It's nearly 5 o'clock, which means I'm about two hours into this current shift of work, and I've already finished my crossword puzzle. My rounds of the internet have been made and all the patrons of this coffee shop are studying quietly while Otis Redding whines over the airwaves.
Now it's 'We Used to Vacation' and I don't know what's for dinner. Late Night Thai, probably. I've been staying at Toby's the past two nights and Ms. Lerone will be back tomorrow morning. I'll wake up, walk across the Green, and nap at my mom's. Tomorrow I should file my taxes and exchange those t-shirts I got for Christmas. Oh, and I should get my face shaved while I can still see past the tip of my nose.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Here Comes the Neighborhood
Lucy and I broke up yesterday. We had been in an on-going kind of silent fight. Well, it wasn't silent when it happened-- in fact, I seem to remember it as being quite cacophonous. Regardless, after a few days of mulling over my life, it seemed an apt exit from feeling constricted and an abrupt entrance into a world of freedom from obligation (well, from one of many obligations, so that doesn't really count).
I don't know... I don't really feel better. For that matter, I don't feel much of anything. I suppose it hasn't settled in yet. I'm worried, though, about meeting someone else. I don't want to fall into being a full-time, miserable shell of a human being by the side of a girlfriend. On the other hand, it isn't always easy keeping myself from boredom when I don't have much going on. But that's a skill I've bragged about having for quite some time so I might as well develop it.
I told her I needed to be by myself, and that hanging out with her wasn't really gratifying because most of our time was spent in front of a television. I hate television. I like watching movies, and Chicago sports when there's nothing better to do, and the occasional television show, but I sit there staring at that glowing rectangle with self-loathing in the back of my mind like a complementary audience of judgmental family members.
I miss hanging out with Teela because we could sit around and talk to each other for hours, and references to pop culture were extremely sparse. And I could be myself without borrowing Jerry Seinfeld's sense of humor or Homer Simpson's faulty logic.
But a step backwards would counter everything I've prescribed for myself. I can't keep taking the easy way out. And the only person I really miss being around is myself. Eventually I'll find someone who can bring that out of me. I'll keep that person around, if I'm smart.
I don't know... I don't really feel better. For that matter, I don't feel much of anything. I suppose it hasn't settled in yet. I'm worried, though, about meeting someone else. I don't want to fall into being a full-time, miserable shell of a human being by the side of a girlfriend. On the other hand, it isn't always easy keeping myself from boredom when I don't have much going on. But that's a skill I've bragged about having for quite some time so I might as well develop it.
I told her I needed to be by myself, and that hanging out with her wasn't really gratifying because most of our time was spent in front of a television. I hate television. I like watching movies, and Chicago sports when there's nothing better to do, and the occasional television show, but I sit there staring at that glowing rectangle with self-loathing in the back of my mind like a complementary audience of judgmental family members.
I miss hanging out with Teela because we could sit around and talk to each other for hours, and references to pop culture were extremely sparse. And I could be myself without borrowing Jerry Seinfeld's sense of humor or Homer Simpson's faulty logic.
But a step backwards would counter everything I've prescribed for myself. I can't keep taking the easy way out. And the only person I really miss being around is myself. Eventually I'll find someone who can bring that out of me. I'll keep that person around, if I'm smart.
Monday, February 21, 2011
"It was just a feeling."
There's nothing cute or nostalgic about nighttime dreams coinciding with revealing visions of what the future will be like if I simply stay the course.
I won't turn into my mom and I won't turn into my dad, but I'll make similar mistakes that, when I was 18, I confidently knew how to avoid.
I have this system of voting in which everything I do casts a vote for a particular category (smoking a cigarette simultaneously votes for freedom from society and slavery to a chemical or a large company), remember? But I'm throwing all of this out the window with a relationship based on compromise. Is it worth it? Well, according to one of the most polarized authors out there, "in any compromise between good and evil, only evil can benefit."
It feels right intellectually despising glowing rectangles because everything projected is, however subtly, someone's point of view. These points of view seem to boil down to absolutely nothing, leading an acute observer to a dead end. Once there, why go on? Maybe there's not always a quick path cut through differing agendas. Or maybe that's the point. Maybe there's no way out and the end result is time having been killed.
And work is no exception, which is my fault. I allow myself hours in front of this screen because smoking cigarettes throws my mind off kilter and I don't trust myself to retain the knowledge in a book. So I spend my time on things I don't care to retain, like baseball analysis and cheap news articles. And the same routine is practiced when I arrive at home, except in front of a much larger rectangle and with more structured non-sense, like sporting events and television shows and excerpts of movies that aren't worth watching all the way through. Or maybe I go out and actively kill brain cells as opposed to merely boring them to death.
But this is the way of life amongst myself and my friends and my family. There are occasional moments of joy derived from pleasures devoid of an anonymous third-party's voice or instruction, but the consistency is unreliable and, especially in February, it isn't difficult to go through a three-week span of mindlessness.
I won't turn into my mom and I won't turn into my dad, but I'll make similar mistakes that, when I was 18, I confidently knew how to avoid.
I have this system of voting in which everything I do casts a vote for a particular category (smoking a cigarette simultaneously votes for freedom from society and slavery to a chemical or a large company), remember? But I'm throwing all of this out the window with a relationship based on compromise. Is it worth it? Well, according to one of the most polarized authors out there, "in any compromise between good and evil, only evil can benefit."
It feels right intellectually despising glowing rectangles because everything projected is, however subtly, someone's point of view. These points of view seem to boil down to absolutely nothing, leading an acute observer to a dead end. Once there, why go on? Maybe there's not always a quick path cut through differing agendas. Or maybe that's the point. Maybe there's no way out and the end result is time having been killed.
And work is no exception, which is my fault. I allow myself hours in front of this screen because smoking cigarettes throws my mind off kilter and I don't trust myself to retain the knowledge in a book. So I spend my time on things I don't care to retain, like baseball analysis and cheap news articles. And the same routine is practiced when I arrive at home, except in front of a much larger rectangle and with more structured non-sense, like sporting events and television shows and excerpts of movies that aren't worth watching all the way through. Or maybe I go out and actively kill brain cells as opposed to merely boring them to death.
But this is the way of life amongst myself and my friends and my family. There are occasional moments of joy derived from pleasures devoid of an anonymous third-party's voice or instruction, but the consistency is unreliable and, especially in February, it isn't difficult to go through a three-week span of mindlessness.
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Same Boy You've Always Known
Despite all the hard feelings I so graciously bestow upon myself (and my writing), I'm living the dream. My own dream, that is. I never imagined I'd have my own car (not to mention motorcycle), I have two awesome guitars and a nice amp, I have almost every book I've ever read and almost every record I've ever loved. I can afford to eat burritos nearly every day, not to mention being old enough (and wealthy enough) to drink High Life on a regular basis. I have my own apartment (which takes some of the fun out of doing what I please because it's only at my own expense) and I can essentially do whatever I want, whenever I want to do it.
There's no draw-back, but there is a catch (unless the draw-back is that absurd theory of "too much freedom," which isn't difficult to remedy): with all of this at my disposal, it's up to me to get stuff done. Already having all of my desired possessions at my disposal leaves little to physically desire. I'm thinking I may have climbed Lazlo's pyramid too quickly-- I didn't bask in the hardships as long as I could have.
But, suddenly, I have this overwhelming sense that I've done everything right because everyone is as unique as a snowflake or a steaming pile of horse shit and, at first glance, seems the same as any other. My point is that, outside of society's constructs and outside of the barriers set up in my mind by my family and my interests and my biases and by the things I favor for one reason or another, there's no proper authority who can tell me that I've lived my life the wrong way. Though I can understand when I've hurt other people, I can justify every dishonest, asshole thing that I've ever done (needless to say, justify it for myself). Does this make me narcissistic? And, if so, is that a bad thing, or just a category for a psychologist to put me in? Should I care?, because I don't...
There's no draw-back, but there is a catch (unless the draw-back is that absurd theory of "too much freedom," which isn't difficult to remedy): with all of this at my disposal, it's up to me to get stuff done. Already having all of my desired possessions at my disposal leaves little to physically desire. I'm thinking I may have climbed Lazlo's pyramid too quickly-- I didn't bask in the hardships as long as I could have.
But, suddenly, I have this overwhelming sense that I've done everything right because everyone is as unique as a snowflake or a steaming pile of horse shit and, at first glance, seems the same as any other. My point is that, outside of society's constructs and outside of the barriers set up in my mind by my family and my interests and my biases and by the things I favor for one reason or another, there's no proper authority who can tell me that I've lived my life the wrong way. Though I can understand when I've hurt other people, I can justify every dishonest, asshole thing that I've ever done (needless to say, justify it for myself). Does this make me narcissistic? And, if so, is that a bad thing, or just a category for a psychologist to put me in? Should I care?, because I don't...
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Another Teen Angst Anthem
Last night I watched the Shawshank Redemption. Let me put some more honesty into that: Last night I the Shawshank Redemption in 8-minute intervals and without scenes or pieces of scenes that were deemed irrelevant by someone who had no say in the production or direction of the movie in the first place.
Anyways, there's one line that particularly sticks out to a lot of people (and I am no exception): "get busy living or get busy dying." It's a good line and it's especially relevant and meaningful in the context of a prison, but should it carry the same weight for, say, overly-sentimental high school kids?
I don't know. Who cares?
Anyways, there's one line that particularly sticks out to a lot of people (and I am no exception): "get busy living or get busy dying." It's a good line and it's especially relevant and meaningful in the context of a prison, but should it carry the same weight for, say, overly-sentimental high school kids?
I don't know. Who cares?
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Give Me Convenience or Give Me Death!
It's that time of the year again: very little sunshine and very many wet socks.
Enough about the weather, though, because that's a topic that's almost exclusively touched upon by people who barely know each other but are forced to converse (like in a transaction involving customer service).
This morning I woke up and got out of bed within the half hour of my alarm-clock going off. That's quite a rarity, especially of late.
Last night was interesting, if a bit irritating. I had a beer with Bella and Becca at Richard's Bar. The bar itself was nice in the sense that the music was at least 30 years old (much like the patrons, aside from the three of us), and that smoking inside was permitted.
Bella wasn't too thrilled to be at Richard's from the very beginning, and she let everyone know. On the bright side, though, I was able to talk to Becca for a while. She's a subtle elitist/narcissist, like myself. It was nice to meet someone has a very vain mind yet can intellectually put it aside to coexist with the rest of the world.
What else? Well, I on another hand: I often complain about people witting around killing time. I think that time is very important and under no circumstances should it be wasted on mindless television or, y'know, things that don't require active thought or judgment. The past week or two, though, has seen me fall into a cycle of hypocrisy. I've put down my books and parked my ass on the couch to watch ten minutes of Major League or the end of The Untouchables. This runs counter to what I believe, but begs the question: if mindless is counter-productive, what is my "productive" self working towards?
To answer this question simply, I could say that my mindset (or "ideal" mindset) is working towards actively reaching some kind of self-actualization... but doesn't everything I do lead me down that road? I mean, if I sit around and watch a Campus PD marathon all afternoon, does that not effect how my mind forms? If that's the case, should I follow every urge I have?
What about conformity? In itself, conformity is kind of a sickening idea, especially when extrapolated past examples include Bieber Fever and Nazi Germany. Does the fact that I occasionally conform (for instance, I watched a lot more hockey when the Blackhawks were good and everyone else became a fan) taint my whole persona, or does my dissension in more relevant aspects make me not a conformist? And is a non-conformist a person who refuses to conform to anything, if nothing more than for the sake of not conforming? Is that worth it?
Whatever. This world is based on people conforming because of the perception that they have to, whether it's to eat their next meal or to avoid being ostracized. It's a crock-pot of shit, really.
Enough about the weather, though, because that's a topic that's almost exclusively touched upon by people who barely know each other but are forced to converse (like in a transaction involving customer service).
This morning I woke up and got out of bed within the half hour of my alarm-clock going off. That's quite a rarity, especially of late.
Last night was interesting, if a bit irritating. I had a beer with Bella and Becca at Richard's Bar. The bar itself was nice in the sense that the music was at least 30 years old (much like the patrons, aside from the three of us), and that smoking inside was permitted.
Bella wasn't too thrilled to be at Richard's from the very beginning, and she let everyone know. On the bright side, though, I was able to talk to Becca for a while. She's a subtle elitist/narcissist, like myself. It was nice to meet someone has a very vain mind yet can intellectually put it aside to coexist with the rest of the world.
What else? Well, I on another hand: I often complain about people witting around killing time. I think that time is very important and under no circumstances should it be wasted on mindless television or, y'know, things that don't require active thought or judgment. The past week or two, though, has seen me fall into a cycle of hypocrisy. I've put down my books and parked my ass on the couch to watch ten minutes of Major League or the end of The Untouchables. This runs counter to what I believe, but begs the question: if mindless is counter-productive, what is my "productive" self working towards?
To answer this question simply, I could say that my mindset (or "ideal" mindset) is working towards actively reaching some kind of self-actualization... but doesn't everything I do lead me down that road? I mean, if I sit around and watch a Campus PD marathon all afternoon, does that not effect how my mind forms? If that's the case, should I follow every urge I have?
What about conformity? In itself, conformity is kind of a sickening idea, especially when extrapolated past examples include Bieber Fever and Nazi Germany. Does the fact that I occasionally conform (for instance, I watched a lot more hockey when the Blackhawks were good and everyone else became a fan) taint my whole persona, or does my dissension in more relevant aspects make me not a conformist? And is a non-conformist a person who refuses to conform to anything, if nothing more than for the sake of not conforming? Is that worth it?
Whatever. This world is based on people conforming because of the perception that they have to, whether it's to eat their next meal or to avoid being ostracized. It's a crock-pot of shit, really.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Candy Cigarettes, Capguns, Issue Problems and Such
It didn't take me long to realize the unavailability of clean spoons. I suppose it's just that kind of day. Then again, it's February. I should know this already.
Anyhow, clean spoons or not, it's been difficult to get out of bed every morning. The difference from the old days is that it's becoming easier to turn it in at the end of every night. I used to find inspiration in boredom and energy in exhaustion. Maybe all this means is that I'm not 16 anymore. Kind of a scary thought.
But what bugs me now is this feeling I have: it's very nagging and very particular, yet still elusive-- as if I'm addicted to a drug I can't quite put my finger on. And coffee doesn't help. Cigarettes don't help. Beer is time- and brain-consuming and only delays my mysterious withdrawal.
Heroin, maybe? Maybe, but that's a stretch.
So my cure is to leave town-- if not physically, then mentally. If not to Denver, Colorado, then to the bar on the corner, aptly named The Oasis. And this creative bend will not be nurtured, and the loves of my life will remain on hold. And my calls will be dropped or avoided like my eyes off passing strangers and onto the ground.
But my mind will no longer go begrudged, as I'll no longer be looking down my nose, but straight into the eyes of those I once felt better than, and what I could have been will move another mile higher, or stay perched on a pine tree in the mountains whistling while it waits.
Anyhow, clean spoons or not, it's been difficult to get out of bed every morning. The difference from the old days is that it's becoming easier to turn it in at the end of every night. I used to find inspiration in boredom and energy in exhaustion. Maybe all this means is that I'm not 16 anymore. Kind of a scary thought.
But what bugs me now is this feeling I have: it's very nagging and very particular, yet still elusive-- as if I'm addicted to a drug I can't quite put my finger on. And coffee doesn't help. Cigarettes don't help. Beer is time- and brain-consuming and only delays my mysterious withdrawal.
Heroin, maybe? Maybe, but that's a stretch.
So my cure is to leave town-- if not physically, then mentally. If not to Denver, Colorado, then to the bar on the corner, aptly named The Oasis. And this creative bend will not be nurtured, and the loves of my life will remain on hold. And my calls will be dropped or avoided like my eyes off passing strangers and onto the ground.
But my mind will no longer go begrudged, as I'll no longer be looking down my nose, but straight into the eyes of those I once felt better than, and what I could have been will move another mile higher, or stay perched on a pine tree in the mountains whistling while it waits.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Dazed and Confused
I haven't been writing much lately, probably because I've been feeling uninspired. Well, no, that's not the right word... "disassociated"? Hm... definitely "dis-" something. "Disheartened," probably.
I can't seem to find a good balance between being happy and staying happy, between being healthy and being random. Quentin cleaned his room before killing himself in the end of The Sound and the Fury (the end of his section, anyways). It was very humorous and tragic, seeing the duality between necessary and absurdity in regard to trying to establish order in this world.
Speaking of this world, how can anyone do anything when trying to be well-informed? The question of the existence of a god aside (because that's way beyond anyone's perception and popular interpretations seem to be the most misinformed), how can someone try to be "good" when the full extent and workings of our own government are beyond comprehension by any individual person? Is there a point of trying to independent and genuine and caring when something as trivial as the shoes I buy could be immensely detrimental to some poor kid in China? Is the solution to buy all my groceries locally because I'm more familiar with the circumstances that produced it (even though I there are many aspects I neither understand nor trust?). Is every product being marketed geared towards escapism so people like me can be blissfully engaged in killing time so as not to notice large injustices happening right below my nose? Are my attempts at transformation futile? Should I, instead, spend my time being comfortable with who I am? Am I anyone yet? Is this chaos and confusion part of the growing process or have I stunted my growth and entered into a perpetual voyage of teenage angst? If so, should I be writing pop punk for confused teenagers who are eerily similar to me? Am I "settling down" in various aspects of my life because I'm truly satisfied, or because I'm tired or bored or dissatisfied with my other options? Do I sell myself short?
I can't seem to find a good balance between being happy and staying happy, between being healthy and being random. Quentin cleaned his room before killing himself in the end of The Sound and the Fury (the end of his section, anyways). It was very humorous and tragic, seeing the duality between necessary and absurdity in regard to trying to establish order in this world.
Speaking of this world, how can anyone do anything when trying to be well-informed? The question of the existence of a god aside (because that's way beyond anyone's perception and popular interpretations seem to be the most misinformed), how can someone try to be "good" when the full extent and workings of our own government are beyond comprehension by any individual person? Is there a point of trying to independent and genuine and caring when something as trivial as the shoes I buy could be immensely detrimental to some poor kid in China? Is the solution to buy all my groceries locally because I'm more familiar with the circumstances that produced it (even though I there are many aspects I neither understand nor trust?). Is every product being marketed geared towards escapism so people like me can be blissfully engaged in killing time so as not to notice large injustices happening right below my nose? Are my attempts at transformation futile? Should I, instead, spend my time being comfortable with who I am? Am I anyone yet? Is this chaos and confusion part of the growing process or have I stunted my growth and entered into a perpetual voyage of teenage angst? If so, should I be writing pop punk for confused teenagers who are eerily similar to me? Am I "settling down" in various aspects of my life because I'm truly satisfied, or because I'm tired or bored or dissatisfied with my other options? Do I sell myself short?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)