of the population.

And so now we look at the implications of this statement. John is a good person because he is a strong Christian. What exactly does this mean? One would be safe to say that this means John attends church services and likely lives his life in an attempt to follow the religious doctrine of his church.

Good for John and great for persons 1-5. They all have the opportunity to be a good person because they are strong Christians.

But what about person 6 and person 7? Did the statement not just imply that persons 6 and 7 were not good people by virtue of not being Christian? Is there any other way to evaluate a person's character than by religious doctrine? One could easily argue (as they often do) that there are good men and women outside of faith and that faith is independent of morals. In fact, famous Christians like Augustine and Aquinas, and oh, Jesus, argued just that.

Why would Jesus save Moses from hell? He was not a strong Christian. Moses was a Jew. Socrates was a great person, a good man, not Christian. Jean-Paul Sartre - incredible man - not Christian.

Gandhi. Thich Nhat Hanh. Siddhārtha Gautama.
not christians!

The point of this rant is to make people realize: Watch what you say! Your words have implications for those around you. Person 6 and 7 are suddenly very uncomfortable with what you said and don't believe now that you can consider them good people. You have offended and made uncomfortable two human beings that are likely good people. There's even a chance that they've adhered more to your religious doctrine than you have. You are part of 33% of the world, have some respect for the other 67% by acting like you're part of the 100%.

more to come...