If my words could sing the sweet symphony of my sorrow, I might then be able to get over the anguish I carry with me each and every day. I could lay my pain down on paper for days and still I would be years behind schedule.
I wish things were simpler. Sometimes I even wish that I was simply upset about being undesirable to the opposite sex. If my problem was so linear it would be easier to sidestep. My pain however, is a helix of personal resentment. In and out and back around again, my own personal emotional roller coaster. Fat on some ends, slim on the others; good times preceding bad times, sometimes more closely than other times. With each twist and turn I revolve around the core fundamental truth that I am in fact undesirable to myself.
I'm left feeling completely empty. I apologize in advance to the next woman who dares to suggest she loves me, needs me, or even likes me; the onus is on her to validate me. I'm an emotional invalid. I am a wrapper of a shell of a man. I used to meet anguish with physical distress - headaches, general malaise and the like. Now I just look to left, wondering if that's where what was once inside of me has gone. I only know that it has left me. I only know that I am lost without it.
I'm speaking in tongue. In time I will speak in truth. I don't know the truth. I hope it's cold and hard.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
What a day
Tired of the hunger I see on people's faces, tired of the animosity between the races, tired of corruption in high and low places, and bricks with money but no social graces. Tired of being judged for the style of my hair, the music that I listen and the clothes that I wear. Tired of life and death being sold as a pair and, politicians who keep saying they care. Maybe hoping for a change is a dream, maybe life aint as bad as it seems, but if dreaming is the best I can do then I'll be dreaming my whole life through.
What a day when war becomes a thing of the past, and peace we will have it at last, and life is finally worth its cost and whoa, whoa, whoa! What a day when men finally live what they teach and love aint just a concept we preach and blood no longer runs in the streets, whoa whoa whoa, what a day!
Tired of leaving church feeling like I've just been robbed; two hours of rambling not much mention of God. The richest man is the only one who does not have a job, a bunch of righteous freaks extorting words in a mob. Tired of baby mama, tired of baby daddy, chilling in the spot where the parents should be. Teenage mother saying "Leave my babies alone!" In 20 years that kid could be robbing my home! I got a vision of a whole other plane, where the spiritual can flourish again, I'm just-a-waiting for the fire to rain, bun down everything and start clean.
What a day when war becomes a thing of the past, and peace we will have it at last, and life is finally worth its cost and whoa, whoa whoa! What a day when men finally live what they teach, and love aint just a concept we preach, and blood no longer runs in the streets, whoa whoa whoa, what a day now! Oooo what a day now!
Maybe hoping for a change is a dream, maybe life isn't as bad as it seems, but if dreaming is the best I can do then I'll be dreaming my whole life through.
What a day when war becomes a thing of the past, and peace we will have it at last, and life is finally worth its cost and whoa, whoa whoa! When unity aint just a word in our vocabulary; I'll help you even where there aint nobody to see. You can believe it, believe in me! Whooooa!
What a day when war becomes a thing of the past, and peace we will have it at last, and life is finally worth its cost and whoa, whoa whoa! What a day when men finally live what they teach and love aint just a concept we preach and blood no longer runs in the streets, whoa whoa whoa, what a day now! Oooo what a day now! What a day, what a day, what a day...
-Tanya Stephens, "What A Day"
The words are so beautiful, you can even write it in paragraph form without losing its profundity. This is the song that surrounds me as I ride the bus and walk the streets.
What a day when war becomes a thing of the past, and peace we will have it at last, and life is finally worth its cost and whoa, whoa, whoa! What a day when men finally live what they teach and love aint just a concept we preach and blood no longer runs in the streets, whoa whoa whoa, what a day!
Tired of leaving church feeling like I've just been robbed; two hours of rambling not much mention of God. The richest man is the only one who does not have a job, a bunch of righteous freaks extorting words in a mob. Tired of baby mama, tired of baby daddy, chilling in the spot where the parents should be. Teenage mother saying "Leave my babies alone!" In 20 years that kid could be robbing my home! I got a vision of a whole other plane, where the spiritual can flourish again, I'm just-a-waiting for the fire to rain, bun down everything and start clean.
What a day when war becomes a thing of the past, and peace we will have it at last, and life is finally worth its cost and whoa, whoa whoa! What a day when men finally live what they teach, and love aint just a concept we preach, and blood no longer runs in the streets, whoa whoa whoa, what a day now! Oooo what a day now!
Maybe hoping for a change is a dream, maybe life isn't as bad as it seems, but if dreaming is the best I can do then I'll be dreaming my whole life through.
What a day when war becomes a thing of the past, and peace we will have it at last, and life is finally worth its cost and whoa, whoa whoa! When unity aint just a word in our vocabulary; I'll help you even where there aint nobody to see. You can believe it, believe in me! Whooooa!
What a day when war becomes a thing of the past, and peace we will have it at last, and life is finally worth its cost and whoa, whoa whoa! What a day when men finally live what they teach and love aint just a concept we preach and blood no longer runs in the streets, whoa whoa whoa, what a day now! Oooo what a day now! What a day, what a day, what a day...
-Tanya Stephens, "What A Day"
The words are so beautiful, you can even write it in paragraph form without losing its profundity. This is the song that surrounds me as I ride the bus and walk the streets.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Looking forward
I want to be terrific. I think we all do, but I don't care what other people want right now.
I don't want to have a child until I'm ready to have one, in every way. I think that's about a decade away. Another 8 to 10 years ought to do me right. I don't want to wait too long although; I want to be able to play soccer with him and teach him to climb fences and duck the po-lice.
I want to be a terrific author, with a vast knowledge of my largely important subject matter. I would hate to end up as one of those writers you see on the internet each day, writing opinionated peices on subjects they scarcely understand. That I think is one of my greater fears of the future. I think the most comforting thing about credentials and acclaim is the empowerment it brings, giving you permission to pass judgement on life or at least a part. I don't want to be a self-proclaimed anything, because self-proclamation is the easiest currency in the world to buy, and the hardest to sell. I would be devastated to find out someday that for the length of my career, while I thought I was looking down at the people from my intellecual hightower - watching them mindlessly sort through their everyday lives - I was in fact gazing down on a deceptive mirror of arrogance, which was reflecting the image of the townspeople as they carry on with their lives floating high above me, mocking my ignorance.
It's hard writing about people, because ultimately all generalizations about people are false. Funny, far-reaching or insightful as they may be, generalizations will never apply to everyone - somebody will fall through the net and prove me wrong, either naturally or on purpose. It's actually pretty easy writing about myself, I could go on for days (in fact, for maybe 20 years or so) but that wouldn't be alligned with my goal. Goal, you say? Yes, I have a goal.
I want my words to be of help. I think about all the philosophy throughout the ages that has been written sometimes. I think about the Greeks writing about logic and absolute truths, in an effort to help people understand that there is a world outside of the trading of goats for coin and coin for bread, to help them understand that the realm of knowledge offers possibilities far beyond what the physical realm gives us access to. I think about the Chinese and Indians, giving light to the spirituality of nature and all things under the sun, even human constructs. I think of the logicians of the last few hundred years, trying to get past to cloak of mysticism brought on by centuries of blind adherence to religion and practice. I think of the scientists of the last hundred years, trying to find the ultimate truth of the universe, and on the way tapping into the subtleties of the universe and exploiting them for what seems beneficial for mankind. The ages will never forget these waves of human intellect for probably the most simple of reasons - they helped. They helped elevate mankind to a higher, more complicated, more developed level of existence. [expand]
I think there's a part of each and every one of us that appreciates this elevation. If I were forced to quickly ascribe a purpose to the whole of human existence, I think I would have to say something along the lines of "preparing ourselves for level 8." We all know we're not going to make your way through the castle and save the princess and defeat Bowser if you're that tiny Mario that can't even jump high and has no flower power ammunition. But even with all of those at our disposal, if we have no concept of the game, without having suffered through the levels, messing with shrooms, crawling through sewers and dodging the attacks of the lesser species, we'll still be helpless at completing the game.
Likewise, our world is making fast progress at a continually accelerating rate, we're constantly equipping ourselves with 'super mario powers,' but we're all so new to the game that it's hard to know how to use them. In some aspects, there's no room for mistakes. Our society has created the most dangerous of weapons with the greatest power ever, but we're so confused as to how to use them that we've actually decided to simply point them at ourselves. It becomes the work of a select few to continually let the people know the capabilities and implications that are attached to this progress, teaching the people how to play the game properly, completing the preparation for level 8.
It would be terrific if my work was a part of this. I would be terrific if my work was a part of this.
I don't want to have a child until I'm ready to have one, in every way. I think that's about a decade away. Another 8 to 10 years ought to do me right. I don't want to wait too long although; I want to be able to play soccer with him and teach him to climb fences and duck the po-lice.
I want to be a terrific author, with a vast knowledge of my largely important subject matter. I would hate to end up as one of those writers you see on the internet each day, writing opinionated peices on subjects they scarcely understand. That I think is one of my greater fears of the future. I think the most comforting thing about credentials and acclaim is the empowerment it brings, giving you permission to pass judgement on life or at least a part. I don't want to be a self-proclaimed anything, because self-proclamation is the easiest currency in the world to buy, and the hardest to sell. I would be devastated to find out someday that for the length of my career, while I thought I was looking down at the people from my intellecual hightower - watching them mindlessly sort through their everyday lives - I was in fact gazing down on a deceptive mirror of arrogance, which was reflecting the image of the townspeople as they carry on with their lives floating high above me, mocking my ignorance.
It's hard writing about people, because ultimately all generalizations about people are false. Funny, far-reaching or insightful as they may be, generalizations will never apply to everyone - somebody will fall through the net and prove me wrong, either naturally or on purpose. It's actually pretty easy writing about myself, I could go on for days (in fact, for maybe 20 years or so) but that wouldn't be alligned with my goal. Goal, you say? Yes, I have a goal.
I want my words to be of help. I think about all the philosophy throughout the ages that has been written sometimes. I think about the Greeks writing about logic and absolute truths, in an effort to help people understand that there is a world outside of the trading of goats for coin and coin for bread, to help them understand that the realm of knowledge offers possibilities far beyond what the physical realm gives us access to. I think about the Chinese and Indians, giving light to the spirituality of nature and all things under the sun, even human constructs. I think of the logicians of the last few hundred years, trying to get past to cloak of mysticism brought on by centuries of blind adherence to religion and practice. I think of the scientists of the last hundred years, trying to find the ultimate truth of the universe, and on the way tapping into the subtleties of the universe and exploiting them for what seems beneficial for mankind. The ages will never forget these waves of human intellect for probably the most simple of reasons - they helped. They helped elevate mankind to a higher, more complicated, more developed level of existence. [expand]
I think there's a part of each and every one of us that appreciates this elevation. If I were forced to quickly ascribe a purpose to the whole of human existence, I think I would have to say something along the lines of "preparing ourselves for level 8." We all know we're not going to make your way through the castle and save the princess and defeat Bowser if you're that tiny Mario that can't even jump high and has no flower power ammunition. But even with all of those at our disposal, if we have no concept of the game, without having suffered through the levels, messing with shrooms, crawling through sewers and dodging the attacks of the lesser species, we'll still be helpless at completing the game.
Likewise, our world is making fast progress at a continually accelerating rate, we're constantly equipping ourselves with 'super mario powers,' but we're all so new to the game that it's hard to know how to use them. In some aspects, there's no room for mistakes. Our society has created the most dangerous of weapons with the greatest power ever, but we're so confused as to how to use them that we've actually decided to simply point them at ourselves. It becomes the work of a select few to continually let the people know the capabilities and implications that are attached to this progress, teaching the people how to play the game properly, completing the preparation for level 8.
It would be terrific if my work was a part of this. I would be terrific if my work was a part of this.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Laptop keyboards piss me off
It's mid-August. Nobody ever admits it but when August hits the summer is pretty much over. Pants become the executive decision as nights are cooler. Those who are wise use this time to get a jump on the school year. Back to school shopping when we were young was a way of training us for the rest of our academic lives. We ought to use this time to conclude job searching if necessary, indeed to stock up on discount school supplies, to prepare one's semester-long macroschedule, to mentally prepare oneself for the next 4 months and so on. I won't recap on my summer, it's depressing to look back. There are so many things I wanted to do that didn't get done. This post included. My fingers hurt from typing on this thing. Poor ergonomics, i think.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
It's late
I should give thanks to my friend Ronnie. I'm not sure where he got the quote, or whether it was a Ronnie original, but on his blog he once wrote something about being a writer, it went something along the lines of, "As a writer, when you're not writing, you're reading." Simple enough, but largely applicable to my state of affairs.
I think that's going to be me for awhile. Less words delivered, more words in receipt.
Before I go, I'd like to mention that the post below was written in the midst of probably the best weekend I've had all summer, so lest anyone begin to think my weekend involved me beginning to hate my friends, I must correct you by mentioning that I can't remember having as much fun with all of these guys.
On the other hand, I did spend parts of the weekend trying to read Ecce Homo by Nietzsche, and in his forward he mentioned that, "The man of knowledge not only loves his enemies but hates his friends." So either way I guess.
I think that's going to be me for awhile. Less words delivered, more words in receipt.
Before I go, I'd like to mention that the post below was written in the midst of probably the best weekend I've had all summer, so lest anyone begin to think my weekend involved me beginning to hate my friends, I must correct you by mentioning that I can't remember having as much fun with all of these guys.
On the other hand, I did spend parts of the weekend trying to read Ecce Homo by Nietzsche, and in his forward he mentioned that, "The man of knowledge not only loves his enemies but hates his friends." So either way I guess.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
From a saturday morning after drinking...
I remember in highschool we had a friend who looked like Shrek personified. He hated it when we would tease him endlessly about this relationship. I never gave him peace from this frustration, as it gave me great pleasure to point out his similarity. I suppose this entry is a way of saying that he got the last laugh.
I enjoyed teasing him about it so much because I knew then, as I know now, that in actualy I am the real Shrek. I've always felt like the big ogre in the group, and the group has always made me feel like the big ogre. The natural tendancy of my presense is to scare people away, in a regular ogre-like fashion. To compensate for the fear brought on by my oversized presence, I've armed myself with an over-developed sense of humour. With each delivery of comical genius, the ogre's ogerness is looked past, as the townspeople begin to see that their fears are unwarranted.
I don't mind mentioning at this point that in fact all of my closest friendships have been founded on this principle of motivated humour. I suppose that at the face of it there's a natural and optimistic macro-explanation for all of this. After all, everybody uses the tools afforded to them to achieve their goals - a samurai will use his sword. All the same, in the face of things, as much as my humour allows me to walk the streets of the township without fears of subsequent pitchfork attacks, I'm reminded every-so-often that I infact am not a townsperson, I remain an ogre. Subtlety is harder than most people think.
I enjoyed teasing him about it so much because I knew then, as I know now, that in actualy I am the real Shrek. I've always felt like the big ogre in the group, and the group has always made me feel like the big ogre. The natural tendancy of my presense is to scare people away, in a regular ogre-like fashion. To compensate for the fear brought on by my oversized presence, I've armed myself with an over-developed sense of humour. With each delivery of comical genius, the ogre's ogerness is looked past, as the townspeople begin to see that their fears are unwarranted.
I don't mind mentioning at this point that in fact all of my closest friendships have been founded on this principle of motivated humour. I suppose that at the face of it there's a natural and optimistic macro-explanation for all of this. After all, everybody uses the tools afforded to them to achieve their goals - a samurai will use his sword. All the same, in the face of things, as much as my humour allows me to walk the streets of the township without fears of subsequent pitchfork attacks, I'm reminded every-so-often that I infact am not a townsperson, I remain an ogre. Subtlety is harder than most people think.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
I'm an aspiring writer
I thought up an idea for a short story I could write. I'm not going to let the cat out of the bag although, so I guess sorry for all of this unnecessary suspence. I think this is one of those stories that needs to come out and just surprise everyone upon surfacing. That is, if I write it properly. In any case, I'd have to hold off on publicly announcing my idea on this blog, for fear that my someone of my myriad of readers might feel inclined to jack my shit! It was weird how I came about it although. I thought up the idea, and then as I continued to type it out on my phone, the idea just kept growing and growing. I got tired of typing it out after awhile, but the idea just kept multiplying upon itself. It'll have a coming-of-age theme to it, with definite philosophical implications. I'm probably going to start writing it later this month, and continue on during the year while I'm doing my independent study. Wish me luck.
"I'm not a writer, you're not a writer unless people are reading your shit. I'm an aspiring writer."
"I'm not a writer, you're not a writer unless people are reading your shit. I'm an aspiring writer."
I'm getting it now...
Today was a light day at the bank, we had a few phases with no customers. My coworkers at that branch are okay, but I like my mornings quiet, so I opted for quiet thought when I could. I was reflecting on how I decided that I am the type of person who needs seclusion to get over the past. I enjoy time to just kick back and detach myself from the goings on, I think that gives me the perspective that I need to get past myself - that is, the self that I refer to as my own before such time of seclusion. In any case, I came upon an immediate conclusion: I hate work mostly for this reason.
I mean, the pay could be better, and I don't enjoy standing all day, and there's nothing glamorous about customer service, but all of that I can deal with. But as much as I am tolerant towards CSR work and its woes, it's the absolute worst thing for me now. Seclusion and customer service are polar concepts. Not only must I spend my days knee-deep in social obligaitons and the like in the company that i do enjoy, but at work I spend my day chuckling to the humour of 70-90 year old european men, dealing with the frustrations of angry scammers, trying to pawn off cheques on our precious banking system and so on. My sanity is always being tested at the bank, as seclusion recedes further into unlikeliness. I don't mind the bank so much during school. I go to a branch, I spend 5 hours making deposits and verifying cheques and the million other things you can do in banking, then I come back home and return to schoolwork. Not bad, heating in the winter, air con in the summer.
That's all for now, I can feel the thoughts are coming back to me. I will resume writing in the near future... possibly in the immediate future. But for right now, I'm enjoying good conversation. Seclusion? Maybe later. But that's okay today.
I mean, the pay could be better, and I don't enjoy standing all day, and there's nothing glamorous about customer service, but all of that I can deal with. But as much as I am tolerant towards CSR work and its woes, it's the absolute worst thing for me now. Seclusion and customer service are polar concepts. Not only must I spend my days knee-deep in social obligaitons and the like in the company that i do enjoy, but at work I spend my day chuckling to the humour of 70-90 year old european men, dealing with the frustrations of angry scammers, trying to pawn off cheques on our precious banking system and so on. My sanity is always being tested at the bank, as seclusion recedes further into unlikeliness. I don't mind the bank so much during school. I go to a branch, I spend 5 hours making deposits and verifying cheques and the million other things you can do in banking, then I come back home and return to schoolwork. Not bad, heating in the winter, air con in the summer.
That's all for now, I can feel the thoughts are coming back to me. I will resume writing in the near future... possibly in the immediate future. But for right now, I'm enjoying good conversation. Seclusion? Maybe later. But that's okay today.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Quote of the Day
"It's funny how people only say that after they do something bad. I mean, you never hear somebody say, 'I'm only human' after they save a kid from a burning building or something."
-From, The United States of Leland
-From, The United States of Leland
Monday, August 01, 2005
Raindrops lead to blogging, and blogging to thinking
Raindrops...
I used to watch the raindrops fall at night. To me the pitter-patter of raindrops is the most soothing sound in the world. From my window, I would watch each drop hit the pavement underneath the streetlight in front of my house. I was at peace. I was so enthrawled by the rainfall that I would lower my guard and accept the world for a change. Later I began to have a passing fear that a monster would startle me during my rest and exploit my embrace of the rainfall, using this opportunity to prey on me. Only sometimes although, when my mind was plagued with submerged fears. I loved how the rain would sometimes beat down on the city, everything else would hault. For an hour maybe it would be just the rain and the earth, then the rain would let up and the cars would drive around through the wet streets. Streaking through the fallen rain, the puddles would play a symphony of nature, the storm was over. That was nice, but back to work.
Blogging...
I haven't blogged in a couple weeks. I haven't written much otherwise all summer. The answer to why can be found in my post on conviction.
Thinking...
I'm thinking it's late.
I used to watch the raindrops fall at night. To me the pitter-patter of raindrops is the most soothing sound in the world. From my window, I would watch each drop hit the pavement underneath the streetlight in front of my house. I was at peace. I was so enthrawled by the rainfall that I would lower my guard and accept the world for a change. Later I began to have a passing fear that a monster would startle me during my rest and exploit my embrace of the rainfall, using this opportunity to prey on me. Only sometimes although, when my mind was plagued with submerged fears. I loved how the rain would sometimes beat down on the city, everything else would hault. For an hour maybe it would be just the rain and the earth, then the rain would let up and the cars would drive around through the wet streets. Streaking through the fallen rain, the puddles would play a symphony of nature, the storm was over. That was nice, but back to work.
Blogging...
I haven't blogged in a couple weeks. I haven't written much otherwise all summer. The answer to why can be found in my post on conviction.
Thinking...
I'm thinking it's late.
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