Blogging

I need to start writing in this blog more.. It's just something that never crosses my mind.

Right now I feel as though I am reliving this boring hour all over again. This is the second time it has been 2:37 because I forgot to set the clocks back last night due to daylight savings. Between 2 and 3 is such a useless and insignificant hour today.

I think I will spend the rest of my life hopelessly trying to be a mix of Charles Bukowski and Hunter S. Thompson, with more of a Chuck Palahniuk perspective on drugs/alcohol.

Another solid night of vivid nightmares last night.. This time, 10 and a half hours, actually. I can't decide what is better.. Being able to sleep (with nightmares) or having insomnia (with no nightmares). I guess I can look on the bright side of being well-rested, though, it doesn't make me feel any different no matter how much I sleep.

The phone is ringing but I'm ignoring it out of fear that it is once again a recording of Barack Obama for the third time today.. Although I am an Obama supporter, I wish I could put my number on an "I'm already convinced" list or something.

Skimming Wanda Coleman's Bathwater Wine.
"At seventeen, Daddy hitched into town two
jumps ahead of a noose as the century slumped
into its thirties. liberated since the age of eight,
his greatest gifts were rhythmic hands, stalwart
eyes and major league lungs"
Wow is all I have to say to that.
I wish I had something that meaningful to offer the world.

Right now I'm staring at a tree across the street whose leaves don't seem to have changed at all since Summer, but I guess there are always going to be some exceptions to Fall.

Kent

I survived my first week of college at Kent State University.. No big deal, really. We haven't started doing much yet.. I'm assuming next week will be more challenging and exciting. I'm currently taking Principles of Thinking (a philosophy course), Psychology, Seven Ideas That Shook The Universe (Physics), Fundamental Mathematics 2, and a first year experience orientation course. In less than a month I will be taking a physical education course called Broomball, which apparently means that you wear tennis shoes and run around on ice hitting objects with a broom.. or atleast that's what I've been able to formulate from hear-say. Unfortunately I wasn't able to take any English courses which is more than disappointing to me.. However, as an English major, I'm sure I will be taking a fair amount of them in the future. So far my college life consists of walking, biking, attending class, doing math homework, listening to music, etc. It feels as though I am constantly in my dorm room, which is fine, apart from living in a hallway full of stereotypical fashion merchandise majors who blast ridiculous music and haven't yet realized that they are in college. Right now I'm drinking Powerade and listening to the album Grace by Jeff Buckley.. I'm rather enjoying having no distractions and just being able to learn. I think that's what I've always needed.

Moving in August.. Currently a mixture of excited and afraid. I question my ability to be completely alone, though I know I will get used to living by myself eventually. I'm ready to leave this town.

Spontaneously Irrational

I've been re-evaluating a lot of things lately. I'm suddenly starting to become more motivated to read and write again, which is a pleasant alternative to what I've been doing recently.

For some reason I really want to learn how to snowboard, but I'm really afraid of doing anything that requires having good coordination and tremendous heights. I tried to snowboard once and I couldn't bring myself to do it. It's one of those childhood fears you return to later in life and attempt to face, and I'm considering moving on to that stage eventually.

Sometimes I find amusement/curiosity in personifying God as an average man on Earth. I wonder what he would look like, or what words he would say, and if he would studder at all when he was nervous. If God wore pants, would he need a belt? What would be inside his pockets? To think about the contents in God's pockets seems pretty sacrileges but even so, there's no harm in having an imagination.

I can't decide if I'm irrationally spontaneous or spontaneously irrational. Either way, I am both irrational and spontaneous.

A life story

It is an impossibility to change how someone views you, and regardless, it will never be exactly how you view yourself. Sometimes I want to write the greatest work I will ever write and then exist only in words, and afterwards, hope that my life would be understood. Maybe my story would be written with the right details, and maybe I would be spelled correctly. I want to tell my entire story that no one will ever know every detail of. If you only know certain parts, you will always have the wrong idea. It's like missing the first half of a film and forming your own opinion about what you assume happened based on the second half. I'd rather have someone know nothing, or everything, instead of only pieces that they puzzle together themselves.

Words

What thoughts were surfacing in his mind? What poems were writing themselves? What exactly was he drinking? Where was he at? There are an unlimited amount of questions that generate when I look at this picture of Bukowski. I wonder if I can write an entry without mentioning him. What would my world be like without his existence?

Sometimes I wish I could say what I want to say without ever having to say it, but then where would that leave room for words? I will never know anything more valuable or powerful than words. They create a chance for you to explain yourself, with truth or with fabrications, and to make people understand what they may possibly never have the opportunity to observe themselves. I want to spell myself in words for the remainder of my life.

You get so alone at times that it just makes sense

My favorite Bukowski book is titled, "You get so alone at times that it just makes sense." I think about this line every time I pass my book shelf. It sticks with me for atleast a few moments, sometimes even a longer amount of time. It explains so much in my life, because there have been so many times that I have felt that sense of clarity that comes with an extensive amount of loneliness, when everything just seems to make sense. In times of solitude, you evaluate your life and your problems, or sometimes your lack of problems, and wonder what exactly you have to be sad about when the world keeps rotating and you seem to be breathing in another day. You don't necessarily have to be facing an obstacle to feel sadness; it could simply be that something is missing. Isn't something always missing? We go through life leaving pieces of ourselves in sacred places that have made us happy, or with people who have given us a better understanding of the world, but there are some places and some people that we will never see again to recover those pieces. No one is entirely whole. No one is ever pefectly content. We are all missing pieces of ourselves. The inevitable fact is that you will never be completely content in your life; however, what would life be if you were not incomplete? What is life without pain or emptiness? Most of all, when you are completely alone, you think about all of the reasons why you are the only person in that room, and after so much thought and evaulation, you finally find that reason, even if it very simple and effortless, and it just makes sense.

Everything expires eventually

There are times, though they are rare, when I think I would feel the same in every environment, and in every space of land on this planet. Sometimes I think that my problems are not caused by this place, these obstacles, the mistakes or the consequences, what has been lost, or anyone whose presence is in my life, but that the problem ultimitely and indefinitely lies within myself. There are other times when I think that running away to a different country would solve everything, mend the past and smile at the future. I want to go to a place where people appreciate beauty, and where there is actually something beautiful to observe. Problems would still lie within myself, but maybe they could be mended too. I have long learned that medication is clearly not the answer to my problem. It only put a sheet over a mattress with springs sticking straight out of it. Life itself is a medication with side affects. Some people just deal with them differently. Is there an expiration date on pills? I suppose everything expires eventually, just at different times, depending on the conditions, even people.

On a different note, if you meet the person who you feel completes you, is it possible to love someone else, or is it just that we settle for people we admire to make ourselves feel less lonely? Is it possible to really love more than one person, or does true love only occur once in your life? Is it different for everyone? I think that true love is when you remember every insignificant detail of their conversations, even the punctuation and the laughter. It is when you recognize their scent on your clothing, wear it every day and never wash it. It is when even in a state of perfect common sense, you will act completely irrationally and spontaneous with them. It is when a starless sky could still seem like every constellation was revealing itself.

Pandora's box

Apparently I haven't written an entry since April of last year, which was my only entry, so I've decided to instate blogging as a new hobby, even though I am fairly certain that no one will read this. It will be a good way to not only get my thoughts out in the open, but to preserve them.

Today is Valentine's Day and I'm asking myself an infinite amount of questions inside my head.
1) Do fake flowers hold the same meaning?
2) Why was hope the only thing left inside Pandora's box? When she opened it, everything destructive slewed itself into the air, and she closed it just in time for hope to remain trapped in the box. Does that mean that there is no true hope in the air of this world, or that hope is the only thing people need to survive? It could work both ways.
3) How is it possible that the less passionate can accomplish so much more sometimes? Is it because they detach themselves from friends and family who hold them back in order to accomplish their dreams?
4) Is everyone the same person, just covered with different lies?

I was thinking about a work space, or a den, yesterday, and how some people have a room that they feel releases a sense of inspiration. I wrote something small.

You go to a room that signifies your past,
an escape to find inspiration,
but the room is not the key;
the inspiration lies within yourself.

There is a Pandora's box within us all.