Saturday, December 16, 2006
Big Red Bows
You know what's funny about movies and books, and why I can't write any? Because they always have some kind of ending. This won't be original at all. I just finished watching The United States of Leland, and the movie already said sort of what I've been thinking about, except hopefully not in that extreme, psychotic way. But I think the point of the movie was that it wasn't psychotic. That people were "only human." Anyway ...
I can't write anything of importance, because the important stuff isn't ready to be written about. And by the time the important stuff is ready, it will seem irrelevant because of other important stuff going on.
Ellen and I used to talk about that sometimes, mostly, when Ellen and I used to talk. We'd talk about how the movie never ended. The curtain never closed. Things would keep happening. Life would go the fuck on.
It's not like it's a terrible thing; life is wonderful. In fact, in my worst times ever since I was old enough to understand what and when exactly the worst times were, that was when I was most grateful to be alive.
Which, it's funny that I'm saying that even, because I guess that's what Josh's fortune cookie told him when I read his blog several hours ago. I honestly didn't begin writing this with the intention of that, of echoing that sentiment, but now it's staring me down, and floating past me, and it's out there I guess, on its way to hit somebody else.
Maybe you.
And whatever the point of this is, I know that sometimes the point may not be for me or for you, but for something or someone else completely.
And suddenly, things don't seem so accidental.
You know what's funny about movies and books, and why I can't write any? Because they always have some kind of ending. This won't be original at all. I just finished watching The United States of Leland, and the movie already said sort of what I've been thinking about, except hopefully not in that extreme, psychotic way. But I think the point of the movie was that it wasn't psychotic. That people were "only human." Anyway ...
I can't write anything of importance, because the important stuff isn't ready to be written about. And by the time the important stuff is ready, it will seem irrelevant because of other important stuff going on.
Ellen and I used to talk about that sometimes, mostly, when Ellen and I used to talk. We'd talk about how the movie never ended. The curtain never closed. Things would keep happening. Life would go the fuck on.
It's not like it's a terrible thing; life is wonderful. In fact, in my worst times ever since I was old enough to understand what and when exactly the worst times were, that was when I was most grateful to be alive.
Which, it's funny that I'm saying that even, because I guess that's what Josh's fortune cookie told him when I read his blog several hours ago. I honestly didn't begin writing this with the intention of that, of echoing that sentiment, but now it's staring me down, and floating past me, and it's out there I guess, on its way to hit somebody else.
Maybe you.
And whatever the point of this is, I know that sometimes the point may not be for me or for you, but for something or someone else completely.
And suddenly, things don't seem so accidental.
Labels: Movies
Monday, December 11, 2006
Everyone dies alone.
These things I will do, next time I love, and am loved in return:
I would talk about things that matter. I would want the person I love to truly know me, and where I came from. A lot of ugly things happened to me when I was young; A lot of ugly things happened to me later -- such is life. Sometimes I can be ugly. I can do and say ugly things. Sometimes I say them when I don't mean them; sometimes I mean them, at least for a moment, and should learn to bite my tongue.
I would participate in the little everyday things that mean so much more than a little:
Like listening;
Like being more sensitive;
Like not expecting my lover to be anything other than what he is,
And being my own person at the same time.
I would take him out.
I would do more nice things -- just because.
I would trust him; sometimes the hardest part is to trust and be trusted.
I told a friend the other night that I'm confused about the future. I had been creating these dreams, about this and that, this place I want to be, or with this job or education, blah, blah, blah .... And that, my friends, is hearsay from my own mind, for me to believe whenever I needed to.
The truth is, I've been alone for most of my life. Even when I'm not alone, I'm alone.
I dream up all these ideas in order to persuade myself that this is who I am, and I don't need anyone.
But my heart tells a different story, and no song or book or dream or words aloud can change it. It's reflected back at me in lines from some of my favorite movies:
"Everyone dies alone."
"People do belong to people."
"Anything less than mad, passionate, extraordinary love is a waste of your time."
And that last line, maybe it wasn't just about relationships and kissing dating goodbye. Maybe it was about life, because at this place in my life, it's hard to see a point in most things.
I have made a horrible mistake.
I have lost a great deal of my footing.
But the greatest loss is not the present one; it's something else.
Money isn't real.
A car and an apartment are things.
People matter, love matters, and everything else doesn't have to define me.
These things may not change overnight, but at least I've found out what is most important to me.
It is immaterial ...
If everyone dies alone, then maybe life isn't meant to be lived alone ...
These things I will do, next time I love, and am loved in return:
I would talk about things that matter. I would want the person I love to truly know me, and where I came from. A lot of ugly things happened to me when I was young; A lot of ugly things happened to me later -- such is life. Sometimes I can be ugly. I can do and say ugly things. Sometimes I say them when I don't mean them; sometimes I mean them, at least for a moment, and should learn to bite my tongue.
I would participate in the little everyday things that mean so much more than a little:
Like listening;
Like being more sensitive;
Like not expecting my lover to be anything other than what he is,
And being my own person at the same time.
I would take him out.
I would do more nice things -- just because.
I would trust him; sometimes the hardest part is to trust and be trusted.
I told a friend the other night that I'm confused about the future. I had been creating these dreams, about this and that, this place I want to be, or with this job or education, blah, blah, blah .... And that, my friends, is hearsay from my own mind, for me to believe whenever I needed to.
The truth is, I've been alone for most of my life. Even when I'm not alone, I'm alone.
I dream up all these ideas in order to persuade myself that this is who I am, and I don't need anyone.
But my heart tells a different story, and no song or book or dream or words aloud can change it. It's reflected back at me in lines from some of my favorite movies:
"Everyone dies alone."
"People do belong to people."
"Anything less than mad, passionate, extraordinary love is a waste of your time."
And that last line, maybe it wasn't just about relationships and kissing dating goodbye. Maybe it was about life, because at this place in my life, it's hard to see a point in most things.
I have made a horrible mistake.
I have lost a great deal of my footing.
But the greatest loss is not the present one; it's something else.
Money isn't real.
A car and an apartment are things.
People matter, love matters, and everything else doesn't have to define me.
These things may not change overnight, but at least I've found out what is most important to me.
It is immaterial ...
If everyone dies alone, then maybe life isn't meant to be lived alone ...
Labels: Love, Regret, Relationships
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Stolen past rebuilt sequential afterthoughts
Things I love:
1. Reading The Sandman
2. Playing my keyboard.
3. Dream for an Insomniac
4. Breakfast at Tiffany's
5. My friends.
6. My family.
7. Sleeping.
8. Grilled cheese sandwiches on "multi-grain" bread (a recent development)
9. Stephen Colbert
10. Smoking, yes, lately, I do enjoy my smokes.
Things I hate:
1. Realizing my unforeseeable future.
2. Hypocrisy in every sense, including my own.
3. Mediocrity in the world and people and everything within it.
4. Idleness. Can think of plenty of things to do when I don't have time, but when I do have time, it debilitates every ounce of my motivation.
5. Youthful, veiled, idealistic beliefs in the way of "It won't happen to me." Health and car insurance seem expensive when one's got nothing, but medical bills stacked against nothing is wayyyyyyyyy more ... sidebar.
6. Fucking feeling helpless, and or incompetent, or inept.
7. How Tom Robbins once said that if the world got any smaller he'd end up living next door to himself -- he was probably right.
8. Fucking negativity.
Things I want to learn:
1. Some more Italian.
2. More about Japanese culture.
3. Greek mythology.
4. How to make Red Pepper Risotto.
5. Bar chords. I suck.
6. More history, specifically, the philosophical categorizations of movements during which times in which order, behind specific forms of music, art, and literature.
7. Still can't string my guitars, but haven't attempted in quite a long time.
8. Still wouldn't mind learning how to read my own mind, and maybe some other people's.
9. Enough geology to pass my class with this fucking final.
10. And, how to make love stay.
Things I want to do:
1. Been wanting to start running again for too long. It's either not me, or I'm lazy.
2. Eventually quit smoking.
3. Graduate ... someday.
4. Write and record some new songs, preferably with my keyboard.
5. Jam with some people so maybe I could write three or four part songs and record them.
6. Find something new to be passionate about.
7. That's it, really. I just want to care about something.
I'm leaving out the "Things I Want to Pick Up" section ... no boys, either.
That's all I got.
Things I love:
1. Reading The Sandman
2. Playing my keyboard.
3. Dream for an Insomniac
4. Breakfast at Tiffany's
5. My friends.
6. My family.
7. Sleeping.
8. Grilled cheese sandwiches on "multi-grain" bread (a recent development)
9. Stephen Colbert
10. Smoking, yes, lately, I do enjoy my smokes.
Things I hate:
1. Realizing my unforeseeable future.
2. Hypocrisy in every sense, including my own.
3. Mediocrity in the world and people and everything within it.
4. Idleness. Can think of plenty of things to do when I don't have time, but when I do have time, it debilitates every ounce of my motivation.
5. Youthful, veiled, idealistic beliefs in the way of "It won't happen to me." Health and car insurance seem expensive when one's got nothing, but medical bills stacked against nothing is wayyyyyyyyy more ... sidebar.
6. Fucking feeling helpless, and or incompetent, or inept.
7. How Tom Robbins once said that if the world got any smaller he'd end up living next door to himself -- he was probably right.
8. Fucking negativity.
Things I want to learn:
1. Some more Italian.
2. More about Japanese culture.
3. Greek mythology.
4. How to make Red Pepper Risotto.
5. Bar chords. I suck.
6. More history, specifically, the philosophical categorizations of movements during which times in which order, behind specific forms of music, art, and literature.
7. Still can't string my guitars, but haven't attempted in quite a long time.
8. Still wouldn't mind learning how to read my own mind, and maybe some other people's.
9. Enough geology to pass my class with this fucking final.
10. And, how to make love stay.
Things I want to do:
1. Been wanting to start running again for too long. It's either not me, or I'm lazy.
2. Eventually quit smoking.
3. Graduate ... someday.
4. Write and record some new songs, preferably with my keyboard.
5. Jam with some people so maybe I could write three or four part songs and record them.
6. Find something new to be passionate about.
7. That's it, really. I just want to care about something.
I'm leaving out the "Things I Want to Pick Up" section ... no boys, either.
That's all I got.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Oscar Wilde
Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.
One's real life is often the life that one does not lead.
The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror.
What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.
The secret of life is to appreciate the pleasure of being terribly, terribly deceived.
Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.
A man can be happy with any woman as long as he does not love her.
We teach people how to remember, we never teach them how to grow.
Wisdom comes with winters.
Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.
Seriousness is the only refuge of the shallow.
Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.
One's real life is often the life that one does not lead.
The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror.
What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.
The secret of life is to appreciate the pleasure of being terribly, terribly deceived.
Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.
A man can be happy with any woman as long as he does not love her.
We teach people how to remember, we never teach them how to grow.
Wisdom comes with winters.
Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.
Seriousness is the only refuge of the shallow.
Labels: Oscar Wilde
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Winter
Another cold front's coming, and it's going to get colder before it's over. Ray Bradbury talked about winter as a repeated theme in Something Wicked This Way Comes. I remember reading that book last year; it intrigued and terrified me.
Winter in Houston is like winter anywhere. You can feel it starting, but you don't know how cold it's going to get or when exactly it's going to end.
It can warm up for a couple of days. You might even feel a bit of relief when the cold breeze lets up, and you can step outside to shiver a little bit less. Only for the wind to come down again, or worse, rain. I haven't had one of those cold winter rains yet, but it's coming.
As for me, it's winter again. Not just outside, but inside. That season in your life where it's cold and dark, and you pray the Groundhog won't see it's shadow and hope for at least a little sunlight to bring you through the day.
I hope that when the winter is over I will be able to appreciate the spring. Appreciate it by taking it for granted, I mean, because I want to.
One day last week, I had a really shitty day. Shitty in the way that a million things every hour on the hour from the moment I woke up till just before bed just kept on happening. I almost want another shitty day like that, though. It's hard to explain, but at the end of it, all I could do was laugh. I was so glad to have been distracted by mundane, petty things. That shitty day was the closest to normal I have felt in the last few weeks, ever since the shithole I've created grew tremendously, so much so that I still can't write about it properly, and won't be able to provide an explanation for some unpredictable faraway time.
Where do I go from here? Where do you go where everything in your life is different than it was before? Where the goals you've pursued for years are shattered, and your thoughts consume you, and confuse you with their many contradictions.
And in moments your guilt, self-pity and regret seem larger than you. Where you're brain only creates self-hateful thoughts. Where your conversation holds no hope or intellect.
When you are so far into the present that the past doesn't matter and the future seems unthinkable. Unimaginable.
In all other winters, which in retrospect seems degrees warmer than what I would have thought to be intolerable, I always had something, whether it were myself, a plan, a sense of humor, or hope.
But the emotional blizzard is so strong that no shelter lasts for long. Friends, books, movies, even sleep, all wear thin, breaking in the wind and blowing away.
I fight to get them back, just as I fight to be strong. The work is exhausting.
I sleep deeply, or I don't sleep at all, and never know which until the early morning when I start all over again.
Another cold front's coming, and it's going to get colder before it's over. Ray Bradbury talked about winter as a repeated theme in Something Wicked This Way Comes. I remember reading that book last year; it intrigued and terrified me.
Winter in Houston is like winter anywhere. You can feel it starting, but you don't know how cold it's going to get or when exactly it's going to end.
It can warm up for a couple of days. You might even feel a bit of relief when the cold breeze lets up, and you can step outside to shiver a little bit less. Only for the wind to come down again, or worse, rain. I haven't had one of those cold winter rains yet, but it's coming.
As for me, it's winter again. Not just outside, but inside. That season in your life where it's cold and dark, and you pray the Groundhog won't see it's shadow and hope for at least a little sunlight to bring you through the day.
I hope that when the winter is over I will be able to appreciate the spring. Appreciate it by taking it for granted, I mean, because I want to.
One day last week, I had a really shitty day. Shitty in the way that a million things every hour on the hour from the moment I woke up till just before bed just kept on happening. I almost want another shitty day like that, though. It's hard to explain, but at the end of it, all I could do was laugh. I was so glad to have been distracted by mundane, petty things. That shitty day was the closest to normal I have felt in the last few weeks, ever since the shithole I've created grew tremendously, so much so that I still can't write about it properly, and won't be able to provide an explanation for some unpredictable faraway time.
Where do I go from here? Where do you go where everything in your life is different than it was before? Where the goals you've pursued for years are shattered, and your thoughts consume you, and confuse you with their many contradictions.
And in moments your guilt, self-pity and regret seem larger than you. Where you're brain only creates self-hateful thoughts. Where your conversation holds no hope or intellect.
When you are so far into the present that the past doesn't matter and the future seems unthinkable. Unimaginable.
In all other winters, which in retrospect seems degrees warmer than what I would have thought to be intolerable, I always had something, whether it were myself, a plan, a sense of humor, or hope.
But the emotional blizzard is so strong that no shelter lasts for long. Friends, books, movies, even sleep, all wear thin, breaking in the wind and blowing away.
I fight to get them back, just as I fight to be strong. The work is exhausting.
I sleep deeply, or I don't sleep at all, and never know which until the early morning when I start all over again.
Labels: Books, Depression, Goals, Insomnia, Regret
Saturday, December 02, 2006
The Dreams We Dreamed Last Night
Writers are liars ...
Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes and forgot.
Thank you, Neil Gaiman. I love you.
And thank you Randy, for the books you gave me long ago which contain the words that seem to keep my soul breathing and heart beating right now when these are the things I need the most.
Writers are liars ...
Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes and forgot.
Thank you, Neil Gaiman. I love you.
And thank you Randy, for the books you gave me long ago which contain the words that seem to keep my soul breathing and heart beating right now when these are the things I need the most.
Labels: Books, Neil Gaiman
November
Just read a blog of my friend Matt's, and realized I too have something on my mind.
I'm sorry if this can't get any better. I'm sorry about all the depressing things I've been saying/doing/writing. I'm sorry that I just can't fix it right now.
I have moments where I am grateful to be alive. To have the ability to speak and write, and dress myself even, and all the things I realized in many summers of camp how many tiny things we, yes we, take for granted.
If I want something to eat I can make it myself. I don't need anyone to put it in a blender and feed it to me in a straw. I can move my mouth in certain shapes that form words and notes and sing a song. And when I sing it, I can hear it. So yes, there is a lot to be grateful for -- that's why they always say the thing about at least having your health, when everything else seems to be in the toilet.
I am lonely, to tell the truth, not for people, for communication, to be understood, which may be the purpose of this blog.
People keep telling me I'll get through these things, and that I'm handling them well, and that I'm strong. But I don't feel that way. I feel like my face and every action and everything is some kind of stage. Because when the sky is falling, whatever that means for each individual person, it can be hard to want to hold your head up.
My friend was writing about the things he'd have to offer a significant other. That's funny, because I was just thinking about that today.
I was thinking about how a year ago I was working two jobs, going to school, getting drunk as much as possible, and sleeping with somebody just regularly enough to get laid when I wanted to while not worrying about getting too emotionally involved.
I did that because I felt hopeless, and lost, and worthless for whatever reason. I thought I had nothing to offer, so I drank. And then eventually, I was either drunk or working and my initial thoughts had become a self-fulfilled prophecy.
That changed when I got tired of that feeling, and so I got back up on my feet. Still didn't mean I was ready to allow myself to be happy. I fell in love, even, and still didn't know how to be happy.
Now, so many other things are going on, that if you don't know about, I am not obliged to go into. But trust me -- things are worse. Way worse. Not drinking, not meaningless sex, but other self-created problems for which I am to blame.
And I can't think about how next year will be better, or next month, or my next relationship, because I haven't been able to even bring myself to see someone more than a few times since Chris and I broke up, much less sleep with them.
I can't say maybe someday. I can't dream up new goals yet. I can't cry every moment. And I can't analyze everything, or turn back time like fucking Superman.
Obviously.
So, that about brings us up to date. Thanks.
Just read a blog of my friend Matt's, and realized I too have something on my mind.
I'm sorry if this can't get any better. I'm sorry about all the depressing things I've been saying/doing/writing. I'm sorry that I just can't fix it right now.
I have moments where I am grateful to be alive. To have the ability to speak and write, and dress myself even, and all the things I realized in many summers of camp how many tiny things we, yes we, take for granted.
If I want something to eat I can make it myself. I don't need anyone to put it in a blender and feed it to me in a straw. I can move my mouth in certain shapes that form words and notes and sing a song. And when I sing it, I can hear it. So yes, there is a lot to be grateful for -- that's why they always say the thing about at least having your health, when everything else seems to be in the toilet.
I am lonely, to tell the truth, not for people, for communication, to be understood, which may be the purpose of this blog.
People keep telling me I'll get through these things, and that I'm handling them well, and that I'm strong. But I don't feel that way. I feel like my face and every action and everything is some kind of stage. Because when the sky is falling, whatever that means for each individual person, it can be hard to want to hold your head up.
My friend was writing about the things he'd have to offer a significant other. That's funny, because I was just thinking about that today.
I was thinking about how a year ago I was working two jobs, going to school, getting drunk as much as possible, and sleeping with somebody just regularly enough to get laid when I wanted to while not worrying about getting too emotionally involved.
I did that because I felt hopeless, and lost, and worthless for whatever reason. I thought I had nothing to offer, so I drank. And then eventually, I was either drunk or working and my initial thoughts had become a self-fulfilled prophecy.
That changed when I got tired of that feeling, and so I got back up on my feet. Still didn't mean I was ready to allow myself to be happy. I fell in love, even, and still didn't know how to be happy.
Now, so many other things are going on, that if you don't know about, I am not obliged to go into. But trust me -- things are worse. Way worse. Not drinking, not meaningless sex, but other self-created problems for which I am to blame.
And I can't think about how next year will be better, or next month, or my next relationship, because I haven't been able to even bring myself to see someone more than a few times since Chris and I broke up, much less sleep with them.
I can't say maybe someday. I can't dream up new goals yet. I can't cry every moment. And I can't analyze everything, or turn back time like fucking Superman.
Obviously.
So, that about brings us up to date. Thanks.
Labels: Depression, Drinking
