I've been avoiding you and its on purpose

Well page... I guess I have to come clean. Theres some things I need to tell you. My flaws are sewn into your flesh anyway and ignoring them would be impossible. I tend to impose this surgical rejuvenation into covering up my mishaps and burbs and any quality of being less than driven and on track. I'll note a misguided thought or a temptation but I'm very quick to wipe the dirt off with a positive 'next step' outlook afterward. I dont have that right now. See, I haven't visited you or called to check in or stopped by to say hi and to be honest... its because I dont want to be as honest as I know I should be. You hold a disappointment factor for me. You are my outline that I've convinced myself to follow because its right. These are the steps. This is whats going to take me where I need to be. This is what to do... I've documented me scrapping bottom just enough to realize its not where I want to be. Shed honesty about things I'm still not too sure I should have. I've made you my filter for being real.

And I can't change that facet to your structure.


I've been phasing out of self time. I've had plenty of rest and mind grinding and solitude and pockets of not knowing what I'm doing and depression and so it just felt necessary for me to come out of my little cave and do again. I got good at being. It was something I could do endlessly if I didn't have a dependence on just the simple presence of another person in the room. I have yet to find a way to fully denounce company and friendship as a need. Its a desire. Its also ingrained in my nature. Probably everyones to an extent. But when you spend enough time by yourself, you see nothing objective, nothing outside of your range of vision. Its all you. Its the epitome of selfish. Not in action, but in discipline. Distractions become optional and sometimes, dont even exist. You build routines. Morals. Do and Donts. Self worth. Independence.

The problem with being guided by your own flame is that you lit it. YOU found the torch. YOU didn't ask for help. YOU didn't ask for input. YOU. just. did.

Its gotta be a balance act. One foot on objectivity, one on your side. This is the only way to engage logic and dilute justification and not fall backwards like I have been.

I've been playing this 'I'm a sober new human confused premature pregnancy' voice for a while now. It was accurate. It was where I was. However, it was rooted and based only in MYSELF. An introspective, self inventory on what virtues I could maintain and what vices I could eliminate. I had it pretty secure and devoted. It became my normal for so long that temptations just became echoes. Whispers at most.

But my unbalanced approach to this is where I fucked up: I forgot about what happens when mood shifts. When seasons change. When your torment subsides. This devotion and dedication and discipline is all filling for a winter, reclusive space but... how did I expect myself to re acclimate myself to being external, present me again? My skin hasn't gotten that thick. I can still smell a blunt from a mile a way. I had just began to lick my wounds...

This weekend, I hung out with my other half. He's been following the same regimen I have; sobriety, working out, etc. It felt good to dive back into where our friendship left off and get some real conversation for once. However, there was a cloud feeling of 'theres something missing' at a certain point. It wasn't boring. It wasn't like we needed a circus and dancing bears or nothing. It was just ... different. Which can be good and could have been dealt with, I'm sure. But our energies communicate on a very weak willed wave length.

He noticed that I had fallen asleep while he was working on something, but being the light sleeper I am, I woke up to him asking if I was down to watch a few episodes of Entourage.

'That sounds about right, sure.'

I got up, wiped my eyes and stretched. I was tired still. I remember looking in the mirror contemplating just smoking a cigarette and going home. And then I saw his face with the look of Santa in his eyes. He handed me a little baggy full of cocaine.

'Figured you could use a little pick me up.'

Now... I dont blame him. In no way am I saying ' THIS MOTHER FUCKER PUSHED MY NOSE INTO SOME DRUGS AND I TOLD HIM NO AND BEGGED HIM TO STOP AND CRIED FOR MY MOM AND HE JUST ...' - no, I am my own decision maker. I could have looked at that and said 'ah not this late' or some other excuse to not indulge. But instead, it automatically brought a grin to my a face and a 'yeahhh buddy' feeling. Christmas came early.

' You know I love my drugs like I love my women... white.'

We partook. Generously. Horrible quality. But the thing about coke, that most dont understand, is that its not necessarily the 'high' of the drug that makes you addicted... its the short frustrating length of the high that starves your desire for more and more and more of... well, anything. If you got more blow, all to you. But if not, safe travels till you fall asleep....

The rest of the night we spent ravaging through apartments searching in seat cushions and light fixtures and backs of toilets for bottles of oxycodone. After finding nothing but some liquor and some xanax, we proceeded to drink and snort prescriptions till nothing made sense and there was bags of chips and dogs snoring and thats about where my memory cut out.


Waking up and not remembering if you fell asleep, if its still yesterday and really 11 oclock is pm instead of am... felt all too familiar. I sat thinking to myself about my choice and obviously rationalized this little slip... but 24 hours prior to that choice... I would have NEVER thought I would have done something that old school and reckless or fell off the wagon that fucking easily. I was a little ashamed.

My phone rang.

"Yo... what... the fuck... was that..?"

" What, the note I left you or-"

"No, last night. Like seriously, what the fuck was that?!!"

We had a good laugh. It was putting on my childhood pajamas again and being read bed time stories. It was comfort. But we both said- this. was. just. a. one. time. thing.- lets get back on track.

Well, I'm glad one of us did. I unfortunately realized how much I missed that communion and level and space with others. It was the first time in the past 3 months I told my logical side to sit down and let me go back home for a while.

Yes, I've been working out and keeping up with the positives I can... while at the same time... lingering off of that slow drag back into the abyss. Its there. I know how it feels. How it smells. That space and I have some history. And sadly, I have to admit... drugs are dependable. They are there when I'm lonely. Confused. Sad. Happy. Hungry. Hanging out. They dont leave you. They dont move away and pass on or forget your name. They dont say they're going to do something and dont. They.Follow. Through.

Later, I had a conversation with my brother about this topic, including what I'm doing with myself in general. I filled him in on my 'direction' or whatever you'd call it now and he said to me-

'You need to start doing something with your writing man. I mean, its cool and probably fulfilling to have a journal and what not, and I know that you say alot of stuff publicly that even surpass my capacity to be honest. But if you're putting all your everything into this, and its something you can do and open eyes with and show people sides that your not afraid to show... and you dont get anything in return, whats this all going to? You can be the artist but be creative on bringing your art to the rest of us."

Reason number 1:) why you shouldn't just take your own perspective as being right.

Of course, I tried to play it off like it doesn't bother me. That I do this for me and its fulfilling in itself to be able to be open, if not to anyone else but myself. Which is partially true... but at the same time... he's very right.

Writers. Artists. Dancers. Musicians. The life of the passionate. If we stop watering our purposes, it withers and turns to shit and goes no where. But if you branch out, reach for the highest point that you've only dreamt about... and actually try to grasp it, just maybe you will.

I've seen it. I just need to see it in myself.

Finally Accepting

I want to construct my definition out of your smile.
I want to believe in letting you close enough to
touch my heart.
I want to know you're more than what I can see.
More than I can ever figure out.
I want you to be a puzzle. One that I'm okay with leaving unfinished.
Your missing pieces let me know I'm not alone.

I want to sing to you. Horribly and off pitch.
I want to have comfortable silences and
unspoken conversations.
I want to wake up to you snoring.
It'll let me know your still there.
I want you to ask me to play styling assistant,
giving you completely unprofessional and blind reassurance
on outfits
because you know, as well as I do,
you could walk out in boots, a skirt and one earring
and it would still raise my pulse.

I want to stay up watching the Little Mermaid.
And have my morning start with wrapped arms, drool on my chest
and strumming hair over your ear.
I want to give you piggy back rides.
I want to hold hands and skip and laugh at ourselves
because everyone watching is too.
I want to listen to your every word,
surprise you with things you forgot you said,
and spend my thoughts on inventing romantic
scavenger hunts throughout the house.

I want to count your moles.
I want to write love notes in your palms
and my name on your aorta.
I want to be your heart.
I want to act like I'm cool and trip going up the stairs
and try covering it up like you didn't notice.
I want to be tickled.
I used to hate it, it always felt like rape,
but I miss the feeling of laughing because someone else wants to see me giggle.
I want to lose track of time in your eyes.
I want to go on walks and have no destination.

But I've realized that the one thing that I want the most
is for you to be in love.
And I'm not that guy.
As much as I want to be, I'm not.
I wont be.

I want you to have all of this +
199
more creative, intoxicating, Hollywood bubble baths,
giggling, skipping, and piggy back rides *
4000000000 and -
any more heartbreak.
You deserve that security.

As for me,
well...
I'll find a you someday.
But until then,
just remember the invitation for a embarrassing serenade

is still on the table.
My treat.

Black and White

We're battling a horrible communication epidemic in our society right now and its a bit sad. With shows like Jersey Shore and The Talk, it's hard to not pick a side in this battle of 'what gender role do I play' and I get that. Both male and female positions/qualities are openly displayed as rights and wrongs. I'm frustrated with the capability the media and closed minds have to segregate the sexes.

I took a class last year called 'The Study of Love'. It was an early class, and by early- I mean 10:30. However, this was always something I enjoyed waking up for. Next to my performance and English courses, this was one of the discussion based classes I always participated in.

Oddly, we had a text. I know; the first thought I had when I got the course guidelines was 'really? theres a book we're going to study to find 'answers' to love for tests and papers?!'. It didn't make much sense to me but at the same time, it is a class. You gotta have something to make a course this vague be credible.

I found myself to be the most vocal, honest guy in the room. I didn't hold much back and the majority of the reactions I got from my male peers was either embarrassed laughter or head nods because I'm saying shit they don't want to. I kept it 100.

One day, I walked into the class typically late and caught up to where the conversation was at. I asked the girl sitting next to me to pass me the outline, and at the top of it, it said ' Gender Qualities'. The professor began asking open ended questions about what things = dude and what things = chick. I didn't say much for a while. I don't really like generalizing.

The professor started writing columns separating men from women on the board. I understood the majority of the blanket statements my class mates were making but I was hoping the discussion was leading to some form of clarity on the subject. Finally a girl raised her hand and said 'Well, guys are more doers and more action oriented while girls are more abstract and have deeper feelings and stuff' ....

I listened. I didn't say shit. She's entitled to her opinion. What really brain fucked me was that the professor actually said she was correct. She told us to open our book and read what the author had said about this. In the text, the author of this completely subjective, biased theory stated - ' Women have a higher capability to express and feel deeper emotions. They are by nature more emotional.'

Thats what got me going. I laughed to myself and said to the professor ' Are you kidding me? How is that in anyway accurate or considered more than just an opinion?'. The professor ran me through the speech of how the author was a psychiatrist and she's done studies and bla bla bla... but I didn't care. It actually got me pissed.

'So your trying to tell me that just because guys tend to express themselves in more angry and passive ways that we are less emotional? Aren't those displays of emotion... emotions?! I can remember... well, all my relationships and I would cry. I would yell. I would storm off. I would argue and get jealous and get upset when she would leave me with no gas to go to work with. In the majority of my experience, I've found MYSELF to be the most emotional in relationship. And last time I checked, I'm still a guy. So thats just bullshit.'

This got the discussion going and apparently the rest of my class members felt that the book was right. One girl turned around and looked me dead in the eyes like she was going to rip my heart out of my chest and said 'Just because YOU don't agree with it doesn't mean the majority of others out there wouldn't either.'

I guess emotion is quantified by only feminine standards. I suppose, even though men might be a little more... manish?- about their emotions... this has to mean... men aren't as emotional! Right!? BULLSHIT. I wouldn't let this one die this easy. I wasn't going to sit idol and let a professor teach a group of students this offensive, generalizing nonsense.

Unfortunately, being in a class full of women, I didn't get much back up on my stance. So I picked my back pack up, grabbed my shit and left class after the discussion. Fuck that.


This, added to the media portrayal of ' men get angry and fight and fuck and ride horses and make the money and wear the pants' and 'girls cry and gossip and listen and understand and make the dinner and raise the children'... all of this just sums up to a box fit, cookie cutter society where there is no room for those descriptions to shift much.

Just because I'm a dude... doesn't mean I can't listen. This also doesn't exclude me from crying. This also doesn't mean that if I meet you at a bar that I'm trying to fuck you. This also doesn't mean that, because I'm listening to you, I'm going to try to fuck you.

NOTE TO EVERYONE : there are guys who can be... genuinely good human beings! AND ALSO: there are girls who can be emotionally incompetent!


Jersey Shore might show the 'dont care, I just wanna smoosh' attitude and The Talk might show the 'its good to have girls you can talk to cause they understand' attitude, but please dont let that become black and white. There is a HUGE gray area to these standards. There is a mass amount of universals shared between men and women. I find it belittling to be clumped aside with stereotypes and short handed because of other mens faults. THAT WASN'T ME. I DIDN'T AND WOULDN'T DO THAT SHIT. Period.

If I treated every female the way my conditioning with females has trained me to, I would be a dick and would lie and manipulate the shit out of girls. Fortunately, I don't do that. Unfortunately, I'm still generalized. Am I alone on this????

Lets dance mother fucker.

The resin is setting. I haven't seen the impression made any more solid or residual or constant. Point made. Set. Match. Game. Swag. I get it.

I'm looking for something new. It's a drill or a vacuum to get me out of this hole. Living underground smells like the future and feels even more vague. Dear universe,

I've left everything up to you.
Surrendered my tears and my devotion and my angst
into your possibilities.
Can we make out now?
The last time I gave up this much control I at least
got to first base.

I fell. A lot. Too much. I
sat anxiously in stale air and expired feelings,
waiting for my soul awaken from the coma.
The doctors have said there's no hope. Absolutely none.
That I'm brain dead and the only thing keeping me alive
is Ramen noddles and watery insights.
They've been mainlining me poetry and songs and change
and I'm communicating with winks and finger twitching
and I've been working up the strength to learn how to
convince someone to pull the fucking plug.
Medicine isn't the answer anymore.

Dear universe,
Fuck. You.
You mystical unicorn trap.
I want everything back now.
I'll call the cops.
Apologize. Now bitch. Do it.
Say you're sorry. Say it.
I'm not accepting any more subtle
passive aggravating motivation or hollow lessons or
presents for being present.
Those are all broken anyway. You should have wrapped them better.
Say you're sorry. I mean it, I'm turning my back now
and if I count to three and I dont see
a smile on my face or a finish line to this race,
I'm going to give up the rest of this hope.
I've done it before. It wasn't difficult.
It took three seconds to find an escape route,
booby trapped with peaceful sleep and feeling meaningful and right and high
for the time and I dont mind having that ignorance
if it means

I dont have to keep looking up to you for advice.

Make your choice. I'll be right where you left me.
Bed ridden, searching for the new underground,
worms, roots, lack of sound advice to hold my breath
any longer for.

Can we make out now?

Fat Camp

I dont know how I got like this . Some may argue I was born this way. That my path was meant to escalate in falling cycles only to repeat itself and drop again. That my love life was meant to twist around fingers like car frames around trees in the winter night. Professionals have called them horrible accidents but I say I saw it coming. I felt the tracks of my tires slip. I could see the wall of trees and the seat belt loose. I initiated the heart aches, the loveless, the slopes slippery enough for me to slide on convincingly.

I'm fiendish for some inspiration. Itching. Grand mal seizures. I've been told to wait it out. That the air is coming I just need to be patient for breath. But I'm suffocating. Black and blue. Eyes bulging out. Like gettin blown on an elevator, this is fucking my brain up.

My internal revenue of emotions has dried up. I'm broke. I receive monthly disability checks from the universe telling me to repay my emotional debts. ASAP. Collection will come around next month again. I still dont have a job and I still dont have oxygen.

My personality has grown a mullet and wears AC/DC cut off sweatsuits. I've forgotten who the fuck I am.

I miss thinking that I know you.

A childhood pastor called today and asked if I had anything for the congregation to pray about. I told him to ask for some answers and I'll let him know if I get any first. Amazing race. And I even got shape ups over here. They dont work how they promote though. They make walking more difficult and my ass still looks fat and I can never seem to stand up straight anymore.

I guess I've been on hold this whole time. I'm getting sick of hearing this fucking lounge music. A short wait isn't months damnit. I'm tempted to hang up and just call my dope dealer.

I'm a fucking walking paradox

God damn it. I'm starting to totally hate my writing. I've spent the past two days scribbling thoughts in free verse form and every time I read it, I want to stab my eyes out with a pencil. I always feel like I'm about to throw Picasso down flights of stairs or drop Helen Keller off her talent stool. And then, once I get down to the actual process, I realize I have more insecurity and instability in my literary voice than an abused dog on a 2x4.

Creativity is God. And I've never been a believer. No wonder I'm not getting any sparks over here. I haven't felt 'brilliant' in so long. I feel dirty. Unwashed. Hungover from being sober and not having a piece of mind anywhere in my life. I dont have hobbies any more besides fucking up my muscles. I dont know why I ever thought I'd be good at interior design. I'd create chaos and red rum and animal porn out of balloons. My insides make as much sense as that image.

Most days, I dont even use my voice. At all. I'll sit in the living room with my father (on a rare, supermoon type day) and he'll be on his computer watching the games, while I'm on my computer watching some documentary on Buddhists in Afghanistan... and we wont say a damn thing to each other. Its comical on a certain level. In the same way hanging out with your friends and all you do is text other people the hole time is. I'd like to think I've moved out of that stage of my life. Maybe I have. I've turned off my phone because it became unnecessary and compulsively annoying to look at and notice I have no new texts or calls anymore. The only thing I do is write to express myself now. And I'm convinced that my dad is the definition for creature of habit anyway. He has so many walls up and motes around them that I stopped trying to conquer his inability to be an emotional human being around the time I figured out the only way to get past his obstacles was to be incarcerated or institutionalized.

I think the best conversations we've had have been during my times in the valleys. He would come visit me while I was locked up or in the loony bin or when my ex and I were having a explosive, end all fight. Those talks were the most in depth talks we've had. Ever. Its like he allows himself to be compassionate enough to bring me back up to sea level and make sure I'm not drowning but then, he'll just take off and leave me still needing cpr on the shoreline. At that point, its either I save myself or someone else has to save me. And I've kicked everyone out of my life by now that I have to hope that I still have enough life left in me to get up on my own. I promise I dont really need any help. I'm red cross certified. I'll be fine once I get this shit out of my lungs and come back to mindfulness.

I portray myself to be really pathetic. Maybe I am. I don't take any shame in my thoughts. Its me, and if I make you sick or sad or whatever, well- welcome to my brain. Theres clowns with tubas and frowny faces on little bicycles in there along with all these melancholy ideas. Its a party, I swear. Getting a little crazy in there. I try believing I'm happy for people and where their life is, and then I remember where I am and sadly enough... I tend to find myself missing having more depressed people than me in my life. It used to make me feel useful and more compassionate but now, everyone acts so content. All my inspirations have transformed into big balls of positivity that I can't relate to or connect with anymore and thats great for them. I'm noticing that I'm saying this all from a totally jealous place now. I hate to admit that I'd like to see more people unhappy around me to make me feel better... but I do. Thats honest. Once I'm eye level with you all, I will take this back. I'm sure.


Tomorrow I'm hoping to get up in time to go take this fucking test for the armed forces. If I dont, I'm pretty sure I'm closing my bank account and loading my car up this week and taking off. To somewhere. Manifest my destiny finally.


I'm gonna go hit a bag and walk in the rain for a while. Get my Tyler the Creator on and cut my fingers off.

Testing

Total Mario on this page right now. Block headed. Spending time getting over enemies only to run right into another one. 2 dimensional thinking.

I did some research on perception and consciousness last night. I'm getting stumped by my own circles lately.

I found something interesting that bridged western science to eastern medicine finally. The medical field has struggled to find recognition for the validity of eastern 'theories' when it comes to medicine. I found one last night.

In eastern thought, we all have chakras. 7 I believe. They all align down the center of our bodies, starting at our head and ending at our pelvis. We have little mini chackras else where but these are the main ones.

They found that each of them base themselves in vital organs. Our higher chakras are in our head, throat, and chest area. The one in our head obviously originates in our brain. The one in our throat focuses around our vocal cords and the one in our chest... doesn't actually center in our heart but right above it. Its a spot in our body that regulates our immune system. The reason this is interesting is because of what happens when we say 'our hearts hurt' or that we've fallen in love. In essence, when we say 'I've fallen in love with (so and so)'- we are really saying ' My immune system accepts (so and so)'. The body knows when theres something foreign and something toxic running through our systems; it attacks the problem and has an amazing way of fixing it on its own. Likewise, when we are in love, our bodies tend to be healthy. We smile more. We tend to think more positively. Our body is accepting of the other person taking over the vacancy sign in our hearts and allows for us to feel good and giddy and bright.

Some issues are too intense for nature to fix though. Some times an antibiotic or treatment of other kinds is necessary.

I've been going through the most difficult tests of my 'heart' these past few months. And oddly enough, I've been sick in one way or another this whole time. I can't help but believe that my body is showing me physical symptoms of heart break and feeling lost. I've had an off and on cold for 3 months. And even when I'm 'healthy- it's making me weaker; my workouts have been getting more and more disappointing. My skin goes through its good and horrible moments. I sleep excessively. My writing is getting drier and less potent. Almost daily I have to coax myself into believing something positive about myself exists.

I'm hoping my body will show me this many significant signs when I'm ready to start doing instead of just being. Until then, I'll be here looking for something to be proud of.

Grocery shopping

You and I have more in common than you think. We may have traveled a different course, may have stumbled into different situations, but our hearts still beat the same. Our lungs still inflate. We still sleep and eat and shit. Are you listening? We are the same god damnit. There is nothing special on this side of the screen. Just another human here. Hi. I'm glad to see your with me so far. What separates us is obviously our choices and actions. I choose to spill emotions publicly and live in corners. Maybe you chose differently. Maybe you keep you words to yourself and save them for properly timed responses. Maybe you have a circle of friendships that you go back through time to time. But I still argue that we are no different in nature. We all experience these feelings, these insecurities. We all deal with our demons. We all dance to our own beat and sing when no ones watching and tell people we love them when we dont know what that really means in the first place.

The other day I wrote, ' I am glad I am the only one in my head. Its a filthy, dehydrated, sexy place.'- and I couldn't be more honest. What goes on behind these eye lids is frantic and disturbing. I am truly appreciative of privacy, as much as it may seem I keep my cards on the table at all times. I will assure you, I do not. I keep a few cards in my pocket so that I can have some self to myself. The majority of my outside writing is too vicious to let loose on the public eye. Its self conscious. Its brutal. Its more incriminating than what I share here. But I was reading through some of it and realized, there's some universals tucked between those lines and it'd be a shame to not let this one off the leash. However, keep in mind, this is still edited somewhat... gotta keep a few cards.


-I was at the grocery store the other day. I grabbed my basket, noticing the lanes available to choose from. There was two; one with a fat, elderly woman no taller than 5 foot and diabetes and the other had a very attractive Latino nugget. As I approached check out, I obviously chose to go to the old lady. After all, I was in no mood to have deal with the processing I already knew I would encounter.

I walked past the tabloids and began grabbing my food when I saw that she had just set out the 'closed lane' sign before I got there. Sweet. Just my luck. Of course I would have to go put on a front like I'm cool for the sexy grocery store chick. I took a breath, picked my chin up and entered her lane.

You ever have one of those moments where there's a feeling of automatic walls down? The one where an introduction isn't necessary, finding out their favorite color or food doesn't come first but instead, you feel this openness with the person right away? Now, not to toot my own horn or boast like I 'had it in the bag' before my groceries were, but her initial 'Hey' had a tone showing me more than just a 'Hey, I'm just doing my job and I'm disinterested.' So I responded, and the typical small talk ensued- 'did you find everything you were looking for?' - 'I did, thank you.' and whatever whatever, but as she's ringing me up, my mind started triggering my mouth to say more. Now... lets break this down a little further.

1.) My judgment on age is really... really bad. More often than not I find that I don't know the difference between a 17 year old and 25 year old unless we're at a bar, which in that case, I know they're at least 21. But in general society, I couldn't pick a tween out of a line up. Especially if they are attractive. Meaning, pretty much, I have a pedophile quality to my eyes and thats dangerous. Bad things can happen. In more than just the legal route.

2.) I dont know my heart from the back of my hand. If I were to have actually induced something past small talk with this grocery store beauty, I would have regretted it from the get go. If it went to a date scenario, I'd probably not show up. I probably wouldn't even call her. I would KNOW after that hook was set that I ... just made a really bad mistake for both of us.

3.) My life is in limbo. In number 2 and in that I dont know if tomorrow, or next week, or a month from now, I'm even going to be where I am right now. Especially with the military as an option still, nothing is insuring my residence here. That would ultimately leave heart ache for one of us, if not both.

So this is whats going through my head all during that little 3 minute scan, card swipe and bag process. And all of the above reasons made me feel really fucking weird. Did I do anything? Nope. Did I say anything that I shouldn't have ? Nope. But I felt it. And I dont like that my feelings completely play against my mind... almost always. And on top of all that, I had that embarrassed feeling about what I was buying. I'm supposing its similar to the cliche of getting condoms or douches or Vagisil; you dont want to necessarily promote that you're buying the product. I feel that way about my food. This girl is seeing everything I eat and its not pretty. Its not fancy. Its not suit and tie worthy. Its total 'I'm broke, my diet sucks, judge me now' feeling. Which made me feel even more odd, that this little tan skinned dime could not only be 12, but could also be thinking 'man this guy is really fucking poor.'

I think about things way too much. Far too much. My processing is too in depth and complex. I'm sure 99 % of what I think, no one else would. Not that I'm above anyone, just that I don't think anyone out there has the damaged thinking I have. I am stale goods, I am emotionally retarded, I could have walked out of that store with 20 dollars worth of food and a Freshman in high school. AND ITS A GOD DAMN GROCERY STORE! Am I really searching that deeply still? Even without consciously doing it or wanting to, my heart still goes to that place even during remedial tasks like grocery shopping...

I think this all amplifies how insecure I truly am. I am scared of every emotional avenue possible. Physically, I'm not. I have confidence in my body, and my ability to do the majority of physical activities I throw in my way but emotionally, I am fat and I have a electric chair for mobility and I dont come out of my house and I dont say what I think as much as I should (in this case, definitely better I didn't though) and I dont act the way I wish I did.

When does becoming fixed happen? Or will it?

Where am I going?

I've been spending my time recently just drinking by myself. Not getting hammered and stammering around the house breaking t.vs or nothing, but just enough to relax my mind. The absence of what I use to use has been tweaking with my mental state. Severely. I thought I would feel like a new person. Like I hit a much needed growth spurt or reinvented myself. And in some ways, it has. But it doesn't feel like how I anticipated. It feels great in the gym. It feels great when I think about the will power it took to bring me here. However, it doesn't make me feel 'good' in general. I feel like a new born. Like I need to relearn how to walk and talk and spell my name again. Its scary, I'll admit. Sobriety is the dark side of the moon for me and its cold and lonely and on some days, it makes me completely reconsider my choice.

Today, I revisited my thinking tree. Its the one tree both my dog and I can climb together. Probably quite a sight for others passing by. But I'm used to it. She was Spiderman in another life. Anyway... I sat in the tree drinking. I dont think it respected my choice much. Its used to me and thought provoking intoxicants; gracing its branches with the appreciation and empathy of acid, or the calming scent of its fellow sister plant but not with numbing, clumsy drugs. Potentially dangerous things can happen. But I had to express that this is where I'm at right now, and unfortunately, I have substituted the good for the bad. It reassured me of my bad choice by letting my feet slip a few times, but I stayed inside its grasp. Its been there over the years, through all the seasons, all the changes and broken limbs and shedding bark so it has to bare with me while I shift a little. It understood.

My reason for heading there was derived from my recent discovery of inability to meditate. I have no religion backing the process; its simply something I've began doing to try to feel what arises when it arises and understand it. But every time I do it, I get to a point where my emotions are bombarding my capability to deal with them one by one. About 20 minutes in, there's just too much insecurity and need and distractions for me to continue on. So this brought me back to my tree. I've always found some sort of peace there. Something for me to hold onto. Some unity and some reasoning.

Today I found nothing but memories. I started to remember all the 'good times' and all the highs and the kiddish climbing and then, my mind turned back to a conversation I had a few months ago near this very spot.

"So let me ask you, whats you're main reason for wanting to join the military? What is it that your looking for?"

"Well, I feel like I need some relevant life experience. I need to do something outside of my comfort zone and something I'm afraid of. I feel like this will not only be beneficial for my writing and give me some credibility, but also validate my purpose. And if I dont make it out in one piece or at all, then I guess thats whats meant to be."

He paused for a second, turning around to address me face to face and said,

"You kind of want to die, dont you?"

I didn't know how to answer that immediately. At that moment, I felt that the bottom line to my decision had been discovered, and it was one that I hadn't fully noticed on my own yet. But now it was in the conversation; it was out in the open and I had to be honest with myself and him.

"I suppose you could say that," I said.

We reached an opening in a field. There was silence for a second, but he grabbed the opportunity to tell me the positivity and potential he sees in me, even if I can't.

"Well man, I can tell you this : you don't deserve to die. Whatever you think you've done in your life to not be worthy of life is just the way you perceive it and not the way others perceive you. You are useful and you have good qualities; I've seen the way you can reach others. I've seen your gifts and your flaws together, but none of that sums up justifying losing you."

Thats when I checked out of the conversation. I had to acknowledge this as being true; I felt it, it had to be accurate on a certain level if it invoked an emotional shut down.

And to be honest, I haven't left that space yet. Every time Monday rolls around for me to take that first step into the military and take that test and hand my diploma and social security card and birth certificate over to the government, I always have this conversation on repeat in my head. I don't want to enter something simply because I'm too much of a coward to kill myself on my own. I don't want to enter a half a decade experience with the wrong motivation. I want to be able to do it for the 'right' reason... and I still haven't figured out if I have that reason yet. Money... is that a good enough reason? Life experience... is that a good enough reason? Death... cannot be a good enough reason.

I am young. I have a lot of life to live. I have people to make proud. I have friends and family that want to see me keep going, even if on most days, I... could care less.

I got down from the tree and headed back to my car. I hadn't found anything that I was looking for. Meditating will still be hectic for a while. My path is still going towards a death wish. But I have to begin taking more steps towards something... I have to validate my decision to quit drugs, and get back in shape, and all of these months spent processing- all of this has to lead to somewhere.

If I were to want any super power, I would want to be able to see tomorrow as clear as I can see yesterday.

Oh, young hearts...

Its unfortunate to know that this generation has deteriorated into filler words and parenthetical "you knows?" and "you know what I'm saying?"'s. Truly a catastrophic loss to the English language. Along with those deaths, we've also watched social networking totally take over the meaning of being 'social' and increased irrelevant and unusable networking. Am I completely denouncing the idea? No. I partake in it minimally. I've seen some people make some decent connections via facebook and what not. But when I see people leaving comments on band profile status', that have nothing to do with the status itself, and in fact, is actually just informing the person running the page about THEIR day and how relaxing it was and how they ate pancakes and jump roped and skipped to the library... I just wonder how exactly this conversation would look in a normal, good old SOCIAL environment. You remember, the one that included face to face encounters with eye contact and voices and no acronyms? For example:

Jerry walks up to Ron at a bar and says, "Today was quiet. I spent the hole day with my instruments before all the craziness begins tomorrow."

And Ron, having never met Jerry, immediately responds with a smile and says " I spent the hole day eating pancakes and skipping with books."

Does this seem natural? Or just fucking weird?

This is how I picture the majority of conversations that happen over these tweetbookspaces actually going down. They seem awkward and unrealistic and pretty desperate to be honest. The internet is a breeding ground for weird anti socialites to become butterflies... with comments and retweets... devolving from what nature programed us for. Anyway... this isn't the direction I wanted to go in.

I just got done advising my little brother on matters of the heart. Even though I'm scarred and destroyed in that area, I still have a few years of experience from my battles to hand down. I mentioned previously that I am not the guy to ask for advice; I have made more mistakes than George Bush and I am still learning from them all. But when it comes to young hearts dealing with issues I'm familiar with and involving people I care about, I will lend a helping word or two. I wont share his issue but its common. And by common, I mean its common for us romantics to get lost and blinded in the midst of love or what can be mistaken for love. Not to belittle the emotional quality of his relationship or nothing; I think every romantic who finds their dreamy, fantasy enriched partner believes they are in love for the moment. He probably has a great relationship and he's just experiencing a road block that's frustrating and aggravating.

He asked me if he was wrong for feeling angry about the situation, and I told him 'No. Of course you have have every right to feel the way you do. But you have to understand that, as entitled to your emotion as you are, likewise, so is she. And you have to respect that. No matter the circumstance, you have to find a middle ground in a relationship and sometimes it means sacrificing your greed and your wants and yourself to cater to the issue. But it doesn't mean to forget about yourself. You have to be true to yourself at the same time, which can be difficult. You need to find a way for you to relay all this emotion to her from a space that isn't angry, and isn't pushy or forceful but instead, compromising. And that might take a while to find that space. Simply put : you have a hurricane going on in your head and you just need to figure out a way for it not to destroy you both."

Being young and wearing your heart is risky. But I did it. I'm sure everyone did. I'm sure I still will someday. But my heart goes out to him in his time of confusion and freshman angst. I hope he understands the empathy he needs to embrace for him to reach a fulfilling point in his relationship. Listening and being honest are some of the key essentials I could give him as hammy down wisdom, from my own experience and from knowing where I slipped up in the past. But remember...

I am lost myself. Take my word with a grain of salt and then add a table spoon. It is diluted by my own horrifying judgment and regardless of my writing status, or my capability to be open with my emotions, or my age, or my 'experience'... I am still very disabled. I am deaf. I am childish. I am still regressing into the past day after day so if you ever listen to me like a Bible, I will insure you that you, my friend, are making a bad investment.


(HEEEEEEEY- acquired my first, non stalking follower though. Shout out to you, number 1 and only so far. Thank you for finding some sort of quality in all of this!)

Losing but winning. And not in a Charlie Sheen kind of way.

A few months back, as my life was severely broken in more ways than I can express, my dog got sick. Now, I know that animals get sick sometimes. They tell you if their nose is dry or they're acting lethargic or if they simply aren't eating right, that its possible they're just sick and they'll get through it. But this was different. This was the first time my dogs behavior had actually scared me to tears.

I would walk into her little den and she would love me in her typical, hyperactive, tail thrusting against walls sort of way but shortly after, would have have spastic bursts of hyperventilating. Followed by endless hacking and deep wheezing. I rode it out for a while until finally, her breathing became so bad that her eyes became blood shot and her tail wouldn't wag and every breath sounded like she was a pack a day smoker. I remember my emotional space at the time. I remember that I didn't believe there was any way for the universe to rip me apart more than I already was. I was already confetti. I was glued together by scraps of narcotics and that was it.

There was one day her hyperventilating didn't stop for about 10 minutes. It seemed like 2 hours. I held her in my arms like a baby and hushed her calmly with my voice thinking that maybe, if I just made her feel comfortable, she would stop. Maybe it was just a nervous thing. Maybe it was just the seasons. But it wasn't. And my greatest emotional efforts did nothing for the situation. She was sick, and I didn't know if, on one of her outbursts, her lungs would just give up and I'd be left without my best friend. There were nights I would just hold her and cry. I didn't want to even think the possibility of her leaving me existed. She was the only one who listened to my pain without judgment, without advice. She knew my loneliness and felt it every night when she became my blanket and my cuddle buddy. She got really good at licking my tears off my cheek and reassuring me that their is a thing called laughter. She was the last piece of myself I owned. She had been through all the heart breaks, and moves, and drug use, and vacations. She knew me. I knew her. I couldn't lose her.

Fortunately, this story just ends with her going to the vet and being put on antibiotics and getting back to her hyperactive, endless puppy state. But I can't help but remember that feeling I had. It was rock bottom at the bottom of rock bottom. It was losing more than I thought I could. It was the feeling of having no control over anything in my life and I kept telling myself 'you wont make it through this without her'.

The fact of the matter is, I could. And I will have to someday. I can't neglect the knowledge of life ending. I've seen it. It happens. And if death doesn't come first, theres nothing insuring that tomorrow, everything you have today is going to be there. People come and go. Friends shift. Relationships end. Parents leave us. Possessions leave us. Hearts leave us. Jobs change. Feelings change. Scenery changes... life. changes. Its a fact.

This understanding brings me to the story of Sidhartha. He had everything at one point; royalty, riches, women, a family. Everything. And he kept wondering what he was being protected from. After losing his mother before he knew her, he understood that suffering was out there but he wasn't going to fully understand it within this comfort zone. So he left. Everything. Bringing with him only himself and his search. He spent years of his life finding gurus to study under, some who told him abstract, hollow lessons and others who told him to MAKE himself suffer in order to understand suffering. None of it worked. It was still there, if not more so than before. So he left all the guidance, he left all of what he knew and was learning and went to a place that he told himself he wouldn't leave until he solved his own problem: figure out why us humans have to suffer. It was there... in that solitude... without anything but his mind and his path ahead of him that he understood what he finally needed to : there is no escape from suffering. We can try. We can run. We can search. We can attempt but the fact is, we will suffer and there's no way around that. The secret, he found, was to find the joy within it all. To embrace the simple moments. To find the calm within the storm. The food we're blessed with. The roof above our head. The conversation your having right now, or the clothes your wearing right now or the dog draped across your bed showing you that today... she is here. But tomorrow, she might not be. Its right now... this very instant... is simply

ALL that fucking matters.

The art of being an owl

I just got done having a good chuckle looking through one of my favorite bloggers bloggins. I think its great to have a public archive of yourself to go back through or have others go back through and see how much you've grown and evolved and matured. Its like keeping a scrapbook of memories and scars and laughs and life changes- through unleashing thoughts, movies, images or quotes that meant something to you at the time or about people who meant something to you at the time... This is a very fulfilling practice. I wont lie. And this special blogger will always have her name stitched into the majority of my internal organs because of the amount of herself she's shed in her words. Whether she likes it/I like or not, its there. I guess it's just admirable. And cute. Annnnd, what can I say... Dorks make my heart beat. Thats just my programing.

Believe it or not, this isn't my only blank page. Yep, I am a word whore. I constantly have a Word document open, at all times, just for me to throw completely incomplete ideas or lines against. It oddly consists of more embarrassing banter than this does (is that possible?). I started writing a piece of... something... tonight and its so not my voice or my style and I know tomorrow, I will wake up and read it and think to myself 'what the hell were you thinking? a poem about customer service for love? come on buddy'... but I wont delete it. It will stay open for me to go back and love on later with some attention and thought.

The days are starting to get a little lighter. I'm laughing more. I'm practicing more of what I need to and applying it to my everyday. I'm gaining pride in myself and my path again. Much needed.

I had a beautiful dinner made for me tonight by a friend and we just sat and talked for a few hours over a bottle of wine and deliciousness. I noticed the way my conversations are beginning to change, and I like it. I dont try to come from a 'wise' space anymore. But I dont do small talk or anything of that nature...ever... and I refuse to (EVER). I just dont try to put up a front like I know anything more than anyone else. Because honestly, I'm just as clueless as the next. But I will ask deep questions still; I just dont respond with any form of advice, just questions and support. I am the last person for advice. Really. And I know this now. Thank god.

We talked about everything; music, my up bringing in poetry, high school, line ups for festivals and then we reached a topic that I knew I needed to address. This person and I have some past that has been left unresolved and I went into that dinner telling myself 'you need to be a man and apologize tonight.' So eventually, as the conversation left off at a pause, I looked down at my plate and said ' You know, I feel like I owe you an apology.' She asked what I could possibly need to apologize for and I explained myself. To not go into details, I broke it down and told her that I am truly sorry for the way I reacted to somethings and that we have some hilarious memories and have always had a good friendship and I felt I had to respect all those positives by showing her, face to face, that I am sorry. This isn't usual for me to step up and say something like that but... I am glad to see myself actually making good, productive, self induced changes. It felt good. It felt necessary. And instead of being a coward, and hiding behind fluffy talk and surface level nonsense, I said what I knew I had to. I need to do this more often.

Anyway, today was good. And by today, I guess I technically mean yesterday... ugh I need to get my sleep realigned with nature. Note to self: sunrise doesn't mean bed time. I'm going to read some more gonzo papers and try to coax my mind to turn off.

Its getting old.

I haven't seen you in my dreams for months now. Its been peaceful and meaningless. Its been good. But last night, for some reason, I got visited by your ghost. Not that you're dead... just you really weren't ever alive for me. I don't know how you react or how your natural accent sounds or your laugh so I'm always confused when you show up in my dreams. Especially with no purpose other than to show me what I already know.

I was dealing cocaine. I don't know what for, but I was. I didn't feel proud of it. I felt paranoid and chased the entire dream. There were images of bathroom stall exchanges followed by encounters with police who watched as I fidgeted through my pockets and dropped baggies on the ground. I remember running a lot. But then you were there. And I wasn't expecting it and I wasn't prepared for any of it and you didn't just bring yourself. No, of course my mind had to make a traumatic experience even more traumatic. You brought your best friend with the amazingly heart wrenching windpipes and with her came the advice that you BOTH should surprise me. I believe she convinced you. I'm pretty sure you'd have to be convinced to do anything that ridiculous and unnecessary. But you two did. And you showed up and we met and it wasn't special and it felt weird but we all still hung out like we were roommates in boring past lives. I felt like a let down. Like I had nothing to offer this situation that was going to gratify your compassion. Somehow, we all slept in the same room. It wasn't like that though, it was a comfort thing. Then, I woke up (in my dream) and you both had shifted into other people for my past. You were now Vegas and windpipes was her best friend, who have less substance in my core than you two. But they weren't even there physically; it was just a change in characters and who I was referring to. No one was there. I was alone in a room, in a bed I didn't know how I got to, looking for anyone who was able to tell me why all of a sudden I'm lonely and don't have anyone near me. I spent the rest of the dream searching and making unanswered phone calls and stressing over where all these people went...

I GET IT ALREADY UNIVERSE! Fuck, you are not being subtle any more. I dont have to process the subtext of the situation above even before I've learned my lesson from it. I felt it. I still feel it. It feels like hunger and pain. It feels like every other day I wake up. Its not new. Its the same shit, over and over and over. I get it alright... I get that I didn't ever have access to any of the people in my dream, and no matter how much I wish I could rewind time and replay scenarios and make the outcome be something different... ultimately, I will continue to wake up by myself, lonely and wondering what happened to all the people I wanted in my life. Awesome lesson. Fucking broken record..

The coke thing, however... that's was just uncalled for. I was already having a anxiety dream, there was no need to add that. Thank you for that random dose of bad sleep. Bastard mind.

To the highest bidder

I don't feel much more than this today. I'm dog sitting; trying to practice that not everything I do equals something. I refused pay and it felt right. At the same time, I could use some company that doesn't include shedding hair and snoring on my lap. Anyway, no affiliation or connection or anything with this artist. Just sheer appreciation for her words and for saying what I dont want to admit right now...

My life list

What do you have on your computer background right now? Is it a nifty picture of a landscape from some place you've never been? A picture from a memory you miss? A graphic that you found?

I was looking at mine the other day and asked myself 'why?' Why do I have something to look at everyday that has no relevance to my life? Is it because I like the mountains or because I simply don't pay attention to the noise I let into my eyes?

It was nice to look at. It was convenient. It was one of the seven different landscapes I could choose from at start up . But after thinking about it, I realized- I'd rather look at something boring that has meaning than look at something thats just distracting.

I opened up Paint or whatever that little witchamajig is and typed out a list. Its similar to the lists you put on your mirror or your dresser. It's a simple reminder to myself to follow these few steps daily, with no background or graphic or pretty little image behind it. Just words. It says:

1.) Wake up and breathe
2.) Believe today is going to be better.
3.) Cry if you need to.
4.) Dont give up.
5.) Change something, anything, or everything.
6.) Try to love yourself.
7.) Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself

Forgive. Yourself.

As much as I write about the things I do, I find myself neglecting those insights in my outside life. This is just a simplified version of everything I've been trying to embody over the past few months and have failed to complete.

I was on one of my no destination runs last night listening to my Ipod. It was brisk, maybe 30 degrees, no snow with the night sky being clearer than air. I was going through a patch of neighborhood that had no street lights, leaving the moon to be the only thing to guide my way. I was starting to feel my right knee tense up and my breathing get heavy and I was becoming demotivated. Being on the verge of quitting, I had this intense emotional uprising. Like a volcano of loss and disappointment with my body. At that very moment, shuffle and its almighty wisdom turned over to a song my soul needed. More than water, more than a break, more than a serious cuddle session. The intro started to 'Talking to myself' by Eminem and all of that emotion immediately synthesized into everything I could ask for. I took off. As the song built into the chorus, I began sprinting and crying. In that darkness, miles away from where I stay, I felt my body hurt as much as my heart for once. I told myself 'keep going. Push through this. The pain will be gone in a few days.'

With tears and snot and a depraved grimacing look in my eyes, I finally had a complete break down. In the middle of no where, listening to words about being heard or understood by no one, I wept. I knew my body couldn't keep going at this pace. My knee was going to shatter. My dog was going to choke from my speed. I was going to trip or tare a muscle or fall face first into unforgiving pavement.

This was the first time my physical met eye to eye with my emotional. I realized that we can all talk about growth and progress and moving on but when all is said and done and we're left by ourselves, those words are just forcing our hearts to go at speeds we can't handle. Our hearts are complicated creatures. Ones that have less defined signals than our bodies do. But if we listen to what we can't hear, and understand that some days, we're not going to meet our expectations or do what we wanted to do or feel the way we wanted to... we will allow the healing process to happen naturally and unforced. Sometimes, we just have to accept that not everything happens on our own clock and gets completed by hurrying and sprinting.


7.) Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself.

Forgive. Yourself.

Welcome to my other side

Somewhere underneath all this emotional bullshit, I am capable of laughing. Yes, believe it or not, I do enjoy life sometimes. When I write, its usually because I'm stuck on a problem or trying to put some thoughts down so I can try to make sense out of them. I guess what I've forgotten to write about is the simple things; the daily glimpses of smiles and laughter I encounter instead of the tears and sorrow and grinding.

I woke up today and put on one of my favorite t-shirts. Most would call it an undershirt, but I think its sexy. And wrong. It says in big red letters 'Tips for Kids', and under is printed- 'Volunteer'. It makes me giggle.

I blow at my dog when she's asleep. Trainers and dogaticians try to tell you that blowing on their face is a sign of reassurance and comfort. But I'm pretty sure they're completely wrong. However, it probably reassures her that her dad is really annoying. She'll paw at the air and flare her lips and kick my side and get into the most uncomfortable position possible just to give me those side looks you give a little child who wont shut up in a restaurant. Priceless.

I have dialects with commercials to make them sound dirty or seem more obvious than they already are. If you ever catch me laughing for no reason during a random commercial, it's most likely because I added a totally awesome punch line in my head and just didn't share it with you.

I'm not a religious person. But if I was and had no basic sense of spirit, I'd be a Mormon. And only because I'm a man. Being able to convince 5 different women to marry you has to be like owning your own candy shop full of vagina. But I have a feeling it would become Junior High all over again. Except you could walk around naked.

I've always been curious why the 'nice guys finish last' theory exists. And I've realized its because nice guys are ugly. The saying invokes pity but its true; us nice guys have to compensate for our lack of looks. Shocker.

I'm fascinated with products that insure simplification of simple processes. For example, perfect ab machines. If your too lazy to do a simple crunch or form of crunch and you want to spend 30 dollars on a mechanism that has handles and clicks to tell you you've completed a sit up... you just dont deserve abs.

I love people who think that writing a cliche statement makes you enlightened. I hate to tell you but nothing you say is new. Nothing you stumble across on google is yours and nothing Lao Tzu wrote came from your soul. Sorry. I believe in plagiarism but I do not believe in copy and paste proverbs. Those just make me want to punch myself.

Lastly, I laugh when I watch Intervention. I used to 'feel their pain' and understand their trouble but after going what I've been through, I feel like addicts are just out of control, over sized children. And that show is completely set up to cater to these idiots. 'Lets boost their egos for a few weeks with camera crews and interviews and then at the end, lets gratify the damage they've caused others with a buffet of undeserved emotions and hope they accept the opportunity to take a vacation'. This idea is so wrong in so many ways. I believe the addicts should have the camera time, and the ignorance until the end- yes. But at the end, when they think 'they're going to their last interview', the van should be abducted by South American terrorists and taken to a remote area in New Jersey where the addict will be savagely beaten. They did nothing to deserve a paid room at a resort in California anyway.

I write alot. If you're going to be my friend or a lover or simply just read this ( which, going by my follower basis <, you probably aren't) you gotta understand that I am married to my writing. I put a ring on its finger after it saved my life, and we've been together ever since. Everything else- girlfriends, drugs, bars, ect.- those were all just past times. This is me. This is my journal, my diary, my soul. Its flawed. It has misspellings and self loathing and blood everywhere but its perfect the way it is. Accept it or just click that little thing at the top of your screen with an X inside a red box because I'm going to keep going. Period.

I have a few regrets in my life. Just a few. Only because the rest of the things you would expect me to regret- I have forgiven myself for. The stealing from my dad when I was younger, the crashing cars while in blacked out stupors, the grabbing rabbits out of pet shop crates and running out the door only to neglect them until they die... I've forgiven myself for ( the last rabbit I stole lived for 7 months; she was rad and I named her after my favorite rabbit from a novel so suck it PETA, I did a better job for her than Petco.) But when it comes down to regrets, alot of us have a hard time zeroing in on them. The stigma behind 'regret' keeps many of us from acknowledging them because regret is tied to weakness in our vocabulary. It means we haven't 'learned from what we did' or 'we haven't accepted what happened'... but thats not necessarily the case. You can learn from a regret. Regrets can occur for a reason. You can also accept regrets as regrets and leave them there.

To find my regrets, I've had to find what embarrasses me. Also, the things that still hurt when I think about them. I don't suppress anything anymore so I'll share what I found inside:

1.) I regret quitting the piano. Even though I took a clownish college level piano course, that rhythm never came back. Cords, all that stuff- still there. But the creativity I used to have... where ever that went, I wish I could have found it and kept it long ago.

2.) I regret trusting the girls I've had sex with. I've been with two and I've contracted the same STD three separate times. That should tell you how easy it was for them to gain my trust( hence also, my fear of sex...).

3.) I regret... ever opening my mouth and sending emails and... just, everything that has happened to me in the past year and a half- I regret all of it, including the cathartic responses and such. You would think number 2 would be something you dont tell anyone, let alone- the world, but this one... this is the one I would love to be buried with. I still haven't fully embraced the reality of what happened or the reality of how I reacted to it. I can only speak of it in this sort of vague way because of how embarrassed I still am about the entire instance and how sorry I am for involving the people I did... I sent embarrassing emails, wrote an abundance of embarrassing pathetic vomit... and... I'm not that guy. I am just not that guy. But I have been and will be because... ugh, I was and am incredibly stupid I suppose. I dont even want to know how the recipient of all of this views me... or how she's talked about me... I feel annoying and hubris at the same time when I even think about her talking about me. If I were to wish for anything, I wouldn't wish for a mom back, or me to never touch drugs or the girls I did or steal rabbits... I would wish I could unsend every cry, and erase every memory, and have zero knowledge of who certain people are and what their birthdays are and where they grew up and lived and who they dated... I wish I could just erase 2010. The end of 2009. And the beginning of 2011. Because this feeling... I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

I regret being a victim.

Teaching how to be a student

I've been fortunate enough to be able to pay my experience forward already. I'm 23, and far from stepping foot into a class room with a degree and claiming it with my last name. But I have been gifted with opportunities to mentor and guide kids who are walking in my teenage tracks. Sometimes, I think about where I am and where I've stopped and gotten tangled in messed up situations and forgotten about my direction and I wonder ...when it was I lost the opportunity to have a me for myself....

Last year, I was working with a juvenile home through a non profit. My brother and his work partner had just launched this program and my job was to be the middle man. Rebellious students don't like authority ( trust me, I've been one of them) and usually, it takes more than motivation and belief to get them to apply themselves. So that was my job; cut the authority down the middle, come in unshaven, baggy sweats, looking all sorts of 'me' and find a common ground. Every Tuesday, we'd drive 45 minutes into the heart of the economic battle ground in Michigan and spend a few hours talking with teens. Helping them express their hard knocks and regain their voices from the shadows of society.

The experience was eye opening. Even coming from my background, I wasn't used to working with individuals who have been tossed from foster home to foster home, who have been stabbed by their dads or who have stabbed their dads, who have been raped or who have raped... it was a very different approach to empathy than I've ever had to attempt. But I did. And from what I'm told, I did a good job.

The irony of this is that through all of it... I was spiraling further and further towards my own destruction than most of these kids were. These kids had a legal structure they had to abide by for the most part; they had to go to school (court ordered), come to this after school program (court ordered) and stay home (court ordered). While I... didn't. I had my classes I could choose to go to or not, I had my friends I could go get high with, I had my own car, my own free will, and my own crazy personal life aside from it all. And when I'd go to teach these kids, both at the juvenile home and at my college ( I was a TA for this acting class)... I was completely fucked up. Had no pupils. Had dry mouth. Stumbling around with them as they practice their pieces... and I'm supposed to be their damn role model. I'm supposed to be the one encouraging them and guiding them to enlightenment while I just try maintain consciousness and not nod out in front of the class.

Through all of it, I somehow reached some of them though. I taught some kids how their syntax was similar to T.S Elliot, taught some kids how to do unconventional slant rhymes, and taught others- who could barely read at a 2nd grade level- to memorize their poems. All the while... I had no one teaching me how to be a better me or pushing me to see the bigger picture. I had enablers. I had myself. And I had an ego.

I look back at that experience and the capability I now know I posses and wonder how I helped any of those kids find their amazingness while I was so fucking lost. How did I stop my horrible insides from perspiring and effecting these people negatively? Did anything I did actually resonate, especially if I was being hypocritical the entire time? Are any of them better off now that they've received my helping hand? Or did my mask show itself through it all... and show them that being a complete wreck is just life and even the ones you believe in are tumbling out of control in their own way....

Some days, I miss having that guidance. I miss having someone to check me on my actions and correct me and show me where I'm not doing as good as I could be. Maybe I've just evolved into my own teacher. Maybe I'm teaching myself now, and now I'm my own student learning from my own mistakes and actions. But I can't help but think I'm still spiraling sometimes. I haven't experienced everything. I haven't lived long enough to know what life is truly about. I dont have all the answers... I dont really have any answers.

How do the most troubled individuals concoct such beautiful lessons and at the same time, still be slipping on identical problems to those very lessons themselves?

Tell me I'm wrong... please.

While dealing with my chemical break up, I was talking to a friend about how she was doing walking those same steps. Her addictions are different; more oriented around relationships than drugs... but drugs were definitely apart of her whole picture. This was a typical conversation we had. Constantly actually. Years and years of the same circles. However this time, I wasn't preaching what I wasn't practicing.

Our meals came and I asked how everything had been going with guys and her ailments. She said, " Well, I've cut everybody negative out. Buddy, all them- they're old news. I'm just trying to do me. I dont smoke that much anymore. I only drink when I go out and now that I'm working, I dont get a chance to do that much any more."

I had a feeling she was just telling me her short term, current 'this is today' story. I took a bite of my food, nodding respectfully. After she was done explaining, I asked " So... if you've let go of all those things, are you supplementing?"

She said, " I guess. But so are you right? You gave up drugs, but now you habitually work out instead."

I tried rationalizing for a while. I tried making my adding + subtracting sound right. Like my lack of intoxicants is way better than scarring muscles and joint problems.

I was out running today. I've gotten into a good pattern of doing this a few times a week. I have this route I do through the neighborhood; down the street, left onto saddleclub, do a loop at the end, and come back. A good 2 miles. And usually, I have to coax my self via the mantra I wear to keep running at least to the mail box where I stay. Hard work. Hard work. Hard. Work... But today... I hit this foreign plateau mentally. I made it to the mail box and my mind just went blank in between breaths. I started counting each exhale... 1...2...3...4... all the way to 50 and then I'd start back over. Before I knew it, I was at the other end of the subdivision. My feet kept going. Propelled by numbers and my dogs infinite pep.

When I got back, I wasn't done. I went into the depths of this house, put on Shade 45, and went at the bag and the weights for another hour. I told myself yesterday that today was a rest day; I had done this same regiment and my body was telling me to sleep. But I didn't. This new found plateau felt like being high. It was untouchable. And now, at 2 in the morning... I'm feeling that familiar fiendish quality bubbling underneath my skin...

Is this okay? Is my supplementing becoming another unhealthy addiction? Is this just me... and no matter where I go in this maze, I'm always going to find something, whether its blogging or girls or working out, to be addicted to? Is there such a thing a being a healthy addict??....

I swear I'm not crazy. I promise this to myself as much as you. Maybe no matter how far I run and how fast I go and how much healthier I get... I'll always be in front of that same mirror... looking at the same person I've always been regardless of what I'm doing differently.

I'm scared of that reality....

Dont want to ruin the surprise

Sometimes life leaves us bread crumbs in really odd ways. Many might just pass them by with out thinking that they are the pieces we've been searching for. Some might just walk over them. Step on them. Or go back looking for more obvious ones.

I believe in the future. I do. Some days, I might unleash some unabashed honesty about my foundation that could sting the eye or the hearts of people it involves. However, I wont apologize. This is my story. If you've become a character, these descriptions are just how you've been caste. I didn't ask for your role or your torment or your wisdom or your absence or your friendship or your toxins. I am not the director. I am not the producer or even the make up artist. I am simply the film. If you want to erase whats printed, you will have to set fire to me first.

Last night, Vegas reappeared. I had thought she fell off the world somewhere between messy relationships and college vandalism, but she didn't. She's still alive. I IM'd her and said 'woooowwwww... you still exist!?'

We had a short conversation. I always find myself talking more than I should when I'm dealing with the ones who have rejected me or never gave me a chance. I'm kind of a bug that way. I know that their light is possibly going to kill me but I keep throwing myself at it because its just so damn attractive. Thats probably common though. Theres something about the act of denial and being looked past that draws the rejected soul to acceptance. Doesn't make much sense but I just call it a bugs life. We've all been there.

I watched myself ask her about all of her moves, progress, meals, surgeries- everything in the past year. 'Tell me your hips doing better? I remember how much that bothered you..' - ' So are you still with good old Brandon'- ' Hows school going'- 'Hows your mom doing'- 'Hows your dog doing'.... I think I received one slightly forced interest question in response.

She doesn't like me much. She never really did. I was just a guy she worked with, who would meet her at Barnes and Noble and drink coffee with her and listen to her boy problems, who would come and wait with her in her battery deprived car in parking lots during monsoons and laugh about how fucked she is and how she hates her car. I was just the cuddle buddy who would watch endless hours of House or watch movies like the Traveling Sister Hood of Pants ( or whatever that brain damage was called). I was just the guy who would come over and talk to her mom while she was getting ready about how amazing her hockey game was the other night and how Brandon didn't show up but I was there. I was just the guy to give her a few of those 'floating, I dont know what you did' type orgasms and never once felt her touch in return. I was just that guy. I think I'm always going to be that guy.

Ironic that I would come in contact with her after revisiting a 2 year old bread crumb in the previous post. I had almost erased all of the importance from her existence until that blog. But she still has her marking. I just had to rewind a little and pause to make sure it still mattered.

It does matter and that's partially why my chest still lacks rhythm. I haven't been ready to feel a pulse again. I wont be for a while. I need to mature past alot of those self hatred moments before I can grasp what a good person I am and have been and how lucky someone would be to have a guy like me. I still get pulled into that reassuring light of ' you suck, I dont care that your breathing or that you're still breathing or that your care if I'm breathing at all.' I've tried flying away from those fatal attractions but... thats an oxymoron for a reason.


Even through all this sickness and darkness and digressing, positivity has had its shining moments. More so in the form of opportunity and thought. I've recently received acknowledgment from another local artist who I grew up with, who wants to combine thought with me on some work. Its outside of my comfort zone and its something that would tie me to this mitten for longer than I had projected, but... I've always said... I would rather do something I love and be broke then be doing something I'm not sure about just to make money. I have money. Enough to eat with. Maybe my path is meant to go this direction... maybe I'm meant to just heal for a few months and not hurry the process.

Please let me remind myself that there is absolutely no destination.

Please let me remember that there are people out there who believe in me, even if I have forgotten to believe in myself.

Please let me know that a bugs life is a better movie than it is a practice.

Please let me hold onto these bread crumbs and not forget that my purpose

is bigger
than this.

The plate tectonics of my insides: the beginning to my hate of love

Story time. I feel like I allude to a mass amount of heart cracking which I've never really gotten down to explaining. The good thing about this blog is the ambiguity I use. There are some more recent soars that I'm not/never will name drop with but as for my past, the ones that are somewhere in the library of hurt I carry with me... you will be named. Just with a name I see appropriate; I'm really not out to hurt anyone, just to be honest.

The awesome thing about things we shouldn't talk about... is they make the best stories. So here we go...

It was gorilla poetry day in my acting class. This assignment meant we had to go out into the world, without a stage or a mic or introduction, create a soap box and let loose for credit. For some, this is nerve wrecking and I'm not going to exclude myself from that bunch. I have my cynical performance technique that comes off confident but on the inside, its an earthquake.

As I'm running over lines in my head, about ready to walk out into a university courtyard to unleash my savage poetry on the studying community, I get a text from D-unit.

She was young, far too young for the relationship I had invented with her. Its the young ones who are dangerous; they bring with them foot prints you've already washed over and forgot about. She was fun though. She was the type that wasn't my type for once; eccentric, conservative, quirky. I remember the first night I spent with her, we sat up all night watching seasons of the Office. I guess her parents we cool with me staying over, and also with me smoking weed in her room ( both totally awesome at the time.) We were both respectful of each others space; mine, just getting out of a 3 year relationship with Whore #2- hers, just getting out of that 'lost virginity' relationship. So we just laughed alot, eventually falling asleep, and the next morning, as she walked me out the door, we had our first kiss. Morning breath and all its glory. I skipped all the way to my car. No exaggeration.

The text said, 'Hey, I just wanted to let you know that Ryan and I worked things out and I think were going to see if we can be together again. I'm sorry for leading you on like this. I hope we can still be friends.".... amazing. addition. to. nerves. Immature foot prints. I replied with a , "Thats cool. Hope everything goes well."- when I really wanted to say "DID YOU REALLY HAVE TO DO THIS RIGHT NOW! OUT OF ALL THE HOURS OF THE DAY, YOU HAD TO PICK THIS SECOND, THIS MINUTE!"... anyway, fuck it. She was 3 weeks of my life and had I invested anything more than a few kisses and some parties with her, those words might have came out. Instead, I just saw this as a great opening for my summer.

I worked at Jimmy Johns at the time. Infested with managers less intelligent than our cash register and tons... and tons of reemployed sexiness from previous summers. I had a fling with Vegas the year before hand. She was crazy beautiful from the outside; I loved her intrusive behavior. Always coming up to me and tying my apron seductively and shit. Amazing eyes... and by eyes, I mean ass. Short little spitfire. Anyway, she came back from MSU that summer and was looking better than ever. With my newly enhanced steeze, and my want to reignite what happened the year before, we flirted. But she flirted with everyone, and me, being the romantic, thought it HAD to mean something more with me... psh... Vegas. Looks delicious from a distance but once you get inside that craziness, all hell breaks loose.

You remember those times you got out of a relationship, but still had a 'bond' with the person, so you go back every once and while for a drunk sexcapade? Yeah... well, Whore #2 was still on that list. I still felt like we really had something going and had it not been for her semi-autistic chubby new boyfriend, we would still be together. So on one dark, intoxicated, lonely summer night, she called me crying. Talking about how her and retard were fighting and bla bla bla... and if I could come pick her up. Of course, I did. With all those lingering wants and all. I picked her up down the street from her boyfriends place because she didn't want him to see us. And, as expected, her boyfriend saw us. Decided to go in reverse down the road screaming that he would beat my ass and all these other jokes. It was whatever. I had his girl in my car, just like he had my girl in his car before. Karma, I thought. I was also pilled out of my mind so a fight would have been real sloppy and exhausting. Had to save that energy...

I took her back home, and we got it in. She was plastered, and I was numb, and me getting off was just not going to happen. The sex was vigorous and dirty, but thats how she liked it. After an hour of her trying to do what she could, I told her I needed a breather from that violence. I had forgotten how angry she fucked. Total boner killer. She went down stairs to get some water, she said, and then she would come back up and try to milk me. I closed my eyes for a second and woke up to no body next to me, my door wide open, and my phone playing Paper Planes by MIA. It was Vegas calling.

"Will you come pick me up please? I'm way out on gull road but I need to get out of here."

Of course, I said yes. After all, I thought I really liked Vegas. I still wanted her to realize I'm her type, or that I can whatever type she wants me to be. I put my clothes on, walked downstairs and Whore #2 was passed out on the kitchen floor. Ass hole naked with my pills spilled around her like a halo. I shook my head, made sure she had a pulse, and left.

Vegas got in my car and immediately started crying. It was sunrise and I was still groggy and sexually frustrated but crying is my Achilles heal. You cry around me, you got my full attention. She looked over and said "I dont know what to do... I just got raped."

I stopped the car half way down the street. I told her I was going to go up to that house and beat all of them with a tire rod. She persisted that I just go. So I did. I wanted to take her to the hospital or the police station to report it but she refused. She just wanted to go home. I'm assuming because she was completely lying about the entire experience.

I came back home, and Whore #2 was still on the floor. I woke her up and told her to put some clothes on before a really awkward encounter with my father happens. She slept for most the day, while I sat up writing hate poetry about what 'happened' to Vegas. One piece turned out pretty decent; anything about rape tends to hit the audience pretty well. But in retrospect, knowing it was all a pity front, I have retired that piece along with my attraction to Vegas.

That night, I drove Whore #2 to a school near her boyfriends place. We kissed and cried a little about the situation and how we wished things could be different and all that relationship aftermath bullshit... but then it hit me- I had picked her up from her boyfriends during a fight. And dropped her off away from her boyfriends place. And I started having flashbacks to when we were together and how many fights we had and how many times she got picked up by 'friends' or took my car to go somewhere else for the night and I asked her...

"Okay, I know what we did last night. It was fun. And I miss all that stuff. But can I ask you an honest question? How many times did you do this to me?"

She looked down as she grabbed her stuff and looked over with tears in her eyes and said

"Alot. In the beginning, alot with Jon. Then with Chris- but you had suspicions about that one. Then when Gino came back and yeah, I guess it happened off and on the entire time." .....

I sat in that parking lot for an hour and cried to myself. Through all the rampaging and floating from fling to fling in hopes to keep my self esteem up and my confidence going, I just got informed that the past three years of my life... were completely forged. I had been cheated on from beginning to end. Sometimes, while I was at my lowest. While I was in jail, or the psyche ward for attempting suicide... those horrifying memories grew into jokes in others minds. It was bad enough having to go through all those things, but then to know that I was being kicked from outside those cells and those walls too... was and is (most) the reason I will never

put my heart out again. This was the beginning to the end of my internal empire.

Plagued

"Last night I met God.

He was equipped with a divine cock to fuck our dreams.
Talk about awkward."

I wrote this a few months ago. This was my best attempt at a haiku. Obviously, I didn't follow structure once I got into the second line, but I rode with it.

Now a days, I feel like if there is a god of any kind, he is my arch nemesis. He and I dont get along very well. Maybe there's a communication issue. Maybe our calls keep getting dropped. Or maybe he just listens to my cries and laughs to himself about the misery I trudge through day to day. Universe, god... who ever controls the next step- you are truly not looking out for my better good.

To rephrase Weezy- life is a bitch and depression is her sister. And right now, I'm keeping it in the family. I've never struggled much with depression. I've always found someway to cope or get out of a funk. But apparently, old problems die slow. And come back faster than we hope.

My skin has been deciding to revert back to being a teen again. I dont know what the deal is but I'm fed up with being in my twenties and still getting acne. Fucking plague. I got rid of it for years; had to go through accutane at 15 and up until a few weeks ago, my skin was gorgeous. And now that my world has fallen, and my scenery has shifted, apparently this gracious, giving god/universe is mixing me up another remedy of depression that can be seen by the public eye. Awesome. Its one thing to be internally beaten and mangled but to walk around looking like a prepubescent wreck just tops it off. I want to just curl up into a ball and disappear. Why can't doctors find a damn cure for this already? There's only a few untreatable conditions on this planet and it enrages me to think that acne is categorized with aids. Thats a diseases but this... this is just annoying. And tedious. And common! COME ON MODERN SCIENCE! We've been dealing with this issue the same way for 25 years now; oral antibiotics, vitamins, lotions, creams, everything under the sun including juices and coconut oil.... and nothing has been found 100% effective?! NOTHING! And when you actually decide to go to a doctor to get treatment, those bastards tell you ' well, it'll take half a decade to see any results'. Oh, okay. So... I'm going to take some medicine that can clear up STDs in a week... only I'm going to take it for 20... and see little to no improvement? And possibly have it get worse? Why dont you just prescribe me a gun. I hear those work pretty well.

Regardless, I think I'm due for something to go right in my life. I've dealt with my fair share of agony, heart break, deception, physical ailments, loss, ect. I'm ready for something good. Unless life is just meant to be one hiccup after another until death, I am pleading for some clean air. Some glimmer of hope. Anything to validate the progress I feel I've been making....

Too much banging around in my head. I need this page. Break is done.

I've spent a good majority of the past few weeks locking myself in my room. The power went out due to the universe forgetting about us up here in the mitten again, and left us without the necessities for a couple days.

We take shit for granted daily; friends, beds, clothing, computers where I can sit and let my fingers scream. But its been a while since I've had to think about water. Or heat. Or light for me to read by.

I woke up on a Tuesday to a text saying , "Just wanted to let you know that consumers energy says we wont have power back till Friday at 11:30 pm. I'll get water for us tonight. Try to stay warm." All my responses were whinny and bitchy but mainly because... I really had no clue what to do. Then, after a good thinking session and realizing my age, I sat on my bed bundled up, three layers deep in sweatshirts and pajamas, and said "You know what... I'm hungry. And there's water everywhere. I think I've watched enough Man vs. Wild to know what to do in this situation."

No, I didn't go make-shift a bow and shoot a goose. I also didn't jump in a lake just to see if I could make it out alive. But I did build a fucking fire in the garage. Grabbed construction shards, Kellogs boxes, and junk mail. Went out onto the deck, got a pot and filled it with as much snow as I could. Apparently, snow turns into less water than one would think. So I decided to empty the entire ice tray into a few pots and melt all that nonsense too. I got a can of spaghettios and put that in another pot and sat... in this garage... over a feeble little bonfire... hands full of cooking utensils... making water to drink and food to put in my body.

That water was disgusting. But it was drinkable. And I'm pretty sure I messed those pots up more than I cooked my food; I just ate those spaghettios as is. I was hungry, what can I say. But when all was said and done, and I had all my necessities and my calories... I didn't have shit to do. I'm so reliant on technology; for my writing, for my entertainment, for my communication and my life essentially. So for a few nights, I just got used to locking myself in my room with two or three books and just reading everything my eyes could touch.

Being an English major, this gave me the opportunity to actually feel like one for once. Not to sound hypocritical, but I am a walking contradiction. I look like a rabid sewer rat but I have the heart of a puppy. I wear every style and make it my own. I fight on the page and on my feet. And I'm an English major... who watches more documentaries and reads more blogs then I do classics or novels at all anymore.

I was finishing 'Sound and the Fury' for the second time, while at the same time reading snippets of 'Fear and Loathing: Campaign Trail '72'. I dont know what it is about Faulkner, but I swear to god... he was having a seizure when he wrote that book. I just can't read it all in one sitting. I had to compensate for all the confusion with some gonzo politics. Oddly, it was a good time.

Then the power came back. I ran outside and did a praise chant ( that sounds prettier than "I ran outside and screamed 'fuck yes! take that you god damn weather!). Took a much needed shower... and then sat again. With everything back to how it was days before... I still felt lost.

Its the same feeling I've been writing about lately. That feeling of having enlightenment brush against my finger tips, teasing me with a smile and then suddenly, I regress back into some dark emotional pit. Its like life keeps pulling me back to this bed room, even when I have the rest of the world to go out to.

Fusing my head to my heart didn't work as I had planned. If anyone knows how to do that, please let me know. The majority of this 'break' was horrible for me. This page is an addiction of mine, I'll admit it. But its one that's okay. Its one that I need because without it... I just pound thoughts against my eyelids till they bleed everywhere and I'm sick of having tissues as a best friend. They don't give me anything to look back at and think on. They just blot up the pain for a second until the next day comes and its exposed again.

I don't really know what my triggers are yet for this wound. I know certain thoughts push me down. I know certain wishes and wants hit my stomach pretty hard. But I've gotten pretty good at just feeling this feeling. I dont like it. I want it to leave and never come back. I just know that when ever the feeling comes up, and I feel sick and want to break everything and yell... to do just that. Get sick. Yell. Put some gloves on and some music and beat on a bag for a while. I'm hoping this practice of staying within the emotion instead of escaping from it brings me closer to healing in the long run...

On a more positive note, I did get back up on stage for the first time since my ego got raped last year. And that's not a metaphor. It got fisted. Hard. The thing about the stage in this city is it knows me. And I dont like that really. I always get these intro's like - " And this next guy needs no introduction. I want you all to open your ears for a second and take some of this in. He knows whats up. Get up here man."- and by the time I make it up to the mic, I just want to say 'Alright, well I can't live up to that soo... I'm just gonna sit back down.' I need to go elsewhere, further than Chicago because they even knew me there. I need to just go... to Kentucky... or Nevada and just walk into an open mic and see what a true reaction feels like. I think that's partially why I choose to not use my given name in this blog is because I dont want people saying 'Oh well (blank) wrote that so its going to be awesome.' I want to see if people like me not because of what they know me for, but because they respect my words.

I did have a piece of mine chosen to be performed this weekend at a college forensic tournament. That kind of feels good, even though the person who chose it... is still someone who knows me 'for what I've done and what I've been a part of'. Regardless, I hope she got scored well. For her sake and mine.

Anyway, this is the result of not writing. Massive amounts of words and really no direction or moral. I'm just gonna go back to my room.