The Question.

If I let her go, I know I will never get over her completely, she will always be the one I wish I could have ended up with. But if I don’t let her go, then she will miss out on the one that will do that for her.

Moral Relativism

One thing I see as a major hinderance to our culture today is the rapidly increasing shift in moral relativism. What this means is simple. In general, a culture defines it's morals (i.e. principles of right and wrong) based upon what is normal, otherwise known as social norms. In my own opinion, I think people fail to realize this fact, that what society deems normal is becoming more and more desensitized and conditioned by a variety of sources. Society's views of what constitutes normal beliefs in this decade vary greatly from what constituted normal 40 years ago. I believe this shift is ongoing, it will continue to push exponentially forward until it encompasses nearly everything. In other words, everything will be viewed as a social norm, nothing will become taboo, and therefore morality as a whole will no longer have meaning. We will be a society of hedonists, seeking only to fulfill our most basic needs, de-evolving to once again rejoin the animal kingdom.

Ignorance is bliss

Explanation is the enemy of imagination.

January

Sweet summer excitement exits so simply
And forgotten by January in so many hearts.
Wrapped so tightly in wool and by fireside
Excitement becomes anticipation of warmer days to come.
A chance for reflections when gazes meet flames
So serene and silent when touches fill senses.
Thoughts become smiles of shared memories
In the winter solace, finding peace and frozen air.

Drifting thoughts

Like roses drifting the turning tide
Always on the surface
Always nearby
Climbing up the grass and sand
Returning to the water
And to the sea
Red flowers coasting across the land
Make the ordinary wonderful
Keeping you close to me

People make you who you are

There is an ancient Chinese belief that everyone who is destined to meet is connected by a tiny red thread, so small that we never notice it, yet so strong that it never becomes broken. But when you connect to one of these people, you'll know, and realize how incredibly complex life plays its hand. Take time to look back and follow the string with your mind, admiring the intricacy of circumstances and situations that led you into their arms.





There are some things in life which happen and seem to never make any sense at the time. People you love making decisions for themselves which break your heart and force you to close your eyes and know the person from that point on only through memories. But these people are the ones who when they persevere through, overcome their obstacles, and emerge from their dark places, smiling, well they are the ones that show you what being truly proud to know someone feels like.








You always worry the most about those you don’t understand.










If you ever start to feel like you don’t know who you are anymore, just sit down and split a pitcher of beer with someone who has been beside you for years, you’ll be surprised how quickly those feelings go away.

Monday morning

Love is becoming thought of as a personality flaw, the ability to give yourself up to another is a weakness, the act of allowing anyone to see you lonely is unacceptable.

I’d like to say I never turn my back on anything, but really, there are some scary things out there.

Diary found

I found an old diary entry from the summer that I thought I would share:

I found myself doing something the other day I hadn’t done in so long. It was one of those things you forget that you forgot about. It was replaying conversations in my head. I quit doing it for a while, but I am not sure why, and now I remember that I used to do it all the time, just as I am now. Why does one person cause me to sit and recite silently an already issued dialogue? Am I planning the next day, trying to discover the person’s feelings, or simply doing it because it reminds me of her?

Verses

Reactor Number 4 -a piece of my family heritage and a reminder of a tragic disaster.

Cold air, waiting for the sun to set, the candles near the flame lights the city’s streets ablaze. Can you hear all the birds cry though the sun should be shining from midday high? Lights out. The towns all sit in ruin now, the dead still sleep in thousands. The children show burns at birth, the damage done is still to come. Forget the names of neighbors you know, in days ahead they’ll be left behind. Kiss the lips of those you love, in days to come they’ll leave and never return.


Thought Control- The ones telling us who to be are only trying to entertain. But is that ok?

And now you’ve given away all your choice. You close your eyes and blindly obey, well that’s your choice. Welcome to today. We live through a voice, coming from a satellite array, do you still have your voice? Going up or coming down, it spins around, the changes remain. We’re on a wheel, set to a plane, soon never to rise or think again. All you’ll endure and all you’ve found truth in, I hope it keeps you around.


Sunglasses- Emotions are always a roller coaster when they're real.

You were always what I wanted, you were always too good for me. Though I loved the sun in your eyes, it was so blinding that I couldn’t see. I’m sorry for the tears you cried, the wet pools were formed over me. And I loved the sun in your eyes, even as they fell into a sea. Some may say they look to the sky as the night comes over the day. I love the sun in your eyes and how dark it will be if you go away.


Andrew- Perseverence coupled with an open mind do wonders for discovering truth.

Your mind questions everything you’ve ever been taught or told, and because of that you’ll have my trust. But there’s a point where you have to ask, what do you ignore to keep rebelled? I hope you’re not blinded by this, faith you try so hard to dispel. You always ask how I believe in something I still have yet to see, yet I am confident you’ll understand and I’ll believe in you until you do. How can you always push away the answer that you spend your time searching for? I want to have a reason, I want to have a point of breath beyond a fear of dying. If this alone is all you’d gain, a compassionate heart with hope throughout it, then you need to find a better way to argue that you would be better off without it.


Changes- Trying to fix problems we don't have just means we have two sets of problems tomorrow.

And the world will still spin, and you still won’t notice, down below other things hold your mind. As your eyes rise to the heavens and ashes rain all around, a winter solace from the change in season. The newly renewed beginning, ruins of former empires, they all will sit the same beneath a gray sky. When the charge gets issued, when the stands are made, who will be the ones determined to readjust?

The Fate of the Two Lovers

The man held the woman close to his chest and shut his eyes, forgetting the ceaseless rain of fire coming down upon them and attempted to ignore the crumbling earth at their feet. She pushed her face into his chest and clutched him tightly, feeling her hair being pulled by the ever-increasing wind as she pursed her lips tightly and tried to find a sense of calm in the chaos. The ground shook more and more violently, each tremor taking with it large chunks of bedrock downward, tumbling away into an unknown abyss of orange flame. Without warning, from inside the man, the pervasive, constant terror suddenly subsided and he opened his eyes, to see two brown eyes belonging to the woman meeting his gaze serenely from his chest. The deafening roars of their last moments thundered closer and closer to their remaining pedestal of stone, yet the two heard nothing now and no longer felt alarmed as their lips met. As the final wall of fire and molten rock crashed down upon them, their last view was of each other, mouths silently wording unheard amorous syllables as they too were taken into eternity.

Searching for perfection...

A smile that can always make the rainiest days seem sunny, the saddest stories full of hope, the wonderful moments truly irreplaceable.

Two eyes that appear to go on forever, hinting at the warmth of everything behind them, and reason why so many muses choose to inspire through a girl's eyes.

Lips so soft they make every word that passes through them sound like a lullaby.

A heart that knows when to laugh and when to cry, yet always places itself second.

David

To me, watching the road meant practicing careful driving. Watching the road, I later found out, actually meant finding shit that doesn’t belong to you and you don’t know where it came from. I was first introduced to this hobby when I was old enough to realize I wasn’t young anymore.

This passion for inquisition, usually reserved for felines, was given to me by a man who would spend his lunches driving 5mph in nearby parking lots, upper torso leaned as far out the window as he could manage while still keeping his right foot pressing the gas. His head trapped in a bizarre loop of watching the pavement, then watching his driving, then back to the pavement watching.

This repetition of movement and steady pace of travel was only broken for two reasons. First, something caught his attention that needed further investigating. Or second, he felt the area had been sufficiently combed through and it was now time to find a new treasure hunt.

In the case of the first, it helps to have perspective. From behind the large SUV, you would see a sudden brightening of brake lights and the silhouette of a man emerging from a now opened car door. This was easily noticed because while this was going on, most of the city was asleep.

From in front, well, it was much more difficult to judge. The driver usually left his brights on, and when you have to squint to look directly at them, it’s tough to tell whether they’ve stopped or are continuing forward.

This knack for the nosy, it sometimes made for a good story, it sometimes did not. Often, our protagonist, and later myself, would return back empty handed. Other times, a small amount of coin was produced, which then would buy a soda. It was from a machine overlooking our parking lot, and while technically still an interesting artifact which had been there a while, the soda was opened and drank without further consideration. We knew why that can of Pepsi was there. But with some things we couldn’t use to buy a Pepsi, we didn’t know why they got there. Or who put them there. These were why you watched the road.

We listened as he read us a love letter, written to whomever we could imagine from the heart of their admirers. A faux diamond ring, perhaps owned by a young teen dreaming of her wedding, perhaps by a man who hoped his lover could be easily duped. A small black and white picture of an elderly Hispanic woman, perhaps from a locket, perhaps cut from a larger picture because she no longer belonged in it. These were the lost socks from the dryer. These were lies we could tell. The realistic reasons for their arrivals into our lives were disregarded, and replaced by dreams of situations we’d never experience and places we’d never visit.

Perhaps this is why this hobby came to our driver, our hero, and our role model so naturally. Perhaps it was why while others slept and still others ate, he drove. Looking for his story. Always taking us somewhere, but never fast enough to get anywhere.

Sad but true

One thing I have discovered about myself through the years: If I can't be with the one I want, then I want to be with the one I can.

Don't forget to pack a camera

The waves beat against the shoreline in a rhythmic pattern, sending their slow pulses of water across the stone and sand and grass. Gentle breezes blow in from an undecided direction, meeting with the sunlight in swirling blends across the cheeks of two onlookers. They sit silently watching, listening, feeling as their backs rest against rock, scarves tight around their necks from the sudden onset of the crisp air, the greeting of autumn. Days and nights later, when the surf no longer lay stretched before them, breaking the sunshine into intangible horizontal lines, she would ask him, “What makes you happy?” And he shut his eyes, breathed deeply and smiled.

Unspoken quotes from an unseen country...

A year ago I wrote a short novel entitled 'Stargazer', which I decided was simply too dark and depressing to pursue, although I was proud of some of the writing and especially certain issues it addressed. The following quotes are taken from this work of fiction.

"While I refuse to blame the media for all this violence which was becoming so prevalent in my life, I do thank it for giving me some great style while I did. "

"Standing below the stairwell, and looking straight up, you can’t see the top. However, you can see the blood raining down onto your face. From on top of the stairwell looking down, you can’t hear the pounding heart beat coming from below. However, you can hear the pleading and begging from someone who truly has nothing left to give."

"And even if you are sensational, and scandalous, and everything people love to rally against, eventually you will come down. You will leave the tongues around the water cooler and the magazines that sell at the cash registers and the internet blogs of 12-18 year olds. And once you reach the top, no one will ever really see you the same again. Then you begin part II of your life. The part of the True Hollywood Story that is always promised right after a few commercial messages. The loneliness and guilt and confusion and prostitution and bad choices, that all arrives when the cameras turn off and the light go out. You only want to be back on the crest of that wave, and there is getting to be so little that is guaranteed to get you there. It’s all been done before. Sometimes it feels every book has been written and every song has been sung. Everyone has a story to tell, and they all want to tell it so badly that we have to pick and choose what we hear. And if you get so lucky to have that chance for an audience, to make them really listen, your gun better be loaded and your trigger finger quick."

"A situation can produce a secret. What that secret is, well that depends on where you are standing. The side of the secret you are let in on is mine. I am the director, and you, as the passive audience, can only know what I myself know. I can, however, let you in on a little suspicion I have. There was more than two of us in that room that day. At this exact moment, right now, press pause. The story on screen has halted, and there is now something we must discuss. Someone knows my secret that I’ve just shared with you. For anyone who watches my life, they become involved at this exact point. Put on your 3-D glasses, because this story just got much more real. In my mind, as I continue to rewind and rewatch this scene, checking for angles, checking for possible takes to leave on the edit room floor, there will always be 3 people in that room. And yet, while so many pairs of eyes have watched this scene from the perspective I have described, there is one that hasn’t. One set of two eyes who can’t agree with everything I’ve told you here, one face I’ve never seen who can’t completely step into my shoes for this moment, because they existed in that moment already. One person of whom I just lost control. I don’t know if you exist, but know that if I find you, I will kill you. You can press play again whenever you like."

"Future time orientation is defined as a general capacity to organize and anticipate future events and it is considered to be a favorable aspect of personality in terms of achievement, planning, and problem solving. It's how I make sure my seeds get sown."

"When you expect your life to play out like your favorite movie did when faced with a similar scene or situation, you get kind of upset when it doesn’t. Kind of upset and violent."

“Call me” she said, showing me so many teeth in her smile that I could tell she hadn’t had to have her wisdoms surgically removed.
“I will” I smiled back until it felt like the sides of my mouth would rip open.
“How do I know I can trust you? I mean, how do I know you’re the person you say you are?” She called back, halfway laughing.
“You can trust me.” I replied, then added, “Why would I pretend to be something I’m not?”
“Maybe so you can use people for your own desires,” she was laughing now as she stepped onto the bus. “I am just kidding, Jack, you seem like a really great guy.”

“I know you are, and what kind of a world we would be living in if everyone only looked out for themselves? How would we ever really get to know anyone?” I watched as the bus door shut before adding, “How would you have found out that I seemed like a really great guy?”


"I live in a world where every now and then, someone sneaks into the shot that should never be there. And even worse, sometimes tries to make a play for a meatier role. Unlike a story told on film, where a shot can be erased, or removed, in a life’s story, these shots can’t easily be removed. You can try to ignore them, and that works sometimes. But other times these problems simply won’t go away, they continue to appear. In that case, or as I see it, you are faced with one choice. You become the genius director and you make the plot involve the unwanted character or situation. You can use these barnacles, these hanger-ons as foils. Use them to show your own strengths. Beautiful girls always have an overweight friend. But contrast isn’t the only choice. You can use them to complicate a plot, or add suspects to a winding chapter of mystery. Or you can use them as expendable, yet replaceable extras, where when they leave the story, no matter how violently they meet their end, no matter how incredible their personal movie had been to that point, their existence in the end only served to support the main character. It is at this moment they truly lose their life. And you get to have it. Enticing, isn’t it? But I am getting too far ahead of myself. "

All alone

"Shit". This wasn't how I wanted to start this off. When it’s the first thing in your mind when you wake, it means you don't want to see that sun. You open your eyes and look up into the sky and you can't even see, you can't see because all of your senses are occupied by that horrible burning sensation in your skull. That feeling of 10 billion grit sandpaper being pulled across your retinas. Every night before you nod off, you’d tell yourself, 'Well, it's been fun, but that's it. It's all over, finally.' And in a few hours, you open your eyes to heaven only to have them burn like hell.
You'd think the same thing if deja vu no longer had meaning to you. You know this has happened before, you can remember exactly when. Every day for the past month, year, decade. The sun keeps rising every morning, mocking you as if to say, 'Hey, this world is still turnin' pal. Another day has arrived to your doorstep, what are you gonna do with this one?' But this conversation no longer takes place, because the answer is always the same, was always the same, always will be the same. To answer this, you'd only prove yourself wrong. To answer this, you'd be giving in. The only answer is silent hope.
Hoping for death is pointless. It will come, your hope will be fulfilled. Hoping for life, for second chances though, that's even worse. Because once you realize even hope has left you abandoned, well good luck climbing from that hole. So, here's the answer to final jeopardy: I am hoping for some sunscreen.
People used to say, I remember I used to be so happy. People used to say, I remember. What I remember is complaining about how unhappy I was all the time, then realizing I was even worse now than before, so, relatively speaking, I was happy then. I could tell you, I was happy when I wasn't stranded on a tiny island somewhere in the Atlantic with no shade and no food. But I would be lying to you. I just found other things to keep me from smiling.
Let me tell you something about isolation. If you can’t sing, and no one can hear you sing, do you sing? This question of the ages can now be answered. I can't allow myself to hear myself sing. Hearing that atonal stream from sore vocal chords met with absolute silence on a desert island put me into dry heaves. How's that for self-regulation? Here's another: I don't talk to myself out loud because I don't want people to think I am crazy. So when I wake up, and that huge yellow ball of hydrogen and helium and nitrogen and ultraviolet radiation knocks on my eyelids the same time every single day, I can't even have the satisfaction of a huge cursing fit. My vocal cords are no longer functioning from atrophy. Instead, I conjure up a million sentences of any word I think will fit this feeling, and through my squinted eyes, I grit my teeth and fling this huge string of obscenity and rage right back at it. Except it never seems to exit my thoughts, instead, all day long, I just have the most foul train running loops through my mind, never dropping it's cargo. I pity the cruise ship that stumbles across my Isla de la Screwyou. I'll be bright red and throwing my arms around wildly trying to let loose upon them and the world. That’s right, leave me here, I'm a local.
When I first came here, I thought, you know, things could be worse. I probably rubbed my hands together and looked around like I was getting ready to redecorate my neighbor’s house. Yep, I think there's definite potential here. I probably watched the sunset that first day, pleasantly wondering how I'll get out of this. A week later, I was violently banging my head against a large rock, trying to get out of it.
In time, your full time job becomes simply ending the monotony. You think up stupid games to keep your mind busy, you count things and look for little patterns in everything. And you find some, and then when you see those patterns the next day, they just become horrible reminders of how bored you were yesterday. But at least yesterday you had something to do. You spend days lying down, until your muscles begin to ache and you are forced to stand up and walk around until you get tired and have to lie down. There are patterns everywhere.
At night, you stare off, zone out, wait for the sleep to come. Dreams become your best friend, before they leave you back where you started out, with a new found realization of how much you are missing. The only way to end this constant regret every morning would be to sleep forever. And hoping for that… is pointless.
To be alone, is to realize how dependent you'd like to become. To be alone, rescue becomes a knock on the door. An irregularity in the pattern. In my dreams, I'll find someone else’s door, and pound my head into it until I sleep forever. Or at least that's the hope.

Thoughts

Boredom:

As I left my eyes open and allowed them to wander, conscious only of my desire to not be conscious of anything, the dull, familiar weight of lethargy began to sag my severely slumping shoulders further towards the floor, and a realization of hopelessness began to slowly creep across my body. By actively pushing away any responsibility and working to generate a point in my life where I could simply release the controls and spend my remaining years on auto-pilot, I began to grasp the innate rhythms and patterns my life would have to embrace in order to become a static existence. Eliminating my third dimension and becoming as though an extra in someone else’s life story. This was my existence. My emotions become dulled and jaded, present only when socially required to foil another character, my back story simply a compliment to theirs.

Devotion:

A tree holds to the ground in a windstorm through the roots it has taken so long to burrow deep into the soil. It doesn’t relinquish that hold regardless how many of it’s leaves are ripped away, no matter how forcefully it is pushed backward, clinging so tightly that the earth itself must be torn up along with it, screaming and groaning as it surrenders its will through complete exertion. Without the soil, a tree would cease to exist, so why shouldn’t it die trying to remain there?

Early Marriage:

It seems to me as we age the most sexually promiscuous begin searching for a simple sort of love and companionship, falling into that with another who is having an affair because they became married too young.

Religion:

For as we strive forward to find, we must beware the ties that bind
The road we walk is hard to see, if our gaze remains on our feet
So little attention should ever be paid, of the steps behind we've already made
Lest our eyes betray the distance we tread, and become disheartened by the length ahead
Be mindful of the stump of a tree, who stopped and allowed his roots to go deep
Contented to relinquish the search, feeling he had gotten close enough
Though he came much further than some, undue worth keeps him from moving on
While he seemed tall from those who behind he left, those who pass by see only a rest
And if you reach an end on your road, remember the reason so far you have strode
For sometimes we feel lost and alone, our trek finding ground before never known
Trust in your shepherd's love to guide you, and ask that your path will stay true
Step surely in the footprints you've laid, this is how new roads come to be made
Keep your thoughts on ever-going stride, and welcome those who walk beside
Do not be deterred if they choose to break, they still might arrive just a little late
When you pass the stumps I mention, point their eyes on lost intention
So they too may let go of the earth which they cling, and share your reward in life everlasting.

Love:

There is nothing in this world more emotionally enlightening than a moment of experiencing love. It’s as though every sense, every nerve ending in your body, every neuron in your brain all glow suddenly at once, overwhelming you with a thousand racing thoughts at once, and yet…you are completely content to just let them all go by without a second thought, focused peacefully on the girl lying asleep on your lap as your run your fingers softly through her hair.