Thursday, January 28, 2010

Closer, closer

My movie type thing is almost done. I would say I'm a month away.





Edit: I can't stop watching this. I feel like this song is everything I love about music.



Edit Edit: This is pretty, too.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Some Shit

So one miserable night I sat down and wrote some things that were on my mind. I eventually fell asleep while writing it and actually have no memory of working on it at all. I read it the next morning and shoved it into a cluttered file folder. That was a while ago. I don’t think I’ll use any of this for anything, because it’s mostly shit. I didn't even try to make it take any form. It's a blob. It's also pretty long. Feel free to take a whiff, if you’d like.


I have a couple theories of how this story is going to end. There is the distinct possibility that I will learn some higher truth in some abstract form and this will somehow change my ways.
Sure- whatever. That seems pretty lazy.
Of course, nothing could happen to me; and in this not knowing of some higher truth, you'll learn.
That seems kind of boring.
I could explicitly learn something, change, be happy, and change everyone around me- forever and ever after.
I see that as sort of stupid.
…and then there's always tragedy. I am fully aware that tragedy does happen. I'll still learn something, but it'll be too late. At least you'll learn something. I won’t.
...or I'll just get the girl. That would be nice.
However, I've already broken enough rules for this to be a proper story. My diatribe has proven far too self-aware to be taken seriously. I should give up now. It is not worth it if I'm going to be that disrespectful of the rules. However incoherent or misleading, something is still happening, right? I'm sure something is happening. Something's got to be happening.
Wait. What am I talking about? It is so worth it. What makes whatever I’m saying not worth it? I am saying exactly what would be said in the proper form of writing, except not in the proper form of writing. Does this mean I'm not saying what needs to be said? Hell no, it doesn't. I have decided that these rules are pointless.
But what about what happens? Should we disbar every minute and building instance, event, happening, misunderstanding, tragic flaw, comedic break and emotional aside from any higher meaning that is seemingly reserved for the end?

It really only matters how it ends.

I asked my beloved to quench my fear of the darkness.
And then she kicked me in the face.
I fear the dark no longer.

For far too long have I sat in my own stupid thought wishing for things to be different. Share a thought with some person. Not to be so alone. And for too long have I thought why what I believe to be beautiful is. In 2005 I sat on a train going down to Georgia without any wish to live. I listened to three songs on loop. All of these songs included clinging lines which directed my miserable mode of thought. It sucks when something tells you that love is like two blindfolded people running towards each other. You run far beyond the person and they run past you. When you open your eyes and turn around, you can see them there and walk up to them and finally say, "Glad you can make it." That's never happened to me. My legs ache from running so far, only to turn around and see that nothing's there. It wears me out. Then running becomes the sort of thing that you don't really want to do. Isn't the whole goal of running that you won't have to be running any more? Why not just cut out the middle man? I chose not to because I know now that beauty is alive. A thought is a weapon against the human psyche, and these thoughts of what we want, what we think we want, what we need, who we love, everything we've felt, everything we've done, everything we deserve, and everything we have feared war with every artifice of hope, human kindness and servitude that has been strained, leaving us wet noodles out to dry in the hot rays. We have lost the need for enemies. The world is not too much with us. We are too much with us. But it is for this very reason that we are not meant to be alone. The act of existing is imperative in that it develops a sense of beauty and wonderment that can only be seen in the human quality of our betters. "...still it's the memory of our betters that is keeping us on our feet." There is a standing room only for joy. It is the active process which does not acknowledge our temporary conditions and yearns for unrequited love that saves our souls. It's the loyalty to our well being that we escape our well being in order to better our well being. For the being well in the sense of wellness that we see in those well enough for us to consider "well off" we shove in a well, well aware that while the well wails, we wane in comparison to our beloved. It pains when the sentiment returns opposite yet unequal. It pains and it does not relinquish. Please go away. How I would serve for you to go away. We reject the pain. Comfort is a vice of the forgetful, for those who desire to escape the burden of thought. It can be done, and indeed is quite effortless, but the burden does not escape. Such feeling merely asphyxiates. Last dying breath. Writ in water. Pleasant smile. Whisked in batter. Lovely skin. As above, so far, so below, we are. It is from such a moment that the power of learning from mistake may take hold. For to learn! Oh, that can be a learning experience, to learn! Learn to destroy! Learn to create! Because what else can beauty do? The constant attempts to create beauty have passed unmet, unrequited, in despair, in longing, distanced, at the worst time in the most inopportune instances that the prospect of something truly beautiful seem so far away. We destroy for this reason. We clear the field, emptying space for what we will build next. And we will destroy that, too. And we will build once more and we will destroy. I fear the dark no longer because I know how to embrace it. I can be comfortable in it, setting me better off than those who do not "bother themselves with such matters." To these people I merely note that adolescence is a vengeful bitch who will have her way with you. She will make you destroy more than you will ever want to. It may never end, but we will construct, none-the-less. The war to win our thought can be won, and we are not alone. Beauty is alive. It lives. It lives. It lives. seFfjsEIt lives.e It lives. It livesse. Iveslijjjsae Irsijse ainiside eberything i iesjlkj but can not sat in the worksa that can't even look at the screen the fucking nlinkinsf screen soija en whti love
is the hopewf tahat thes ounf of the felelinfs of what has passed and what has happpened and eberutjing that will later come to pass will be beautiful.



I am truly sorry if you read that.


In other news, I have been binging on Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which is a damn good novel and this woman is crazy.



Peter Bjorn and John have written many of my favorite songs.



Later.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

So I haven't posted in a while.

...THAT'S BECAUSE I DIDN'T MAKE A RESOLUTION TO BLOG MORE.

I'M MIXING SHIT UP.

HELLO, VLOGOSPHERE.