And … It’s February

Here’s to reading my writer description and noting it’s from this time last year. Really it is quite an accomplishment, seeing where I’ve come from.

Self growth can be quite extraordinary and terribly revealing.

At least, for the moment, I’m seeing progress. I see steps forward. There is backward reflection, as there always must be, but every step is in the forward direction. Arrows pointing towards the unknown and expectation.

It’s scary realizing you have an appetite.

I may be only realizing now that it’s February of 2013 but I’ve come so far and the months have felt like years. The confusion is understandable and pleasurable.

Here’s to enjoying the future, reflecting the past, and continuously finding our Blogs to be time capsule images of a moment. Because as moments go…I’d rather continue to actively live them then to always stop and write about them.

 

Tides changing.


I’m not used to the fresh scent of life pouring over me. So new. So exciting. It seems endless, like the ocean.

My breath comes deeper now, like the tides. Calm, regular. I find less hesitation.

The rhythmic melody colors me strange. Feeling completely natural is unfamiliar.

I could blame others for that, the status quo, the redundancy of lowered expectation, but I won’t.

From here I’ll just enjoy the salt in the air, the birds above and the promise of a new life. Fresh.

Footprints in the sand, the ocean calls me away from shore.

Blips

I’m running as far away as I can from anywhere. All directions. Seeing all points falling into the distance, I still run. There’s too much in the air that’s left. Too much resonating. I feel the vibrations in my skin. I know I’m still too close. Still to near what it was I was running from. I can’t stop. I must continue to move forward. Forgetting careful steps. Forgetting paths. Forgetting direction. Just away.

****

I like to hide.

Finding a safe place that’s just my own. I can be myself here. The vulnerable self.

Like a Turtle, I have to gather strength for the day. The morning ritual. Alarm. Let dog out. Take shower. Coffee. Breakfast. Day.

Counting down till the moments when the day is real again. Inside my cave the time doesn’t matter. It’s “real life” that takes the hours.

****

Forceful vulnerability is one of the most cruel and unusual punishments.

Devouring Recesses

You’re an unwelcome visitor. Trespassing. You stomp through the serene meadows and swiftly chop down all signs of life. You hunt for sport. You kill for power. The enigmatic overflows of dreamless notes are devoured into your darkness.

In the after glow of a great book moment you eat away. Chipping. Gnawing. You gather in all the recesses. You are a plague.

Your hunger is insatiable. All that is will be yours. All that can be taken and broken shall be. You are an ever brewing wake.

In you I see evil. I feel it. Taste it. In you are all the darkest values and desires. To you life is what you can take out of it. What can be removed. Tangible, delectable, destruction. We are the galaxy and you are the sun. Revolved. Distorted. Your surface ever-changing yet mirrored.

You are hard to define because in that would be to know you. There is no one that knows you. Chopped character flaws. Descriptions and whispers.

To say you are anything would mean you were complete. You are without. You are wanting. Destitute and diluted.

I wish I had strayed away from you. Toxic and overbearing, misleading and mindful. We falter to those who need. Interpretations to the lust misunderstood. I’m left, pieces stranded, puzzle. Shapes. Angular and incomplete.

You are the night.

You are the nothing.

Communicator

I spend a good part of my days trying to conceptualize who I am. It’s because I feel so confused. Seems there’s a large part of me that can’t comprehend the complexities of others. Therefore, by conclusion, I find I do not understand myself.

“Everyone hears only what he understands.”

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Maybe the puzzle begins there, if I can grasp some sort of self-realization I can then make my way through this maze. Life is complex because of people. If you break it down to days, minutes, seconds, where are the key moments located? In instances of interaction, social, or otherwise.

“To understand the heart and mind of a person, look not at what he has already achieved, but at what he aspires to.”

Kahlil Gibran quotes

From there would behaviors feel so irrational? I would assume not. My question really, however, is what happens as we grow and change? Then what, does all the research get thrown out the door? Or, with the insights granted, we still have some comprehension as to why behaviors are occuring? Then we can never say we are surprised but that we saw something ignited.

“Get in touch with the way the other person feels. Feelings are 55% body language, 38% tone and 7% words.”

-Professor Albert Mehrabian

As one can probably tell I have reasons for wanting all this “knowledge.” Some days it feels worth the effort and others, well I just want to throw everyone into a pit of fire.

Being that I’m human my patience is wearing thin. As I strive to “give the benefit of the doubt” or to strictly “get people” I become less patient with their…limitations.

Granted you can see I am not a perfect communicator but I do value that I try, honestly. There is no day I want to pass with someone being confused as to what I meant by anything, spoken or otherwise.

Morning-side.

Why do we hold on? Ever fearful of what’s to come we trudge. Calves sore, feet salted from sweat. The ground hot like the beach thick like mud. Continuously traveling uphill.

A treadmill set at incline 10, pack on back, summer sun, forgot breakfast.

At some point we tell ourselves it’s worth it. Who’s worse, us to ourselves or others to us? I knew there were liars and thieves, away from me and in the distance, but never have I felt so comparable.

But it’s worth it.

Wondering what “it” is.

Lately I’ve been practically in-able to wake up. It’s as if no matter the dream it is better than the awake. My comatose reality plays tricks, however, creating strange awareness and frustrations.

I tried to start a book and I couldn’t focus.

I need to focus.

I need coffee, for life.

 

Midnight and Thought Provoked.

So, obviously on a sugar rush. Here I am. Insomniac. Thinking and deliberating.

I can miss what I used to see. Miss all those memories. But really I can’t tell you truly, if I do miss you and me.

Rhyming sucks.

***

Kind of spewing at the moment.

I’m feeling like I’m ready for time to move more swiftly. Can we say…quick montage to the future? That’d be great. First, of course, the epic background music (remix) has to be chosen. Not sure yet. Have a few ideas.

Eye of the Tiger

The final countdown

I’m a Barbie Girl – just to mix it up.

In no way does the music have to be motivational.

***

I’m not sure where I’m at. Kind of feeling like I’m floating through life. Grasping at straws.

The straws being forcible diet and exercise. Can’t tell if I’m really enjoying the participation or just the routine. Or just any of it.

For now I’m going to continue.

Work is losing it’s luster. Stress. Repetition. Disappointment. It’s so hard to really depend on any of my co-workers there. Smooth sailing ship is like a wet dream.

***

Good night. I think I’ll start a new book tomorrow. Something more…entrapping.

Re-make my love for the Movies

50 Upcoming Movie Remakes (Yep, 50!)

Here’s to hoping we can grab hold of some originality.

This thought brought to you by the hundreds of re-makes that are now coming out in theatre’s. I was speaking to my Father earlier today and mentioned that the point of these films is that they came out when they did. Added on to that ideal is also the enjoyment as to what “effects” were available at the time. So what 3D wasn’t on the big screen or that special effects weren’t at their peak. I do not mind. I especially do not mind the sound of a grown man making the “chi-chi-chi-ca-ca-ca” sounds in Friday the 13th.

It is indeed the point that the films were made then and therefore in their prime. Is it sad for us to relive the periods for which the films were made? Are we so caught up in the “give me now’s” that we must steroid enhance all films that have already been produced? What is this?

Books are still being made. Yes ideas are recycled, whether it be due to the seed of “I’ve heard a similar story once before” or that humans are only so original, books are constantly being written. Films, please join the club.

I know originality is in short supply and that themes replay themselves. Heck, “vintage” is always in and styles once “forgotten” are making the full swing back.

None the less as a viewer I am frustrated.

Dear Theatres,

I love you. Now please show me something I haven’t seen.

– Sincerely,

The Dearly Devoted

Free Translation

World traveler. Artist. Writer. I want to be a winner of the spoken and or written word. I want to spin a web of images that are so vividly painted they are 3D. Attainable by all. Fad. Because like the fad it is addict-able. Able to become addicted to. This web.

Spinning. Spun. Just as worth to see the finished product as it was to create it. Each individual fiber like blood in the veins, giving it life. Oxygen.

To be understood is my heroin, each injection more needed then the last. But not to be understood by anyone other than myself. Self comprehension. Emily Dickinson. But if you find some meaning in it all, kudos.