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in corridors and alleys
we dance the tribal dance
while the neighbors are asleep
a drunken old man
lifts his flask in rhythm
to the movement of our feet
you kiss me with gusto!
and passion!
in this makeshift movie scene
the night is quiet
so breaking the silence
we laugh (because its free!)
light starts to forge its way
and finally we realize
this love in a passing dream
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| I absolutely refuse to let my xanga fade into internet oblivion. So here I am, completely ready to be blatantly and unforgivingly honest.
Where to start?
I saw Mike Tzou today on the way to class today. I sat next to him and asked him if he is, indeed, currently working on a ranch. He said it's actually not true (yet he did take a class ON a ranch) but other people have been asking him the same question. I realized then how strange it was that such a rumor even exists (let alone the fact that I felt it necessary to inquire about it). Why the image of Mike working on a ranch seems to fit so perfectly... I don't think I'll ever be able to articulate. He asked if there is any way to say "cause of death" without using the word "of." I couldn't think of anything, so I said goodbye and went to class.
Hm.
Not keeping a journal to document my daily life has inadvertently caused me to channel all my frustration, confusion, and misgivings into conversations with friends. I suppose that has allowed me to grow closer to certain people, but by doing so, I'm noticing that memory is starting to fail me. My emotions and revelations are fuzzy and I have no reference point upon which I can base my thoughts. Ah. Writing is therapy. I need to be able to write down and articulate exactly what it is that I'm going through so I can look back one day and laugh about how clueless I was. Back then.
Let me, then, start with the things that have had immediate influence in my life. For one, I've been reading a shit ton more than I can ever remember. Ever. I guess I'm mainly into Murakami. I honestly believe that Norwegian Wood unlocked the gate to something very strange within me. It's like a shadowy force that can only be conceptualized in abstractions. There is no way I can define what it is, I just know that it is there. It's draining me.
I've been keeping myself distracted with a lot of busywork. Photographing, filming, school work, pointless small talk with people I don't care for. It helps me to distance myself from my guilt and loneliness. Not that I even have an excuse to feel guilty or lonely. I just don't understand why these emotions are suddenly here floating around like they have always belonged. There's no reason that I can readily discern, so my immediate reaction is to ignore it and hope it goes away. It's working for the time being.
I'm at the age where the future seems like it holds endless possibilities. I feel limited by the sheer lack of tangible accomplishments in my past, but at least the desire to create and to labor are finally being brought forth. It's a good start, but I feel like if I want to devote myself to becoming great at something, I at least want it to be something about which I'm not conflicted.
Am I mature in how I'm approaching relationships these days? I've had ample time to develop my own perspective regarding human love and mainting relationships. One of the main conclusions is that I'm choosing to be direct about my interest in someone instead of beating around the bush and interpreting mixed signals. I'm resigned to the fact that members of the opposite gender can be fickle when it comes to romantic interest, so I'd rather cut the crap and be honest about what I'm feeling so they don't have a chance to misinterpret.
Well. I've tried this, but to no avail. Misunderstandings happen anyway. I'm all too reluctant to blame myself for these misunderstandings. I'm more comfortable blaming it on someone else's lack of maturity.
Or am I completely immature in believing that I'm surrounded by immature girls?
This is something I'm having an immense amount of trouble hashing out. I think it's going to stay like this for a while until I can accept the fact that I just don't understand people. At all.
There's so much more I'd like to say. I'm going to sign off now and assume that it's not going to be another year until I post again.
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| i'm damn tired of my insecurity.. this constant seeking approval and recognition from insignificant people... of getting frustrated or angry on the receiving end of bullshit while the other party remains oblivious.
i want to break free
ride into the sun
my thoughts used to flow from my mind to my fingertips. not anymore. i thought maybe it was from the lack of any stimulating conversations or challenging ideas in my life. but that's not it. i just haven't been writing enough... or rather... thinking enough about the things that matter.
but then again,
what exactly is it that matters? what is worthy of worry?
my soul is bruised, scarred, defeated. cowering in fear before the world and it's prince.
i'm looking for you, the one to save us all, but you've already left.
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| "I think we delight to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but completes the enjoyment; it is its appointed consummation. It is not out of compliment that lovers keep on telling one another how beautiful they are; the delight is incomplete till it is expressed."
-C.S. Lewis
Just. Awesome.
For me, simple, verbal communication never seemed to be an adequate source of catharsis simply due to the fact that it's so simple. I thought I needed to go out into the "wild," to distinguish the mind from what is and what is within the clutches of my imagined reality, and to tune myself to the ever present noise that clamors outside the boundaries of the body in order to fully understand the nature of the mind.
Did I even dare to imagine that saying exactly what was on my mind to exactly the right people would help to alleviate the emotional confusion, internal turmoil, and the overwhelming weariness that threatens to bury my heart and spirit?
For too long, I have been abiding by my own passions and (un)reality, trusting that I assumed the position of the majority and that I could be a voice for some unspoken, greater good while being blinded to the obvious vice of pride. I thought nobody could really understand me, but I forgot that I never tried or sought understanding from people. And what's more, I never sought to really understand myself.
At this period in my life, I need someone who'll talk to me, listen, and criticize me in order to direct me to a better path. Step on my toes, will you?
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Yesterday I drove about 130 miles to Santa Cruz to let my heart explode into the sky. And yes, it was well worth the drive. Even though it's finals week.
On the way back, Paul and I debated on the existence of absolute truth.
Paul believes that all truth is relative. Just because 1+1=2 doesn't mean absolute truth spills over into other aspects of life. It is only true in the context of the situation; truth doesn't apply to anything outside of the context. When I argued for the existence moral absolutes, a universal standard to which all people must somehow adhere, it just didn't make sense to him. I mean, things that were "true" for him didn't necessarily have to be true for others, right? That would be like imposing your will upon people. Nobody likes a control freak.
But there was one major, glaring contradiction in his actions and motives to his actual beliefs.
For example, he was adamant on the fact that the genocide in Darfur is WRONG.
Given that, he made a moral claim that applied to everybody, not just himself. Killing people is wrong. Always has been, always will be. By making this moral claim, he was subscribing to the existence of moral truth.
From his standpoint of moral relativism, if the Sudanese government truly believed in the systematic killing of people, they would be correct and blameless to themselves and to the world.
I'm going to go on a tangent.
Every generation of American youth has had one form of overseas pl/fight to another. By means of protest and grassroots action, they support a cause that is undoubtedly worthy.
What I don't get about this, however, is the selectiveness of these issues that are deemed "important."
Sometimes, I get the feeling that all this support for human rights has become trendy. If one shows that they are concerned for people halfway across the globe, then somehow, they will be able to show how much better and informed they are than other Americans. They are "fighting the good fight" while others are consumed by iPhone culture and designer jeans.
God forbid.
I honestly don't think the entire world loves the American point of view. When people propose a plan for justice and peace in Darfur, they believe implementing a social and economic infrastructure will help those people get back on the right track. They want UN peace keepers to intervene and force them to come to a resolution. They assume that the American way of doing things is the right and overall BEST way to run affairs.
I don't see how this point of view is any different from American imperialism in, let's just say... Iraq.
Anyways, not many people agree that genocide is right. And Paul doesn't either.
There is no way that one can claim to care about people suffering from genocide when they don't believe in moral absolutes. There just isn't.
I told him to get over himself and just accept it.
Acceptance is the hardest part.
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