Sunday, October 23, 2011

Forever Friend

Hey Mando,

So, I was thinking of you tonight and thought I would write. Just in hopes that, you know, God would let you read this and maybe you would love it. I guess there could be computers in Heaven, and you each get like ten minutes on it every day for...eternity. Not like you don't have enough fantastic things to do, and I know you aren't bored. But, you know. Just in case.

I think of you every day, you know. It's good for me. Cause I remember to laugh. I remember when we would run and hide from James in the mall. Practical, responsible James would sigh, 'goddammit' as we would sprint, giggling, to hide behind a Britney Spears stand up cut out, or try on bras in VS. Or the time we tried to steal his car for pizza, and you were laughing too hard to drive. Or when we were upset, we would stay up all night and listen to Allison and Bill sing, and your face would be alive with joy. God, I miss you, Mando.

You know the necklace you gave me when I was in the hospital? I thought it was cool, but not my style, and I put it in my keepsake box. It was a token of affection. But then you died, and it became a piece of you that I needed to keep you with me. I wore it through boot camp. I wore it with my dog tags. I wore it through the work day, and kept it on when I went out at night. I seriously wore it constantly.

Well, today I woke up and it was gone. I pulled my room apart looking for it, but it's nowhere. I'm still hoping I find it, but I seriously don't know where it could be. Of course I had a bit of a meltdown. I feel lost without it. I keep reaching for it and feeling a pang when it's not there.

I thought of something... Isn't today your birthday? You would be like 24? And I don't know if that's a coincidence or not. But it's been a big day of remembering. And I guess this is a plea, if you can see this, that I have that back. You know what it's like down here. You need reminders that your friends are always with you. I'm laughing to remember you. When I text in the car, I think of you texting me and it inspires me to stop.

I hope you are laughing, wherever you are. I hope they play Allison's cds there. I hope you have someone to throw in the water and watch them scream while you bust a gut. I hope there are lots of pumpkins for smashing. And I hope there are more amazing things that I couldn't even begin to grasp, that you get to experience. I love you from here, and I'm living with the hope that I'm gonna live with you again someday. I love you, Amando.

PS. Your little brother is beautiful like you.


Best friends don't go away when they go away; if they are really best friends, then they survive the worst times and still remain the best. If they aren't really of the best variety, expect them to disappear when you need them most.

To have best friends, you need to be a pretty good friends. Like friends stay with like friends. Don't be a shit bag and you won't have shit bag friends.

A shit bag is a sick notion. To be compared to a shit bag is an awful insult indeed.

When someone insults you, it's fun to pour gasoline on them and blow them up. Unfortunately, it's not advised or encouraged. But thinking of how fun that would be definitely raises your spirits.

Gasoline is BAD to drink. Please don't do it. I went through the suffering on everyone else's behalf, no one should ever have to learn that lesson again.

You can learn lessons everywhere you go. All of the world is one big center for learning. Just watch what you retain and what's not important, so you don't get overwhelmed with the amount of knowledge in your brain portfolio.

Letting go is a really big part of being happy. The Buddhists, again, do a big thing on attachment. If you're clinging to a 2D world, you don't understand a 3D world, but once you've seen it, you wonder why you held on so tight to the old thing.

You SHOULD hold tight to happiness. Cause without it, you don't really have a lot to live for. Be selfish and pursue happiness.

Selflessness is doing things you don't enjoy for other's benefits. Your life should not be all about selflessness. On the contrary, when you do something you want, you create happiness for yourself and others, so... why the fuck not?

'F**k It' is a good book, taught by a good author whose ideas I agree with to an extent and like to semi-quote on here once in a while. I hope he doesn't mind.

Here are the things that I've chosen to have meaning in my life: Enjoying my job. Being involved in nature. Finding rare qualities in people and loving them for it. Loving everything about myself. And eating as much banana bread as possible.

Bananas are supposed to become extinct in about 27 years. I really hope that is a false expectation. Unless they come up with bananaless banana bread.

Bananas are healthy in a lot of ways; they are not, however, a healthy alternative for a... ahem, male extension. I watched a show once where a horny lady bought a banana and was using it to... ahem, find internal pleasure, when the end of the banana cut her uterus and an air bubble traveled up to her heart and killed her. So don't use bananas for... ahem, any of that nonsense.

I once had a sexual experience involving Hershey's chocolate syrup. Almost the entire contents of the bottle were utilized. It would have been one of the most fantastic sex inventions ever, except that after about ten minutes, it turns into a very sticky situation. Like a binding body-to-body process, and peeling apart feels like you're waxing every inch of your skin at once. So don't do it. Hear me!!!

Now I'm thinking about sex. Did you know that sex can relieve a stress headache for a female, but cause a migraine for males? Yup. It's like you transfer the headache (times SIX) into your adoring, unsuspecting partner. Talk about karma!! See if he ever causes you stress again.

Also, sex is what the word 'fuck' is all about. I learned the word 'fuck' at age 20. I was a slow learner. I thought it was ridiculous how the phrase is misused. For example, 'fuck you' means, have sex with you, which is more of an invitation than an insult. 'Fuck off' means, go have sex, which is only something you should wish on the friends you think deserve to go have a rockin' night. 'Oh, fuck!' means, oh, sex! Which in your moment of stress, isn't a bad thing to be focusing on instead.

I did NOT get that idea from the book 'F**k It'. You can ask my friends who heard me complaining about that 4 years before I even read the book. That word is stunning. It has so much power and it defines such a magnificent act.

Now this post has turned into a sex-craved rant. I guess the most important thing I've learned in life is that sex is really great? That's a message that should be passed on to everyone not under the age of, say, 16. When your life is hard, you need sex. If you had a good day, celebrate it with sex. If you're feeling deep, ask for deep sex to compliment your mindset. If you are raging angry, you probably can have one of the best orgasms of your life while bucking up and down on your partner's....

Ahem. Learned. Sex isn't always a super topic to post on, because some people don't understand the beauty of it and tend to frown on such a delicate, personal subject being aired. So sex shouldn't be the focus of this post.

On the other hand... fuck it.

F**K It

Ive been pretty lost lately. Not geographically, or emotionally (well, perhaps a little bit emotionally). But it's been the kind of lost where you can't find yourself, and the harder you try to, the more you wind away from yourself until you are pretty much a modern day Hansel, or Gretel, except you don't even get the comfort of finding a candy house. Finding a candy house would be magnificent, regardless of the nasty witch that lives inside. If Hansel and Gretel had been smart, they would have simply ignored the stupid ugly wench and kept eating the gumdrops and Hershey's cookies n cream bars. It's not like she could have caught them, anyways, being blind and all. I was only six years old when I made my way from my room to the kitchen, stole about half a bag of candy that was right behind my blind stepdad, back to my room, and ate most of it; snuck BACK into the kitchen and stole my sister, took her to my room and fed her the rest of the candy. Then I went back AGAIN, returned my sister, and got back to my room before she threw up all over my dad. It's not that hard.

But there are no candy houses readily available in my lost world. Just a lot of pain. Like maybe I see what looks like a house of candy behind a wall of thorns, and I reach through the wall, lacerating my arms, but I can't reach it, and instead of walking through the gate that's TWO FEET away from me, I just keep tangling myself up in that hedge of pain, crying with frustration and screaming with rage at the impossibility of my situation. (Just so I don't sound too stupid, the gate next to me is really small. It's obvious, maybe, from the other direction, and of course I could notice it if I was in a good state of mind, but I've been starving for 6 days and all I can see is this house that could satiate my growling, snapping body. That's what the most intelligent person would do.)

The problem with that situation is that eventually, if I don't stop SCREAMING, and just shut up and think, then I'll just try harder and harder, shred myself to pieces and all the while the candy house just fades from view until all I have is a dripping pile of bloody me and a really hopeless situation. I know, because I have actually gotten to that point. And if I would just quiet down and quit trying so hard to get to what I want, I might be reminded of the ultimate time I played this game.

I had spent the summer in Nashville, having a brilliant time. Every day was sun and music. Every Sunday morning, I would stand in this huge choir of people who lost themselves in the brilliance of the lyrics, and I believed that I could actually make this my permanent life. I was convinced that the painful past I was running from had disappeared in the whirl of activity that consumed me. Then I got mono, and my mom came for a visit, and what should have been a good thing turned out to be reality rearing it's hideously ugly head.

And I remember the day when I was beginning to regain an appetite. The caretaker of the house where I was staying had brought me a slice of banana bread. My favorite food in the world. I ate it, ALL of it, and realized I was still hungry. So I went in the kitchen and cut another slice, and the housekeeper found me in there. She launched into a tirade about how I had been sneaking food from the kitchen, and had I not been sick the whole time? and was I simply taking advantage of the kindness of the family who was pouring time and resources into me? And suddenly I just had enough. I couldn't take it anymore. So I lay on the bed, curled up, with my snow cap pulled over my eyes. I froze that way so everyone thought I was sleeping, and when they dispersed to their rooms to sleep, I left the house. I sat in a ball in a pile of snow and just shivered and moaned. I was in that pile of snow for about 3 hours before I walked to a house of some friends and found a spare bed. They didn't even discover I was in the house for about three days, because I just lay there and ceased to exist. And that was the awesome start of my demise.

When I was discovered, the lady of the house stepped in to help. She was a counselor, so she had the certification to be the best support. She asked me about my family. And I just told her whatever I could to get her off my back. I had quit caring at that point. My meaningless confessions included enough truth to express a little of the pain I was feeling, and enough lies to protect me from her prying questions. And then I discovered the power of painkillers, and one night I took a fantastic dose to knock me out of my misery. That night went very slowly. I remember sitting at the computer, trying to look at the screen, but my head wouldn't stay upright no matter how hard I tried. It would roll off to the side. I propped it up on my hand, barely finished checking my mail, and got up to go to bed. Instantly my body swayed and I leaned heavily against a pillar to hold myself upright. I lowered myself to the floor, crawled into bed, and concentrated on drawing shallow breaths into my body and holding in the oxygen.

At that point, I suddenly realized that I didn't value a single thing in my life. The meaningless charades just weren't doing it for me, and I didn't even care. I thought back to everything I'd been trying to achieve my whole life. None of it made sense. Why did I have such meaningless priorities? I groaned in disbelief as I discovered how very little worth I had accomplished. I might as well not have existed at all, ever. At that lowest point in my life, I fell asleep not caring what would come of me through the night, or the next morning.

And that careless attitude stayed with me for a long time. It lasted through my trip home. I still had it when I recklessly held a weapon and threatened my sister with it. It was there when my step dad put his hands on me, and for the first time in my life, I shoved him backwards into a wall and screamed at him until my voice was hoarse. And it kept me from feeling absolute abandon when I ended up at my mom's best friend's house, because I couldn't go home. I just didn't care.

And that's the state I was in when I sat down in a park one day, and outlined a paper for my English class. Sidetracked, I began to write down all the goals, priorities, and plans I had for my life up until that moment. I noted with a little chagrin that there was very little real worth to any of it, and almost all of what I lived for was not really what I wanted. Suddenly I realized that I didn't give a fuck what people thought of me, not anymore, and that I actually couldn't really fix the pain inside, because it was the pain of being alive. I guess I could have solved that, by not being alive, but suicide never really was my thing. So this realization of not caring anymore became a fixed space inside me, and it became my freedom.

There's a book called 'F**k it: the ultimate spiritual way' that describes almost exactly how I felt at that time. The freedom of not caring opened a whole new life to me. I studied a great lot of philosophy in that year, and spent a good deal of time with my English Professor, a man who honestly had next to no attachments and seemed to be very content. From him, I learned that nature is a huge part of me, and spending time in it should be one of very few things that I attached myself to, because nature is everywhere. You can't go anywhere that doesn't have an outside. And even in the city, you can find a patch of grass to lay in and stare and the stars for hours. Nature is one of the most valuable things that humans possess, and it brings about a calming sense of being.

I also learned that all my issues were really pointless. The funny thing about life is that it happens all by itself, and very little of what we do really controls situations. I would spend endless hours worrying about my relationship with my family, and how I responded in situations, and whether I could save up more money, and how to please God. All that resulted in was an obsessive attitude that caused a great deal of stress. Mr. H urged me to take one week and just watch everything happen. Just live, and not control. I doubted him but took him up on it; a week later, I was in his office with a surprised and relaxed smile. All week, life had just happened, and I was none the worse for it. Things were just fine, I wasn't dead, and in fact I was feeling better about life than I had...ever.

The simplicity of that situation is still really hard for me. I learned a lot that year, and most of it has become second nature to me. I sailed through boot camp and all it's tortures, because I just let it happen. I was excited and impulsive through my relationship with Aaron, and I both embraced it, and released it with very little distress. People judged me when my best friend died, because I seemed to be a little callous about it. In reality, I was deeply saddened by the fact that I could no longer spend time with him, I cried about his untimely exit, and then after a short time I let it go and realized that he would have wanted me to keep being happy in life and think of him with happiness, not sadness. He always made me laugh, and so I started laughing in honor of him.

Back to the present. I'm beginning to understand that balance and acceptance and release aren't second nature to me; I still am susceptible to clinginess and overreacting and trying to control situations. But nothing good comes from it. I'm hoping that at least I can realize when I'm letting that nature control me, and that I can take the steps I know I need to let it go. Instead of looking to friends and relationships and things outside me for the answer, I know I need to look inside and let everything go. Noticing the attachments I've made and releasing them. Because the funny thing is that when I attach to something, I inevitably lose it until I release it. It sounds really weird, but by simply not caring, something allows for the flow of balance to ease into a rhythm that makes perfect sense. Not caring doesn't mean loving less; there's a difference between a clingy romanticism, and a presence of solitude that is able to co-exist beautifully with those around it.

So when I realized what was going on, I was able to follow Mr. H's advice once again. I didn't smash my phone, like he always advised, but I did take the battery and put it in my car, and put the empty phone upstairs in my barracks, where it will stay until I'm no longer feeling the urge to text people. I shut down my social networks. I threw away my medications, the ones that block my colors causing me to be unable to relate to people or know what they are really feeling. And then I went into relaxation mode. For me, relaxing is massages and singing, and writing music, and writing poems, and writing about everything, and just sitting outside and staring at my colors, and concentrating on my breathing. Breathing in life, and energy, and exhaling toxins and stress.

And that's where I'm at right now. Tomorrow I'm going to go into work. I'm going to share my value with the world, and the world will appreciate and return the favor by giving me something of value to me. I'm going to take advantage of my free, albeit somewhat sad health care, and I'm going to enjoy the weather that comes in autumn in Florida, the #1 vacation destination in the states. And have fun with the fact that I'm getting paid to sit and read a book. And I'm going to not give a fuck about anyone, or anything, that I have worried over. They will cease to matter, and then I think I'll enjoy them a lot more. If they just cease to be completely, well fuck it. They didn't need to be there anyway. And I'll enjoy the time that I have here.

A Meaningful Being

Standing on the shoreline
Resisting the pull of the wave's gravity
As it lures us into it's own mysterious, dark deep.
We are transfixed, lost in the moment
Or it could have been hours.
As the ocean sings to us
A sparkling song of power and beauty
Stopping just inches from our exposed toes,
This glistening, living wetness
Lively and magnificent in it's dance.

And it whispers and shouts,
Millions of messages to us
Like the millions of thoughts that pass
Through my head in a split second.
It screams might, it softly beckons
Speaks of peace and war and terror
And love, and danger and depth.
Until I become whole with knowing
Until my heart is full.

I finally tear my gaze away from the sea
Becoming aware of your presence once more
You mirror my contented glance
Laugh at the hilarity that is life
We try to control the uncontrollable
But it keeps rushing at us, unconstrained
We should just watch, and be filled with what it is.
With a sigh we return to our gazing
At the being that roars at us
Outstanding meaning, and we are whole.

Anonymous is Fun

A few days ago, I received the following comment on my post:

How did you pass a psych eval to get into the navy? You are certifiable. How could you just throw your marriage away? Did you find someone else that you thought could fix you? How many people have you hurt and tossed away like trash? I am sure you will not post this because it calls you out but someone needs to make you aware of how toxic you are. You deserve to be alone in a padded room. -Anonymous.

Dear Anon,
Surprise! You are now published.

I like to receive all manner of comments, whether they be favorable, critical, constructive, or judgmental. And I've never not posted a comment, except one time when a family member posted something that could have endangered them in their future career. So don't be so sure of yourself on that, my unidentified reader.

How did I pass a psych eval... hmm. I guess I'm just good enough to deceive commanders in the United States Navy. Or, maybe I'm not really in the Navy, and I'm creating a fantastic lie with my certifiable brain that convinces people that I'm a military member protecting our nation's intelligence, when in reality, I've been living in this dumpster in Detroit for the past 8 months. Here's the scenario: I've got a cart that I push around, carrying Aaron. The poor guy is just too skinny to stand on those stork legs, but he makes an excellent prop for my day job on the street corner. I stuff cheerios into his face, and he chokes out what I take as a thank you. I've been kicked out of all the rescue missions in this city. They keep finding my excellent stash of Cocaine and since I can't give it up due to my horrendous addiction, they can't let me stay (especially because it's a hobby of mine to give it to the children at the shelter and watch them trip out!).

Or... it could be because I'm mentally stable. It's actually an insult to the officers who evaluated me to say that I passed if I deserve to be in a padded room. But I won't tell them you said that. Hopefully they'll skip today's post and not ever know.

I take all my reader's comments seriously. I took yours seriously. (For about 3 minutes, which was all the time I could spend self loathing and considering before I began to giggle at the possibilities of this post I am writing currently.) I'm not keen on the idea that anyone knows enough about this situation to pass judgment. Some friends of Aaron's, and a few of mine, know a little more than everyone else, and they have almost all chosen not to judge the situation. In fact, we both remain with pretty much the same circle of friends. So, Anon, I'm not sure what about the situation you know that the others don't, but I'm going to assume it's pretty big. (were you the lesbian girl who chewed on my ear for an hour the other day while I gave a soldier a lap dance? Cause I was horny, so that was justified. People who love sex as much as I do can't abstain and therefore have an excuse to cheat on the person they are cheating on their husband with.)

On a serious note, I value Aaron's part in my life immensely. All I care to say on here are positive things about the man. After all, he has been on an incredible journey with me that couldn't have been easy for him. He was a friend when I needed one. And he continues to be there for me, as am I for him. Our differences are amazing, and we respect one another's traits even if we don't always relate to them. (End serious portion of post.)

As for throwing people away? Heck, Anon, I'm a Scorpio. Don't you know anything about astrology? We happen to be extremely intense in every area of our lives. We are efficient with what little space we allow things into. Because we are so complex, we require absolute simplicity to be happy. Therefore, if people are cluttering our space, and we no longer have any use for them, out comes Big Bertha the mighty garbage bin. Plop! goes that useless human being, and we hardly even notice the suffocating splutterings they utter as we walk away, instantly forgetting we ever knew, let alone loved that person. It's just in our nature. We go through humans like babies go through diapers. We use them, we toss them. I have discussed this with all my Scorpio friends and we agree this is the truth. For those unfortunates who have lost our interest and value, just remember you were loved by us at one point, and for that reason, you are special. Usually we are very in tune to what we want, ignoring the masses of mankind before us and zoning in instantly on the one with skills, looks, traits, etc. that we need. So you caught our eye. Be proud. And get some more skills, looks, traits, etc.

The most fascinating thing you said, though, was "did you find someone else you thought could fix you?" This interests me deeply. That would mean that I thought I needed to be fixed. Which I don't understand. I mean, you already insulted a Commander, which is practically like insulting God. But then, just to cover all your bases, you throw an insult to the Big Man too. I kind of feel like you might just be wanting to piss off authorities, which makes you sound like a teenager who wants attention, haha.... well, my favor to you is giving you a little attention.

People who think they need fixed are unaware of their worth. That's really sad and I wish I could redirect their thoughts. Buddhists have a big thing on balance. It very well may be the road itself. And the hard shoulder. And the signs on the way. And maybe even the outhouses and port-a-potties, though I may be going a bit too far there. But in order to be something complete, you need to have an equal amount of yin and yang. A lot of people do too much yinning and a lot do too much yanging. It's all very well of you to love the good in people, but unless you also accept the bad, then you aren't doing too well at actually loving that person.

This whole concept reminds me of the belief I was taught growing up. Our pastors always pressed the issue of sin. In their minds, good was holy, and bad was sin and must be denied, and this always frustrated me. Because half of myself I could express, and be praised for, but total acceptance of who I was could never be recognized. I was only good. Or rather, I was both, but I could only show the good. Without balance, we become... well, unbalanced. And that's when we start tipping the scales, until we finally fall over and are forced to aknowledge the fact that our image isn't all that we are comprised of.

I'm pretty accepting of who I am. My bad qualities balance out my good ones. I'm obviously pretty loveable, considering the fact that I can express the worst parts of myself, say to my friend Colton, and he can look at me and say, "I love you at your best and your worst, and your best is every bit as intense as your worst and it's all you." (I guess he never said exactly that, but he said something like that once, and that's why I love him too.) I know he means it, because I've seen some of his worst, and he definitely retained his worth in my eyes and I wouldn't change him for the world.

So. All that to say, I absolutely don't need or want fixed. Aaron was never a regret to me. He never fixed me, obviously, and I didn't fix him. Our relationship was a strong one, and when it became clear that it was becoming unhealthy, well, we agreed to get back to a healthy place. I support his decision to join the military and I plan on being there for him in the healthiest way I can.

Thank you, Anon, for catching my interest and appealing to me for the span of almost a week. I must say I spent a lot of time considering what I wanted to respond with, and this was really fun. However, the time has come where I no longer find you useful to me, and... where's Big Bertha? oh. There she is. Well, enjoy your life, fascinating stranger. Farewell.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

I Don't Need You, Or Anyone Else

This is a painful post. Because I'm in a lot of pain, and I'm trying to write it out. Last night I wondered why I haven't slept in days, and of course it's the same as usual-my head is full of spinning thoughts, all rushing through my brain and demanding some sort of answer from someone who really has none.

What started as a simple infection in July has grown into some monster trying to take over my entire body. I've been to several doctors, endured many appointments and still see many more in the upcoming days. That's discouraging to me. In fact, it's probably causing a little depression.

What's worse is what's inside. I've adapted a longing for escape. Every day I find some way out of my life. There aren't a lot of healthy ways to do that. And there isn't a good excuse for why I need to hide from reality so badly. It could be the 9 months straight I've been mind fucked, by every single evolution that has taken place in my booming career. While everyone else joyfully takes off to see their family and loved ones, I'm still stuck here... not by any fault of my own, either.

Also once again I'm reminded of the importance of solitude. People reeeealllly don't cut it for me. I am astonished at how many times I've gotten this lesson slammed into my gut, and I'm still discovering it. Slow learner, right here. It's almost like I crave the pain of being shredded into heartbroken remnants. The intensity and horror of the experience only grows with time, so each new case drives me completely to the ground, while memories of a younger me remained standing against the attacks. I guess I'm finally wearing down, realizing the impact of the blows I've been embracing.

But solitude is such a hard lifestyle to adapt. Being completely alone, in a world where humans are everywhere, is overwhelming. I love the fact that my roommates are both late shift for school. Evenings are the only time I can unleash the raw emotions that kind of take over and would kill me if I didn't let them out. With music turned up loud enough, I can have a complete meltdown and be ready to mask my hurts again by bedtime. It's a harsh reality check, remembering that in the end, alone is the only thing I'll ever really be.

Maybe that's the reason people turn to God, and Jesus. Because we are so afraid of these solitary moments and the pain they bring, that we create something to be with us always. Even when humanity lets us down, we can turn to that bright place we've invented in our minds and convince ourselves that we aren't really alone. It almost seems like a crippling technique, to me. I guess if it really works, more power to the ones with the endless imagination. I simply see myself as what is objectively true; alone in all senses of the word, with no one but myself to turn to.

It may be a growing phase kind of thing. The moment I step out of my barracks, I interact. Every other person on this base knows me and seems to love me; they call my name, wave, and smile, and I return the motions. The front desk ladies greet me and try to shove candy down my throat, and I am happy to give them this pleasure. My choir cats all invite me to events and eagerly welcome my presence when I go. The boy-men on this base, hungry for adventure, follow me with their hidden thoughts and motives, hoping for a night with me. Perhaps they, too, are incredibly lonely. More likely though, they are just boot camp material, focused on satisfying their lust-hungry dicks, and I appeal to them. I smile politely, and usually I dance my way around them and return to my solitude.

So it's not a lack of human interaction. But the entire time I'm surrounded by people, I'm aware of the fact that I'm not really taking part in any of it. The actions are there, but in reality I'm standing back, watching everyone shower affections and personality all over each other, and I'm just a physical participant. These people who should matter, slip through my life like meaningless static on a sideband. Here one day and gone the next, with no real impact except to make my social life look pretty. And that's a very sad fact.

But it's all a lesson. Somewhere in the universe, something is controlling how the moon affects the tide, and how the hungry cougar is controlling the antelope population, and how many children need to starve in order to save the other 3 billion. And that same something is training my heart for some Spartan experience. At least that's what I'm assuming, because only extremely harsh conditions require bitterly painful training. Only the most remote of life adventures demands total isolation. Only a vigilant experience needs constant lack of sleep. And a mission of death is the only one that demands your complete sacrifice to it's lessons.

It would be nice to use the excuse that my heart is a beating thing, I have needs, I need love. But those are hopeless needs, as I've learned, against this cruel taunting life. According to the powers that be, I need only myself. If I fall, rather than someone beside me to help me up, I need the strength to pull myself to my feet. Instead of a lover to remind me of my worth, I need to find within me something worth loving and put all I have into that, so I can give myself the love I need. And why on earth would I need a compassionate listener? I have these fingers and hands and this gift of writing. I can sort out everything on my own.

When the world fails, I should be able to take it. If a human turns out to be a faithless friend, it won't affect me. Nothing can hold me back except myself. If I try to maintain faith in this reckless swarm of humanity, I'll simply continue to be beaten down. Life is about my own path and getting to the end of it, and if I'm lucky, finding some happiness along the way.

Tough me just dominated.

Another Soul Cries

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

My Soul Cry

Tears cannot quench
This fire that has been set
Even as they spill recklessly
The burning grows
Until I face a future of ashes.

My blood is angry and alive

Thirsting with passion
Boiling with the pain
I feed it
Pulsing through me
With undeniable hunger.

And here I remain
Calm and placid
But for the occasional torrent of tears
That rush forth uninvited
Pulling me down
Into the raging fire.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Just for Fun

My mom reminded me today that I have a blog. Which I used to write on all the time! I did it for fun, then family things got ugly and I fed off the drama, but now it's just for fun again.

Here's a fun tidbit: in German, the phrase, "I don't give a fuck", translated into English, means, "there is trouble in the gypsy village". Isn't that astonishing? I'm starting to say that when I don't care about something.

I'm still in Pensacola. It's fun. I'm starting to run out of things to do, but my resourceful mind is already kicking in and providing much entertainment. So I'm not too bored.

I need to start writing again, because I've had a lot of inner conflict lately. People mystify me. It's a joke how absolutly close two people can get, and in a moment become the negative sides of a magnet. It troubles me. Also troubling is the fact that you can't marry your best friend. I tried that, and it didn't turn out. So I have another best friend, Colton, and he just abandoned me for Texas (I don't know why. Texas is bigger and less attractive than I). I thought about restlessly throwing caution to the wind and screaming, "marry me, and we shall never be apart, my most compatible friend!" Except I didn't ever really think that, because I learned my lesson. I don't love Colton that way. I want to be with him, and I'm praying for orders to texas. But marriage would not work out.

Ramble I do. Hey, about 39 of my friends are new or soon expecting to be new parents. Most of the babies are girls. Of this I have two reactions. Wow, I have a lot of friends. Also, wow, what a lot of babies. I had a brush with motherhood earlier this year. It scares me. I used to know I'd be a great mom. Now I guess not. One day, perhaps? I'm pretty sure I was a good second mother. But once kids get past 4, they need more than physical care. They need spiritual and healthy behavioral care. I'm not sure I'm ready for that. My kids are going to have the best raising I can give them. They just need to hibernate a while longer. That being said, I want to hold my 39 nieces.

I wrote a lot of senseless chatter. But you know what, there is trouble in the gypsy village. My next post will be more stylish and organized and artsy. Hooah?