Happy Birthday (!)

The thing I will hope to remember is that while I never got the pleasant bullshit I wanted, I at least got the intent right. Happy birthday Gizmo, and Aimee and whoever I may have missed. Happy birthday to me and the everclear to bring us home

thoughts from the overused muse

fiction for you from Rob Schrab:

She wasn't very nice to me. I thought I could change her heart. Because I saw something in her.

...hope. Hope that life was more than just staying alive. And that all this crazy stuff would be worth it...because at the end of this...
she would be with me.

A building concern

I found a quote while researching William S. Burroughs for a class. If I were better at this academic bit I would be smart enough to remember who I am quoting. Enjoy!

"The Cutter, the Exterminator, the old man of The Assassins Mountain can hope that the truth will make us free. But it may also damn us to a stasis stripped of plausibility. And at best in the resultant silence to say goodbye we are caught forever in the act of saying goodbye with no energy left to greet anything else..."

An open apology to whoever in the hell comes next

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't have designs on you"

emotion->belief->agenda->outcome. Everything I have to offer now or probably will.

my assertion to whatever comes next. This is all I have to say tonight.

the end

New

An update for those still paying attention:

I've been to the beach 3 times in the last few weeks. I intend to go at least 4 more times before I am a graduate. In the recent past I have: turned some corners on my own personal code of ethics, participated in a 500 person pillow fight, gotten my tickets to Coachella, played in the ocean, spent a night running in circles with previously stated crush, driven myself into the ground about 3 to 5 times and had my academic career saved by a certain Professor Dickey. Also-Ratatat! Life has been a series of fun-filled adventures punctuated by moments of melancholy/responsibility. There are no complaints.

So-on to the complaints: no (real) money, crappy car, no girl, lack of laser eyes or career goals, possible upcoming awkward moments with friends, newly reestablished aggressive tendencies peppered with narcissism, laziness and the general lack of adventure. Keeping all of these things in mind, I am doing well while trying my best not to lose perspective. This is the precarious balance I believe I am bound to in my life in general. Nothing is new and yet everything changes. At the moment all I can do is just choose to enjoy it.

Frustrations

To the fictional opponent of my imagining:

It was once said that the caliber of a man can be measured by the size of his hat. If this bit of Victorian wisdom were applied to the real world, you sir would be wearing an ant-sized fez firmly lodged up your ass, where invariably your head resides. If I were to pass you on the street I would not spit in your direction, but only because my spit is more valuable to me than your existence. I once made a mixed alcoholic beverage and named it in your honor, it was made entirely of cheap whiskey, vermouth and dog shit. Rather than serving this to even my worst enemy, I ran it through the garbage disposal and thought lovingly of you.

Frankly sir, I am tired of your entire existence and would like to list a few of your finer traits before I say goodbye. I abhor your picassoesque nose, your beady eyes, your too-strange-for-words feet, the way you lisp your "eshes", your shy but off-putting nature which lumps you in with only the highest order of serial killer suspects, your flippant yet kind wastrel tendencies, your excess of sentimentality plastered on the moral character of a syphilitic dog, the shambling words which make up your mindless speech, and, of course, the way you wear your hat.

If sir, you feel that this correspondence somehow mis-characterizes your finer traits (as if these things were truly in existence), I challenge you to respond in kind with whatever sub-coherent speech or pictogram that your underdeveloped mind can conjure up.

Sincerely yours,
William R. Fennimore-Cooper Cobblesmith Esq.

An empty minute

No updates=no drive. No audience+no motivation to share my thoughts=no need to blog. Here's a notion to ending all that:

The last month or so has been dedicated to moving, fixing some weary aspects of my life and the occasional belligerent drunken moment among friends. In between these large awkward themes I've felt like an idiot, negotiated the gap between infatuation and reality, made an ass of myself and apologized more often than I'd like to. All of this came to a head on a ride home tonight from the beach.

I've been tumbling this neurotic mess of a crush through my head, trying to figure out if its growth with no promises or a deluded attempt at romance. This is the dichotomy with no notions in between. When I'm willing to suggest that its badly played romance I start thinking about it from another perspective and wonder how people on the outside perceive it. I play this concept out further and wonder if I come off as pathetic or naive. (See also: drunken proclamations See also: idealistic rhetoric See also: close relationships with others) I let my paranoia take the wheel and wonder about the many things people in my life see that they aren't willing to comment on; I assume the worst. Cutting to the center of the thing, I hate recognizing outside judgment of my flaws and try to laugh it off, undercut it or drink it away. In retrospect, drinking it away may not have been the way to go...

Emerges the point-I'm really tired of trying to assume other people's perspectives. I try my best to love the people I keep in my life, do my best not to play dirty against my enemies and struggle to engage the world with the limitations of my personality on my back. I play the game like anyone else. While I'm busy trying to please everyone else, I let the phantom judgments I conjure up eat me alive until I alienate people around me or commit some small act of property damage. Having lived my life this way so far, I'm allowing myself the option to stick to my convictions without the unwanted burden of whispered opinions. If I can't live a life without complications, at least I'll keep my perspective.

On the Drive Home

I've heard that your personality determines the kind of people you attract. I am attracted to good-hearted fuck ups and kind minded sociopaths. I wonder what this says about me.

On second thought, what the hell am I saying about you?

that is all.

Fulcrum

Hello phantom viewer. I try not to appropriate anyone else's words to represent myself as much as possible (see Aimee), but given that this is a fun troubador weekend, I'll throw this out for your consideration.

Everything I'm capable of putting out there by The Cold War Kids:

Ran

Keeps running from some old concept to some new concept that resembles the old just enough for one to be affectionate to it. I hated my father so I looked for another father to represent my own, but just enough to catch the finer points of the concept without having to deal with the detrimental details. Eventually if I believed enough things would be better, somehow they would have to be, until I start realizing that conceding and settling are two sides of the same coin.
If I ran enough, long enough on the same road I'd have to come to some kind of stop that would become familiar as I let myself accept it. If I continue the same pattern that came before, things must invariably change. Breaking the wall by knocking through it; like chipping away stone with a river. Things are bound to be altered by following the same course, if you can stay the path just a couple hundred miles.
Turnabout works the same angles in reverse. Run from the concept and you romanticize it by removing it as a possibility. Nobody really runs from connections except the dead and the living dead. Everyone else plays at solitude for posturing, acting as if self-flagellation somehow inflates their ego. Self defense is as easy as keeping yourself safe until you realize you cut yourself off from everything you intended, and nothing feels quite so nice as a life hermetically sealed. I'd take a moment to spit on it if I didn't pause to realize that I'm sitting behind a screen just like everyone else.
The Punchline: accept it. Deflect criticisms, quit playing yourself for a rube and try to avoid as many fairy tales as possible.

There is no attempted ideology behind all of this. I am frustrated and in love with the world in front of me, and everyone I keep in it.

p.s.-no more free meals! Either I pay, you pay, and we all eat or we all go hungry...

Yep, I would rather not

Playing the game honestly and with a clear conscience is like trying to break a tank with a tennis ball gun. The alternative to this is playing a game which equals cheap rhetoric, signifying nothing. Ultimately I say fuck the game...when I'm not trying to benefit from it. I'm going to pass on making some kind of commentary on it and stick with Al Green for tonight

-This short meandering message brought to you by frustration and the letter F!

Aimée