Twentieth Thought

Facebook...

Hmmmmmm

I wonder to myself, to keep, or not to keep? To reduce?
But why?
Well, lets start with this question. Why do I have a facebook? (Why does anyone for that matter?)

1. To keep in touch with people
( Isn't that what an e-mail is for? And one needs an e-mail to create an account on Facebook, so I could conceivably email anyone I wanted to keep in contact with...)

2. To organize get-togethers of various kinds.
( See the parentheses for number one)

3. To share pictures
(Pictures that I abdicate the right to, in Facebooks ever changing policy.)

3. To update people on what's going on and how I'm feeling.
(Talking in person, AIM, talking on the phone or even snail mail are all much more reliable than that. Facebook statuses are much like twitter, a bunch of people talking at each other but not listening. Hmm.)

So with that said. Why do i have a Facebook?
Probably because I am addicted, like so many others, to being connected to people at all times.
If I don't check my Facebook for too long, I worry how many comments or messages I may have missed. The idea of waiting, or having someone else wait, seems inconceivable.

I think the best course of action would be to minimize my Facebook and check it as I would check my e-mail.
I am doing so for the following reasons:
Firstly, I feel like electronic socialization is replacing in person socialization, and that in having social "fixes" people who are away from me, I am diminishing motivation to actually call or visit them.
Another reason is I feel Facebook absorbs too much of my time that could be devoted to more worthwhile pursuits. Books remain unread, textbooks remain un-studied, essays unwritten, and friends and loved ones un-visited and attended to.
In conclusion my Facebook shall remain in existence, but reduced to the bare minimum for convenience. Thank you for your time.


(I know this sounded ridiculously formal, but that's just the way it ended up, and I think it effectively said what I wanted to be said.)

Nineteenth Thought

There's a funny thing about books. They take you into their world, and their presence lingers even after you've finished reading. Happy stories, with happy endings leave you exhilarated, warm and fuzzy inside.

But not all books have happy endings.
Some books are deep, and sad, and powerful.
The characters problems become yours, and their darkness is your darkness.
It adheres to your skins and seeps into your pores, until your blood is toxic.
Fills your lungs with black smoke and grey ash, until you can barely breath.
You see the world through a different lens.

But their problems are not your problems, and their darkness is not your darkness.
Eventually you shake it off of your skin, and cough it out of your lungs, until all that remains are traces in your blood, just enough to help you remember not to make their mistakes, but not enough to plague you with misery. Just enough so that your memory of their darkness, will help you secure your own sunshine.

Eighteenth Thought

With a personality as warm as summers day
And eyes that speak of spring
You make my spirit dance in joy,
my heartstrings strum and sing

Your voice is the echo of your soul
traveling the land so wide
But carbon copy is not enough
Only the vessel in which its resides

I wonder how warm your embrace is
and how soft your smiling lips,
I want to share our breathing air,
and be close enough to kiss

Seventeenth Thought

What have you done to him?
you've cracked his mask!
He took ever so long to construct it
It was made of bent truths and unspoken beliefs
It was so beautiful, what have you done to it?
It was shining so brightly,
polished with poisons like pride and pretension,
gleaming in it's faith for the shining charade
And now through the cracks we can see his face
What an ugly distorted face it is,
Caked with compassion and love
You could almost call him an individual
Without the mask, he just might think for himself!
What were you thinking?
You should not have thought at all
If things keep going like this, he might start thinking too

Sixteenth Thought

Mist clings to the air anticipation. The clouds slow to a stop. The grass is still. The trees silence their rustling.They can feel it, it's coming. Small animals scurry into their burrows. A shadow approaches, making its way across the forest floor. A traveling nothing, it breathes in the life around it. Leaves ripp off branches, stained in their own blood and fall to the ground. Touching all around it, without touching anything it all, it continues with the vortex of falling color as company. Animals burrow themselves away to find safety, deeper and deeper they dig, they can see the taint in the earth, towards the surface where the shadow glides.
Flowers wither away, their bright pink and yellow flames snuffed out. The oak rattles her branches in an empty threat. Robbed of her youth she is gnarled, and wasted away, but still leers at the void with all she has to give. Approaching the center of the wood, the emptiness shifts restlessly, waiting. Like a smudge of coal on paper its edges are undefined and blend with it's surroundings. The wind picks up and from within a hollowed out tree appears one of the Fae. She is eternally shifting, better seen when looked out of the corner of ones eye. With copper skin and and swollen belly the Queen of the forest stands erect, dignified. Without the slightest warning, it begins. Her verdant hair trailing behind her she lunges forward at the menacing blotch of nothingness. They circle and come at each other in a desperate dance, the shadowless person, and the person-less shadow. Merely streaks in the chilly air, the fight is marked by silence. The surviving plants watch in trepidation, while the birds flee to the south. The silence is broken with the finishing blow, and both fall dead to the ground. A white substance gushes forward, and crystallizes, as the shadow disappears, covering the forest in it's blood. The forest, relieved, goes to sleep, to well needed rest, confident the Queens unborn heir will spring from her dead belly in the months to come.

Fifthteenth Thought

Picking up the mushroom, i sniff at it. It smells purple, God it's already begun. I lick it, and it tastes like Celine Dion. Without a further thought I down it, and can feel it traveling like California down my esophagus. It hits my stomach, and my stomach hits my brain. I can feel butterflies in between the lobes of my brain and my spine clenches. Falling to my knees the grass beneath me melts to sand, I'm at bar beach, but each little shell on the large beach houses a tiny black hole, and the ocean sounds like chemistry, H2-oh no its going away, the salty smell leaves me behind, with only hints of falafel and Mr. Buble to keep me comfort. I feel myself fracture and am simultaneously in April 20th 1991, and in a pink toned Israel. In April, I hold a small baby, with the mark of destiny on its forehead. I can see the little Paraguayan will leave an imprint on my soul, and leave me craving for more long after he leaves from me. In the pink tinted Israel I am lost in a labyrinth of maybes, shouldn't's, couldn't's and airline tickets to far away places. Maybe David Bowie can help me out of this impossible fantasy constructed of the very real reality.

Fourteenth Thought

Thanksgiving fast approaches. Soon I will be seeing... the one I called wonderland, again. It's fitting actually. I am thankful for having known him, and been with him. I'll be seeing him with our mutual friend, and with her the trio will be together again. Though it was the severing the bond I had with... wonderland, that hurt the most, despite the fact the other friend in our group, she has been gone just as long. Though I was in love with wonderland... so I suppose it's excusable. My depression has long since lifted, and my resentment departed. I look at pictures of him smile, remembering the good times with only the slightest longing in my heart. I haven't seen his face, nor heard his voice in a little over two months. There was a time when I thought i could not survive such a thing. I wonder if seeing him again, will tear open wounds nearly healed. Revive sorrows thought dead. With morbid, masochistic curiosity I approach the reuniting of the golden trio. I approach the sun, knowing i may very well burst into flames, and be reduced to ashes.

Thirteenth Thought

When souls collide,
And hearts ignite,
And spark and sputter,
Through the night,
We take these sparks
And watch them glow,
We call them fire as if we know,
The true power,
Of a crackling flame,
Think all it does is cause us pain,
And burn and sear us to the bone,
Make our hearts flee new-found homes,
When in truth we are afraid,
Too yellow bellied,
To try and brave,
The sweet joy of the lovers flame.

Twelveth Thought

Like a meteor ripping through space, I have passed many stars, even held a few for fleeting moments. Once I even knew a sun. I don't know where I'm going. I suspect I'm not so much in the great unknown as in a solar system, but its so large, and my orbit so wide, I don't see it as such. I don't see where the gravity pulls me, or that it pulls me, i just speed along. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll be pulled into a sun, and meld with it to become part of its brilliant existence.

Eleventh Thought

Don't jump to conclusions
'ill start causing confusions
of the mind and heart
and tear you apart
piece by piece
and breath by breath
until you doubt yourself to death

Tenth Thought

When I'm with you I am free!
When I'm with you I can see!
Life has so much more in store for me!
Can't stay quite gotta shout and sing!

Freed from the shackles of those darker days,
Warmth has returned and its here to stay!
I wouldn't have it any other way!
I'm saying farewell to those darker days!

Ninth Thought

Right beyond the twilight lies a knowing smile. It rests upon the cusp of light and dark, hope and despair, it's gleam refracts through chilly air. The Maiden of frost wears her smile in earnest, the blood of the freshly murdered summer still on her hands, red, orange and yellow. She mutes all sounds with her blinding gaze, light reflecting off of icicle irises. She will have her way, blighting the land in a brilliant white, her chaste snow barely covering the death beneath it. She knows her time is little, so she works in haste. She endures the antagonizing yuletide spirit, knowing it will be Venus who ultimately slay her, and then Erin who lays her to rest.

Eigth Thought

Lost. Just a little bit. I walk through the everyday and see the other day within it. The yesterday, the never-to-be-forgotten days. My friend wonders out loud if he should go to chipotle, in an instant I'm sitting in one of their too high chairs talking with you, and hoping to myself the beans in my food don't give me gas. Or the man with a name like a Christmas tree ornament comes on the radio and I'm back in your basement as you romance me to those jazzy tunes. Or someone mentions "Chicago" and I'm in your kitchen looking at your wall mounted tv, or I see the sunset and I'm at bar beach again or i see the sun rise and remember we never got to do that together, and how we talked about it. I'm so fuckig tired of it! I want to move forward, because you're long gone and aren't coming back, and I try and I think I'm getting somewhere when suddenly time bends over and fucks itself and in something so clearly rooted in the present I find a portal directly to the past. It sucks so bad, because I was so sure of myself and I thought I was placing one solid footstep in front of another. I'm even trying to explore a new 0ption but now that things are so topsy turvy I'm afriad I'm going to hurt him by accident. I need to find a trail through this forest of time but all the floor is covered in freezing snow, and I'm knee deep in it getting frostbite.

Seventh Thought

I've been throwing this character around in my head for several years now. I'm just going to say her name is Ariel 2.0. Ariel 2.0 is a mermaid that was a character in a story i wrote for an English class many years ago. Well, a half mermaid to be more precise. She's evolved quite a bit. She was brunette, and now she has dark red hair, almost a maroon. While before she was a Mer-General, now she's a naval mercenary. Her character was previously motivated by duty to her country and to the army she served in, but now she sells her violence to others. Her mother was murdered when she was very young, and in either version of her it makes her inwardly bitter and outwardly cold. In the case of Ariel's newest incarnation, she used the navies she travels with to comb the sea for her mothers killers, in hopes of exacting revenge. However as decades went by without any sucess she used her occupation as a way to let out her frustration and anger. She is eternally displaced. The naval officers who hire her view her as a dangerous investment at best, while the larger human society looks at her as a freak of nature. Merpeople are a relativley unadvanced society, raised outside of it, she is culturally estranged and considered a walking taboo, a child of two races, an abomination. She is well aware that she is unwelcome in her late mothers society, beacuse it was in their great hate of her mothers love for a human (and letting him fertilize her eggs no less) that they killed her many unborn sons and daughters, smashing their fragile fish-eggs. Although her mother escaped with a single egg (Ariel 2.0) she was later killed by her infanticidal kin. Ariel 2.0 clings to the small comfort she gets from being accepted (albiet warily) by the various navies she is mercenary for. When not hiring herself out, she uses the money she earns to invest in a seaside house, and in buying speacialized weapons and armor. Her home is hidden along a rocky shoreline. While she can transform into a human, the red (red not orange) of her hair and the unusal blue of her eyes betray her inhuman heritage, and she lives in this housein seclusion with the exception of the little hired help she has, who a bribed heavily into secrecy, not just with money, but with the many intesting treasures she takes home from her travels.

Sixth Thought

I should have trusted my gut. I was falling out of the loop of his life, because he didn't love me anymore. Que sera, sera. It's been nearly a month, and I can't shake my feelings entirely, the downside of love I guess. If they fall out of it you're left high and dry, facing the biting wind all alone. It's hard to get involved with someone new, when your heart still belongs to another. Can I have a retry? Then maybe I can figure out what I did wrong, what I couldn't offer him, or didn't give.

Fifth Thought

Someone very special to me in my life, has gone away to college. It has not even been a week yet but I miss him with a force. It was so painful the the first night after he left, I couldn't stop crying. Any time I have a thought to spare, I think of him. I try and think of the good times, and oh how good they were, but I eventually come back to the part where I can't hold him in my arms and the pain is almost debilitating. Like a physical presence that takes root in my heart, rips up through my chest and strangles my neck. I think weird thoughts like does he think of me, does he miss me? Has he forgotten about me in his vastly more interesting and important new life? Then I feel guilty, because I know these thoughts are mostly unfounded. Yes, he has been caught up in the busy of his life as of late, and yeah, he's neglected me some, but he still loves me. While most people have to learn to trust themselves I have to learn not to, because I've been blowing things out of proportion in my head. Really the person who can torture you the worst is yourself. You know all of your own worst fears and can play them out in excruciating detail in your own head. How Ive been surviving, is by distraction, college, hanging out with people, video games, whatever. When I'm alone though, and left with nothing but my own thoughts the pang returns and the best I've been able to do is remember the good times, and hold on to the beautiful hope there will be more of them.

Fourth Thought

School is about to start up again, and I don't know about you, but I'm none too excited. The wonderful pattern of putting off assignments until the day before and holding grudges against classes I don't want and don't need. However the meeting new people aspect holds a certain attractive quality. Though I was never born into it I miss the days of apprenticeships, where one would learn directly about whatever job they wanted and never once had to work out unnecessary GE's. I'm going to be a freshman in college this year, and my hope is, now that i care about and am interested in 3/4 of my classes that the increased workload won't feel as much of a burden. High School isn't some place I'm going to miss terribly, at least not until my memory is so fuzzy i can't remember how much shit was involved with being a high school student. However it was still a ton better than middle school. I don't know if it was just me, but it felt like a prison there, it was stricter than high school and the kids were nastier. Suddenly aware of their own individuality (or potential thereof) the kids fractured off into many cliques, and made sure to alienate anyone they couldn't relate to, so that they felt more secure in their own social standing. Everything is relative, and you can't truly feel accepted until you can see someone who isn't. Ah the lovely days of schooling. I used to comfort myself with the thought that all the people who tormented me would become jobless hobos, but with one of the last assholes who used to bother me making it into some ivy league college, I've had to come to terms with the reality that intelligence and hatefulness are not mutually exclusive.

Third Thought

If I had hands that could meld space,
And time as well I'd change the pace,
That life was walked,
The conversations that were talked,
If just to make you stay a little while longer

None of this school so far away,
I need a calendar to count the days,
Until I see you, hold you close to me,
I hope, I cry but it can't be,
For it's your decision, and will make you stronger

Second Thought

I love that drawing, I did it on a piece of choir music in high school. Angels have always fascinated me. Their origins in my personal experience have been rooted in Christianity. Messengers of God, they were divided into different kinds by function and number of wings. I don't remember it and if you really want to know you can always Wiki it. Though I still remember the angel as a messenger, and as a guardian. The only angels I can remember are Gabriel and Lucifer. Of course everyone knows how in Christian religion Lucifer was struck down to hell by God for challenging him. This seemed confusing to me because I was under the impression that angels lacked free will. Something I find interesting is early depictions of feathery winged faeries which predates Christianity. Whatever their origins I just love them to death. People of angelic appearance have also been popular in Japanese manga and anime, numerous characters having the ability to sprout wings for one reason or another. Well that's today's thought, I do love angels.

First Thought

This is a resurrection of an old idea which never really came to fruition. I had an old blog and focused to much on sounding sage. Now I'm just going to put up whatever the hell I feel like.
So my first thought? Balding. I do not want to bald. Why not though? It's hard to argue it without sounding narcissistic, because all the reasons are rooted (lol) in appearance and outer beauty. Would my love stop loving me? No. Would I no longer be myself? No. So whats the big deal really? Baldness is also associated with the loss of youth. Even though loss of agility and declining health are legitimate concerns, wrinkles, graying hair and liver spots seem to be what bother people the most. Why is this? There is a persistent subconscious idea that; Old = unattractive = unloved.
Elderly people with high self worth enjoy their lives, while those without live in their memories of youth and in their regret of how they feel they may have squandered it। Love is a beautiful thing, and I am happy that I can say for myself, ठाट as long as I have my rock, as long as I am loved, it won't really matter how old, bald, wrinkly, or hairy I get, because true love (whether romantic or platonic) overlooks age and appearance, and focuses in on the soul.