Old lady winter

Winter is a bony old crone
Her fingers cracked and pale
She lives alone on top of the hill
Slowly going mad.

She's always screaming
And swearing at objects
Using made up words
To define imaginary objects

Those old crone hands
Reach into your heart
And pull it open
Letting the cold air in

At first it's nice
Like eating peppermint
Then it hurts
When it goes on too long

When you can feel it
Every single mote of dust
Being pulled in with the wind
And scratching up your veins

She'll die the way she's lived
Old and cold and and all alone
Up on that pale hill
With no one to mourn her passing
But the dry and scratching wind

Hey blog.

Hello blog, it's been a while, and so much changes so fast in life. My world is changing so fast right now, and I have no idea what is coming with each new day. I'm flinging myself into the world head first, and just kinda hoping nothing hits me on the way. I've taken my fair share of punches from life in the last several months. I've been the happiest I've ever been, and felt pain like I couldn't comprehend until it happened. I've loved every second of my life, and wished I could stay in bed for the rest of my life, sleeping it all away, dreamlessly, until I got old and died.

It's numbing, this rapid change of emotions and the way my life seems to be constantly falling apart and then pulling itself back together. I've had some great times surrounded by wonderful people, and then spent days without actually seeing another physical person and not saying a single word aloud.

I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm doing it. Somehow it's the scariest thing in the world, living my life plagued with uncertainty. In another way it is also comforting. Learning to be my own person and rely on myself. I know I can do all this, and I just have to prove it to myself.

I know nobody reads this, but it feels good just to know that somebody could. That somebody could show up and understand what I'm feeling right now. Or maybe they don't understand it at all. That's the beauty of it all, I guess.

I don't know what's worse, being depressed and miserable, or not feeling anything. Maybe the sadness makes me feel like I still care enough about things to actually feel sad about it. Sometimes I don't really know if I'm actually getting better or just getting used to how much anger and sadness I'm coping with. I hope I'm getting better. I certainly don't want to be miserable forever. Nobody wants that.

It's interesting to me how rapidly my emotions can change. I can feel completely apathetic and be a fucking wreck, and then I take a shower, get dressed, go see some friends, and things are suddenly fine, and I'm happy and I love and appreciate the people in my life.

Brother bullfrog.

In the peacefulness of a summer night.
Sounds seem louder.
I hear a moth flying into a light bulb.
Over and over again.
He doesn't quite get it.
But maybe he knows more than I assume.
He's persistent. I'll give him that.

The twang of a guitar the next street over.
And the glow of a campfire against the trees.
People talk, and laugh.
Summer means you're free.

Brother bullfrog out at the pond.
Singin songs long and low.
Heavy sounds from an old soul.
He knows what's going down.

Crickets in the yard.
They're close.
And quiet up when I come outside.
Power lines won't buzz til morning.
They just bide their time.

A summer dream poem.

I dreamed you were near me
The other night
Our words poured out to each other
Hearts on our sleeves
Something else in our eyes
More on our lips
Bodies twist and writhe
In the dead of night
Like stars drawn together
In beautiful collisions
We are doomed in gravity
Unable to escape
Or ever forget
Suddenly there
Together again
Because we can't stay away.

The light finally comes
The birds trumpet the dawn
I feel myself fighting
Resisting the Sun
A hopeless fight
And I sigh because
You weren't really there.



Oh that summertime, folks. Makes you think crazy things with the hot night air rolling in through the window. There are crickets outside, and maybe I hear a couple frogs. Crickets, you best cool your jets for a few, don't wanna give away your positions.
Apparently I'm having sex dreams again. Weird. That hasn't happened in a DAMN long time, although I'm not necessarily complaining. Three damn nights in a row, now. Who knows what's next.

On a completely unrelated note, today is my birthday! I'm a ripe old 23 this year. It seems like every year on my birthday I tell myself it's time to get my act together and be an adult. Well hell. Maybe I'm as "adult" as I'll ever be. I guess that wouldn't be the worst thing? I've definitely known a few people who are worse at being a grownup than I am. Growing up is overrated anyways.

Summer in my bones.

Hello, blog. Long time no see. It would seem that I'm not any longer being affected by the depressive episode I was having earlier this year, and it couldn't have come at a better time.

Summer is here! I've always had some rather strong emotions tied to the summer season, and I love it. It makes me long for times past. Like, really past. Like ancient past. The sun starts beaming hard and you can feel it beating under your skin, through your muscles and into your bones. It's a primal thing. I have a certain fondness for heat as well, and not just like comfortable heat. Awful, oppressive, glaring heat that makes you sweat and makes the power lines buzz. That constant summer drone of electricity in the air. Of course that kind of heat is miserable when you're in the thick of it, but I always look back on it fondly. Even the next morning, before the sun reaches it's sniper post in the sky and starts pumping the water from your skin, I like to take a little time and appreciate yesterday.

There's a twinge of sadness to it as well. The longest day of the year has already come and gone. A solemn reminder that all good things must come to an end eventually. Fall will come, though not for a while now, then winter and so on. That is the way of things. There will be droughts, hurricanes, floods, and storms. Then we rebuild while nature regrows. That is a beautiful symbiosis, a reminder that no matter how tall or how wide we build our cities, we can never escape being a part of the world around us. Hopefully an active part at that.

So until I'm red and in pain at even the thought of moving, I'm gonna try to enjoy the sun as much as I can. Bring it on. Try to beat me down with your sweltering fists. I'll just ask for more.

The body fails, and the mind races.

So exhausted right now. Barely slept at all last night for various reasons. I'll say this, though, whiskey doesn't help you forget about things you don't really wanna focus on when you're alone in the dark in the middle of the night. Quite the opposite, really. When you're with people and conversing and having a good time, everything is cool, but then as soon as that stimulus is gone, everything comes flooding back into the brain even stronger than before.

I need to make some decisions here, soon. I kinda know what needs to happen, don't quite know how I'm gonna go about it.

I hate drawing things out that involve multiple people, it just makes me resent them for some reason, even though they have nothing to do with my own procrastination, it's literally all me.
I think I'm too nice sometimes, I care too much about other people's feelings a lot of the time, and it seems like that kind of backfires on me.

Somehow I've come to the point where my own emotions seem insignificant but other people's mean everything. I guess I'm afraid of not being liked. Which really implies a fear of loneliness. Which I'll admit, I'm terrified of being just like really alone in the world. I can deal with some kinds of loneliness a lot better than I think most people do, but only for relatively short periods of time. When it gets extended I go kinda crazy. I will say I deal with it a lot better than a lot of my friends, I see them all seeing each other like basically every day. I couldn't handle that, I would hate it. Maybe I need to be with people I can identify with more? the people I'm thinking of at the moment just drink beer and yell at each other, even if in jest, it's infuriating. I need my solitude sometimes.

So why the hell do I put myself in situations that eventually guarantee loneliness at some point? Is it like some kind of character flaw? Is it a natural part of being a person and I'm just not aware that other people are the same way?

Fuck you, world.

Fuck you, world. You're a fucking bastard. I'm going through a goddamn crisis and all you can think of to fuck it up is bring back shit from the past I would REALLY rather not be reminded of. God damnit. I can't remember having been this fucking angry in a LONG time. My fist was shaking a minute ago, just wanting to hit something and let a little anger go. Nope. Fuck you world, kicking a guy when he's down.

Especially like this.

If anybody reads this, it probably makes no sense to you, and probably doesn't involve you anyways. God help you if it does.

You ever have that feeling?

You ever have that feeling like you want to get something off of your chest and you know you have nowhere private to do it? That's right now for me. Even here in my little unknown, cobwebbed, dark corner of the internet, because I don't know who I know who, or how many people I may or may not know might read this.

If people I don't know read this, no biggie. You don't know me, you don't know parties A, B, or C. If people I DO know read this

God Damnit.

So let's say party A wants to give something to party B. This gift from party A is something very precious and should be an honor to get. Except party B doesn't give a shit about the gift and thinks that party A should be giving this gift to someone who will appreciate it way more. Because honestly, sometimes party B is an asshole. Party B is well aware of this.

Also there's a party C that apparently has no idea they are even involved in the equation.

Oh well.

Here's lookin at you, party C.

Learning more and less, day by day.

I've recently (read as: over a period of probably about half a year) gotten back into Zen practice, in a big way. Or a little way. That's the thing. Zen is suppposed to be a transmission outside of scripture, without letters and words. That's what makes it fascinating to me when people write about it. How can you use any kind of language to describe something that by the Buddha's own account exists outside of the influence of words? People try to do it anyways, and it usually ends up in a confusing jumble of non-words and gibberish. The idea of no-thing instead of nothing and concentrating on awareness without using thoughts seems absurd to most people, even moreso when you only read about it.

I've read the koans, and tried to meditate on them, tried to concentrate on them without thinking. Tried to exist without outside influence, tried to sit and just "be". I think I'm at a stage where I need to find a good teacher. I've exhausted my book resources. There is nothing left to learn about Zen, only to do. This is kind of hard for me. I'm such a scientific-minded person that it feels really strange for me to not try to study something objectively. But there are no theses or scholarly articles about Zen. Sure, there are articles about experiences with Zen, but nothing concrete, because it's impossible to study from the "outside", as it were.

As much as I would love to be able to objectively study Zen, I am always reminded that in a monastery, doing such a thing would inevitably result in a swift whack to the head from a master. It goes against the very nature of the thing.

Get back to normal.

I'm usually a very calm individual. Rational, intelligent, funny, entertaining, a fun person to be around. Those are the ways people usually describe me. No one ever associates me with anger, because even if I am angry sometimes, I can just let it go, because the mundane shit in life isn't worth getting actually upset over.

Every once in a while, however, something hits a chord in me. Now I'm not sure whether the times when that happens are the result of other things I never dealt with, or if it's just sort of a "perfect storm" scenario. Either way, it is genuinely frightening when I let it all go. I try not to do that, but sometimes it happens. It scares me, and it scares other people. I'm an imposing figure. Not especially tall, but with a solid frame and fairly muscular. When I get angry, I yell. I already have a very deep voice and when I yell you can hear it from almost anywhere on my block. I think this may go back to the whole I don't deal with my anger effectively thing. I don't even get angry or annoyed on a regular basis anymore. I get full on rage every once in a great while.

Usually, I can ignore a problem. It works for me. Acknowledge that something is making me angry and let it pass me by. Observe the issue at hand but don't attach myself to it. Well fuck. I don't know if I'm just in some "super sensitive to that shit right now" mode of thought at the moment or what (Super moon tomorrow, you guys!) but there has been a lot of shit recently and it seems like I have a lot of backed up anger in my system right now. I think it's the combo of the end of term, everybody being in close quarters all the time (the roommates aren't in rehearsals as much so I don't get my "me-time").

Also a huge factor in this is that my mother's stepfather died a couple days ago. It's just hitting me right now, really. I hadn't even seen him in a couple years, but I miss him like crazy. My mother's biological father died when she was a teenager. Same with my dad. Bill was the only grandfather figure I ever knew and that just makes it hit harder for me. He was the ideal of what a man should be when I was young, and I think I've been trying to live up to what he was my entire life. He was big, ballsy, manly Texan. He had a booming voice and the biggest heart you could ever imagine. I remember when his wife died, he shut himself off from the world for a while. However unhealthy that may be, I thought it was the strongest image in the world. A man, alone to confront his demons, by his own choice. I still admire his strength of mind and character. He always had time to see his grandkids, and I loved every minute of it. I never got to see him as much as I wanted to, but it seemed like a weakness to express that I missed him at the time. We were real men. We didn't need other people to make us feel good. We had pride and confidence in ourselves and that was all we needed. I think in a sense I still deeply believe that. Every once in a while I have a deep longing to be alone in the world. I want to be completely alone with my thoughts. Maybe I need to try to find out who I really am on a deeper level. I'm fairly confident in how I see myself, but there is always more to be found.
Maybe I'll go survival camping again soon. Just me and the woods.

One last thing that I won't really talk about. A couple recent events in particular have lead to me losing a little faith in someone I consider a good friend, and that is very sad.

I'm a little less angry now, and a little more sad. I think I'm going to go try to meditate before bed.

I hate stoners.

Okay, blog. Time for me to let off a little steam. I hate stoners. Hate, hate, hate. Not because I don't like them as people, I have a lot of really good friends who smoke a lot of weed. I don't smoke weed for my own reasons, but that is beside the point. I hate the way stoners get obsessed about weed. I hate how they get so excited when they have it, and I hate how whiny and mopey they are when they don't have it. The whole strain naming thing, too. I hate that with and endless passion, it's just one of those things that gets under my skin in a way that nothing else can really emulate. First off, mister dealer, you aren't a botanist. You haven't reported your "new hybrid" to any sort of marijuana cultivation committee (because there isn't one), you probably can't verify any kind of pedigree, because you just bought it from some guy who bought it from some other guy who might have grown it but most likely bought it from another guy.

To me, drugs are the coward's way out. I'm not trying to sound high and mighty, I've done enough drugs in my life, some I like, and some I don't. But really, I cannot fathom how lazy somebody must be to smoke weed every single god damn day. How is it so scary to be spending time with your own brain that you have to introduce some foreign chemical into your blood stream just to have fun? That is absurdity to me. Absolute, fucking absurdity.

Also, I hate all the little toys stoners buy. Pipes, bongs, vaporizers, grinders, rollers, jars, other stupid shit. Why the hell do you need all of that? And why so many of them? I can see the need for some of these things, but do so many of the stoners I know have two or more of each of these things?

Fuck it. I thought I could just rant for a while and get some anger out of my system, but no. I ranted, and I'm still angry. I'm fuming. I wanna yell at people, like hard. Yell and scream and actually scare people.

The dog's Buddha-nature.

I've been thinking a lot about Zen again lately. My mind continually comes back to it again and again. I've realized that I don't care much for the westernized-makes-you-a-better-bowler-or-actor-or-whatever zen. There is something real there. Deep down. Deep inside of ourselves, really. A lot of people seem to make Zen out to be about some kind of self-improvement. I feel that Zen is a much bigger mystery than that (as much of a beginner as I still am). Actual realization is something we come by so very rarely in life. Of course realization can make you a better person, but that self-improvement shouldn't be the main focus. Search for enlightenment. Crave it. Seek it out like nothing else. It may seem selfish to just care about your own enlightenment, but once it is achieved, think how much you'll be able to benefit others in their search! Maybe it is selfish at times, but even Buddha spoke of "skill-in-means", if you are to break the precepts, but it aids the path to enlightenment, all is for the best.

I've also been thinking about koans, those riddles that seem to frustrate people to no end. Personally, I love koans, I love farming that sense of cognitive dissonance. If you just sit back on the couch and think about it and focus on the koan, it doesn't make sense. Of course it doesn't make sense! It isn't supposed to make sense. It pulls your mind in so many different directions it almost snaps. And it should snap. That's what we're all going for, the snap. When you turn into an old bearded lunatic living alone in the mountains, speaking in riddles and laughing wildly at the sight of a butterfly.

I hate "designers", and the shit they make.

I hate the current "design" fad that seems to be going around. It seems like I can't stumble across more than four websites without some fucking blog about design shit. Be it furniture or product packaging, they always show up, and they always disappoint.

People seem to have this idea in their heads that "design" is the most important part of a product. Fucking no it isn't. Deliver a functional, well-made thing, and people will buy it anyways. This design boom seems to be a symptom of a larger disease. Companies make flimsy, useless junk and try to promote the hell out of it with "design", to try to attract consumers to buy their flimsy junk instead of their competitor's equally poorly made flimsy junk.

"Designers are artists", no, they're hacks. Using blocky letters and off-white backgrounds, and continuing to leach off of "indie" culture that isn't even relevant anymore. There are no more new ideas. I can assure you, if you do something, someone else has already done it.

I swear to god, if I don't die from the flu. (Or, The Benefits of the Influenza Virus on the Male Figure)

If I don't die from the flu before I procreate, my spawn are gonna be immune to damn near everything. And it will all be thanks to me, good old dad. Seriously, I've had this damn flu for like a week, I spent two days with a fever, then three and a half days where my throat hurt so much that I couldn't do anything even the least bit physically demanding without going into a disgusting coughing fit that generally resulted in me expelling a bunch of super gross green shit from my lungs all over anything nearby. Then my damn ears started to get plugged up with some damn weird stuff. The first time it hurt really bad and it made me super angry, but it went away after a few hours. Then the next day it started earlier in the day and lasted longer and it just barely went away by the time my friends came over to watch The Deer Hunter. Then it happened and hasn't gone away since. It doesn't hurt anymore, I think because my eardrum is probably stretching and expanding to make room for more fluid or whatever the hell is in there making it so I can't really hear shit.

This sucks. I hate life right now.

Also haven't eaten in like three days because I haven't had any appetite. Three whole days and I've put nothing into my body but water, tea, and Coke. I feel like I should eat because it might help me get better faster, but I really just don't feel like eating anything. Silver lining, though, it made me lose a few pounds and I look fucking goooood.

I'm a damn superhero. And I have a blogger!

You ever have one of those days where you feel like the best person in the world because you did something that normal people do every single day of their lives? But it's super special because YOU did it? I do. Guess what I did today? I went to the damn bank like a boss and deposited TWO checks. Then I went to MINET and paid my cable/internet bill. THE WHOLE THING. ALL AT ONCE. I even had to stand there for a couple minutes while the secretary chick ran my card and printed me a receipt. Now I'm back at home writing about it, ON A BLOG. I could just as easily have sit here and watched the news (something about letter bombs) and been humble and not write a word about how great I am because I went to the bank and paid my cable bill. Could have. Didn't.

Also on the topics of things I didn't do. New years resolutions. I hate them. Hate them with more passion than I hate a lot of things. I hate the idea that people think because a new year has started (an arbitrary date, by the way. We should really be using a lunar calendar.) that for some reason they make some half-hearted pledge to do some either overly ambitious or nearly insignificant thing to attempt to make themselves better people. That is god damned absurd. The fact is that they probably thought up this plan a few minutes before midnight while slugging down booze and trying to pick who to pork tonight out of a slovenly crowd of equally drunk people.

Yes I'm probably being overly critical. I'm fine with that. I have a clogged up ear so I can barely hear out of my left side and it is pissing me off. So I'm allowing myself to bitch and whine.

I'm still awesome, though. Because I was a responsible grown-up today.

Capstone notes

So I'm in capstone this term (basically a theatre thesis class) if anyone I know happens to read this, then please don't spoil the surprises for everyone else, I'm keeping some ideas here so they'll be easily accessible from multiple points e.g. any computer ever.

Art is a synthetic construct, entirely dependent upon the audience for existence. Art has no nature of it's own. It is the most difficult thing to define ever.

Is this art? (Van Gogh poster or something)

Is it still art? (rip poster in half)

How much of it has to be torn off and thrown away until it is no longer art?
You can't answer this because you cannot define art. No one can.

I can't define art, but I know the nature of it.

Art is nothing more than applied philosophy, thoughts about the nature of things put into some form or another. Now that may sounds dangerously close to a proposed definition, but it isn't (for reasons I will determine later, expound of the difference of nature and define)

Plato claims that art is almost as far as you can get from the form of something, as it is a representation of a representation of a form.

Gonna think more on this later.