?!?!?!!?

I guess I just have managed to forget about this for some time. Not that I hate blogging or anything, I just haven't had the motivation lately to sit down and write three pages about how I feel about all the shit going on in the world. Don't ask me why tonight is different, I just apparently deemed it necessary to express myself.

So what's new you ask? Well I moved into a house just off campus with three of the most amusing people I've ever met. Kate, Kristin and Sarah. Things are going good, the house is still standing, so any parties that we've had have all been successful. As for school, I'm starting that bag of fun up on the 21st of this month and I'm hardly excited. I just recently got started with my new job as a peer campus minister and the United Methodist church here in Cheney and I'm pretty happy with it so far.

It's been a rough couple months out here, living off of ramen and whatever my roommate brings me to eat because I watch her dogs while she's at work (I'd have probably starved to death if it weren't for that) I'm not so sure how I feel about getting ready to go back into classes this upcoming quarter. I'm retaking a math course that didn't go so well due to the instructor being....well... a bad instructor, otherwise known as a grad student. I am, however excited to get back into the programming aspect of things and hopefully I can keep myself on track there.

I guess my drive to write creatively has been dwindling. Every now and then I get  a poem idea in my head, but I just don't sit down and put pen to paper... Oh well, I guess that's just another thing to work on, along with my giant list of other things that I'm just not putting the required effort to.

Well, that's hopefully enough of an update for now and perhaps I'll be a bit more active on my blog, consider how therapeutic it can be sometimes.

Bye for now :P

Math: The bane of my existence

I've always been aware of my hate for math. Now, I think I just hate it more. Or maybe I'm just annoyed at the fact that it's at 8am with a scatterbrained grad student that always says "There's and easier way to do this, but you won't learn it til calculus". I've been out of elementary school for 10 years now and you know what I've finally managed to master? LONG DIVISION. I guess my brain just didn't function on basic little numbers being divided since I could easily multiply them in my head and get the answer 300 times faster and then get penalized for not showing my work. I guess all I needed was polynomials....

Programming is still pretty easy as of late. On Friday I had to take a test. Sat down with it at around 12.50pm and finished just shy of 1pm. Professor gives me a look of "wtf" and I just frolic off into the weekend, well, not really, but you get the picture.

This quarter is just zooming by and I'm pretty much ready for summer, my birthday, 4th of July and all around just being able to go home. I thought about summer classes, but I think my time would be best spent getting a hold of a full time job that I can carry over into the next school year. Not to mention I need to figure out what the hell I'm going to do about my living situation.

I've thought a lot about getting back into the habit of writing more often. Lately it's just an idea that's been unable to stick and I find it a bit frustrating. Maybe I've just been lacking some motivation. I know I have things to say, feelings to express, but for the time being they're just wanting to stay right where they are.

Spring quarter: week numero uno.

One week in, life is going as I had expected it to. Having an 8am class sucks incredibly way too much, but it’s for the greater good of things. I’ve managed to adjust rather well to this abrupt change in sleeping patterns from last quarter and I’m making the best out of it. I’m beginning to despise the class break that I’m stuck with, but I’m slowly finding ways to kill the hours. It should get easier once we start having programming projects, gives me something to work on other than the drone of endless math problems.

The programming course is VERY basic. Doesn’t look like we’ll even start coding until the week after next. So far we’ve learned the difference between a computer and a calculator and what a computer exactly is. I know what RAM is, thanks. I also happen to know the difference between memory and storage, but I’ll be okay with the complete reassurance of how much I know. Making my way to an easy A, right? The instructor gave us a disclaimer that he swears entirely too much, awesome. One minute into class and he’s already blurting things like “I will throw shit!”. The entertainment value is far too high.

Math… I don’t even know where to begin with this. It’s been years since I’ve taken a math class and I’m starting to remember why that’s the case. Eight in the morning with by far one of the geekiest grad students I have ever seen in my life. She resembles a 14 year old boy with long hair. She also relayed her passion for Dungeons & Dragons Online, except she called it “DDO” and explained what it was when everyone looked at her awkwardly.  This will be an interesting 10 weeks.

Technology in the World. Awesome instructor. Short little southern guy that kind of looks like senior citizen Mario, mustache and all! Totally laid back too. We tend to just bullshit for an hour about random technologies and their impacts. He handed out our first “project” on Thursday. All it is, is a two page paper about a medical/wellness/agriculture technology and I have over two weeks to do it. I’m pretty sure I could write that before I even type the introduction paragraph.

Here I am laughing at the relative ease of things, when I’m back taking freshman/sophomore level classes. Hooray for switching majors. I know this stuff is going to get harder, but I think I’m going to revel in the fact that it isn’t this quarter, giving me a nice breather after the bullshit I endeared in the winter quarter.

There’s my update for the quarter so far. I’ll try my best to keep things updated… Hell I might even write some poetry at some point in the future.

My Creative Writing Rant

So perhaps my focal point should no longer be creative writing. Being bogged down in all this literature turned a passion straight into a pipe dream. I guess I should have expected to be reading more than I was writing. That makes sense, right? Oh well I've moved on. Found my new direction, computer science

Everyone seems to find this to be a huge jump for me. I guess it's not normal to be able to excel in any field of academia as long as I feel the need to. I'm not trying to boast, in fact I wish I was just good in one area. It would make my life so much easier. Never second guessing myself, feeling like I belonged somewhere. 

Hopefully I'm making the right choice. Not like I need an education to be a writer anyways.

One really awesome side to all this, is no more night classes. I'll bet that night classes are awesome for anyone trying to work and go to school, but as a full time student, for a lack of better words, it sucks ass. Sitting in one room, listening to one man drone on endlessly about some book I'd have no problem using for toilet paper, is an excruciating experience. Maybe if he cracked more jokes, for quite frankly he's hilarious, when he's not lecturing, He can go from hilarity to desert dry faster than you can say sandpaper.

The only thing worse than a droning 5 hour lecture? Workshopping. For anyone new to that idea, picture this: Twenty people in a room all reading a poem they wrote, out loud. Then everyone either brown noses it or bashes the author, depending on their own personal view. Leave it to egocentric outcasts to ruin any meaning in a piece of poetry. They wouldn't know a metaphor if it won American Idol.

Did I mention that the two creative writing core classes I took turned into literature classes? So those, plus the English core literature classes equals nothing but reading book after book and maybe some creative writing if you instructor left their copy of the weekly book at home.

My adviser was rather understanding at all of this. I guess she had a notion this would happen the instant I told her how much I loathed reading for pleasure. I half expected to have to stand tall on a podium to explain my reasoning, but it was unnecessary. I was, however, applauded for recognizing I needed to get out instead of forcing myself to stick through it.

It didn't take much thought to realize what path I should take. The only other thing I do more than write, is dick around on computers. Hell, compared to my computer usage, I write about as much as I listen to country music. Which for anyone not aware of it, I'd wipe country music off the earth if I could, but then again, who wouldn't?

Don't get me wrong, I love writing. Especially when I get entranced in what I'm writing. I can't think of a greater feeling than when that spark inside me goes off and my pen hits paper. I just don't think I need to read and talk about three hundred books to feel confident about it. Congratulations, only idiots believe a piece of paper can make you better than someone, especially writing. There's a reason the Pulitzer prize is a medallion, not some cheesy certificate of creative merit.

With books and letters behind me, I move down the path of numbers and keyboards. Thank god I only have to deal with two math classes. I enjoy math about as much as I enjoy literature, but at least with math there is a definite right and wrong answer. No more catering to a teachers agenda when writing a paper. It's hard enough when you leave a bad impression on them by never joining in on discussions.

I guess I can handle this set back from switching majors. Probably would've ended up taking just as long to finish all the English classes anyways. Gives me more time to avoid becoming a real adult. I guess I'm taking after my dad in the realm of taking my time in college. As long as I can find my passion, I'll be content.

Also, I'd like to point out an interesting contrast I found. I turned in two piece to the same teacher. Both were written in about the same time frame, the only difference being that I actually cared about writing one of them. The one I didn't care about, was marked with the words “You should look into taking a grammar course”. The other one, the one I cared about, was marked with “You do some good tight work here.” Obviously if I gave a damn about all my papers, I'd be valedictorian.

Perhaps I'll just continue suing poetry to lessen my emotional burdens and use prose to rant about things I have trouble saying out loud. If I'm going to be annoyed, at least I can do it creatively. Nothing says “fuck you” like a 30 page packet of the thoughts behind the two simple words. Hopefully I can avoid making someone cry because it doesn't have to be directed at anyone in particular.

I hope I won't end up repeating this process with the computer science program. My hand has just about fallen off writing this as quickly as I did. Time can only tell for me, I just hope it tells me what I want to hear this time.

An Old Dutch Letter

The premise of this poem was to write something that you would assume I'm translating from a foreign language, and have it appear to be at least 100 years old...

An Old Dutch Letter

Eleanor,

My head belongs to your Eleanor.

It has been time and time again since

I have held you close to my lonely ego.

I pray your parents are feeling themselves

better than they did when I lived downstairs.

They could hardly walk, If I recommend.

Work has been something but a chore

for me and I prolong to be back in home.

Remember, crime never gives a refund.

In two perennials time, I will stop off

the final steeple of the boat and leap

from your arms into your eyes.

Just remember, that I regret taking

this pony from the bathroom stall

and my pants have become itchy.

Seriously,

George

On the Anniversiary of My Death

Please, don't cry on this day.

It was enough knowing I was

the reason when I still breathed.

Instead, cook my favorite meal

for dinner. Gather the family

around the table to eat and

reminisce about the times

when we still loved each other.

After dinner, watch my favorite

movie with the kids, let them

know that I watch over them

in death. Tuck them into bed.

Help them say a prayer for me,

for us. Kiss them on the foreheads.

When the time comes for you to

curl up in our now empty bed,

turn on our song and remember

that night that we danced under

the stars. It was the last thing I

saw when I closed my eyes

for the last time.

Never Looking Ahead

On the back of our fathers
we trudge daringly along.
With no view of what lies
ahead. We learn from
what remains behind.

Gripping with our young
fingers, for fear of falling
off and losing our way.
Nails dug deep into flesh,
Fate drips from the wounds.

We dream of the prosperity
we are told stories of, but
the dreams shatter with the
destruction and despair
left behind in the footprints.

The ground shakes and
chasms form below.
We hold tightly, waiting
for the day that we are to
carry our sons on our backs.

Happy Valentine's Day

To those who have broken me.
To those who have bent me.
To those I abhor
and to those I adore.

To those I've hated.
The ones leaving me jaded.
To those I've admired,
you've left me inspired.

To those I've broken.
To those I've misspoken.
To those that have cared.
For all the time shared.

Happy Valentine's day.
You deserve it.

I-90

Crossing the mountain pass.
Finding pieces of myself along the way.
The snow capped peaks reflect
nothing but the blank canvas
within my own thoughtless mind.

Crossing the mountain pass.
The drone of the engine
fills my ears saving me
from the bitter silence
of the solidarity I have found.

Crossing the mountain pass.
The lines in the road
dividing the lanes like I
have divided myself from
the bitter taste you have left.

Crossing the mountain pass.
The peaks fade behind me
as I near the destination I seek.
The last place I want to be.
The only place I'll ever go.

Home.

Green Tea

I never fancied myself a tea drinker.
Although,
I never fancied myself much of anything.

Long nights spent listening
to the clacking keys of
a restless keyboard.

three-in-the-morning tea pot
hissing loudly into a
sharp familiar whistle.

Countless trips to and from
the kitchen, cupboards opening,
closing. Lights going on then off.

kept company by thoughts
collaborating on the what-if's
and could-have been's.

An occasional glance at the
clock creates a look of disbelief.
Time for another cup.

Fear

We were given a poem in another language and asked to translate the poem. Not literally, but how we think it would be given the feel we got when reading it. Here is mine.

 Fear

It's something rattling me: destroying. Nothing has stood

against it and remained. Long breaths sputter and fail,

valiantly faltering on every exhale.

I do not know what causes this, only what it is.

At each turn the minutes speed then slow.

I have no alternative but to run.

If I make it through this shattered maze

and find my way back to the safety of home.

Disregard this letter,

for its purpose is no longer valid.

Should I never show my face again.

Know this: My strong will failed, for the last time.

Cliche

Here I sit
all broken hearted.
This is cliche,
but I've already started.

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
And here I am,
plagued by you.

Jack and Jill
went up the hill
Alas for poor Jack,
he's up their still.

Insomniac

I wish I could sleep

so soundly that I

never wake. Trap myself

in dreams I'm only

to forget. Lucid and

free I roam, pursuing

my hopes, my aspirations.

I wish I could sleep.

Not stare into my

ceiling, an open door

to and empty place.

The walls only show

the same, an endless

maze, tormenting me.

I wish I could sleep

through the ambiance

screaming out at me.

Dead lights, flickering.

Silent phone, ringing.

Knocks at my door

and a whisper in my ear.

I wish I could sleep.

My eyes shut hard.

Ears straining to close.

Pillows strewn about me.

Blankets in a pile.

Tossing, turning, eyes pried open.

The sun, rises again.

Excercise from class.

Shannon woke sharply. Glaring at the chandelier on the ceiling, contemplating what woke her. A noise, perhaps, something not normal in the night. Her legs becoming as restless as her mind. Slowly lifting the covers, Shannon slid out onto the marble floor. She drew quick breaths as each step embraced the frigid stone. Upon reaching the door, she appeared to stop breathing. Gripping the doorknob, she turned it slowly. The hinges creaked.

Untitled

Carefree days of high-school

hallways and crowded cafeterias.

The clusterfuck of concert band.

Glances back and forth in

a silent English classroom.

I was fourteen, you had my eye.

Slow paced walks from classes,

lunchtime shared day after day.

Smiles, laughter and conversation.

A realization of never to be,

what I hoped for pathetically.

I was fourteen, you were my broken heart.

An attempt to forget you,

a girl left forgotten to me.

A reconciliation, acceptance. Friends.

Carrying on the hope, a distant dream.

Praying for persistence to prevail.

I was fourteen, you captured my being.

Sacrifices of my persona.

Changes made to please you.

Awkward hugs, uncomfortable words.

My heart on my sleeve,

my true intentions shown.

I was fourteen, you were my downfall.

Countless hours spent by

your warm, caring side.

Countless moments felt

as if frozen in time.

Countless time, now wasted.

I was fifteen, you were never mine.

An unexpected breakdown.

No longer can I stand

as only a friend. You

stared into me as I

revealed my everything, my all.

I was fifteen, you finally understood.

Two hands grasped, finally.

A burden gone, heart now beating.

A kiss forged in secrecy.

Romance trapped in shadow.

My burden gone, yours firmly placed.

I was fifteen, you gave me a chance.

An awkward conversation.

Parental interrogation in full swing.

Discussion of your feelings,

Hiroshima hitting my heart.

Your choice or not, it wasn't to be.

I was sixteen, you were love at first sight.

Seasons

Winter wind, a frozen face.
Another blows behind, forcing a pace.
Rainfall receding, landscapes rinsed clean.
Clouds conceding. The sun gold and pristine.
Heat hammering down, humidity holds tight.
Bright light blinding, cool air takes flight.
Dense fog falls, hills grow obscured.
From fog to frost, winter's grasp assured.
Snowfall saunters down, lakes become ice.
Eternally entwined, in nature's fickle vice.

Experiement from class

I did it out of necessity.
The air was gritty on my lungs,
the rain rattled at my ceiling.
There was no one, not even me.
I did it out of fear.
A promise of hope.
Again and again I try.
I did it out of solidarity,
I did it for me.

The Chair

This chair, built for one.

Lacquered with time

and deep mahogany.

Memories in the knicks,

refinished to feel new.

Glue and screws hold

the old, loose joints.

Dust gathers where

the eye cannot find.

This chair, once sturdy,

now weakened and frail.

Carrying a load that

once was light.

Marks forever left

in the carpet below,

never to be seen.

For this chair,

was not built for two.

Audience

Reverberations off the wall,

the ceiling echoes the same.

An uproar rises from the floor.

The heat builds and builds,

only water keeps them sane.

Ego beams out into the vacancy,

absorbed by everything near.

Like threads on a rug,

the floor becomes crowded.

so neat, so uniform.

Nothing can move,

except for one thing.

The object that the walls,

the ceiling and the floor

can do nothing but stare at.

The overwhelming satisfaction,

felt as if everlasting.

Beautiful Dissipation

Elation, inspiration,

a homegrown,

proud infatuation.

Looking through

my ocean blues

with an uncanny new

and clear concentration.

A profound lyrical,

genuinely musical,

form of adoration.

A break in the weather,

floating like a feather.

A free flying, weightless,

and no rules sensation.

For my life is a gas,

straight from sublimation.

All it needs now

is some lighthearted,

beautiful dissipation.

Experiement

Floating like a Maximum Balloon,

searching for my Muse.

Scouring the Bloc Party,

hoping to be Keane.

Nothing but TV on the Radio,

a vivid Social Distortion.

Nothing but The Clash

of sounds in my Radiohead.

Like rusty Broken Bells,

a painful Metallica sound.

With a driving Dragonforce,

I scour for my slice of Cake.

Life's a Gas.

“Life's a gas”. I never understood that saying until recently. I've been able to feel myself dissipating into the o-zone, praying on my fading knees that someone will come light the spark that will ignite whatever is left of me into a brilliant blue flame. With my limbs slowly fading, hope for that spark wanes, as I slowly sublimate into an uncontrollable weightlessness in which I have no control over my own direction.

It's hard to pinpoint when I first realized what was happening to me. I'm quite certain it predates the moment I felt I could give an accurate description of the feeling, but certainty is something I'm seriously lacking in this moment. 

Safety in numbers? Bullshit. Numbers have only created problems in life; socially, economically, mentally, pick your poison. Clearly the statement needs to be revised, perhaps “Safety in solitude”? Aside from the obvious aesthetic pleasures of the consonant “s” sounds in the phrase, logically it just makes more sense. Numbers do nothing but falsely elevate ones true sense of self, money doesn't buy happiness right? Surrounding yourself with friends doesn't make you anything but a face in a crowd. It works inversely as well. Having little or no money, leaves you wanting more. Having little or no friends isolates you. 

This is where the safety in solitude comes in. If you cannot accomplish a degree of self satisfaction in whatever you seek, then you just forever spiral into a materially abundant apocalypse of dollar signs(Or lack thereof) and the people passed out on your floor after a crazy night.

Yes, I had some idea of these notions ticking away in my synapses, but of course being blinded by the grandeur of life as others saw it, my world was clouded. Corrupt with indecision and unease at every corner.

Thinking about situations, acting on situations and reacting to situations, I have learned, create a stability in life as it is. Caution is well advised though, for those three things must be done in that exact order. Enough people in the world act without thinking, and never react correctly afterwords. People seem to have gotten used to that mindset, for I've decided to a degree, it's what powers the minds of your everyday person. 

I come from the other angle of the spectrum, thinking without acting and without acting there is no reacting (at least in the way it should be). Go figure I've beat my head against a wall on this one. At first glance it seems so simple. “All you have to do is say this and everything will work out”. God damned story of my life. If I'm going to look before I leap, you're damned right I'm not going to leap if there's reasonable doubt in my mind that I'm going to fall. Call that philosophy whatever you please, to each their own. 

All of this, continuing on for years upon years has finally brought me to the knowledge of my own dissipation into nothingness. Emotacular? Depressing? Cold, bitter realism? Who knows. All I know is that as hard as I try to communicate, I'm left with only one outlet. Pen and paper. Or in this case virtual ink on virtual canvas. My apparent life force. Nights spent basking in artificial light, the background pulsations of music within my eardrums, an emotional and intellectual separation from the world around me. Freedom. 

I'm not even sure where I’m beginning to go with this. Maybe I'll step inside the mystical closet to Narnia and tell you how I saved the say by feeding the poor. Or maybe I'll decide to go back to the very early days of my collaborative existence in hopes you'll find my life interesting. Maybe I'll just decide I don't give a shit and stop here.

Guess you'll just have to wait and see.

The Night

A burden lifted,

yet wounds remain.

Weightless shoulders,

with scars to hide.

Seemingly unhindered,

yet slowed by it all.

Pacing behind doors

of equivocation,

the truth runs circles.

Searching for a way

out of the night.

Midnight stands still,

as if daybreak was

never to come again.

A Winter Storm

Storm clouds gather.

Violent winds carry
rain and snow away
from their typical path.
Rain hitting at an
unspeakable geometric angle.
Snow flipping, turning,
indecisive on where to land.
A man stands with
nothing but a thin
coat separating him
from the harsh elements.
A shiver rolls through
him like the thunder
piercing his ears.
His eyes, livid with a
determination unseen in most.
Around him the rain
and snow fall relentlessly.
Above him thunder
and lightning pound
away at the sky.
The man trudges onward,
through the inclement
weather, pressing forth
to the faint glimpse
of yellow in his path.