I’m a former to fading theorist. I’m marathon runner used to finding marks and moving towards them so I never hit the wall 5 miles in or 5 years out.
Theory only works in theory though.
It’s a fickle term filled with logic, control, analysis and a healthy dose of neurosis. But as much surface and protective value as this little word might have, it comes ill-prepared to face the inconsistent and unpredictable “spontaneous-es and impulsives” of the world.
So isn’t a theory just a fancy and generally badly dressed cover up for the “what if?” Like the words heaven and hell, they provide comfort for those uncomfortable with the unknown. Sure, Einstein made a living from asking questions his whole life, and while his process might have cured his insatiable appetite for the unsolved, for the rest of us with less than genius brain capacity (only slightly less, I swear), the questions only rape our minds with tension and what feels like an honest to goodness old-fashioned aneurism.
I’m a creative.
An over-analyzer.
A student.
An unsatisfied freak.
A thinker.
A developer.
An unstoppable fucking cloud hopper.
A Samuel L. Jackson circa Pulp Fiction crazy-son-of-a-bitch-self-aware-accepting-forward-pushing-in-your-face-soul-on-legs,
wanderer. (not another word for bum)
Sure, wanderers ask questions. We anticipate scenarios and pick apart our brains and allow the over-analytical tendencies (commonly known as the X chromosome) to thicken our thoughts with oatmeal-style mush and ridiculously ludicrous fodder often used for comics and other men, apparently.
But wanderers are also students. We don’t presume to know the nature of the world or how it will work 5 years from now or even 5 minutes from now. Yeah, we really can’t keep asking ourselves if we step on a butterfly now, will it kill the world in 5,000 years?
We grow.
We learn…occasionally against the stubborn grain.
And in the end, we learn to be better. Better meaning removing the questions and replacing them. Not with answers that wreak with assumption, but with spaces. Gaps. Blanks. Holes that get filled in only as your story does.
How interesting would it be if I knew where I and my life would be 5 minutes from now like a bad film rushing to get to the end with no point in sight? (Uhm, I’m sorry Adam Sandler. Really, I am). I’m not a DVR. I’m not even a Blu-Ray whose clear lucidity rivals some of the best 20/20 vision on the planet. I can’t see that kind of stuff, at least not with the astigmatism and near-sighted gifts my father gave me at the time of conception that one summer night.
I’d rather walk into the dark than walk into the light. The light reveals imperfections and expectations at face value. The dark makes you find them on your own.
It’s all a big question, like broccoli between the teeth when you know you haven’t eaten broccoli in years. You don’t really know where it came from, you just know that you’ll deal with it as soon as you possibly can. Or, if you’re lucky the person sitting across from you will be kind enough not to let you walk through life with a piece of green floret stuck between your incisors.
I don’t live my life in theory. I just live my life.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
A Nipple Idea...Blog circa 10/18/05
My social commentary for the day as well as my revelations...ahem
In concepting for a creative project assignment, I came up with a fucking spectacular idea that did in fact require some research to ensure that the idea was plausible. In short, I came to the histerically ridiculous question of: Why in the world do men have nipples?
Let's take a step back and examine this. Nipples are applicable to females for the obvious reason of nursing their young. The nipples lactate, producing milk for the young/offspring to feed off of. In the case of males, males do not have the ability to become impregnated and therefore having lactating nipples isn't exactly something they would miss should evolution decide that this body part is unecessary to the sex as a whole. I found this the most fucking hilarious concept once I made the conclusion that Men are often useless enough as it is, but now you guys are growing physical body parts that are useless as well. Dayem that shit is hilarious...as if the world isn't already full of unecessary objects, there are now species out there growing objects that take up non-functional space simply because the world made a design defect...God works in mysterious and beautiful ways, doesn't He? Indeed He does. And entertaining to say the least.
Just to clarify for those too lazy to do the research, but too curious to let the cause of this evolutionary curiosity slide, I will inform you of why men have nipples. When a fetus is growing within the womb, the growth spurts the formation of mammary glands which give species the ability to produce milk and lactate. All human fetuses are inherently female to begin with. It is only after the y chromosome and testosterone kick in that the growth of the mammary glands stop in male fetuses. As a result, you have an externally finished body part, but internally unfinished, which explains why the nipples exist but serve no function.
While evolution has yet to fix this design flaw, we can, in the meantime learn to accept the male part as it is. I think people in general hate the idea of feeling useless, which would explain why humans are the only species stupid, creative, crazy, and sexual enough to pierce, tattoo, and stretch their own nipples. Hell, if it serves no primary function, you might as well decorate it right? I would like to think of male nipples as Christmas trees. They already exist in nature, and while physically they don't do much, they serve as palettes for beautiful and exotic decoration.
I myself had considered getting "decorated" for fun once even though my palette is actually useful. However, it would have been a decision made out of sheer boredom and not because I actually wanted a Christmas tree special on my chest. For those brave enough or perhaps bored enough, I applaud you. It's not every day that you can turn something worthless into an artistic medium...
The Theory on God's Hearing Blog circa 01/15/06
In a seemingly endless world of differing hopes, dreams, and blame, the commonality of it all in most cases, is that God plays a part in all 3...at least in many peoples' minds.
Hopes and dreams remain nothing more than spoken, or thought out aspirations from the truly optimistic. In these intangible processes, many have utilized God as a source of answering their hopeful cries. As God remains a colorless, soundless, and mute mentor, as evidence has shown, the hopeful still voice their superfluous dreams to Him, perhaps injecting it all with silent radar. They remain desperate for their prayers to be answered from a being whose main purpose, of the many, is to watch over His billions of children, animal and foliage alike. His omnipresent capabilities have seemed to lead people to the notion that He therefore has an inherent responsibility to help those who request so.
Therein lies the potential mistake, at least in the eyes of this writer. Consider the set-up. Many have said that God indeed has a master plan for all of us. In that master plan could come the pending apocolypse, or the breeding of a new species meant to take over the human race entirely. Who knows? If in fact this master plan does indeed exist, then our fate has been set, and no amount of crying, dreaming, and hoping, will change God's mind that one heartless man should win the lottery, while a pure man should feed off the garbage of others, especially since the world may just explode in a matter of coming seconds. In this life, a master plan may have been set, but the reliance on God brings up a shortcoming.
And what about the blame factor? Why is it that when we fall, we cry, we suffer, we always ask "Why God? Why??????" And yet when a baseball player hits the winning homerun in the world series, suddenly he drops to his knees in thanks to the Big Guy. In our flaws lies the fact that we remain truly thankful only when our happiness and prayers have been fulfilled, but bitter and disdainful when like 2 year olds, we don't get our way. It's funny how even as we age, we are still always stuck in the "Terrible Two's." We never grow up.
As humans, we have sent a man to the moon, created the ability to speak to the entire global population via a single IM, and cloned the fucking guts of one Dolly The Sheep, and yet we still allow ourselves to lean on God's invisible shoulder. He remains our crutch when we have been able to walk on our own for so long now.
A man born without any defects, is born with the ability to hear sound, noise, voices. In growing older, he soon learns to block out the noise he doesn't wish to hear. He can hear you, but he doesn't have to listen. He particularly exhibits this adaptation during prime sporting events on ESPN and broadcast tv. Such is the capacity of God. Simply because He can hearyou, it doesn't mean He has to listen. If in fact He is the creator of all things, heaven forbid He should take a break from being the greatest wonder the world has ever known.
It is in our inherent nature to be selfish for the material things in life. If through prayer you are seeking guidance, a listening ear, or are among the few that fall in the truly "in need" category, then ask away. But using it as a course of action in response to being selfish simply speaks of why God chooses not to listen to the ones that pray for Xboxes, the winning lottery ticket, and a pair of bigger breasts. Can you blame Him for not jumping to His feet at your disposal?
God is our mentor, not our bitch. If you can walk on your own, you don't need a crutch. It's nice to have for the "just in case" scenarios, but do you really want to go through life using the handicapped sign when the only disability you have is being too blind to see that God isn't the genie in the blasted bottle?
First Date Bible Blog circa 11/20/06
I'm a 23 year-old female, but I tend to think like a guy. Over the years, I think I've learned to mix the over-analytical process of the female with the fuck-everything mindset of the male. As evolution would have it, I've formed the hybrid thinking process of the 2 genders. Asshole+insight=bulletin below
As a result, I have taken the time to write this lovely insightful First Date Bible, if you will. I could be hauling shit manure towards a dry desert that doesn't need it, but eh, what do I care?
So I've been on my fair share of those illusive first dates and from a hybrid's perspective, here are a few tips to get those bodies beneath the sheets a little quicker.
Gentlemen! So you want to get laid??? Well tough shit. It takes more than picking a flower from the neighbor's yard and making a quick stop to McDonald's to get those bodies rolling. However, if you're willing to put in some effort, and perhaps common sense, below are a few tips that may de-mystify the first date concept that many just don't seem to get these days.
Getting Laid
1.) Get the date, not just the "yes."
If you say "hey do you wanna hang or something this weekend?" and presume that she's going to interpret that as asking her out on a date, you might end up hanging out with the boyfriend and 5 friends she decides to bring along because she assumes you meant actually "hanging out". Be obvious kids. Try the old fashioned "I would love to take you out to dinner this weekend" method. You're clear, concise, and obvious, and if you can't get the date, well then there's always Sunset. I hear the women out there always says yes.
2.) Pick her up.
Sorry lazy asses, but if you ask her to meet you somewhere, generally it means you're actually "hanging out" and you obviously didn't understand tip numero uno. And if you followed tip #1 and you STILL ask her to meet you somewhere instead of picking her up, then it means:
a.) your ass doesn't have a car or a mode of transportation
b.) you're lazy as hell
c.) you're sleeping alone tonight, like friends.
3.) Pay for the date, fool.
Okay kids, I know this is the 00s and not the 80s where women may have been less independent than say, Paris Hilton and daddy's money, but that does not mean to say that women don't like a little of the old fashioned. Hilton may be worth millions of dollars, but can you imagine if Hugh Hephner asked her out and then retorted "Hey honey, can you get this? I have an entire empire, but go ahead and get this. Thanks." Uh, honey, no. We're independent and have our own money, but the best way into a woman's pants is not through her pocketbook.
4.) Holding the hand?
Okay, so it's about 2 hours into the date/hanging out (please see steps 1-2 for clarification) and you've decided that you made it this far and now, you find yourself sitting in a dark romantic movie theater, and you're growing some balls. You're gonna reach for it, go for it, go for it, go for it! Wait! Dude, where the hell are her hands? Last time I checked, I thought she had a pair. Oh wait, she stuck them in her pockets. Okay, so note to you: should a girl stick her hands in her pockets or cross her arms across her chest while watching a movie, it means:
a.) she doesn't want you to hold her hand
b.) she's got a wart on her right thumb that she doesn't
want you to see
And that whole "no my hands are just really cold thing?" In my world, that's called bullshit.
5.) The Emergency Phone Call
Yeah, we've all heard about them, and we've all done them, maybe. I'm probably going to hell for the one I made, but I think I only think that because I feel bad for lying. Okay, so you're in the middle of the date, or maybe at the beginning, whatever, and the girl gets some mysterious phone call that causes her to drop her jaw in shock, and (gasp!) have to leave the date early for a family emergency. Okay, so we've all seen this on TV (Sex and The City), and in movies (The Break-up), but despite what critics may say, the media doesn't always lie. It's not an exaggeration because I've done it. I once got away with telling a guy I met up with at the gym, that I couldn't go out with him later because my aunt's car broke down and I had to go pick her up, but not before finishing my workout. Sweet huh? Lies work, but they work better when they help you get out of the date from hell.
6.) The Invite
End of the line. Congratulations! You've made it this far. You passed every single step on the way down and escaped the emergency phone call. You're at her door or in the car, positioning yourself strategically for that pre-emptive strike across her colored lips. She smiles, inviting you to lean a littler closer, or so you think. As you lean in, closer and closer and closer, she cracks a joke and punches you on the arm to see if you get it.
?
Eh, what can I tell you? She's an animal like you, and us animals sense when we're about to be attacked by an unwanted predator. Playfully striking you across the arm like one of the guys does not mean "Hey let's get naked together and involve ourselves in the act of making babies" when she knows you were planning to lay one on her. And in the spirit of the infamous book "He's just not that into you" the role is the same. Sorry kids, the only thing you're hittin tonight is the lonely bedspread you just cleaned in the hopes that you'd be getting laid.
Of course, there is always the possibility that she might invite you in, and then all of the shit I just wrote was totally not applicable.
So the moral of the story is, pay close attention to steps 1-6 and you may end up getting lucky. Of course, this is just one chick's opinion, so I can't say that I speak entirely for the masses. Some chicks may not give a fuck about any of those things and will still bang the crap out of you regardless. The female side of the brain says "fuck that" but the male side says "fuck yeah."
Then again, there's always booty calls. Rules 1-6 can just "fuck off" then.
As a result, I have taken the time to write this lovely insightful First Date Bible, if you will. I could be hauling shit manure towards a dry desert that doesn't need it, but eh, what do I care?
So I've been on my fair share of those illusive first dates and from a hybrid's perspective, here are a few tips to get those bodies beneath the sheets a little quicker.
Gentlemen! So you want to get laid??? Well tough shit. It takes more than picking a flower from the neighbor's yard and making a quick stop to McDonald's to get those bodies rolling. However, if you're willing to put in some effort, and perhaps common sense, below are a few tips that may de-mystify the first date concept that many just don't seem to get these days.
Getting Laid
1.) Get the date, not just the "yes."
If you say "hey do you wanna hang or something this weekend?" and presume that she's going to interpret that as asking her out on a date, you might end up hanging out with the boyfriend and 5 friends she decides to bring along because she assumes you meant actually "hanging out". Be obvious kids. Try the old fashioned "I would love to take you out to dinner this weekend" method. You're clear, concise, and obvious, and if you can't get the date, well then there's always Sunset. I hear the women out there always says yes.
2.) Pick her up.
Sorry lazy asses, but if you ask her to meet you somewhere, generally it means you're actually "hanging out" and you obviously didn't understand tip numero uno. And if you followed tip #1 and you STILL ask her to meet you somewhere instead of picking her up, then it means:
a.) your ass doesn't have a car or a mode of transportation
b.) you're lazy as hell
c.) you're sleeping alone tonight, like friends.
3.) Pay for the date, fool.
Okay kids, I know this is the 00s and not the 80s where women may have been less independent than say, Paris Hilton and daddy's money, but that does not mean to say that women don't like a little of the old fashioned. Hilton may be worth millions of dollars, but can you imagine if Hugh Hephner asked her out and then retorted "Hey honey, can you get this? I have an entire empire, but go ahead and get this. Thanks." Uh, honey, no. We're independent and have our own money, but the best way into a woman's pants is not through her pocketbook.
4.) Holding the hand?
Okay, so it's about 2 hours into the date/hanging out (please see steps 1-2 for clarification) and you've decided that you made it this far and now, you find yourself sitting in a dark romantic movie theater, and you're growing some balls. You're gonna reach for it, go for it, go for it, go for it! Wait! Dude, where the hell are her hands? Last time I checked, I thought she had a pair. Oh wait, she stuck them in her pockets. Okay, so note to you: should a girl stick her hands in her pockets or cross her arms across her chest while watching a movie, it means:
a.) she doesn't want you to hold her hand
b.) she's got a wart on her right thumb that she doesn't
want you to see
And that whole "no my hands are just really cold thing?" In my world, that's called bullshit.
5.) The Emergency Phone Call
Yeah, we've all heard about them, and we've all done them, maybe. I'm probably going to hell for the one I made, but I think I only think that because I feel bad for lying. Okay, so you're in the middle of the date, or maybe at the beginning, whatever, and the girl gets some mysterious phone call that causes her to drop her jaw in shock, and (gasp!) have to leave the date early for a family emergency. Okay, so we've all seen this on TV (Sex and The City), and in movies (The Break-up), but despite what critics may say, the media doesn't always lie. It's not an exaggeration because I've done it. I once got away with telling a guy I met up with at the gym, that I couldn't go out with him later because my aunt's car broke down and I had to go pick her up, but not before finishing my workout. Sweet huh? Lies work, but they work better when they help you get out of the date from hell.
6.) The Invite
End of the line. Congratulations! You've made it this far. You passed every single step on the way down and escaped the emergency phone call. You're at her door or in the car, positioning yourself strategically for that pre-emptive strike across her colored lips. She smiles, inviting you to lean a littler closer, or so you think. As you lean in, closer and closer and closer, she cracks a joke and punches you on the arm to see if you get it.
?
Eh, what can I tell you? She's an animal like you, and us animals sense when we're about to be attacked by an unwanted predator. Playfully striking you across the arm like one of the guys does not mean "Hey let's get naked together and involve ourselves in the act of making babies" when she knows you were planning to lay one on her. And in the spirit of the infamous book "He's just not that into you" the role is the same. Sorry kids, the only thing you're hittin tonight is the lonely bedspread you just cleaned in the hopes that you'd be getting laid.
Of course, there is always the possibility that she might invite you in, and then all of the shit I just wrote was totally not applicable.
So the moral of the story is, pay close attention to steps 1-6 and you may end up getting lucky. Of course, this is just one chick's opinion, so I can't say that I speak entirely for the masses. Some chicks may not give a fuck about any of those things and will still bang the crap out of you regardless. The female side of the brain says "fuck that" but the male side says "fuck yeah."
Then again, there's always booty calls. Rules 1-6 can just "fuck off" then.
My List of 25
1.) My favorite love song of all time is "The Way You Look Tonight" by Frank Sinatra.
2.) I ate boogers (yes, only my own) as a kid and kicked the habit when Mom caught me :O
3.) I regularly hold rock concerts in my car acting as the lead vocals/guitarist in front of a non-existent music video camera. Complete with overly dramatic expressions.
4.) I was born with symmetrically crooked pinky fingers but successfully took piano lessons for 8 years.
5.) When I was 2, I fell 10 feet to the ground through the stair railing. I landed on my head. Mom sued the building and won while I still wonder what it might have done to me.
6.) I naturally befriend men before women and often wonder if that has any connection to #7 or even #5. I personally think it's because of my tomboyish childhood and preference for simplicity.
7.) My Dad passed away when I was 4. I remember both him and the funeral clearly.
8.) I religiously do the "reach over and open driver's side door for your date when you're in the passenger side of the car" etiquette from watching "A Bronx Tale" when I was 10.
9.) My first official nightmare was the bloody alley scene in "Ghost."
10.) I think kids are better than adults, and animals better than people.
11.) I've been in 7 car accidents. Only 2 my fault. I've also been pulled over many times for speeding but been released by every ethnic cop and one specifically because we were both part Chinese.
12.) I befriended a homeless woman in San Francisco while shooting a class project. Ironically she was a graduate from my college 20 yrs prior.
13.) I think interesting people are a result of leading interesting lives. I used to be a supporter of bodybuilding and attended the Mr. Olympia contest in Vegas where I met Chuck Lidell and his mass of muscles. I also attend hip hop dance competitions and use bookstores to meet more interesting people. Hey, it's a start.
14.) I was the heaviest baby born in the hospital that day at a "healthy" 8lbs. 6 oz. A 9-pounder beat me the next day.
15.) My favorite book as a kid was Cat in the Hat. As an adult, Memoirs of a Geisha.
16.) I ditched Senior year of highschool to go to college instead. I got credit and diplomas for both.
17.) I've been to over 40 raves in the past. It's where I learned to dance but not exactly to be sober.
18.) My first concert was Bon Jovi. I was 6. It was the New Jersey album and a blue bandana was the fashion hit.
19.) I don't like absolute silence at home so I fill the air with sounds from the TV when I'm awake. I'll pick re-runs of I Love Lucy over everything else.
20.) I've never been outside the continent.
21.) I've been truly in love once and he knows who he is. I often wonder if changing #20 and keeping #22 would make a difference.
22.) I'd rather cook for a loved one than be cooked for.
23.) I developed my fear of sharks from watching Shark Week on The Discovery Channel.
24.) I'd like to claim my favorite movie is something beautifully dramatic and gut-wrenching like What Dreams May Come, but alas it's The Sandlot. Childhood, mischief, dreams and communal acceptance of the nerdy but enthusiastic new kid in town. It's like reliving my whole life
25.) My mother is my hero. Not because of her struggle or her sacrifices, but because she's the only person who really knows who I am. We used to have to work really hard at our relationship, and now we just enjoy it.
2.) I ate boogers (yes, only my own) as a kid and kicked the habit when Mom caught me :O
3.) I regularly hold rock concerts in my car acting as the lead vocals/guitarist in front of a non-existent music video camera. Complete with overly dramatic expressions.
4.) I was born with symmetrically crooked pinky fingers but successfully took piano lessons for 8 years.
5.) When I was 2, I fell 10 feet to the ground through the stair railing. I landed on my head. Mom sued the building and won while I still wonder what it might have done to me.
6.) I naturally befriend men before women and often wonder if that has any connection to #7 or even #5. I personally think it's because of my tomboyish childhood and preference for simplicity.
7.) My Dad passed away when I was 4. I remember both him and the funeral clearly.
8.) I religiously do the "reach over and open driver's side door for your date when you're in the passenger side of the car" etiquette from watching "A Bronx Tale" when I was 10.
9.) My first official nightmare was the bloody alley scene in "Ghost."
10.) I think kids are better than adults, and animals better than people.
11.) I've been in 7 car accidents. Only 2 my fault. I've also been pulled over many times for speeding but been released by every ethnic cop and one specifically because we were both part Chinese.
12.) I befriended a homeless woman in San Francisco while shooting a class project. Ironically she was a graduate from my college 20 yrs prior.
13.) I think interesting people are a result of leading interesting lives. I used to be a supporter of bodybuilding and attended the Mr. Olympia contest in Vegas where I met Chuck Lidell and his mass of muscles. I also attend hip hop dance competitions and use bookstores to meet more interesting people. Hey, it's a start.
14.) I was the heaviest baby born in the hospital that day at a "healthy" 8lbs. 6 oz. A 9-pounder beat me the next day.
15.) My favorite book as a kid was Cat in the Hat. As an adult, Memoirs of a Geisha.
16.) I ditched Senior year of highschool to go to college instead. I got credit and diplomas for both.
17.) I've been to over 40 raves in the past. It's where I learned to dance but not exactly to be sober.
18.) My first concert was Bon Jovi. I was 6. It was the New Jersey album and a blue bandana was the fashion hit.
19.) I don't like absolute silence at home so I fill the air with sounds from the TV when I'm awake. I'll pick re-runs of I Love Lucy over everything else.
20.) I've never been outside the continent.
21.) I've been truly in love once and he knows who he is. I often wonder if changing #20 and keeping #22 would make a difference.
22.) I'd rather cook for a loved one than be cooked for.
23.) I developed my fear of sharks from watching Shark Week on The Discovery Channel.
24.) I'd like to claim my favorite movie is something beautifully dramatic and gut-wrenching like What Dreams May Come, but alas it's The Sandlot. Childhood, mischief, dreams and communal acceptance of the nerdy but enthusiastic new kid in town. It's like reliving my whole life
25.) My mother is my hero. Not because of her struggle or her sacrifices, but because she's the only person who really knows who I am. We used to have to work really hard at our relationship, and now we just enjoy it.
Head Mush 04/22
I’m not an idealistic person. I understand the idea of perfection is merely a picture painted in our heads. We use faith, hope, dreams and society to help cover the canvas with unrealistic colors and portraits and scenery and disillusionment.
I am the optimistic realist. I see hope and presence and that’s all there is. The future is an illusion and the past no longer exists in the present. It’s just a memory-one that can change slowly over time should your mind begin to bore easily.
I’m also not easy. I’m stubborn and analytical and creative and forever a student whose mind is never satisfied with everything it already knows. I push and fall and get up and fall and leap and fall and leap and…occasionally fly. That’s what I live for. Those few moments of flight when you’re at peace but so far off the ground that the wind beneath your feet is the only semblance of realism in that moment.
Today, I am reminded of what I live for. I’m not drawn to drama or games or talking without intent. Teach me something new and I become a better person each day. I don’t enjoy roads that lead nowhere, to the edge of the world “where the sidewalk ends” as Silverstein puts it. The sidewalk doesn’t end, it just needs to be finished.
I value, for all its uselessness to others, my own personal well being. Yeah, I said it. First comes me, then the rest of the world. It’s not about being selfish, it’s about being healthy. I imagine that the mental health and happiness of myself directly plays into the relationship I have with the world. Right now, the world is calm and collected for me.
I believe in a dance. The kind you have with the rest of the world around where you play and have fun and interact and just…...be. When the dance comes to a halt, who will you be standing with? Will your partners change? Will the music change? Will the dance itself change? Will you dance alone?
All of the above. It’s time for me to change the music, the dance…and me. I am a mover, and you, are not. I take leaps, you take steps. I move left, you move right. I dance, you only say you will.
Maybe sometimes, the best dance move is just to move on.
I am the optimistic realist. I see hope and presence and that’s all there is. The future is an illusion and the past no longer exists in the present. It’s just a memory-one that can change slowly over time should your mind begin to bore easily.
I’m also not easy. I’m stubborn and analytical and creative and forever a student whose mind is never satisfied with everything it already knows. I push and fall and get up and fall and leap and fall and leap and…occasionally fly. That’s what I live for. Those few moments of flight when you’re at peace but so far off the ground that the wind beneath your feet is the only semblance of realism in that moment.
Today, I am reminded of what I live for. I’m not drawn to drama or games or talking without intent. Teach me something new and I become a better person each day. I don’t enjoy roads that lead nowhere, to the edge of the world “where the sidewalk ends” as Silverstein puts it. The sidewalk doesn’t end, it just needs to be finished.
I value, for all its uselessness to others, my own personal well being. Yeah, I said it. First comes me, then the rest of the world. It’s not about being selfish, it’s about being healthy. I imagine that the mental health and happiness of myself directly plays into the relationship I have with the world. Right now, the world is calm and collected for me.
I believe in a dance. The kind you have with the rest of the world around where you play and have fun and interact and just…...be. When the dance comes to a halt, who will you be standing with? Will your partners change? Will the music change? Will the dance itself change? Will you dance alone?
All of the above. It’s time for me to change the music, the dance…and me. I am a mover, and you, are not. I take leaps, you take steps. I move left, you move right. I dance, you only say you will.
Maybe sometimes, the best dance move is just to move on.
Head Mush 04/30
Today I think I’ll be stuck inside a dream. No wait, eliminate the think, I think I’ll be decisive and say I am inside a dream.
As I sit here and channel the twisted genius of Dali for my backdrop with The Fray providing the soundtrack to what can only be described as a dream-aholic’s moment of clarity, I open my eyes. Not with the force of idealism, but with the pensive energy of someone lost in her own translation. I can see actual words as I type for those of you intrigued or bored enough to read this, but can only hear indistinguishable commentary in the background. It seems to sound a lot like Fred Savage circa The Wonder Years with a tidbit of Russell Crowe in Gladiator. I’m a sucker for men with souls and brutal self-awareness. The hot sandals and bad hair are just bonuses. Really.
I was told that dreamers need to be grounded in order to make things come to fruition.
Mom,
I think I failed.
I rarely ever feel the ground beneath my feet. Am I floating or am I oblivious? Are the deep pains beneath my feet a result of scraping my soles along my imaginative playground or am I simply well-traveled? Am I really flying or am I suspended in time?
With the moment in my hand and the aged and un-ending film strip looping itself on permanent replay, I engulf myself in watching what I really believe in.
Dreams are funny that way. Sometimes when we lose sight of them, they repeat themselves to the point of exhaustion, and age until you can no longer remember what they once were. If you’re lucky, from the crumbled images lying on the floor, you’ll find a reason to start piecing them back together…glue, tape and a bit of ego. Sure, they won’t be the same. Sure, they may even smell a little. And yeah, they might even die.
But if they can’t make it into your mind in the first place, how will they ever make it in real life?
As I sit here and channel the twisted genius of Dali for my backdrop with The Fray providing the soundtrack to what can only be described as a dream-aholic’s moment of clarity, I open my eyes. Not with the force of idealism, but with the pensive energy of someone lost in her own translation. I can see actual words as I type for those of you intrigued or bored enough to read this, but can only hear indistinguishable commentary in the background. It seems to sound a lot like Fred Savage circa The Wonder Years with a tidbit of Russell Crowe in Gladiator. I’m a sucker for men with souls and brutal self-awareness. The hot sandals and bad hair are just bonuses. Really.
I was told that dreamers need to be grounded in order to make things come to fruition.
Mom,
I think I failed.
I rarely ever feel the ground beneath my feet. Am I floating or am I oblivious? Are the deep pains beneath my feet a result of scraping my soles along my imaginative playground or am I simply well-traveled? Am I really flying or am I suspended in time?
With the moment in my hand and the aged and un-ending film strip looping itself on permanent replay, I engulf myself in watching what I really believe in.
Dreams are funny that way. Sometimes when we lose sight of them, they repeat themselves to the point of exhaustion, and age until you can no longer remember what they once were. If you’re lucky, from the crumbled images lying on the floor, you’ll find a reason to start piecing them back together…glue, tape and a bit of ego. Sure, they won’t be the same. Sure, they may even smell a little. And yeah, they might even die.
But if they can’t make it into your mind in the first place, how will they ever make it in real life?
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