Timelessness

Currently listening to:
Soft Music Under Stars
Fila Brazillia

I am finally stuck in the present, though not stuck in a bad way. It could be due to exhaustion and lack of days off but my focus isn't going into the past much and the far future is left alone. What caught my attention is how I have been told that each new location we go to is not as bad as the last, or at least not as difficult as the first Oklahoma site. I noticed that I can't remember how difficult the previous sites were or exactly why Chickasaw was the hardest. Each new place we go seems to be the most difficult, maybe in its own way. When I'm done with work each day, I return to the hotel room and just lay in bed watching the food channel, but of course I can't sleep and get rest. This is the way my days are and there's a timeless feel about them. So I guess all this amounts to living in the present.

Once we arrive at the next place in Colorado there will be more to do. We will be taking three days off once the site is done but before we go to New Mexico. I think we're visiting some caves and cliff dwellings and maybe the Great Sand Dunes. It will be fun to go back there.

I really like the movie Last Holiday with Queen Latifah. I've seen it on TV many times and it always makes me smile, but I never knew the title of the movie until tonight.

Photographing Prices

While driving, the first concern is gas. I've been in a few situations where my tank ran dangerously low because I kept passing stations with ridiculous prices. For instance, the other day I passed a station selling gas for 3.90/gallon when the area is anywhere between 3.35-3.50/gallon. And in those times every station sticks out as a possible stopping point.

It's important to note that, at high speeds, out of business gas stations look very much like an in business station having a slow day. And then the sign is seen, "unleaded - 1.65," and the heart beats faster at the prospect of finding the cheapest gas in the nation that everyone else somehow did not see. But it's closed. I find it fascinating that more isn't done to make these stations look more unavailable and then I had the idea of making a visual timeline.

Imagine someone traveling the nation photographing old abandoned gas stations, and then arranging the photographs in the order of the dates of their closings. We would then be able to see the fluctuations of that market. Each station is a little time capsule. I know there's probably some paper listing gas prices over time, but this seemed like a more creative way to show it.

Soon To Leave Oklahoma

Currently listening to:
I Wish That You Didn't Feel Like My Home
Matt the Electrician

I haven't had much internet access lately; currently, at this small motel in Oklahoma I can't get onto their internet because my computer is picky about what password protected networks it will let me connect with. It's a pain and I can't wait to get a new computer in a few years, when they are even smarter, or whatever. So once in a while I can get a connection with some unprotected network, which isn't great to do so I keep it to a minimum.

Some things I've seen on the road are a skunk, two horses side by side, donkies and layered clouds. I don't think I've ever seen a skunk in the wild and I made sure I didn't hit it lest the area smell like some of the best pot Kansas has ever smelled. The two horses that were exactly next to each other, facing the highway, caught my attention because they were almost like two people you would see in a coffee shop. I wondered what they were thinking and talking about as they watched the far-in between cars pass. It's interesting to see animals positioned like that or facing opposite directions right next to each other; I wonder what it's all about. I have to say I don't like Oklahoma's weather at all, nor their rules or higher prices; however, the state does have pretty awesome skies. The clouds I saw yesterday were layered as if I could be on one and step down like a staircase. The clouds are kind of like a flip book, where each page I turn adds more clouds at a different elevation and distance. It's a pretty awesome sight; I've taken several sky pictures since beginning my job, maybe not as much as I should have.

When we were leaving getting into Oklahoma again, I had an encounter with a sheriff. We were told that cops sometimes pulled government vehicles over because of the odd license plates and lack of an insurance windshield sticker. So this sheriff followed us a bit, then got into my blind spot and stayed there, I assume he was checking out the plate number. After ten minutes since seeing him, he pulled along side and waved, then drove off. I like to think people notice the government license plate and change their behavior accordingly, as if I could really do something about their speeding. I don't think most notice anyway.

It's pretty lonely out here without someone my age to talk with. I did have a good conversation with a guy that works at Washita. He had an aneurism and stroke at a young age and went into a coma, but can't remember any dreams or anything. We talked about rain harvesting and gardens and artificial body parts and why engineers didn't try to recreate the whole instead of just parts. We talked about some literature written by people who have experiences bodily malfunction and were able to write about it as it happened. I later heard from my boss that he was impressed with me. It takes a conversation to bring forth all the little bits of information collected in the back of your mind.

So now I'm quite tipsy. Across the street from the motel is a "liquor store" and, being Oklahoma, it was expensive. I still bought a small flask of three year old whiskey called Canadian Hunter. I don't really like whiskey but wanted to try this and it's smoother than some other cheap whiskey I've tried. Today is just one of those days I don't want to be around Jill or anyone and just want to relax and make a microwave dinner. Andrew suggested a game where I have to say what I'm hunting every time I take a shot: like "I'm hunting WOLVES" or the like.

Lost At Sea

Currently listening to:
Tonight I Have To Leave It
Shout Out Louds

I am an oasis. There is something about me that attracts certain people, and sometimes their friends. Many times, however, their friends do not understand or mesh with me. At that point, the relationship is given to certain limitations and I feel my access to their life is diminished while I, free-floating, remain open and welcome. And then I am an oasis.

If I Had An Orchard I'd Work 'Til I'm Sore

Skin pulled taut over the frame of a hand
baked, punctured, bumpy from irritation
silver ring turned black from hours of sweat.
The sun overhead boiling a pot of atmosphere
droplets of humidity excited by the heat
singe skin on contact.
Temporary home
with the cushioned bench by the window
facing a cemetery.

Tomorrow I head out for Kansas. It should be an easier park since there are only eight transects to do and they supposedly mowed and burned much of the area. We're staying in the housing at Fort Larned since they have the facilities and we're working for the government. However, it's likely the case that there won't be any internet to connect with; that and the rooming quarters are shared, so there is reason to hurry along. The first full day there is a day off, finally, but I've been told there isn't much to do there. I like sitting outside, looking at every little thing and nothing at the same time, anyway.
I need to write and send more postcards but it's hard to find the energy and I feel like I'm not deep enough into this living on the road to have anything particular to say about it.

First Week

It kind of feels like the first month is over already yet I've only been on the job three days, after training. Right now I'm in Oklahoma at Chickasaw. They tell me this is the worst park due to the heat and humidity and the way all the transects are - in dense vegetation. Originally we were supposed to leave for Kansas on Friday, but now it looks like I'll be there Saturday. I decided to take pictures of all the places I'm staying. I've been cut, rashed, stung, and stabbed by the environment out here. My hands looked very damaged by the end of today from chiggers and sweat; it's hard work.

I'm really tired and tomorrow we're going to try to do three transects, hopefully. Jill plans ahead with me on what we will do, then over thinks it and changes it based on what she wants to do. She micromanages herself. We are getting faster at completing transects but today we left at six and didn't start working until nine because the sites were hard to find and she wanted to go back and forth on the same paths. I think a true field leader needs to be even-minded, fit enough to handle a full day of work, not constantly make excuses and take responsibility.

I need to stop ranting all the time.

LBJ Grassland

Today we finished training at the LBJ grasslands, culminating in the completion of two transects. I learned a lot more plants and have done every part of the surveying we will be doing. Jill was a little snappy and tried to make an argument about an efficient way of doing something when we're almost done with a transect - tying up pvc pipes while the other is still working with theirs rather than keeping the rope packed until all pipes are together - and I called her out on it. The boss said she just didn't get as much sleep and was tired, but Jill also tried to excuse any future time she gets upset or angry as her being a woman who has a period. While that may be part of it, I think that's bullshit and there's no reason to let negative emotions affect the work we have to do. I've been here as long as she has and she's gotten flustered at least once a day while I haven't felt any negative emotions since I arrived.
She's also diabetic but ate a whole quart of iced cream in one night, drinks diet soda everyday, eats so much shit (junk food isn't food, but she also eats as much as I did when I was a teenager), and moans constantly as if she can't handle mornings. Suffice to say, I knew from the first day we worked together we would butt heads. The rest of the stuff is me and I admit it; she's just too much of an exaggerated mom for me.

In other news, they made an artificial heart using a rotor-motor which keeps blood moving continuously. It has not clogged or broke in any test subjects and so is considered to be better than any of the pulsing artificial hearts. This means that in anyone that gets the new heart, there is no heartbeat or pulse because blood is continuously pushed through. While this is slightly strange, what is also curious is what happens when someone using the heart is frightened or stressed. I don't know exactly what happens but it's the first thing I thought about when I read the article. I guess the blood would flow faster since normally a heart would beat faster.

First Day

Woke up at six today and went to a little bakery. We went to LBJ grasslands and, after a while, found the transect rebar and I went through the process of setting up the tapes. We only did one plot out of five, which is a fraction of a fraction of the work that must be done, but I feel like we made good time given that it was our first day and I'm totally new to it. I think they're happy with how I'm doing. I don't know a ton of names but I'm good at spotting plants that are passed over. I found the only poison ivy plot in the area. I can't escape that stuff.

My poison ivy is healing well, finally. I think the key is roughing it up and hurting it, then using the medicine so it really gets in.
Jill seems to get flustered easily when under the sun. I forget I'm with older people who need to be out of the sun once in a while. I was out there the whole time and only found it difficult when the sun was directly overhead, making everything almost to bright to see and make out details; everything gets super-real. So I think Jill may be bothersome to me eventually, though I won't show it, or course. She also farts loudly, then apologizes. I don't think people are really sorry when they do something and immediately apologize; if they were really sorry they wouldn't do it to begin with. I don't really like that aspect, it's just abrupt.

Marble Falls

Today I drove down to Marble Falls to my boss's house. She looks similar to what I pictured in my mind, an older Roseanne sort of woman. I met Jill, my partner intern, who is much older than I expected, perhaps around my mom's age. The drive was longer than I expected because of the constant traffic leaving Dallas. It was a pretty twisty route.

Jill had done this internship last summer and she and Tomye regaled me with tales of the last plant survey team and how one of the guys had hooked up with one of the young interpretation interns at one site (who always happen to be female). They suggested I might have some fun like that as well. I wonder how one of those young girls might interpret me. All in all, these ladies are pretty laid back, like I could talk about anything around them.

Tomorrow we wake up around eight, which apparently is any old time, to discuss all the aspects of the job. Then we head out to the LBJ grasslands on Tuesday, waking up early at six (I thought eight was early!) and doing one transect. We only have to do two slowly to get the procedure down and that will take us to Wednesday or Thursday, followed by a wrap-up. Everyone is very nice. I hope I live up to expectations.

Shadows in Bloom

Currently listening to:
I Know You Don't Love Me
Peter Bjorn and John

I know that I am a good person because of how calm and gentle I am, even when under the influence of a substance. Any mask can be worn by day-to-day but all that is stripped away with inhibition. That's when you know your true self. I'm pretty pleased with me, but I wish that could be in the day-to-day..

New Thought on Drugs

While listening to the new song "Some Boys" by Death Cab I had a thought. Perhaps things become addictive or dangerous when they are used to fill a hole in one's life. I was thinking about alcohol and drugs in my life and I realized that there is a particular mood in which I do things like that. Perhaps that's why I feel safe doing all I do, I'm not doing them to replace something missing in my life. I don't know, I think that's all I thought.

Tribute to a Live Oak

He lived closest to the house, the one that was abandoned. The old-style red brick facade and the concrete patio enclosed on two sides beginning to crack. Tall, unmanicured bushes began on the exposed side of the patio and continued to the end of the house, blocking the bottom half of the windows from view. The backyard was overgrown with power lines drooping almost to the ground and isolated trees that seemed too out-competed to grow any bigger. The front yard was kept in check sporadically, enough to avoid city fines. On those days, the yard stood out starkly from the shoddy house and decomposing fence.

It wasn't always abandoned, but it was as good as abandoned. The house used to be lived in by an old woman who was never seen. Only the daughter was seen once in a while, to see her mother and to make sure the lawn was cut regularly. It usually was. The old woman died while he was still at home and he was told a family in Highland Park, the old-money neighborhood that thought itself separate from the city that surrounded it, had bought the house after the daughter had had it for a few years. Apparently the family had bought the house for their high school child, to be passed over upon completion of college. So the house was as good as abandoned, with little difference from before except the extended neglect. Perhaps this was for the best because on the small parcel of land, in front of the unkempt house, was a prize rarely seen within city neighborhoods.

A tree left to its own natural devices; huge with lengthy limbs growing outward, falling almost to the ground with weight, and curving back up to take advantage of the sun. The tree grew as if meant for climbing, and like a staircase one could go up one side of the tree and come down the other. Once, he clamored up one side and rested. Above him there was a chattering and he realized a squirrel was already to the top, wanting to go down but unsure of which path kept the most distance between it and him. Another time he met a cat in the branches; and yet another time he climbed to the top during a light rain and watched all the colors change.

Apart from natural encounters, he also had human ones within the tree. Religious speakers shared words with him from below. A few people have noticed him up in the branches but kept going with their daily routine. One person joined him, though; a best friend. She was the only other person he took into the tree. It was where they got to know each other more and the second time, it was where they kissed. After the kiss, he sat in the branch asking what they should do next and not hearing a word of it. She was blocked in by him and looked at him expectantly. He mumbled some excuse about a toll she should pay to pass and he could swear she rolled her eyes, but kissed him anyway. Still he did not move, wanting to freeze time on the tree, to hold the situation and keep it around a little longer. She pushed him down.

Suffice to say, he had an attachment to the tree, and still does. Though, now it has all changed, as all things do change. The Highland Park connection disappeared, taxes stopped being paid, and the house was auctioned off. Crews started showing up, kicking out the animal residents of the house, tearing down the fence, and butchering the tree. A tree left to its own accord will create the most beautiful living art; however, this comes at the cost of not being easily manipulated by humans. A newborn tree under constant scrutiny can take many forms, of which many look appealing; but once a tree has set its own path, it can only be scarred and mutilated. And so this tree still stands and lives with countless fresh stumps exposed all over its body. No one will easily climb into its arms and nestle into its crooks again. The new owners probably have no children anyway, let alone taste, respect.

A Past Project

I tried to look for the legal pad I started writing on for the project I started when I met Dandelion. I can't find it, it's not with the loose leaf material I packed. I remember bringing it back to work on during Winter break, but that's it. Even that could be a fake memory - I don't know. This kind of freaks me out because it's a token of the time and I feel like it had a lot of good material in it, a sort of plot line to follow. I guess I'll have to reread what I've already written and go from there on a fresh start...

The Problem With Writing

It's difficult for me to finish writing projects I start, large ones I mean. I'm a pretty slow worker and writing means taking myself out of the world. I cannot take in the world and, at the same time, place it in another medium. So by writing something that takes much time, I lose that time and miss whatever I would have taken in otherwise. Even when not out and about, when I'm just sitting in my room, I'm seeing things on the computer from all over the world that I wouldn't normally see. Most of the time I'm just a black hole taking in the world around me. I do feel like I should finish something some day.

The Past Is the Past

I'm undertaking a big step in my life. Every time I go back to school, it is with fewer things and then I come home and am in a filled room. I get used to the sparse living and the clutter bothers me; so the past couple summers I have been trying to get rid of my childhood, so to speak. This summer marks the biggest change. Before I do my first internship in something completely foreign, I'll basically be cutting ties with most of my past. Prior to now, I cleaned out my computer of past saved conversations with old girlfriends and high school diary, as well as my hobby of collecting news stories and information of suicide. Then I removed many of my childhood toys. Now I'm fully getting rid of my old toys and some books and clothes. I just microwaved my CD conversations with my psychologist from high school - letting go of a past me without ever revisiting it. Old summer camp art projects will be photographed and trashed. I need to stop living in the past, stop focusing on the future, recognize the present. I think this is the best way to transition myself, to what I don't know. It will help my parents when they move and I'm in the Peace Corps, anyway.

No regrets.

Things I Wrote

Aug. 19, 2003:
"My mind went dumb with stupid things, and I had to keep it moving with dreams of baseball and would-be-girlfriends."

"I had to daydream and keep my mind busy because boredom was a terror almost as aweful as the work itself."

Nov. 2002:
"It was a calm day at school when suddenly, RING! BANG! POP! All the kids knew that those bells meant there was a fire, killer ant, and radioactive chicken alert. Every kid ran to their locker and browsed through their suits. But which suit should they wear? So they put all three suits on. First, the fire burned away the killer ant suit. Second, the radioactive chickens pecked away the fire suit. Third, the killer ants chewed away the radioactive chicken suit. And finally, all three forces destroyed the kids."

Sept. 23, 2002:
"I was flying high above the sky; soaring with the birds. When suddenly there was a boom! Blood dripped down my arm, when suddenly. I woke up. I was on the top floor of the Empire State building. I leaned against the rail when suddenly a kid pushed me! I was falling at top speed when suddenly... I woke up. I was a file in a computer. The cursor dragged me to the recycling bin and emptied it when suddenly... I woke up. I was standing in a burning building. All exits were blocked by fire. I waited to wake up, but I never did."

Feb. 21, 2003:
"In conclusion, blah blah rippety-snippety blah bling blang blah blah blah. You will notice that I said the word "blah" and some other zangy words, that is because this topic is slow and sluggish. I dislike this topic."

Just a Kid

It's been a while since I've last posted and much has happened, as always, but most of it slipped my mind. To sum up, there was a camping trip with some of the guys and it was very cold. Andrew decided it was better to make a fire rather than put a sweater on, so we were tied down to the camp spot and suddenly used up the wood we had collected before the sun had even set. I'm don't think certain people would survive in a primitive situation, especially when they walk around a grocery store hung over and leave empty-handed despite having no food for the trip.
Anyway, I was able to snag another hit of acid before the trip, so I took two hits. It was kind of like bloomers except without the emotional ending and the desire to go back; it was on and then off, sort of like how salvia is described. Certainly it was more productive, bloomers tend to incapacitate in the way that you can't write down most of what you think because they're emotions at the core, I suppose. At night we smoked and drank, but I just couldn't get drunk for some reason, no matter how much I took. It was a pretty fun farewell event before finals.
Finals were pretty terrible; I only felt positive about a couple of them and the rest have turned out average as I expected. I just want to graduate.
Then I did the fifteen hour drive home. I didn't think about a whole lot this time so it was kind of lame. There were a couple one-lane highway situations where the other lane was being repaired. I chatted with a couple workers and posed the question of what they would do if they received no calls and no next shift came to relieve them. Despite being in the middle of nowhere, they didn't seem too worried. I might make a play about that or something, sort of a Waiting for Godot sort of thing.
Last night some of my old friends came over and brought everclear and some fruit punch from a Mexican grocery store. We passed that wine around and then a bong and we were all messed up and jovial. I haven't been that messed up since I started CSU; it felt good to let loose and laugh for no reason. Rebekah told me she stopped doing drugs to learn things, about herself of the world, and now just does them to feel something different and get messed up. Well, she didn't use those exact words so some of that may not be true. But I thought about what she said and realized that while I still feel I have things to learn, recently it has been more about feeling messed up and I want to feel it more, but not in a totally self-destructive way. I've been thinking about this idea of doing a certain order or amount or frequency of things to initiate some sort of reality shift.
Today I went to see Dandelion. She was helping Josh with his hair and we played Jenga and watched the Office. I haven't played a game like that in a while. Adian came home from work and he seemed about the same, though I didn't really know what to say to him, or really anyone, today. It was his birthday recently, or maybe today so Kasey was going to make some birthday dinner and do laundry, so Josh and I got kicked out. She seemed pretty eager to do laundry.

In Another's Shoes

Once in a while I dress in tatters;

the pants that lost their blue
leaving skeleton threads of white-
but not from activity, I know,
the threads never broke.

The second-hand shirt,
too big or too small
with missing buttons
and shrunken collar.

The shoes, scratched and stained
from abrasive ice and salt,
the leather worn smooth
and the soles worn uneven.

Within a coffee shop I try to order
and they look over me and inquire
The days of store credit are over.
But I have what they desire.

The paper that is not quite paper
and little disks a drop spread out.

Personality Test

Often concerned with right and wrong, and punctilious in expressing it, you are best represented by the Customs Agent or the IRS inspector. Initially seen by others as cold or uncaring, you are difficult for those more spontaneous members of society to understand. You are extremely stable, responsible and dependable. You manifest an amazing ability to concentrate on the issue at hand, and are difficult to distract from issues that are important. You manifest a great sense of loyalty to your employers and your government. You tend to show love through a display of committed works, believing that actions speak louder than words. You are also resistant to change and tend to believe that the old ways are best. If a behavior has been successful in the past, why would anyone want to change? You work best in a controlled environment.

I'd be interested to hear the results of others: http://www.hypnoid.com/psytest2.html?utm_source=Sailthru&utm_medium=email&utm_term=Very%20Short%20List%20-%20Daily&utm_campaign=VSL

Ray

There comes a time
A time in everyone's life
Where lovin' seems to go away
When nothin' seems to turn out right

There may come a time
You just can't seem to find your place
For every door you open
Seems like you get two slammed in your face

That's when you need, someone
Someone that you, you can hold
When all your faith is gone
Feels like you can't go home

Let it be me
Let it be me
If it's a friend, that you need
Let it be me
Let it be me

Feels like you always comin' up last
Pockets full of nothin', ain't got no cash
No matter where you turn, you ain't got no place to stand
You reach out for somethin', and they slap your hand

I remember all too well
Just how it feels to be all alone
Feels like you give anything
For just a little place you can call your own

That's when you need, someone
Someone that you, you can hold
When all your faith is gone
Feels like you can't go home

Let it be me
Let it be me
If it's a friend, you need
Let it be me
Let it be me

Let it be me
Let it be me
If it's a friend, you need
Let it be me
Let it be me
Let it be me

Yellow Country Teeth

"...a child with a shotgun can shoot down honeybees that sting, but this boy could use a little sting."

Kid

If I ever have a child, I think I'll plant a tree for them to grow up with.

In My Mind

I think about the people I know or have seen and I make up stories about them, and me. I love, fight, sustain friendships, and spend my whole life with people. In this way, in real life, I get very close to people or keep them at a faraway distance. The funny thing is people aren't even aware of this and the stories become memories that can confuse me, and eventually they fade like many memories do. It's also interesting to note that, while I get closer to people or sustain friendships this way, I'm doing so with my last memory of the person. I haven't yet been totally shocked when meeting with someone I had old memories of, but I have the feeling it's going to happen soon - people can't help but change.

When you ran outside with your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied

Currently listening to:
Casimir Pulaski Day
Sufjan Stevens

I thought about this post half of the day but between there and now I've been involved with some people which broke the steady mood I had been thinking in to that moment. Rather than just throw down the good fragments, I'm going to try and make this as flowy and conducive as I can. I kind of wonder what point there is in conversation these days, with all the catch-up recorded somewhere online. It's all third person these days.

I was watching people today out the big bay window of an alcove in this building I would have class in. Windows are nice because it's like looking at a movie screen or some moving photograph. I like to imagine the lives of the people I see: where they go home at night and what their evening routines are, who they are going to meet and how they interact with them and if they would be interested in me, what their hopes and dreams are, and so on. There are so many little stories out there.

Today has been a sad sort of day, a desire to meet new people sort of day, or picnic with old friends. People just keep looking at me; maybe it's my hair. I think there's a correlation between hunger and despair; when hunger is present, despair begins to increase, but there's some peak point where despair continues to increase but hunger suddenly decreases. It's a dangerous correlation. I remember a time in high school when I had it and my parents worried about me. Today wasn't as bad as back then.

In statistics I got a quiz back and got 100% and my eyes started to tear up. I thought to myself, why do my teachers keep giving me these numbers, which probably sounds silly since it will really help my grade out. It's just not what I really want or need. I wish my teachers would put their hand on my shoulder and lead me outside and tell me there's more to life than all this, even though this is all I've known so far. They would take me to their homes which would be tastefully old-fashioned with translucent drapes over the lamps casting patterns on the walls, and they would have a big radio that would be the main fixture of the living room. We would go to their patio outback where the grass hasn't been mowed in a few weeks and the potted tomato plants would be perky with the recent rain. The paint would be chipping and the bricks would be cracked, but we'd drink tea and discuss why things are the way they are and why we feel the way we do.
It was during this that I realized I no longer enjoy school. Maybe it's just a temporary feeling produced from a year of classes I have to take but that I have no interest in. I figured out my schedule for next semester and took it a step farther by listing every class I need to graduate. If there are no conflictions with time and I get into every class I need and if one class is suddenly offered in the fall instead of spring, I'll graduate in three semesters and be out of here. But that's a lot of ifs.

I've been dreaming of the American Dream lately. I've got so much school work that keeps rolling in and it's all harder than I'm used to now that I'm in the upper level classes and it makes me worry a lot more about the uncertainty of summer. I'm working hard to get the summer nailed down, but there are too many other people trying to do the same thing. How thin can the American Dream stretch? I get caught in the cycle of needing experience to get a good internship and needing a good internship to get experience. If I can't get an internship I hope I at least find a farm/ranch I can work and live within.

Boogidy

Eyes cascade and hold
walking through plazas
no distance
what they see in me
I do not see
what they see in me
they cross away
steady smile accompany
steady eyes
what a creep
something strange about-
that peaceful face
what's behind
sheep afraid with nothing but sheep
walking through plazas
no distance
trotting away

Can't Judge By the Cover

Since my first alone lunch with Kristin, who I thought would be a new friend, I haven't seen her. I took it to mean she didn't want me bothering her since she stopped coming to her usual lunch spot all together. I saw her tonight after I'd finished eating and I couldn't tell if she was surprised to see me, she just gave me a side glance and a meek smile and walked past me. As I left I looked over at where she was eating alone and she was looking at her phone and smiling.

Journey Round My Skull

Recently I've been having this soreness in the back of my head, feels like the lower left side of my skull. To the touch it doesn't feel asymmetrical from the other side, meaning there's no bump or anything. It's sort of a dull pain when I touch it. I've been getting plenty of sleep so I don't think it's a lack of rest thing, but when it gets later in the evening it seems to become more pronounced and I start feeling pretty lethargic.
I think around the same time the pain started I began seeing flashes. I'll be working on my computer and out of the corner of my eye I'll see this sparkle, and when I focus my sight on it all that's there is a tiny scrap of paper or something else that's white. It can be annoying and distracting. I could be wrong about it starting up when my head started hurting. I hope they aren't related and my brain is inflating and pressing on my skull or something. That would be a bother.
I think the soreness is getting better, though. At least I'm able to touch the spot more easily now.

I Still Will

Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

- Charles Warnke

General Malaise

Currently listening to:
Casiotone for the Painfully Alone

I just found this band today. They have some of the saddest songs I've heard in a while. The repetitive melody and strained vocals really fit the mood. I've been feeling strange this weekend. Last night I drank with friends and we smoked and I felt happy and a sense of well-being, then people went on their own way for the weekend and I couldn't go camping like I'd planned because the weather became colder and threatened to snow, as it always does when there is time to do something other than school.
I dream the long meaningful dreams I have these days and wake up groggy like the characters in movies when life isn't going their way, only I don't smoke a cigarette and rub my slightly unshaven face.
I have homework to do and a test to prepare for, yet I don't want to do these things. I didn't pass my second phone interview and am more uncertain about whether I'll have something meaningful to do this summer. Everything feels so fragile right now and I may just blow away. These are times for becoming stone and watching one scene for a long stretch of time.

Types of Perception Distortion

Currently listening to:
Young Adult Friction
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart

1. The Fun House: Described by a friend. In the broad scape of seeing all things, certain things will stand out depending on the state of the person. You look at a desk and see what is pertinent to you at the time. In different states of self you will notice what you normally pass over. The smallest details will be the most interesting.

2. The Pop-up Book: Similar to the Gallery, everything appears flat, but there are layers. Shakespeare wrote, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." The world appears to be a set and if you remain a part of the audience it would be no different than the Gallery except for the curiosity as to what exactly is behind each two-dimensional piece. As an actor, the set can be explored; each new location is another page turned in the Pop-up Book.

3. The Natural Way: Patterns of the ground reveal paths that would not normally stand out in such a way. Strips of dead grass surrounded by green, lines of gold leaves just fallen from a tree, ruts. Patterns in nature which someone once noticed and permanently replicated with concrete and metals. These are the paths less taken or subconsciously taken.

4. Forest Patterns: I have only experienced this in places of thick vegetation or trees; this is a branch off the Natural Way. Some aspects are seen at any time: a line around tree trunks, like belts that connect into one long line at a distance, for example. This differs from the Natural Way because the paths are not necessarily always present; the paths are presented by the forest, or so it seems, as if it is guiding each person towards something it wants them to see. The paths I see often lead to clearings centered on something.

5. The Gallery: Sitting back, the world before you appears flat and slightly fuzzy. What you see is almost like a giant painting, remaining the same in all directions. It is almost as if you and those around you are in a gallery, totally removed, looking at various pieces, commenting on them.

At the Ashram

I had this idea when we were being told about demons that come into the world to wreak havoc and the Sacred Mother is the one who disposes of them rather than the Babaji of the time. So I was thinking about demons that came down with evil intentions but got distracted - because our planet has so many. It's the opposite spectrum of Edward Sharpe's idea of the prophet who comes down to guide humanity but gets distracted by girls and love.

Spring Break

I began the break by going on a floor trip to the Great Sand Dunes. We had a good group going and it was pretty fun. I hiked mountains and the sands and we visited a place called Creststone which was one large parcel of land split up amongst anyone with a religion they wanted to represent, so it's thought of as a zone of spiritual energy. We stayed in park ranger housing; from a window i could see both mountains and the dunes depending on the angle I looked from.

I got back to the dorms Tuesday and have been enjoying the quiet despite my hoped for plans of another experience with drugs. The break has gone by so quickly, I'm dreading the beginning of classes again, especially since I'll have an additional class starting. So I've just been eating and watching movies. I took my car in for a recall deal, reformatted my computer, and I'll write postcards and do homework.
I did hear back about the interview I did for an internship. Forty people applied for five positions; I'm not one of them. The other four internships I put my application in for never really took off the ground. It's interesting, talking about it with my parents, they were so assured I'd get one of them as if I were overqualified educationally. I'm just another student, perhaps one that doesn't know how to interview over the phone, and there are a lot of people out there. It really puts things in perspective; I'm not that special. So I will be looking at newly posted internships tomorrow and hopefully I'll get one before summer.

Dreamt

I've been having vivid dreams lately, strange ones. It seems the melatonin is becoming variable because not all my dreams are like this, though I have started taking it every night rather than stopping on the weekends, to avoid the hangover effect of the hormone.
I forget these dreams because I stop thinking about them which is why I'm writing this one here. I believe I had two dreams last night, and this isn't strange but for the fact that each was at the same location and yet not.

The first scene took place in a large mansion and all I remember is that it was a rugged old home and that I had some purpose within it.
The second scene took place outdoors in a mid-depth pool of clear, still water. Looking one direction showed me the mansion a little way off and looking the other way showed me an orange-red marmalade sky of a setting sun. A little grassy distance on every side ended abruptly as if the location were on a cliff or it was floating in the air.
Mikenzie, a small girl in my hall with an attractive pixie cut, was there and looked quite cat-like. She had these sharp claws that dug into me and hurt me. There was someone or something else there that told me things, like the fact that Mikenzie was cat girl and evil and had nine lives. I picked up bits that reminded me that within the house I fought many evil characters, and Mikenzie was the last. I can't remember who the hinter was or why it was there.
The only thing I had at my disposal was the pool, so I drowned Mikenzie many times as she scratched back. Suddenly, though, everything went melodramatic and the setting sun became even deeper, the hinter was farther in the background, and Mikenzie was laying in my arms looking up at me with innocent eyes, as is shown in many movies. She said that she was evil and had to die and so was resigned to it. I started to cry because I really didn't want to take her last life, and so I held her to me, and she said it had to be done. I kept crying as I started lowering her without resistance to the water and the sun kept setting. Then I woke up.

I've been tired all day. I think I wanted to keep dreaming to see what would have happened next.

Zadig

"When one is loved by a beautiful woman, says the great Zoroaster, one always gets out of trouble in the world."

Class

I see couples in my classes that always sit together as if they planned their schedules to have the same class. I hate those classes.

Shifting Realities

Everyday this semester, and it's felt like many more days than it has actually been, I've told myself that I'm just a ghost here. I'm seen but unseen. I think I'm touching peoples' lives or at least making some kind of impression and yet I feel I could so easily just disappear off the map. I will be graduating soon enough and that will happen, and before then I'll be in an apartment which I could see being a sort of womb in which I could spend a lot of my time.
I suppose it's a sort of Donnie Darko-esque idea; being a part of the lives of people in one reality and, in another reality where you didn't interact with those people, they still feel you. Sort of a ghost in that respect. It's a strange idea to be fading from one reality into another. I feel like a disconnect from reality could cause me to disappear in which case this ghost presence in others' lives would be felt.

This sounded clearer and more poetic when I was writing it in my head hours ago.

****
On another note, I've gone to a sustainable development club meeting, which started the only organic garden on campus, and a horticulture club meeting. The people there are interesting and older... maybe my sort? I went to another horticulture club meeting and we found out the club greenhouse has mealy bugs, which are apparently impossible to get rid off. So those whole club stock of propagation had to be thrown away, pots and all. Some plants seemed to be free of them so they were submerged in neen oil which suffocated all air spaces within pot and plant without harming the plant somehow. It's sad that so many plants died from this, but funny because when I asked about recruitment the guys said members couldn't really take plants they want yet today I gained seven plants! Further, the whole bay of the greenhouse has to be burned. Flamethrowers will be brought in and the earth will literally be scorched.

There's No Smile of an Angel Without the Wrath of God

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PWaZ9yg_LQ4

Something I Never Published

Sometimes I wonder if I could actually perform in a job in the field I'm heading into. I struggle with completing tasks outdoors because I'm so overwhelmed and over calmed by the atmosphere of the natural world. I have a hard time concentrating with the wind wrapping her arms around me and the trees casting their scents to me. I would have to overcome the liberal arts tendencies to complete a scientific job. Sometimes I think I'm going into my major to get a job which would give me material for my liberal arts hobbies.

Good Dream Place

The place that feels best and that I would like to revisit someday is within an RV. Compact living is fun, especially when mobile, and the limited space allows you to only keep what you need. You have to choose your possessions wisely. I have a memory of being in the very cramped bathroom of an RV, after a shower. I was toweling off when I opened the very small window that befits such a small room. Through this tiny peephole I glimpsed the park we were camped in and the shady breeze of Summer came in and gave me goosebumps. It smelled of juniper.

Another Snowy Day

Currently listening to:
I Was a Landscape in Your Dream
Of Montreal

He was the sort of boy the cold clung to, like a pretty girl draping her arms over his shoulders from behind. The sort all boys fall into. His jacket is an adequate shield, but she slowly sinks in anyway, given time. The moisture within him bubbles up and out, intermingling with snow which blows back onto his eyelashes and stitches his eyes closed. Blind as the first day in his world, though perhaps more so; more drained and flickering, moving as a mummy. And poor cold, the girl that clings to the sort that can be clung to, is left alone. Shields have been reinvented and shelters have gone up that constantly provide warmth - places she cannot survive in cut off from her whole. So she waits outside a building entered by someone she was with, waiting for another. Always with someone new.

My Jacket

A small girl and large boy
in a room of trapped heat
everyone heavy, looking forward
she leans on his sleepy form
and doesn't stay still
and vibrates like a young bird
or rabbit in restlessness
they sneak a kiss

I've been told my jacket is too big for me, it's obviously many sizes bigger than me. I like its largeness and how it flows around me, like being within a home outside of home. I can keep possessions inside and maybe even sit down to tea within it. Its extra spaces capture extra heat and coze me. It has room for two.

New Friend

Currently listening to:
Little Deschutes
Laura Veirs

I'm learning all these maths and sciences which are all very impressive. Somehow humans figured out patterns and cause and effect within how things work. Numbers and symbols which arrange into equations that seem to govern processes and produce the correct answer. How can we be so smart and consider truth in the results shown by an instrument made only to the best of our ability and understanding. I need some particular information so I make a machine that feeds me something I take to be the answer, since that's why the machine was made after all. Just because what we call truth and laws of nature work doesn't mean that's the way it is; there are many ways to an answer and we don't know which one is more correct.

I met a girl today. Actually I had seen her before, in the new cafeteria I eat at most of the week for lunch. She has this messy short brown hair and dresses like students at prestigious schools from those older movies, the ones that lay in the shade discussing and smoking pipes. I was too nervous to make eye contact with her long enough to see what color they are. I've noticed her a couple times and she only eats alone with a school binder open by her lunch. I figured she was older and my lunch buddies said I should talk to her, but I've just never been able to force anything like that. However, I mentioned her and how she looked interesting in my think-I'm-quiet-but-actually-loud way and she smirked, but maybe it was what she was reading.
Well today we happened to sit by a lunch that she happened to be away from at the time. So she returned and I glanced a bit until one of Andrew's friends came over. He's a clever guy that talks a lot. We were talking in our humorous manner and I noticed her small smile from time to time. He got on the topic of wishing it were permissible to take fries from strangers in the cafeteria (she was eating some) and she moved her fries farther from us and from there we wrangled her into the conversation on and off. In our side conversation I found out her name is Kristin (but I don't know the correct spelling) and shes from New Mexico; 21, senior in biology, living off campus with an off campus meal plan. It's strange to think that without that meal plan I wouldn't know she existed. The way she dresses and her hair style and the way she only does small smiles (and only once in a while at that) leaves me wondering what past made her a sophisticated-seeming student. I know I'm trying to focus on just the present, but it's hard to fight my nature.
Anyway, I told her we eat there during the working hours of Monday through Wednesday, noon to one-thirty. Andrew's friend said he's there only Monday and Wednesday so she should come then; I think he was joking. I think I'll be seeing her again.

The Lonely Shower

I made headway in my application for SCA internships. I'm at the stage where I have to get the permission of three people to use as references and for recommendation letters. So far I've gotten the permission of my favorite philosophy professor at Webster, Britt-Marie. I updated her a bit about the new college life and she commented that I didn't sound too happy here. I thought about it and realized I'm not too attached to this school except for graduating purposes. I further realized that since I've been here I feel I've somewhat lost touch with time and reality. I have no idea what I'm doing here and sometimes I feel like I shouldn't be here.

"Have you ever looked up at a plane flying overhead and wished to be on it? To leave everything and put your life on some track that's already been going, only with other people?"
"I don't often look up."
I guess that's what I should expect to hear.

It's strange. I shower each night, and shave, go to class, and eat, and sleep (though now with the help of melatonin). The same schedule repeats so often it's no wonder I can't keep things straight. Sure the assignments and projects differ, but they're all the same in frequency and effect. If it were warmer I could go to the mountain on the weekends. The only thing to do around here is go to parties, and they've never been my scene.
I think Britt-Marie may be the only adult I'd confide in regarding reality and the drugs and life. But maybe I'm just feeling that for this moment.

Just Another Day

How many military people does it take to raise a flag? 5. Two to turn the rope, two to unfold and attach the flag, and one to salute in the background the whole time.
The only thing that made the scene human was the leader (I'm assuming) who murmured encouragement or orders. The rest might as well have been robots.

I met a girl today. Her name is Alena (not sure if that's how it's spelled but it's pronounced all-ee-na). I misunderstood her the first time.
"Athena?"
"I'm no goddess," she replied. I liked that reply.
She has nice shoulder length hair and glasses.

Fragment

Currently listening to:
Take a Picture
Filter

I'm still never really bored. I look up into the smooth blue sky that somehow makes "floaters" present, visible. These flying worms that leave short-live trails could be outside of me or could be within my eye. I like to think that if they are outside of me, they are bits of the spiritual energy of the world, keys to what is beyond our blue ceiling; that they are there to protect me or guide me. If they're only inside my eyes, I'm not sure what they would do. I guess it's something to watch instead of TV. When other people stare off into space, I wonder if they are watching them too. I wonder why they're only visible with a sky background.

You and I are dolphins, cutting through water, switching positions, twirling around. Our paths intersect briefly and we circle each other and separate on paths that will take us to the peak of our separation only to bring us back together again . We will undulate like this.

In a Ship In a Bottle

My favorite part of the highway are the different "over-sized load"s that come my way. I can usually never tell what they belong to. I thought about Native American tribes and if they were to still migrate as they used to, in this day and age, perhaps they would construct tepees on flatbed 18-wheelers and migrate that way. What a sight to see.

At night, I've been driving over ten hours straight. In the final stretch my mind blanks and I see things. I wouldn't call it sensory deprivation and yet I'm just sitting here and everything is moving around me. In my rear view mirror my string of pine cones appear very much to be the heads of passengers since it's too dark to make out any features. I suppose I'm not alone.

And against the night sky are plumes jutting out from man-made volcanoes. The uppermost wisps take forms, like ducks, before dissipating. The plumes alternate colors from shades of blue to red against a deep blue sky that appears to be just as shallow, like a layer of paint on a wall. I leave this quickly.

I see the shadow of a front bumper, the sort you see on police cars. It is a normal white car pretty dirty with a sticker of a stag on the rear. I know that some old police cars get auctioned off and I see no extra attached mirror, so I don't know what to make of it for sure. Checking out the license plate for the state it's from, it says "EXEMPT." 'There's no state called "exempt,"' I think to myself. 'What kind of state is called exempt? What sort of business do they do there?' And I look at the bottom and see "Wyoming." They should really put the state name where it usually is. I didn't know if they would have jurisdiction in Colorado so I kept my nose clean.

I feel like a ship suspended on a bottle. I don't know what emotions go with that - probably some anxiety, longing, detachment from reality. College is about leaving, constantly dropping situations (classes, vacations, schools). I need something steady. It's getting really hard to keep leaving.

Bath

Showers are very sudden things. The water goes on and hot, in, water off immediately, out. Baths take longer to draw and empty; there is a sort of choreography about it. And you seep into the water and are immersed rather than pelted all over. When the bath is over, you get out, leaving the water sitting as if it were waiting on you. A shower is shut off and the water leaves you standing there in the cleaning area. I think I prefer baths though I haven't had one since I was a child.

Don't Know What Brought This On

An old man moved down the road in tattered clothing, layers on layers to create the would be warmth of one sweater. Nighttime. Anyone out this late could be any normahl taking a walk, going somewhere, but then again they could be a little kooky. No one knows why they are out shuffling in the cold except them, and they aren't talking. The old man is. He crosses paths this those that aren't crossing. A group of teenagers that are basically kids, some stooping some standing, on the side of the road. They look a little mean, emotionless, living just another stage in life. The old man stopped and spoke My people have taken the fight out of me. I am human and less than an animal for an animal thrives in the world, they possess all roles to equal ability. My role is not the farmer, and without the farmer I can only scratch a little from the ground and hold on like a cold claw to a slipping surface. No, survival has been bred out of me. My people have taken my fight away. And he shuffled onward with a stumble. The boys looked on after him and walked the opposite way. There was nothing to take from him.

Who We Really Are

Currently listening to:
The World Without
A Fine Frenzy

We were talking about the past, and the present. I come to Dallas to reconnect with who I think I really am. This town is filled with memories and emotion. It's so heavy with them, I'm weighed down. It kind of sounds like my true self is the product of suppression, but I don't think that's totally the meaning.
In college I'm myself and then begin to lose myself. After some amount of time I ease into somewhat of a jerky personality. Plain and simple I can be a jerk, which surprises my friends in Dallas who only know me deep down. By jerk I mean the snarky retorts and rude returns.
Those who were with me in high school also know a jerky side. A different sort. High school was a time of such hopelessness and depression. I suppose it was as if I had a well full of myself that had to be sorted through even though by that age I hadn't experienced all that much that would need sorting. I always have daydreamed a lot and seen many pasts and many more futures that would not come to pass - in that respect I've always lived many lifetimes. Maybe that's what weighed me down in high school, made me feel so old.
The jerkiness then was more serious; now I've come to realize my current jerkiness is more a veneer and deep down I depend upon and care about those around me. She was surprised when I explained that; maybe she thought who I have been "acting" as is some cover. She asked why I revert to being a jerk in college when I could be the Dallas me. I guess everyone has some tendency they can't escape and we're always moving back and forth. Why my tendency is snarky, I don't know. I suppose I should find a way to keep myself in the Dallas me despite its occasional sadness. I'm going to take my postcard with an image of Dallas aglow back with me and see if that will help me recall. I'll just have to see how this next semester goes.

Kellye

Kellye said she was going to break up with her boyfriend when she goes back to school. It feels strange knowing that something is going to happen before it does, like seeing a movie based on a book you've read. This doesn't really involve me, though, so I don't feel too affected by it. Still, it's a strange feeling.

We had another long hang out, the first one since we did mushrooms together, which was the first hang out of the season. The trip was good and she felt she learned a lot, about herself and time, of course. It was much more mind oriented than I have experienced, and I attribute that to her. That's how it was in brief.
This final goodbye took us to Braum's for iced cream, but I didn't eat much of mine because I took a Focalin because I thought she'd be on Adderall. She hadn't brought any home so she was off it while I was on. Not what I expected, but it was also interesting in a humorous way. I started talking to a guy in line who had a cousin working there and we all started talking about things that probably made them think I was on something. We sat and talked for hours.
We got lost trying to drive back to my house so she could see the dogs and I could grab my coat. I was so focused that I forgot I had a GPS.
After that we went to Brookhaven and wandered around. The whole place looked so different than it does during the daytime. Kellye said it seemed more magical because it was night or because I was there, and it seemed so, I could vividly recall being back on that Tuesday when we jumped out of time's track. We drank some and made our way to the car and sat in the backseat and talked more while the radio played. Then we cuddled and she said I was of a different breed of skinny boys because I wasn't uncomfortable to lay on, but perhaps everyone cuddles differently and our bodies remember the way other people cuddle so it works. So we cuddled and that was enough.

Dandelion focuses on and lives in the now and I wanted to apply that in my own life, and I think I'm slowly exploring it. It kind of takes the sting out of life.

Extremely Blah

Currently listening to:
Your Ghost
Greg Laswell

Fallen back into the glum mood. It's easier back home, around the family, around friends, smothered under memories. I want to leave home and the mood, but it happens to also be the way I reconnect with who I am - no veneer.

I find it interesting that I stay awake as long as I do when I think so longingly and lovingly about dreams and all they have to offer. An eight hour escape from reality is amazing, especially for free since most other escapes come after a cost. I suppose a natural fear is the duality of dreams and nightmares and how unpredictable and interchangeable they are. Nightmares are escapes as well but I like to pride myself on never having a bad trip. Not all nightmares are bad either, I suppose.
Mainly the fear is of not having a return: of burning out the unconscious and never dreaming again. I'll have to think about that.

Diary of a Solipsist, pt.3

I saw this building, with a sign in front that read "God is still speaking." Of course I know this is one of those human churches - a sanctuary to some invisible metaphor - but I can't help but think to myself, 'I'm not talking to any of them.' If I'm not talking, then who is? It's a funny thought but I do wonder at times if I'm not alone; if one of my fellows is "of the same stuff," so to speak.
Of course, we may all be gods - not of this world, I mean, but of other worlds. Stars and worlds and systems come into and leave existence constantly, just as humans do. One could infer that these births and deaths correspond to the cosmic ones. This is a lower level thought. Taking it up a notch, there must be a god of the universe, since it remains despite the birth and death of things within it. I don't think any human is the god of entirety, though; they aren't exceptional enough. In fact, I may not be exceptional enough to be god of the planet holding humanity, but it won't do any good to consider such a thing.
Until I meet someone that has seen the world as I have, painted its skies, seen the land in all its changes, observed the room; I'm the god as far as I know.

Diary of a Solipsist, pt.2

As I related before, I am twenty-one according to human standards.
People took note of my existence in the human point of 1989 as they have on many other instances. From that point, they took pleasure in following my growth up to another point when many had died of the world's wear and tear, or their age. At this point I take my leave, and those still alive continue on to eventually die, perhaps wondering about me before their end. Afterward, I reappear in the world in some fashion.
I have thus used two interesting words: before and after. There is a "before" and an "after," very rarely a "now." I find it difficult to think about the now without it quickly passing into before; and difficult to notice when an after passes through the now. In any case it's futile for me since there is so much time for me to give attention. If I spent all my time focusing on time, my preoccupation would draw attention and give me away, assuming the focus is so strong I end up motionlessly absorbed in it.
In truth, I don't take human time seriously; because I am in this form, in human company, I fall into the time they create. (Humans are always seeking some order, some way to catalog things neatly, like that.) In fact, I'm unable to keep track of all the time I've experienced. The days flow quickly or slowly, just as much as the seconds of a single day for some people. A year to me is as a day, in memory. After an accumulation of years comparable to the human lifespan - I forget.
I awaken - beginning a new set of years. I believe this is to keep the overwhelming extent of time from flooding my mind: forgetting to keep things simple. Occasionally I wish I could remember all my experiences, or at least find the words put down on page, if any.

Diary of a Solipsist, pt.1

I have decided to take up writing something of my life, as I have done many times before. The writings of the past have been lost, at least I cannot find them; turned yellow then brown as the pages tensed and shattered, words losing track of their rightful place. Those same words wander away in a state of fugue and find themselves living with other beings, or perhaps collected by me to be placed back on the page, to rewrite myself.
My name is Nathaniel, at least that's what humans call me. I find it hard to place much emphasis on the name because of all the variations that come from it: "nicknames." On top of this, humans can share the same name and rely on a "last" name to individualize themselves. However, like first names, last names can be shared by multiple humans. The importance placed on names may stem from the idea that qualities constitute something. Cups aren't cups, they are a material in a certain form- they are shiny, sleek, dull, heat-resistant, chipped, and so on. Similarly, attached to names are honor, trust, and other aspects of the person; a while ago people would fight to regain the honor of their or their family's name. Yet how can importance be placed on names when said names are given seemingly at random. Probability determines not just how many people will share first names and last names, but how many will share the exact same name. In such cases, more than a name is needed to tell people apart; other characteristics such as age are used.
According to human time, I am currently twenty-one years old. Of course, I'm much older than this, just as some people are referred to as "old soul" and whose eyes are engraved with many rings from a young age. But I will leave off for now and pick up with the strangeness of human time.

Being Back

Currently listening to:
Tropicana
Ratatat

This is the first week back after the week-long break. Things seem different now, the other hall has mentioned that our hall no longer prop our doors open, we just leave the latch out to keep the door unlocked. Andrew and I are basically the only ones that still leave the door wide open; our roommates would have it otherwise, they're sort of strange. Also everyone is very reticent about interacting, more mellow. John has it the most, he is not loud anymore and is gone from the hall all the time. It seems like drastic changes have happened in this short week. I have no idea what a month vacation will do, but I can't wait either way. It's only a couple weeks away.

The Thursday before the break I was very sick but still showed up to my policy class and bio lab to take quizzes. I got back my policy quiz and have a C. I'm not heavily surprised since I was not comfortable and barely conscious, but I worry about what this will do to my grade if I don't get an A on the final. I will have to study really hard; I think I'm teetering on an A in the class.
*****
The past week I've been preparing myself for a little thought experiment where I will try to see the world solely through the eyes of god. I will go about my life as if I were god and write blog entries about this solipsistic experience. So this will be the last of my normal blog entries for a while. This should result in some interesting thoughts and writing.

The Sound of the Moon

When I talk to people, they are real. They seem to have lives going on, are three-dimensional beings. When we stop talking, they are still real. But at the same time, they are so many paper dolls scattered on the floor. Doesn't make much sense, does it? A paper doll seen up close is obviously a doll, but from far away they seem like they could be living, breathing. After examining someone they turn to paper dolls somehow. Some are more real, though.

I found a postcard of Dallas, downtown, all aglow. For some reason I couldn't put it back in my drawer. Is this where I belong? Is this my home? It made me reminisce, stirred things up in me. I think I'll take it back to Colorado.

Merle comes in when certain songs are playing on the radio. I think she realizes certain beats make me move a certain way, and pet a certain way. I think she likes it when I pat out beats on her.
*****
Yesterday I was sitting in a tree waiting for Dandelion and this cat came over to me. She laid in my lap and I pet her. Then these bible women came over and I told them what they wanted to hear, and the cat made its way down to them and followed them back to their car. After they drove off, I couldn't see the cat and figured they had taken her away (she had a collar but no tags). So I climbed down for a bit and soon she was following me. We went back in the tree. Dandelion drove up as I was going down to get my camera, and when we came back out, the cat had followed us to my yard. She did a funny run-dance to come back over to us.
She's no Smokey Mountain, more like Hobbes. Dandelion called her Samsonite - what an odd name. So we played around the tree, then the three of us went walking around the alley. Samsonite always lagged a little behind but examined things after we had left. When we were crossing the street to the dandelion field, Samsonite was still in the alley meowing after us. So we went back to her but she sped off last minute, then followed us back to the street.

Tonight Dandelion and I took another go at wine making, this time with Strawberries. At the grocery I brought my change so I could trade all my metal for a few pieces of paper. She pushed all the coins through and I can only imagine how her hands smelled, since I'm sick. I don't like being the friend that's sick, I feel like it dampens the mood having to run for a tissue all the time. So we made the wine in a gallon jug since the Mr. Beer container was taken back by her ex. I hope the yeast is still operable, or enough. I also met her new boyfriend. I don't know.

Oh, Samsonite

Sometimes it's hard to swallow.

Trust

There was some discussion of fellatio today, I guess because it's the thing to do these days. I thought about the topic afterward and confirmed that each time I imagine the act of a blowjob I can't help but acknowledge being at the female's mercy. There is a definite vulnerability in having a part of oneself within one of the more powerful moving parts of the human body. So, on that note, I have come to the conclusion that any time I allow myself to be in that situation, I would have complete trust in my companion; much like a dog allowing someone to nuzzle their head against its neck, or lifting its front legs from behind so that it stands up on two legs.

On a separate note, I had one of those in-between dreams when you're just beginning to fall asleep. Essentially, my roommate and I are in disagreement (much like in reality) and he presents me with two buttons: one, he says, will erase him from existence and the other would bring him back. The logistics are that if he ceases to exist, either his belongings would also vanish and a scenario in which my roommate had never showed up would play out, OR his belongings would remain and a scenario in which another roommate with a similar taste in belongings had always been there.
In any case, I pressed the button, playing along, and he vanished. I figured I'd press the other button, and he came back and went on about how a certain responsibility comes with such a device. Then he picked up the button that returned him and I pressed the other button, erasing his existence and that of the other button. The rest of the dream is a consideration of going through life erasing people that were bad or that were about to cause me harm, perhaps even some I thought were in my way.
The idea of the button is strange. I think the saying goes something like "if I had a button that would remove you from existence, I'd press it" or "be careful what you wish for." It's an interesting concept to think about, the ways it would alter reality and shuffle time (maybe?). Perhaps people are dangerous in mentality than physicality. Naturally, someone stronger or faster poses some danger, but a certain mentality is needed to actually make the person dangerous. I think it's the willingness to press the button. I would venture to guess that someone buff is just as dangerous as a child that speaks of a particular button.

I don't particularly like this school, nor many of the people here. I don't mean I have negative feelings towards them, just that they are the sort I can see myself losing contact with if we're separated. It leaves me sad, almost as much as my inability to find a fitting counterpart here. I guess it's just one of those lonely hollow-feeling days. I can't wait for the long drive home and seeing Dandelion again.

Aspectus Exceptio

Currently listening to:
Ramblin' Woman
Cat Power

In my GIS class we were discussing how maps convey information and that a particular satellite takes pictures at a 30m accuracy, so each pixel is the equivalent of 30 meters squared. To give a map or other image more resolution, the amount of pixels is increased. However, you can't just get these pixels out of the air, you're limited by the amount of pixels a camera, or the human eye, can take in to make an image. Images that take on more pixels do so by splitting each pixel into four of the same color and so on. It's interesting to ponder what we really see and wonder about all we miss out on because of the limitation of our inner (and outer) cameras. It's a lot to ask to see things with greater accuracy in terms of pixels, so I'd like to see things in their true colors as opposed to the ones they reflect.

I think light contributes to and is affected by drugs.
The world is photo realistic.

Room to Myself on a Friday Night

I've started gathering songs for another mix CD. I like to think I'm pretty good at selecting the right songs.
*****
The world in a hallway is pretty flat; focuses become more than 3D. People pop out like figures in a pop-up book. Someone enters one door and goes through the bathroom of the suite and exits the other door. It's obvious what has happened yet it's fresh and novel once more - "of course it ended up that way!"
Mikenzie and her roommate Grace are interesting people, the banter between them is witty and fast. Mikenzie speaks or does something once in a while that sets the atmospheric mood to noir, like being in an old detective movie. It's strange to do nothing and yet so much at the same time.

Holidays

Currently listening to:
La Mer, Jeu de vagues
Claude Debussy

I don't believe I like holidays. They make me feel awkward because I don't like the large crowds that result or the seeing of people I haven't seen in a long time, I don't know what to do around them. Holidays seem to interrupt the daily existence I become used to - as well as the person I became in all that steady time.
However, I do enjoy the idea of Christmas: the family/friend dinner by a fire while the world outside is bare and white and the way smells are so poignant on top of the uniform smell of cold. It's a holiday that shuts you in with tea and a book, if not in the company of another.
Still, I don't know why I feel this way; it only serves to isolate me from the standard college student. I guess I haven't found the people that are more like me; maybe I don't want to deal with people; maybe I just need a break from this college.

EDITX
I'm really not unhappy here. I think I just need a break. As I posted a while ago, it's hard to really feel and be emotionally involved out here. People interpret my mood differently and some even get upset, specifically Robyn. The way they interpret tells me they don't really know me, perhaps my fault, though I'll claim the ignorance of not even knowing myself - especially not since I've come out here.

Overcome With Bouts of Misanthropy

He was often predisposed to feelings of confused discomfort, much like the feeling of being watched when no one is around. That something was wrong, but he didn't know what.
"What's wrong? You always look a little sad, a little angry."

He spoke of nature and how long before the conceptual form of a cylinder mathematicians know and love existed, the trees had been producing such shapes out of necessity; of math which rests on a foundation of concepts which have never been seen in their purest, seeing two birds but never the two itself, for example; of time which twists numbers into something much different, and the girl who believes solely in it, tying dates and times intimately together with the events of the corporeal world.
He retold the story of young Arthur turned to a bird by Merlin to see that his land had no boundary, that property lines were man-made and so existed only within man; he pointed to the concrete below and lines traversed and crossed each other in a giant checkerboard.
He confessed that to preserve something implied the killing of it, a living bear could not be stuffed until it was dead; that the American man was concerned with this preservation over conservation; and he gestured to overweight American Indians in full dress dancing to the drum and chant of Mexican and Hawaiian and Japanese alike, for Native American Month; and he spoke of the South American tribes that remained untouched, "conserved."
He always looked a little sad, a little angry.

If I Were To Go

Currently listening to:
Thrill is gone
B.B.King

Last night I had this weird sort of headache and sore back. It was a sort of pressure in my head that made me lose feeling so that everything was dull. There have been some cases of meningococcal disease on campus, one resulting in death. I thought to myself as I lay in bed, what if I have this meningitis form? and perhaps this was my last night (death supposedly results quickly from it). I've always believed diseases should be kept around for population control, so I knew not to be fearful of any sort of end; I don't want to be contradictory. If this was to be the end, then so be it, my regrets being the writings I didn't finish and the packages I ordered that I wouldn't receive. Fortunately Dandelion's stuff was sent out earlier in the week.
This morning my back was still sore and I now feel slightly chill, probably a minor fever. I think this is just some twenty-four hour deal.

Mountains of Home

This weekend I went camping with Devin, Andrew, and Brandon. I'll have to write about it in another post when I have more time.

Of note, I have developed a sort of twitch with my left eye. I thought it was because I have been tired lately or the weather was being a little wacky, but it usually only happens when people come into my room to talk to me or if I'm walking and I come up to some people I know. Maybe I'm just tired of my environment in this big college. I need fall break and a long drive.

Some Ideas

1. Dual perspective short of a moment between a boy who is most stimulated by tactile interactions and an OCD girl tormented by symmetry of touch.

2. Female perspective of being OCD and pursued by a male. Similar to the above but there is no relationship in this one.

He is tired, laying on the floor next to her, who finished eating a snack. He rests his head on her thigh and she puts up no resistance. She goes so far as to run her fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes. I sit not far away, awkwardly not wanting to remain there but not being able to leave immediately. I don't understand the difference in his touch and mine that brings about the difference in her reaction.

Rainy Day

Who is the child and who is the adult, hm?

Like Most Things In Life

Currently reading:
Tales of a Shaman's Apprentice
Mark Plotkin

It's like cold tea with iced cubes floating at the top.
Close inspection of the golden brown liquid reveals currents in the form of diffusion: wisps falling from the cubes, the water making its way through the thickly sweet surroundings. It's like a sheet of thin plastic folding and expanding in a watery environment. I shake the bottle and many air bubbles cascade and swing around the perimeter of the bottle, toward the lid. When everything settles, all is still and uniform.

I Think I Figured It Out

Currently listening to:
A Cloud to the Back
Sam Prekop

I thought I was feeling overwhelmed but I think I'm actually getting that feeling "pre-break." Around this time, colleges usually have Fall break in the middle of October, but at CSU it happens around Thanksgiving. So I look out the window at the blue sky and see myself as a bird, just escaping. I feel like I need to get out of here, I need Fall break.

I'm Still Alive

Sorry I've been absent from here for a while. I've got four tests coming up tomorrow and Friday plus the Thursday lab. This is the first week I've felt overwhelmed and yet still calm at the same time. I think this conflict of feeling caused me to be more apathetic and distant which some people took to be anger. Maybe I am frustrated, I don't know. Once the weekend is here I hope to be 100% again. This last weekend my roommate was gone and everyone else left for day trips, so I was here alone and I think that allowed me to return to my normal levels of peace, rather than the extremely outgoing person I am when everyone is here. Perhaps, adjusting back to the outgoing self is rough.
Anyway, I finally got the Sam Prekop CD I've been trying to get for so long and Perryl is sending me his corduroy fisherman's cap I love and Rebekah is sending a letter, and other packages I've ordered. I still need to write my sister, family, and Dandelion.
I don't like eating here much anymore. After a meal (especially breakfast) I feel uncomfortable, like a weak stomachache. I can't wait to live off campus and cook for myself.

It's getting cold here.

Ode to a Beard

Babies cry
and mothers sigh
and girls never say nay.

Add Our Feelings Together. Divide By 0. Move On.

I want to take note of a recent high I had. It was probably very good, fresh plant material because it didn't seem like I did any more than I have recently, and yet it was sort of an over-high to the point of feeling sick. However, I didn't get so sick that I threw up, so maybe I'm getting better about that or am finding the amount that's good for me.

Anyway, it started out as the general high where certain dialogues are very funny because they're seen in that new light. In the hall, the feeling mounted and I began to feel the mood within the words people spoke. Of course, words have emotional backings to them, they're all charged that way. But the feelings I could sense seemed much more tangible as if they were coming from the mouths of the speakers. It was almost claustrophobic being surrounded by all those feelings.
So I went in my room and laid down and closed my eyes. Stories started up; this concept is very difficult to explain, especially a day after it happened. Essentially, my mind's eye saw "bubbles" or scenes on a stage which were brief and singular. The content was similar to two pictures combining into one fresh scenario. That's about all I can describe it as since I can't completely remember.
The night was emotional and downing and quiet, so I slept twelve hours. The next day was still dazed and foggy and eating brought back the high for some reason. I don't think anything should have still been in my system, but then I've always been a little odd with drugs of all kinds. I called it a sick day and just mooched around until my night lab.