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Wednesday, November 02, 2016
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Down.
That seems to be a title in many of my posts.
You may not know why I sing "come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now" when I'm standing on the side of the highway begging for a ride.
Drums.
Dancing.
Woah, never written anything above dancing before. I fell asleep last night thinking of drum beats. Couldn't stop. I could literally feel exactly how it would feel to play those things.
I found space in Salmo and can practice now daily. Preparing, bitches, for what I don't know.
People get excited about things. Too excited sometimes.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Humans are awareness points. Nothing more. Love it.
Sanity is a cozy lie. Susan Sontag.
I am beginning to believe that the things that I do. My so called day to day activities. The dancing, the legally and morally questionable activities that I partake in, the funventurous adventures that I help to initiate. All these things that I do. They will be measured as inconsequential when my life is reviewed by whomever is interested enough to do so. The fact remains however, that all though appears to be a response to externally occuring stimuli.
It seems to me at times that I stumble on things. A man walking in the forest in the dark is likely to find something that he's never experienced before.
Continuity.
As a concept, it is a way of understanding events. I reality that we live in; that I live in, appears to me to be continuous. What I mean by this is that there seems to be an endless, uninterrupted flow of stimuli which my mindbrain interprets as visual, auditory and tactile sensation. Through the interpretation of information provided by my sense organs, I am provided with what i am compelled to believe is an accurate view of that matter of reality which exists on the opposite side of the skin which I refer to as mine.
Never, under sober conditions, have I experienced even a temporary lapse in my perception of reality. If my recollection of past perception is accurate, and I have percieved no lapse in the continuity of reality, there are several possibilities.
There first is that my perception and memory are correct. As presented, what we often refer to as reality exists as a continuity7. A constantly changing, yet persistent paradigm. That is, reality exists, in an uninterrupted, continuous flow of what I percieve to be matter.
Option two. Reality exists in a state other than an uninterrupted chain of moments which may or may not be causally related. In this case, my perception of reality is not consistent with those aspects of reality not directly referred to as the perciever. In this thought, my mind has created the appearance of continuity.
The other option is that my recollection of events is incomplete or innaccurate and I have indeed experienced lapses in the continuous flow of reality.
I exist.
'I' is a construct. It includes the idea that somehow the self, or more specifically, the go (ego) is in some way separate from reality.
First. The ego is separate from the universe, and that which the person refers to as I would continue to exist in the absence of all that not considered I.
Or. It wouldn't.
The perception that the brain interprets from information provided by the sense organs relating to the environment as a whole exists, is permeated by, influences and is influenced by time. All of the perciever/creator/spaciotemporal eventa qua matter that the brain experiences takes space in what is referred to as the present. An immeasurable time which exists between what has already happened and those things which have not yet come to be.
What is commonly referred to as the past, those events that have been percieved and are said to have happened and those events termed to be in the future exist in the present only as potentialities.
As far as the human being, existing in time-space is concerned, the past no longer exists, but did, and the future has never existed, but will.
The border of all that which has happened and that which could happen is where that which appears to exist does so.
I have a question, readers. Is there a framerate to reality? A monad of time, that, if interpreted with the right interpretive method, would allow us to see the solid reality skipping along our perception like a stone over water.
I am beginning to believe that the things that I do. My so called day to day activities. The dancing, the legally and morally questionable activities that I partake in, the funventurous adventures that I help to initiate. All these things that I do. They will be measured as inconsequential when my life is reviewed by whomever is interested enough to do so. The fact remains however, that all though appears to be a response to externally occuring stimuli.
It seems to me at times that I stumble on things. A man walking in the forest in the dark is likely to find something that he's never experienced before.
Continuity.
As a concept, it is a way of understanding events. I reality that we live in; that I live in, appears to me to be continuous. What I mean by this is that there seems to be an endless, uninterrupted flow of stimuli which my mindbrain interprets as visual, auditory and tactile sensation. Through the interpretation of information provided by my sense organs, I am provided with what i am compelled to believe is an accurate view of that matter of reality which exists on the opposite side of the skin which I refer to as mine.
Never, under sober conditions, have I experienced even a temporary lapse in my perception of reality. If my recollection of past perception is accurate, and I have percieved no lapse in the continuity of reality, there are several possibilities.
There first is that my perception and memory are correct. As presented, what we often refer to as reality exists as a continuity7. A constantly changing, yet persistent paradigm. That is, reality exists, in an uninterrupted, continuous flow of what I percieve to be matter.
Option two. Reality exists in a state other than an uninterrupted chain of moments which may or may not be causally related. In this case, my perception of reality is not consistent with those aspects of reality not directly referred to as the perciever. In this thought, my mind has created the appearance of continuity.
The other option is that my recollection of events is incomplete or innaccurate and I have indeed experienced lapses in the continuous flow of reality.
I exist.
'I' is a construct. It includes the idea that somehow the self, or more specifically, the go (ego) is in some way separate from reality.
First. The ego is separate from the universe, and that which the person refers to as I would continue to exist in the absence of all that not considered I.
Or. It wouldn't.
The perception that the brain interprets from information provided by the sense organs relating to the environment as a whole exists, is permeated by, influences and is influenced by time. All of the perciever/creator/spaciotemporal eventa qua matter that the brain experiences takes space in what is referred to as the present. An immeasurable time which exists between what has already happened and those things which have not yet come to be.
What is commonly referred to as the past, those events that have been percieved and are said to have happened and those events termed to be in the future exist in the present only as potentialities.
As far as the human being, existing in time-space is concerned, the past no longer exists, but did, and the future has never existed, but will.
The border of all that which has happened and that which could happen is where that which appears to exist does so.
I have a question, readers. Is there a framerate to reality? A monad of time, that, if interpreted with the right interpretive method, would allow us to see the solid reality skipping along our perception like a stone over water.
Friday, March 25, 2011
I don't remember what this was titled. Gets heavy though.
"The Dancer believes that his art has something to say which cannot be expressed in words or in any other way than by dancing... there are times when the simple dignity of movement can fulfill the function of a volume of words. There are movements which impinge upon the nerves with a strength that is incomparable, for movement has power to stir the senses and emotions, unique in itself. This is the dancer's justification for being, and his reason for searching further for deeper aspects of his art."
I should be writing when I'm not dancing. Perhaps I'll use this as a warmup of sorts.
I've been under a roof with constant warm food and protien for four nights now. My body is beginning to recover, muscle mass is beginning to return. I feel stronger everyday, even though I've been dancing myself to the point of exhaustion every day..... It's been wonderious. Mysteriously wonderful.
I feel like a factory worker dancing in a lighbulb factory. Lit up. By light bulbs. I still can't feel my right pinky due to train hopping mishap in southern Washington state. Oh no, they're onto me.
I've still got the impression that there are those who know more than they should. I suggest a pseudonym. I believe that's how it's spelled. I had to look at it for a california minute to figure out if it looked right. I'm referring of course, to a false name. A name that is not the same as the legal corporation that your legal name "in capitus maximus paranoias", or whatever it's called sounds like. It could be similar, but doesn't have to be. New name. Check. New birthdate. Check. Lose ID. Check.
Now, I'm not suggestion. Not a suggestion. Not suggesting that you go about and change your name. But it could be fun, couldn't it? Then, perhaps there'd be less of a connection between you and your actions. Or the "you" in the "legal" sense of the "word" and your "action" in the "literal" sense of the "word". If you could have heard the pronunciation of those words. Said in my mind with such a ferocious accentuation. I'm not even sure if I'm using real words any more. Any more than I was once.
Could he perhaps be hiding gems within the random ranting of the written word?
Had you stopped to ask yourself that.
I have a theory. It's a fairly simple theory. It references experience and the thought patterns, or even actual thoughts if actual is a word that can be used to describe thoughts. Is there a connection between what a person puts into their mind and the thoughts that the mind produces? Novel experience leading to creative thought. Or thoughts.
I was going to conduct a so called "thought experiment" in which I showed that the person cannot have the thought "I dislike *Paradigm X* until she has come into contact with this paradigm.
What the fuck am I even doing? Sending these thoughts to the vast unknown of the internet. There is literally no real-world reward for this behaviour. It is useless. Completely pointless. Filing hours of my day. Under the W folder, for wasted. Back under this roof, I'm bored. And I can only dance for so many hours per day. I get uber-tired.
So if you're reading this, fuck you. Go do something. Spend one less hour searching facebook or blogging or whatever it is that we're doing on this screen and spend that hour getting better at something, you'd be incredibly good at something. And, if there's one thing I've learned today, it's that a +1 to blogging skill is not going to make a huge lick of difference anywhere.
Friday, February 25, 2011
The week I fell.
This week I fell. Down, down down.
There are so many things I could put in this post, but i fear that the internet lords of Google.com will control my thoughts forever if I put them here.
I've learned about anarchism. No, not the "fuck the system" schwilly kids that litter the streets of every major city in the world. Claiming that the only way to change the system is to buy the two most taxed items on the face of the earth. Tobacco and Alcohol. I mean real Anarchism. The kind that's going to eventually get me and a whole lot of other people into some trouble when the government starts causing more trouble than they're worth.
The trouble is, they're way past the tipping point, in my opinion. And nowhere is this more obvious than in the dominated states of no-opinion. Civil liberty is not something that the average american is familiar with. Mostly because, they for some reason have no desire for it. Much like the average Canadian, they're plugged in (to the internet, music, their phone, ect) most of the time, and are extremely effective at ignoring the world around them. This is a good thing for the average north american, becuase they're lives are often extremely dull, leading to the classic "cow eye syndrome" found in the extremely bored and extremely medicated. Also cows. It's that glassy disconnect, perhaps hinting at their prayers that since they've been so good in this life, that the afterlife is sure to be heaven.
BUT WAIT!?!?!?
What's this? A happy person? Oh NO! DOES NOT COMPUTE!? Head down. He's just another one of those homeless people anyways.
I like to go to centers of higher education and look for smart people and religious institutes looking for enlightened individuals. I rarely find either at either building. I said one EYE-thur and one EE-thur. It makes that sentence a little less ugly.
Oh, I'm in Arizona. The state where you go to jail for having any weed. ANY! I've been baked for two days straight though. NARF NARF!!! Fucking cops. ALWAYS FUCKING WITH ME! In california anyways, they were always fucking with me, here I've only gotten in trouble once. They said that my breakdancing on the street was causing a distrubance. It took four cops to get me out and I threw a couple disses their way before I peaced out.
On the subject of getting in trouble for dancing, last night I got into a couple clubs for free. In the first club, I was the first person on the dance floor, but the music sucked so I was kinda just playing around, you know. "Normal" dancing. I would hear a song I like and bust out for a little bit, but nothing too crazy. I really wanted to kill it. No challengers or real spectators. Actually I did have a couple speccies, but still decided not to bust it out. Soon there's people dancing everywehere. Girls humping, the whole lot.
Tap. Tap. My left shoulder gets touched.
"yes?" I politely ask the roided up bouncer who's touched me. There are two of them. I can smell the hair gel and insecurity ironically displayed in the security gaurd.
You have to leave
Why?
You have to leave
WHY?!
We have the right to refuse service to anyone
YOU GUYS ARE PUSSIES! --I can be such an imbocile when I'm angry, feel slighted. Disrespected.
As I'm walking out however. I slow down. On beat. As always. but on every fourth (or whatever), I turn and front right in these guys faces. You should have seen them, my two faithful readers. Two grown men, flinching every time I pop. Pop / flinch. Pop / flinch. They wanted to hit me so bad.
I'm on the street. Figure I'll give the club thing one more try.
I go to this place that's also adertising no cover that night. Last night. Thursnight. I walk up to the bouncer at the front door. Super nice looking huge black guy. It's never the big dogs that wanna fight, but those little motherfuckers never shut up. Good thing we don't give steroids to little dogs. Then we'd have muscular people with little dog syndrome. Jesus.
Are you going to kick me out for breakdancing?
He laughs. No.
So, I can go in there and breakdance and you're not going to kick me out?
Laughter again, yeah man.
Fuck yeah.
He checks my backpack and I go inside. Beats a little slow for all out breaking but after I set my things down and remove a couple layers (mistake) I start putting on a popping session for all the little school children who have come to the bar looking for some random hook ups as they do every thursnight at this time. Oh, there's also a girl on a pole. They watched me.
Tap. Tap.
Come outside with me. Says another huge black bouncer. They must breed well. I follow him outside. Just as I open the door I look past the bouncer at like four more of them. Situation assesed, I respectfully listen to what the man has to say.
We have a dress code. Hygien. You have to leave.
Oh shit! My bad, yeah that's fair enough. I turn back inside.
Why are you going back inside?
All my shit's in there.
Okay.
As I take two steps inside, I pretend to trip, catch myself on the ground with my right foot, roll forwards onto a stab and roll again onto a half a knee spin then gracefully stand back up and continue my walk as though nothing happened.
I collect my things and walk-pop out of the club.
Total time in clubs, 1 hour.
Possible competition from bitches? None.
There are so many things I could put in this post, but i fear that the internet lords of Google.com will control my thoughts forever if I put them here.
I've learned about anarchism. No, not the "fuck the system" schwilly kids that litter the streets of every major city in the world. Claiming that the only way to change the system is to buy the two most taxed items on the face of the earth. Tobacco and Alcohol. I mean real Anarchism. The kind that's going to eventually get me and a whole lot of other people into some trouble when the government starts causing more trouble than they're worth.
The trouble is, they're way past the tipping point, in my opinion. And nowhere is this more obvious than in the dominated states of no-opinion. Civil liberty is not something that the average american is familiar with. Mostly because, they for some reason have no desire for it. Much like the average Canadian, they're plugged in (to the internet, music, their phone, ect) most of the time, and are extremely effective at ignoring the world around them. This is a good thing for the average north american, becuase they're lives are often extremely dull, leading to the classic "cow eye syndrome" found in the extremely bored and extremely medicated. Also cows. It's that glassy disconnect, perhaps hinting at their prayers that since they've been so good in this life, that the afterlife is sure to be heaven.
BUT WAIT!?!?!?
What's this? A happy person? Oh NO! DOES NOT COMPUTE!? Head down. He's just another one of those homeless people anyways.
I like to go to centers of higher education and look for smart people and religious institutes looking for enlightened individuals. I rarely find either at either building. I said one EYE-thur and one EE-thur. It makes that sentence a little less ugly.
Oh, I'm in Arizona. The state where you go to jail for having any weed. ANY! I've been baked for two days straight though. NARF NARF!!! Fucking cops. ALWAYS FUCKING WITH ME! In california anyways, they were always fucking with me, here I've only gotten in trouble once. They said that my breakdancing on the street was causing a distrubance. It took four cops to get me out and I threw a couple disses their way before I peaced out.
On the subject of getting in trouble for dancing, last night I got into a couple clubs for free. In the first club, I was the first person on the dance floor, but the music sucked so I was kinda just playing around, you know. "Normal" dancing. I would hear a song I like and bust out for a little bit, but nothing too crazy. I really wanted to kill it. No challengers or real spectators. Actually I did have a couple speccies, but still decided not to bust it out. Soon there's people dancing everywehere. Girls humping, the whole lot.
Tap. Tap. My left shoulder gets touched.
"yes?" I politely ask the roided up bouncer who's touched me. There are two of them. I can smell the hair gel and insecurity ironically displayed in the security gaurd.
You have to leave
Why?
You have to leave
WHY?!
We have the right to refuse service to anyone
YOU GUYS ARE PUSSIES! --I can be such an imbocile when I'm angry, feel slighted. Disrespected.
As I'm walking out however. I slow down. On beat. As always. but on every fourth (or whatever), I turn and front right in these guys faces. You should have seen them, my two faithful readers. Two grown men, flinching every time I pop. Pop / flinch. Pop / flinch. They wanted to hit me so bad.
I'm on the street. Figure I'll give the club thing one more try.
I go to this place that's also adertising no cover that night. Last night. Thursnight. I walk up to the bouncer at the front door. Super nice looking huge black guy. It's never the big dogs that wanna fight, but those little motherfuckers never shut up. Good thing we don't give steroids to little dogs. Then we'd have muscular people with little dog syndrome. Jesus.
Are you going to kick me out for breakdancing?
He laughs. No.
So, I can go in there and breakdance and you're not going to kick me out?
Laughter again, yeah man.
Fuck yeah.
He checks my backpack and I go inside. Beats a little slow for all out breaking but after I set my things down and remove a couple layers (mistake) I start putting on a popping session for all the little school children who have come to the bar looking for some random hook ups as they do every thursnight at this time. Oh, there's also a girl on a pole. They watched me.
Tap. Tap.
Come outside with me. Says another huge black bouncer. They must breed well. I follow him outside. Just as I open the door I look past the bouncer at like four more of them. Situation assesed, I respectfully listen to what the man has to say.
We have a dress code. Hygien. You have to leave.
Oh shit! My bad, yeah that's fair enough. I turn back inside.
Why are you going back inside?
All my shit's in there.
Okay.
As I take two steps inside, I pretend to trip, catch myself on the ground with my right foot, roll forwards onto a stab and roll again onto a half a knee spin then gracefully stand back up and continue my walk as though nothing happened.
I collect my things and walk-pop out of the club.
Total time in clubs, 1 hour.
Possible competition from bitches? None.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
To Panny, and everyone. Hence the sharing.
What i've grown to realize is that whenever i meet someone, that first 20 seconds is all they know about me, it allows me to form the person that they meet. Being mindful of all emotions, actions and words allows me to create the person that I am from the person I want to be.
As a person knows me for longer, that image becomes diluted. Not necessarily a bad thing. But, your life is your tapestry rachel, and you are the painter.
Grab that fucking brush and paint, girl.
and, what's the worste that could happen?
Bodily harm?
Emotional harm?
Death?
All these things, though painful don't scare me.
well, the feeling of the unknown does.
But that's about it.
The possibilities are infiniteWho do you WANT to be?
How do you want to behave.
What do you want people to know about you?
What do you want them to see when they look at you.
Look for it in others and they'll see it in you.
You judge, you see them judging.
Love all and all will love you.
It's not those with all the answers that know everything, but those with the questions.
So, I'm gonna stop now.
Friday, September 03, 2010
Afternoons and Coffeespoons
Someday I'll wear
Pajamas in the daytime
someday i'll have
a disappearing hairline...
Perhaps not. I've got a lot up there. Strangely, my hairline is disappearing, but it's moving from the outside in, not the front back, back front or everywhere at once.
Just got off the phone with Marlene. Old boss. Sort of. Barnie's daughter. Love her.
Here I sit, in my seated position. Legs bent, back straight, eyes only slightly glazed over.
If you've got access to Afternoons and Coffeespoons, put it on.... Now. I'm about to. There it goes.
I've succeeded in finding myself employment in Victoria, British Columbia. Well, sort of, Sooke. At adventuresooke. rads.
What the hell am I going to write about? I don't feel like I've got anything worth sharing with the world inside my head. Without the inspiration of another person, I'm left with the void of my own being. Too many possibilities bounce around my head. From images of the dogs that would abe showing in the room if I opened my eyes, then they stop and I focus only on the keys, my fingers, remembering where each key is, stroking it with expert precision. Perhaps a spelling mistake here or there. Inspiration at last.
This morning I woke up in a park. In vic, a person acan camp in any park between the hours of seven and seven. It's pretty much the greatest thing of all time. If there was a name for the person that wrote these things, it would be speakable with the toungue of a dog. A simple bark to let the world know that I'm here.
I close my eyes again, and listen to some song lyrics. They bounce around enough to make a person wonder why music even exists. Well, it makes me wonder why music exists. Plahying music can be quite liberating. Liberating from thought, fear and self0oppression in much the same way that dancing can be. I applied to a dance instructor position. I hope they respond to my email.
Currently clothed, though naked yoga is the greatest yoga and spiders are fearful of onions. They hate them.
Eyes closed. A thought of a lotus is again overshadowed by the images of spiders and dogs. The wolf spider, with spider body and senses, a wolf's head and the temperament of the king of spider rock. Her spell is that of carnage and her spirit is reversed like the inside of a volume contar.
Feared enemy of the wolf spider is Hermetacles. But the rivalry between Hermetacles and the wolf spider is overshadowed by the loathing the spider has for Leeroy McTavish, slayer of spiders and wolves alike. All sizes. Wrist-mounted miniature crossbow locked and loaded, with onion-tipped bolts at the ready.
He moves silently through the forest as only a man raised in such a place could. Carefully, he picks his way along the rocks, careful not to slip, step too heavily. Rocks stay where they were, unaware that "The" Roy has made his way through the area. Once a party of three, El Keego and Johnny Boy dropped off after the first apex of the mission. Even their lights are unable to find The Roy.
The lagoon to his right is a lagoon that has been around since the dawn of time. This was the stuff that birthed the first beings. Things which existed. THINGS WHICH LIVED. tHINGS WHICH EVENTUALLY CRAWLED THEIR WAY OUT. Crawled their way out to contemplate the pools from which they came in some distant past from some distant future. The Roy was a being whose contemplations of the moon led his mind to the center of the sun. In a cycle that included the mind, moon and sun, but that was a future The. A The that does not yet. But soon will. Is becoming. The lagoon is filled with the most basic and sensitive of terrestrial creatures. Creatures with no spines, which live in the saline depths of the warm post-mordial stew. I love those creatures in a way they cannot love one another. He hopes to one day achieve something for their benefit. So they may some day crawl out of that soup. But, he's got to pick up a shit ton more garbage first.
The moved mindfully across the darkened rocks on the shore. Lighted only by the moon. not a full moon. Fading. It's star power, being poured out. Back into the sky where they belong. He dare not light his plastic, yellow flashlight purchased for him by his grandmother in a moment of sheere frustration on both of their parts, for then his post-comrades would spot him, allowing them to find him; stopping him from completing his mission. This mission, as it will forever be known. The Kraft Dinner Mission. Or KDM.
The premise for the mission was simple.
Lead a small party across the island, to the edge of the lagoon and prepare. One standard issue Kraft Dinner. Water only directions. It sounded so easy.
With the scouting and party leading ability of The Roy, the treck across the island was easy. Staff in hand, he led his companion through the elven village, filled with the children of the forest with much ease.l For you see, The Roy once lived in those parts, and knew the lands well. He was friendly with the locals. They were his friends. The wild mushrooms they had eaten together gave them all the strength of the forest. But, the forest was empty now, their laughter and cries are no longer heard, and the darkness is now. Tough to see in the dark. Even for the Roy.
The Roy leads, lighted only from behind, through the elven forest, by the darkened pathy of stumpwood. Rotten odours lift from the forest floor, tickling the nose of The Roy. Disorientation. Confusion. Panic. It obviously grips The Roy, as he spins, gasps and begs for the light. His companion does as instructed and becomes relieved to learn that The Roy has regained his orientation. His panic has subsided.
All for now.
Pajamas in the daytime
someday i'll have
a disappearing hairline...
Perhaps not. I've got a lot up there. Strangely, my hairline is disappearing, but it's moving from the outside in, not the front back, back front or everywhere at once.
Just got off the phone with Marlene. Old boss. Sort of. Barnie's daughter. Love her.
Here I sit, in my seated position. Legs bent, back straight, eyes only slightly glazed over.
If you've got access to Afternoons and Coffeespoons, put it on.... Now. I'm about to. There it goes.
I've succeeded in finding myself employment in Victoria, British Columbia. Well, sort of, Sooke. At adventuresooke. rads.
What the hell am I going to write about? I don't feel like I've got anything worth sharing with the world inside my head. Without the inspiration of another person, I'm left with the void of my own being. Too many possibilities bounce around my head. From images of the dogs that would abe showing in the room if I opened my eyes, then they stop and I focus only on the keys, my fingers, remembering where each key is, stroking it with expert precision. Perhaps a spelling mistake here or there. Inspiration at last.
This morning I woke up in a park. In vic, a person acan camp in any park between the hours of seven and seven. It's pretty much the greatest thing of all time. If there was a name for the person that wrote these things, it would be speakable with the toungue of a dog. A simple bark to let the world know that I'm here.
I close my eyes again, and listen to some song lyrics. They bounce around enough to make a person wonder why music even exists. Well, it makes me wonder why music exists. Plahying music can be quite liberating. Liberating from thought, fear and self0oppression in much the same way that dancing can be. I applied to a dance instructor position. I hope they respond to my email.
Currently clothed, though naked yoga is the greatest yoga and spiders are fearful of onions. They hate them.
Eyes closed. A thought of a lotus is again overshadowed by the images of spiders and dogs. The wolf spider, with spider body and senses, a wolf's head and the temperament of the king of spider rock. Her spell is that of carnage and her spirit is reversed like the inside of a volume contar.
Feared enemy of the wolf spider is Hermetacles. But the rivalry between Hermetacles and the wolf spider is overshadowed by the loathing the spider has for Leeroy McTavish, slayer of spiders and wolves alike. All sizes. Wrist-mounted miniature crossbow locked and loaded, with onion-tipped bolts at the ready.
He moves silently through the forest as only a man raised in such a place could. Carefully, he picks his way along the rocks, careful not to slip, step too heavily. Rocks stay where they were, unaware that "The" Roy has made his way through the area. Once a party of three, El Keego and Johnny Boy dropped off after the first apex of the mission. Even their lights are unable to find The Roy.
The lagoon to his right is a lagoon that has been around since the dawn of time. This was the stuff that birthed the first beings. Things which existed. THINGS WHICH LIVED. tHINGS WHICH EVENTUALLY CRAWLED THEIR WAY OUT. Crawled their way out to contemplate the pools from which they came in some distant past from some distant future. The Roy was a being whose contemplations of the moon led his mind to the center of the sun. In a cycle that included the mind, moon and sun, but that was a future The. A The that does not yet. But soon will. Is becoming. The lagoon is filled with the most basic and sensitive of terrestrial creatures. Creatures with no spines, which live in the saline depths of the warm post-mordial stew. I love those creatures in a way they cannot love one another. He hopes to one day achieve something for their benefit. So they may some day crawl out of that soup. But, he's got to pick up a shit ton more garbage first.
The moved mindfully across the darkened rocks on the shore. Lighted only by the moon. not a full moon. Fading. It's star power, being poured out. Back into the sky where they belong. He dare not light his plastic, yellow flashlight purchased for him by his grandmother in a moment of sheere frustration on both of their parts, for then his post-comrades would spot him, allowing them to find him; stopping him from completing his mission. This mission, as it will forever be known. The Kraft Dinner Mission. Or KDM.
The premise for the mission was simple.
Lead a small party across the island, to the edge of the lagoon and prepare. One standard issue Kraft Dinner. Water only directions. It sounded so easy.
With the scouting and party leading ability of The Roy, the treck across the island was easy. Staff in hand, he led his companion through the elven village, filled with the children of the forest with much ease.l For you see, The Roy once lived in those parts, and knew the lands well. He was friendly with the locals. They were his friends. The wild mushrooms they had eaten together gave them all the strength of the forest. But, the forest was empty now, their laughter and cries are no longer heard, and the darkness is now. Tough to see in the dark. Even for the Roy.
The Roy leads, lighted only from behind, through the elven forest, by the darkened pathy of stumpwood. Rotten odours lift from the forest floor, tickling the nose of The Roy. Disorientation. Confusion. Panic. It obviously grips The Roy, as he spins, gasps and begs for the light. His companion does as instructed and becomes relieved to learn that The Roy has regained his orientation. His panic has subsided.
All for now.
Friday, April 16, 2010
It's 8:34
And my housemates all went to the Hose for a beer night. For those of me that don't know, a beer night is a night at the bar when an individual pays ten dollars and can drink as many pints of beer as they can in the allotted time frame, usually about two hours. The deal was that if Katie and Derek went to this beer night tonight for Jen Ballentine, then they would all come to the house party.
We had a house party last night. A party in a house is a house party. A party near a pool is a pool party. There was a theme, dress as something that begins with the same first letter as your first name. Since my first name is Brandonbrown, I decided to dress as something that was a pair of words which both began with the letter B. I was a baseball player with added bat wings, a baseball bat. There were other amazing costumes and the ratio of dress up to non was about even, with a little favour to the dresser uppers. A lot of favour. Music was supplied by Phil Mainville and Prusan Das. They'd never played before and have very different styles, one more of a house head and the other dabbling in the softer side most of the time. Prasun produces some of his own tracks. They played a great show and I only hope that continues to happen. There was a dance off. I remember very vividly standing on the edge of a cypher in my own living room. Braden battled Simon, it was fucking epic. I felt like a bit of an OG, as in ole G, I think, giving the youngins advice that applies not only to life but also dance. That sentence was backwards and I was bragging anyway. I'm sure I was saying nice things, that's about all that I can promise.
After the Bboy battle, the chartreus came out, or maybe it was before. I'm not too sure. It was passed around twice. Once with the six thirteen roomies, then the temperence ones. I did two shots each time. Man. My mom came if I didn't mention that already. She dressed as a hippie, was so awesome. But then she drove. Tsk tsk, she got a drunkenly disappointed phone call from her boy at five thirty in the morning.
Today, cleanup was a snap. Everyone helped before doing their respective responsibilities for the day and my typing skill seems to have flown out the window because I'm half asleep and my fingers are having trouble keeping up with my mind, an unusual ocurance due to the tepedly slow nature of my thought. Focused, as it were, like a laser beam of intimately insignificant creationism. It's now 8:43.
We had a house party last night. A party in a house is a house party. A party near a pool is a pool party. There was a theme, dress as something that begins with the same first letter as your first name. Since my first name is Brandonbrown, I decided to dress as something that was a pair of words which both began with the letter B. I was a baseball player with added bat wings, a baseball bat. There were other amazing costumes and the ratio of dress up to non was about even, with a little favour to the dresser uppers. A lot of favour. Music was supplied by Phil Mainville and Prusan Das. They'd never played before and have very different styles, one more of a house head and the other dabbling in the softer side most of the time. Prasun produces some of his own tracks. They played a great show and I only hope that continues to happen. There was a dance off. I remember very vividly standing on the edge of a cypher in my own living room. Braden battled Simon, it was fucking epic. I felt like a bit of an OG, as in ole G, I think, giving the youngins advice that applies not only to life but also dance. That sentence was backwards and I was bragging anyway. I'm sure I was saying nice things, that's about all that I can promise.
After the Bboy battle, the chartreus came out, or maybe it was before. I'm not too sure. It was passed around twice. Once with the six thirteen roomies, then the temperence ones. I did two shots each time. Man. My mom came if I didn't mention that already. She dressed as a hippie, was so awesome. But then she drove. Tsk tsk, she got a drunkenly disappointed phone call from her boy at five thirty in the morning.
Today, cleanup was a snap. Everyone helped before doing their respective responsibilities for the day and my typing skill seems to have flown out the window because I'm half asleep and my fingers are having trouble keeping up with my mind, an unusual ocurance due to the tepedly slow nature of my thought. Focused, as it were, like a laser beam of intimately insignificant creationism. It's now 8:43.
Monday, March 08, 2010
Summer
I guess I'm going. I suppose I guess I'm going. Sham then Burning man. And a tour of the westcoast dance scene. Then to the Central and South. Wish me luck faithful readers (if you exist).
Saturday, January 17, 2009
With every death, there comes a rebirth
Last night my friend Justin Beckler, a music composition major and semi-genious, and myself decided that we would go to the no nos, which are an improv comedy group that perform every thursday at the off broadway theatre. After what seemed to be a long search that ended up turning up some weed eventually, we arrived at the theatre to find thirteen thousand old people adorned with furs just leaving what was assuredly an expensive theatre piece. Justin and I walk past those in the entry area down to the bathroom. "They look rich... Rich and wealthy" says justin. "Yeah, I bet they're super stressed about the market" I reply.
We ended up at Winston's and in the process I recalled that I can talk to women still. I'm a bit of an idiot sometimes.
We ended up at Winston's and in the process I recalled that I can talk to women still. I'm a bit of an idiot sometimes.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
UNTITLED newly titled, the GIANT PARAGRAPH
I yawn, it's been a long and somewhat tiring day. I've got my sleep rhythms down to a science and no longer need the use of my alarm clock to ensure that I am awake in time to gather my thoughts and begin my so called day. I refer to a day as the time between my waking and my sleeping in preparation for the next day.
I woke up this morning, round 830, maybe 930, matters not. I stretched whilst watching the daily show and then ate a breakfast which consisted of...
Fuck.
Yesterday I did two things that scared me. Well, one thing that scared me and one that was extremely difficult. I've been climbing walls that simulate that feeling that I assume one would get when they're climbing real life rocks outside in places that have rocks of the right size and shape that one could climb. On the purple route of rope six at the university of saskatchewan (douche), there is a ledge that is exceedingly difficult to climb past as a result of a lack of holds (rocks) and the distance between them. I made a deal with myself. I climb this one obstacle and finally, when accomplished, go talk to this cute blonde girl that I see nearly everyday, regardless of what it is that i'm doing. There was once a time when talking to girls for the first time was an effortless task that required little or no effort on my part. I do, after all, believe myself to be at least somewhat attractive. BUT, a lack of sexual connection with anyone in the recent past combined with my simply not being social has made me somewhat akward in recent history. Or as I like to call it when it refers to me: Beestory. Bee as in B, as in brandon. Needless to say, I climb the wall and talk to the girl, which goes horribly, but it matters not. That's something that I have to keep in mind again, that not every woman I'm going to talk to matters as much as I think they do. DUG hahah.
Another interesting thing happened today. Alyssa Van Norman made an appearance in my life again. Each time is more interesting to me than the last, for reasons I don't know. I'm still, for many reasons infatuated with this girl. It's a little silly. I realized after I typed that why I am. She's a good friend. BALLS. Good friends make the best partners as you should always be friends first. Alas, perhaps that will have to be put aside simply to enjoy the company that is AVN.
What else? I'm going to try something.
I open the front doors of school, and push past the people that are waiting for the bus.. Each one has something to keep them distracted from the fact that a new person has entered their potential area of consiousness. Headphones adorn the heads of moset, while others are text messaging those that are more important than anyone around them. A blast of hot air hits me from the fans and heaters that are located just inside the front doors. A smell, well a combination of smells really. Hits my nose. Bag lunches perhaps with a hint of chap stick and perfume. I ponder why people wear the stuff, the odour is infinitely worse than even the most stenchy of human gas expulsions. I open the second door and notice the wonderful brick work on the ground of upper place riel, a large room that houses the help slash information desk, a crepe' factory, two excelators and a flight of stairs. THe smell of this area can only be described as that which those whom are contained within it's walls eminate. I head to the stairs whilst skillfully removing my woolen mittens and silly toque. I pack them into my bag as I move towards the top of the stairs. I descend the stairs as fast as I humanly can. Dangerous, it gives me a bit of a rush, also how cool I look flashes through my mind and on at least some level believe that challenging my brain to ensure that my feet always find a stair is good for it somehow. Some sort of hand or foot slash brain co ordination thing. At the bottom of the stairs, my eyes return to eye level from their direct lock on the stairs to see if anyone was watching my daring stair antics. Again, as usual there are none. I've just evtered lower place riel, which is akin to some sort of feeding hold that contains a place called treats which is where I gather my forks for my various packed lunches. Alongside this local university business is the mass of evil that I refer to as A and W. The smell is almost sickening to me as is the line of people that pay hard earned money to put that horrible product into their bodies. Past that is a pizza place with food that I barely register as existing unless I am starving and a staff that are non-receptive to even my most incredible smile. Alas, can't win em all over. I mount the two or three stairs with ease that leads to the semi-seating area that lies at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the horrors of the library. Horrible at this point in the term, but life later. This small, uncomfortable area is the space that those who dine on the delicious products (not food) of Albert and Walters typically come to feast. Eyes down or hands deep inside grease stained paper bags searching for that last, forgotten fry, they too seemingly ignorant of my presense. I pass, often on the left to be different, through a doorway that leads into a wide hallway with windows on one side and standing room computers on the other. Looking left, I not how this has become the main place on campus for those needing a facebook fix to get just that. Drunken photos of weekends past are up on nearly every screen, so predictable are we. Entering the "arts tunnel" I'm immediately pummeled by an invitation to the "mock wedding", which is just that. A mock wedding that is put on by one of the college's on campus. Sounds fun, but do you really wanna go stag to a mock wedding? Realizing that it's not something for me I move past and see a booth for the freudian slip pubcrawl (wear your sexiest, or ugliest slip) which sounds interesting and may be something that I go on. Again, I pass on the invitation to join as a result of funds being a super issue and I have this horrible tendency to make an ass of myself when I'm drunk, something that I don't desire to do at the moment. Past blood banks and gay rights, past college pro painters I approach the latest and often most misinterpreted of the fast food stores that plagues north america. Tim Hortons. Once a trusted name with delicious freshly baked goods and mediocre coffe with somewhat healthy sandwitches, their efforts at streamlining have caused everything to go down in both preparation time and nutritional value. Thanks, I'll pass. The live, as always, is immense. I take the lefthand side of the stairs leading to the first floor of the arts and SCIENCE building and effortlessly fly up them two at a time with a loded back pack, not even losing momentum for the strange half stem halfway up. It's slightly longer and requires some careful navigating. Here is whre the greatest congestion can be found in all the campus. Straight ahead, I have a hallway that leads the length of the arts, the psychology and the commerce buildings, perhaps one of the longest hallways that I've come across. To my left, a nearly equally long hallway that leads to all the first floor arts classrooms, and on my right a ramp that is the most common method of transport to and from the second floor arts building as well as another hallway that leads to the two most commonly used first year lecture halls. There are first years everywhere, and their inability to navigate through a crowd combined with the overuse of cell phones and pods causes me to curse those "damned first years" at least twice each time I pass. Was I ever that ignorant I think? Yes, still am is my only response.I climb the ramp which is a switchback into itself and head to class. God, I love school.
Now THAT was fun.
I woke up this morning, round 830, maybe 930, matters not. I stretched whilst watching the daily show and then ate a breakfast which consisted of...
Fuck.
Yesterday I did two things that scared me. Well, one thing that scared me and one that was extremely difficult. I've been climbing walls that simulate that feeling that I assume one would get when they're climbing real life rocks outside in places that have rocks of the right size and shape that one could climb. On the purple route of rope six at the university of saskatchewan (douche), there is a ledge that is exceedingly difficult to climb past as a result of a lack of holds (rocks) and the distance between them. I made a deal with myself. I climb this one obstacle and finally, when accomplished, go talk to this cute blonde girl that I see nearly everyday, regardless of what it is that i'm doing. There was once a time when talking to girls for the first time was an effortless task that required little or no effort on my part. I do, after all, believe myself to be at least somewhat attractive. BUT, a lack of sexual connection with anyone in the recent past combined with my simply not being social has made me somewhat akward in recent history. Or as I like to call it when it refers to me: Beestory. Bee as in B, as in brandon. Needless to say, I climb the wall and talk to the girl, which goes horribly, but it matters not. That's something that I have to keep in mind again, that not every woman I'm going to talk to matters as much as I think they do. DUG hahah.
Another interesting thing happened today. Alyssa Van Norman made an appearance in my life again. Each time is more interesting to me than the last, for reasons I don't know. I'm still, for many reasons infatuated with this girl. It's a little silly. I realized after I typed that why I am. She's a good friend. BALLS. Good friends make the best partners as you should always be friends first. Alas, perhaps that will have to be put aside simply to enjoy the company that is AVN.
What else? I'm going to try something.
I open the front doors of school, and push past the people that are waiting for the bus.. Each one has something to keep them distracted from the fact that a new person has entered their potential area of consiousness. Headphones adorn the heads of moset, while others are text messaging those that are more important than anyone around them. A blast of hot air hits me from the fans and heaters that are located just inside the front doors. A smell, well a combination of smells really. Hits my nose. Bag lunches perhaps with a hint of chap stick and perfume. I ponder why people wear the stuff, the odour is infinitely worse than even the most stenchy of human gas expulsions. I open the second door and notice the wonderful brick work on the ground of upper place riel, a large room that houses the help slash information desk, a crepe' factory, two excelators and a flight of stairs. THe smell of this area can only be described as that which those whom are contained within it's walls eminate. I head to the stairs whilst skillfully removing my woolen mittens and silly toque. I pack them into my bag as I move towards the top of the stairs. I descend the stairs as fast as I humanly can. Dangerous, it gives me a bit of a rush, also how cool I look flashes through my mind and on at least some level believe that challenging my brain to ensure that my feet always find a stair is good for it somehow. Some sort of hand or foot slash brain co ordination thing. At the bottom of the stairs, my eyes return to eye level from their direct lock on the stairs to see if anyone was watching my daring stair antics. Again, as usual there are none. I've just evtered lower place riel, which is akin to some sort of feeding hold that contains a place called treats which is where I gather my forks for my various packed lunches. Alongside this local university business is the mass of evil that I refer to as A and W. The smell is almost sickening to me as is the line of people that pay hard earned money to put that horrible product into their bodies. Past that is a pizza place with food that I barely register as existing unless I am starving and a staff that are non-receptive to even my most incredible smile. Alas, can't win em all over. I mount the two or three stairs with ease that leads to the semi-seating area that lies at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the horrors of the library. Horrible at this point in the term, but life later. This small, uncomfortable area is the space that those who dine on the delicious products (not food) of Albert and Walters typically come to feast. Eyes down or hands deep inside grease stained paper bags searching for that last, forgotten fry, they too seemingly ignorant of my presense. I pass, often on the left to be different, through a doorway that leads into a wide hallway with windows on one side and standing room computers on the other. Looking left, I not how this has become the main place on campus for those needing a facebook fix to get just that. Drunken photos of weekends past are up on nearly every screen, so predictable are we. Entering the "arts tunnel" I'm immediately pummeled by an invitation to the "mock wedding", which is just that. A mock wedding that is put on by one of the college's on campus. Sounds fun, but do you really wanna go stag to a mock wedding? Realizing that it's not something for me I move past and see a booth for the freudian slip pubcrawl (wear your sexiest, or ugliest slip) which sounds interesting and may be something that I go on. Again, I pass on the invitation to join as a result of funds being a super issue and I have this horrible tendency to make an ass of myself when I'm drunk, something that I don't desire to do at the moment. Past blood banks and gay rights, past college pro painters I approach the latest and often most misinterpreted of the fast food stores that plagues north america. Tim Hortons. Once a trusted name with delicious freshly baked goods and mediocre coffe with somewhat healthy sandwitches, their efforts at streamlining have caused everything to go down in both preparation time and nutritional value. Thanks, I'll pass. The live, as always, is immense. I take the lefthand side of the stairs leading to the first floor of the arts and SCIENCE building and effortlessly fly up them two at a time with a loded back pack, not even losing momentum for the strange half stem halfway up. It's slightly longer and requires some careful navigating. Here is whre the greatest congestion can be found in all the campus. Straight ahead, I have a hallway that leads the length of the arts, the psychology and the commerce buildings, perhaps one of the longest hallways that I've come across. To my left, a nearly equally long hallway that leads to all the first floor arts classrooms, and on my right a ramp that is the most common method of transport to and from the second floor arts building as well as another hallway that leads to the two most commonly used first year lecture halls. There are first years everywhere, and their inability to navigate through a crowd combined with the overuse of cell phones and pods causes me to curse those "damned first years" at least twice each time I pass. Was I ever that ignorant I think? Yes, still am is my only response.I climb the ramp which is a switchback into itself and head to class. God, I love school.
Now THAT was fun.
Friday, January 09, 2009
Back in the Saddle, my sides ache as though I'm nude and it's covered in sand.
That title hopefully will set the tone for this particular post. The word particular was not necessary in that last sentence.
If there's one thing that I've noticed, it's that My (capitalized), cause I rock, first paragraph is the weakest of most of my posts. Weakest that is, unless you consider weakest to really mean first, or unlast.
I keep standing up to flip my saute'ing vegetables that will soon make the base for my soon-to-be wonderful stir fry that will sustain my life for the next twelve hours. I treat my body well these days, something that I haven't been to well known for in the past.
Stream of conciousness. It's a term that I've heard used to describe my particular writing style. My professors are split nearly down the middle on how they feel about it. Basically, if they like me, they like my mind, which means that they like the way that I write. Hopefully, those of you that read this, if there are any, like me at least a little. That had a hint of self conciousness to it, apparantly I'm feeling a little down on myself lately. I mean, how can you not like me? (Short of the fact that I'm completely and hopelessly careless.) Carelessness can also be called another word, a word that is more excellent sounding than careless, but it's escaping me right now. Nietzsche's blonde beast may have been called careless. But, he ruled us all at one point, now didn't he?
Nine fifty five. Has a nice ring to it. My noodles are nearly done.
Alright, to the nitty gritty. Took me a second to sound out nitty. I'm hoping that's right. If anyone cares. Supposing I do.
I'm recently single, and that combined with the fact that I was in BC, in Van, in the house that silly TR lived in, my thoughts have strayed to her stupidly. You know what I realized? Of course you don't. I barely do. She sucks. Clearly. Writing this is intended to exorsize those demons. Now I know I spelled that wrong. Ironic really. Misspelling words uber-sucks. Right, newly single. And, wouldn't you know it. I feel great.
Well, that's all I got for now, dinner's done. Peace out.
If there's one thing that I've noticed, it's that My (capitalized), cause I rock, first paragraph is the weakest of most of my posts. Weakest that is, unless you consider weakest to really mean first, or unlast.
I keep standing up to flip my saute'ing vegetables that will soon make the base for my soon-to-be wonderful stir fry that will sustain my life for the next twelve hours. I treat my body well these days, something that I haven't been to well known for in the past.
Stream of conciousness. It's a term that I've heard used to describe my particular writing style. My professors are split nearly down the middle on how they feel about it. Basically, if they like me, they like my mind, which means that they like the way that I write. Hopefully, those of you that read this, if there are any, like me at least a little. That had a hint of self conciousness to it, apparantly I'm feeling a little down on myself lately. I mean, how can you not like me? (Short of the fact that I'm completely and hopelessly careless.) Carelessness can also be called another word, a word that is more excellent sounding than careless, but it's escaping me right now. Nietzsche's blonde beast may have been called careless. But, he ruled us all at one point, now didn't he?
Nine fifty five. Has a nice ring to it. My noodles are nearly done.
Alright, to the nitty gritty. Took me a second to sound out nitty. I'm hoping that's right. If anyone cares. Supposing I do.
I'm recently single, and that combined with the fact that I was in BC, in Van, in the house that silly TR lived in, my thoughts have strayed to her stupidly. You know what I realized? Of course you don't. I barely do. She sucks. Clearly. Writing this is intended to exorsize those demons. Now I know I spelled that wrong. Ironic really. Misspelling words uber-sucks. Right, newly single. And, wouldn't you know it. I feel great.
Well, that's all I got for now, dinner's done. Peace out.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Dear Brandon
Dear Brandon,
Hey. How the hell are you buddy? It's great to see you again. I see you're dancing well. From what I hear you're trying to learn to BBoy. I hope that is going well for you. Though it's only been one session, I'm sure you'll pick it up far too quickly for comfort and will struggle with your own self-doubts as you climb the ranks of the dance world.
School sounds like it's going well. You sound pretty confident in how you did in your exams though I know there's still room for improvement. A minor emotional speedbump can't bring you down. It's all bout you these days, remember that.
You're learning to play the bass?!?! You may soon elevate yourself to the status of sexiest man alive if you bring yourself to put on deodourant and cut your fucking hair and shave your scruff. Or at least wash that blasted mop. Meh, whatever makes you happy I guess. Man, I sound like your father sometimes.
Get good at the shit you want to do and stop doing things you don't like to.
Peace,
Brandon
Hey. How the hell are you buddy? It's great to see you again. I see you're dancing well. From what I hear you're trying to learn to BBoy. I hope that is going well for you. Though it's only been one session, I'm sure you'll pick it up far too quickly for comfort and will struggle with your own self-doubts as you climb the ranks of the dance world.
School sounds like it's going well. You sound pretty confident in how you did in your exams though I know there's still room for improvement. A minor emotional speedbump can't bring you down. It's all bout you these days, remember that.
You're learning to play the bass?!?! You may soon elevate yourself to the status of sexiest man alive if you bring yourself to put on deodourant and cut your fucking hair and shave your scruff. Or at least wash that blasted mop. Meh, whatever makes you happy I guess. Man, I sound like your father sometimes.
Get good at the shit you want to do and stop doing things you don't like to.
Peace,
Brandon
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Letter A. This's gonna be hard. And, not hard.
Dear Tess,
Those are words I thought I would never write. The reasons even I don't know. The paper (and the keyboard) pull the truth from me. So much power.
I started writing this while high on A line on my mother and father's porch area. Somewhere I know you've been. I love you, keep this in mind as you read. I truly, fully hate that I love you, somehow. You needed me. Note the underline.
What do I want to say. The love that I have felt for you has stood many tests. The test of time, the test of relationships, the test of distance, relationships, logic, and so on.
Unfortunately, my steam has run out-ish, so I'll try and make this quick.
In the nude, with a candle burning to my left I try to put into words thoughts, thoughts and emotions. Not an easy task.. Our situation was different. It was meant to be all that to people's bond could be, all that one never could be. And, that's exactly what it ended up being. All that never could be. Perhaps that was the attraction for both of us. My eyes are blurred, I'm listening to Neil Young. He's pretty kickass.
I thought for-ever that I couldn't live without you. Lately I've realized that I always have been. Hmph.
There will always be a spot for you in my van. Unfortunately, sleep wins. For me anyway. I truly hope you're okay. If not now, then someday. I wrote out a cd for you. Not cool.
I'm very angry with myself that this didn't go longer than it did, but I've run out of things to say.
My upbringing was a sort of mixed bag from caregivers. Near overcare from my mother and none from my father. You kind of fit that bill. Very there sometimes and impossible to reach others. I don't need that. In fact, it makes me hurt. From my face to my soul (feet, haha?). Wish me luck. Find yourself. Somewhere.
Love,
Brandon
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Hmph
On my way home this evening, I was trying to figure out how to start another post, wondering why I've been having trouble writing lately. I came to an oversimplified conclusion that revolves around the fact that my once fluid writing was mostly concerned with two things. Drug trips, and adventures. Let's call them drugventures. Theses are much easier to write about than why I'm having trouble succeeding in any aspect of my life. (That was a blatant exaggeration, but the point is the same. I have simply been having trouble beginning new relationships of any kind)
I have come to several conclusions today. The first of which took place today during my personality class, where I learned many things. I learned about certain kinds of attatchments today from a psychologist that worked very closely with Freud. A very wise man that taught me that I'm either an avoidance-attatchment individual who's relationships are filled with extreme highs and lows with a lack of trust.... The other is eluding me at the moment but involves an ease at falling in love with a lack of belief in the commonness of real, true love. Part bull shit, part hard hitting. Mostly, I learned that some of my inability to have a meaningful relationship at this moment in my life stems from an inconsistent caregiver. Or, in my case caregivers. My mistake I guess.
Another massive issue that's been chewing up much of my positive energy is this damned Tess situation. I just don't know what to do with myself. I love her, this much I'm sure of. Part of why stems from my nature as a nurturer (funny words together), she is someone whom I believe needs nurturing. I believe she's someone who'll be there when I need her and let me be when I must, among other things; me. I feel stupid for caring for someone that's so damned far away. I meet women on a daily basis that I'm on some level interested in that are clearly interested in me. However, I shun them aside because of Tess. But, her inconsistency in terms of being there when I need her, seems to be continueing the cycle of caregiver/me interactions. But, that's not necessarily a bad thing, becuase ... yet again, more nurturing. Helping one another. Helping ourselves. I think we'd help one another to grow and change, but as I write that, I feel like I might be investing too much and scaring her just by thinking this.
I am Brandon's inflated sense of paranoia.
I don't think I smiled today. That's a scary thought, but I've learned that it's not about being happy all the time, it's about learning from the sad moments in your life. A circle is perfect, but the earth isn't round. Life is a spiral that's always heading upwards, with each detour from your path pulling itself back in with knowledge and learning. So long as I learn from something, I don't see anything as a bad experience, but I sure as fuck am not enjoying this period in my life. Indecisiveness sucks ass.
We are Brandon's fingers, and we're done for now. Much better.
I have come to several conclusions today. The first of which took place today during my personality class, where I learned many things. I learned about certain kinds of attatchments today from a psychologist that worked very closely with Freud. A very wise man that taught me that I'm either an avoidance-attatchment individual who's relationships are filled with extreme highs and lows with a lack of trust.... The other is eluding me at the moment but involves an ease at falling in love with a lack of belief in the commonness of real, true love. Part bull shit, part hard hitting. Mostly, I learned that some of my inability to have a meaningful relationship at this moment in my life stems from an inconsistent caregiver. Or, in my case caregivers. My mistake I guess.
Another massive issue that's been chewing up much of my positive energy is this damned Tess situation. I just don't know what to do with myself. I love her, this much I'm sure of. Part of why stems from my nature as a nurturer (funny words together), she is someone whom I believe needs nurturing. I believe she's someone who'll be there when I need her and let me be when I must, among other things; me. I feel stupid for caring for someone that's so damned far away. I meet women on a daily basis that I'm on some level interested in that are clearly interested in me. However, I shun them aside because of Tess. But, her inconsistency in terms of being there when I need her, seems to be continueing the cycle of caregiver/me interactions. But, that's not necessarily a bad thing, becuase ... yet again, more nurturing. Helping one another. Helping ourselves. I think we'd help one another to grow and change, but as I write that, I feel like I might be investing too much and scaring her just by thinking this.
I am Brandon's inflated sense of paranoia.
I don't think I smiled today. That's a scary thought, but I've learned that it's not about being happy all the time, it's about learning from the sad moments in your life. A circle is perfect, but the earth isn't round. Life is a spiral that's always heading upwards, with each detour from your path pulling itself back in with knowledge and learning. So long as I learn from something, I don't see anything as a bad experience, but I sure as fuck am not enjoying this period in my life. Indecisiveness sucks ass.
We are Brandon's fingers, and we're done for now. Much better.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Good Morning Dave.
I woke up this morning with an overwhelming sense of sadnaess surrounding me.
Up to this moment in my day I can't still place it. It, I believe, primarily revolves around the fact that I'm incapable of dealing with the women in my life. Dealing was the wrong word. I'm incapable of many things. One of which, in my opinion, is not being able to be friends with a woman anymore. I feel that every move is romantically centerred and read too far into everything. By the same token, I don't want to get into any sort of relationship where there's any sort of certainty for a future becuase of one in Prince George. Whom I can't get ahold of and am supposed to be going to see in a couple months.
Further complicating this process is the fact that I'm nearly twenty-two years old. I'm lonely as fuck and am self destructing via relationship destruction. My friends are drifting away leaving me more and more time to myself, which is never nice. Guess I can just.... Cope.
Up to this moment in my day I can't still place it. It, I believe, primarily revolves around the fact that I'm incapable of dealing with the women in my life. Dealing was the wrong word. I'm incapable of many things. One of which, in my opinion, is not being able to be friends with a woman anymore. I feel that every move is romantically centerred and read too far into everything. By the same token, I don't want to get into any sort of relationship where there's any sort of certainty for a future becuase of one in Prince George. Whom I can't get ahold of and am supposed to be going to see in a couple months.
Further complicating this process is the fact that I'm nearly twenty-two years old. I'm lonely as fuck and am self destructing via relationship destruction. My friends are drifting away leaving me more and more time to myself, which is never nice. Guess I can just.... Cope.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Poems From Shambhala
I'm not as crazy as I appear. I can't believe I wrote that.
While in line, shortly after a ripper of a terrible drug:
shambhala
While in line, shortly after a ripper of a terrible drug:
puking
passing parts of me
through my gaping mouth
i realize the errors of myselves
also truths
free am I
In the tent at the end of the Wednesday? Thursday? I don't know. The first night anyway.
paranoia my old friend
well, welcome
fear is something
everything is nothing
After I'd come down from the unspeakable drug that I wish I never tried, and am glad I did. This is one of my favorites. Hopeful in a way.
dark at camp
a time to reflect
ponder
wonder
hope
reaching forward, looking back
through the glass I see myself
not myself
another me
Back again
hear the cries
I'm just gonna put my favorites down
walking down the darkened path
I had a lot to say
too fuckin tired
hittin the hay
tomorrow's a new day, hooray!
in scribbled handwriting
ketamine rants
world aspin
darkness comes
BORN AGAIN
A man walks by in a green top
among the tents, I'm no one
we are the same
I walk past a man in a tent
To live without food
to dream without sleep
we don't wanna frolic
we just want to enjoy the earth
shambhala
expand your mind
and your legs
greg, in reference to... nevermind
if you dipped your dick in hard glue
stuck glass to it
then fucked your nose with it
that's how snorting a green sweet tart would feel
you'd be fucked up
MORE TO COME
Thursday, June 26, 2008
He sits down once again
If you look in the top bar of my uber-awesome internet explorer version 9.654 build 200532, you'll usually see at least two things. One of which starts off with my face and ends in a book, the other is my hot male. Wow, both of those sounded considerabley better in my head and seemed a little ridiculous when put to "print". Today, I've decided to add another. Blogger, with that kickass "B" that I've always associated with my own names.
I have been lonesome lately. I really only have two people I've let into my world lately and they're both either working, being a bitch, or annoyed with me for constantly calling them a bitch. Go figure.
I wrote my last final of the term today. Psychology. Summer classes blow. You wanna know the one thing that I learned? Of course you do. Don't skip class. There was some shit on that exam that I'd never heard of. Go figure.
What the hell am I going to do with myself now? I've realized that I already had too much time on my hands, and now I have even more. Perhaps hiding from myself won't be as easy this summer as it had been in past ones. Hopefully I get to come face to face with the person that I face in the mirror (or any reflective surface I happen to pass. I'm pretty). A hobby? I hate hobbies. Also, I like the hobbies that I already have and wouldn't want to make them jealous by adding another. Contradictions contradict themselves, and as a result; me. Go figure.
You see, I'm using a literary device called repetition to emphasize a point. I'm doing things that I know are wrong, and am; through this simple medium, bringing them to my attention. Hey, was there a ... shit, what the hell's it called... . subjective conjucture? Fuck it. Moving on. Brandonbrown is on the journey of self discovery. It's called life. It sucks sometimes, especially when you don't like the person that you let the evil bitch from hell turn you into.
I've become more and more aware of how judgemental I've been as of late. I see people, and boom; from inside my head comes some asshole comment. Fortunately I have a filter between my mind and my mouth these days, but hell. Where the hell are these thoughts coming from. Of course I know the answer to this and could explain mostly what part of the brain it's coming from and the probable events that lead up to this change in how I view people, but that question... up there. . . was more of a statement of surprise and not a desire to have it answered.
As a result of this hyper-judgementalness (new words rocksman), I've been self-punishing myself the way lil' dave used to cut me down for being an idiot. Self-punishing was not the right word. What I'm doing is trying to find my insecurities that are, not forcing, but causing me to judge people so and correct them. I hope this leads me to grow as a person. I'm sure it will.
Go figure.
I have been lonesome lately. I really only have two people I've let into my world lately and they're both either working, being a bitch, or annoyed with me for constantly calling them a bitch. Go figure.
I wrote my last final of the term today. Psychology. Summer classes blow. You wanna know the one thing that I learned? Of course you do. Don't skip class. There was some shit on that exam that I'd never heard of. Go figure.
What the hell am I going to do with myself now? I've realized that I already had too much time on my hands, and now I have even more. Perhaps hiding from myself won't be as easy this summer as it had been in past ones. Hopefully I get to come face to face with the person that I face in the mirror (or any reflective surface I happen to pass. I'm pretty). A hobby? I hate hobbies. Also, I like the hobbies that I already have and wouldn't want to make them jealous by adding another. Contradictions contradict themselves, and as a result; me. Go figure.
You see, I'm using a literary device called repetition to emphasize a point. I'm doing things that I know are wrong, and am; through this simple medium, bringing them to my attention. Hey, was there a ... shit, what the hell's it called... . subjective conjucture? Fuck it. Moving on. Brandonbrown is on the journey of self discovery. It's called life. It sucks sometimes, especially when you don't like the person that you let the evil bitch from hell turn you into.
I've become more and more aware of how judgemental I've been as of late. I see people, and boom; from inside my head comes some asshole comment. Fortunately I have a filter between my mind and my mouth these days, but hell. Where the hell are these thoughts coming from. Of course I know the answer to this and could explain mostly what part of the brain it's coming from and the probable events that lead up to this change in how I view people, but that question... up there. . . was more of a statement of surprise and not a desire to have it answered.
As a result of this hyper-judgementalness (new words rocksman), I've been self-punishing myself the way lil' dave used to cut me down for being an idiot. Self-punishing was not the right word. What I'm doing is trying to find my insecurities that are, not forcing, but causing me to judge people so and correct them. I hope this leads me to grow as a person. I'm sure it will.
Go figure.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Discontent
I have alone'd myself once again. I shall see you soon. Regardless of what that means, that's what it means.
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