Not all songs render specific memories. Some span phases of our lives, even seasons. This is a seasons song. It's one of many in my book (or library, what have you).
I would quote the entire song, but you should really just listen to it. It's about faithfulness (or lack thereof). At least that's what it's about when I hear it. "Oh but the story I heard, is the people are bored. And the measures you'd take, to wrestle with your lord."
"Heard you tried to keep your hat on the shelf. Marry the women, went off and loved someone else."
Who's getting my love? It's hard to tell sometimes, if I'm really in my right mind. But it's fall, it's THAT time of year. (Let me explain. Each year, around this time, I start remembering to count my blessings. A new trend for me has been to forget that detail most of the time. I'm working on breaking that trend. Like all trends, it needs to die.)
That's that. This is the song that reminds me of all the times I've remembered to count my blessings. When I remember to give my thanks where it's due. This is the song that makes me think of her, them, Him. It's better when they come first. I don't deserve that kind of honor. There are times to be selfish, and I abuse them too often.
This song makes me think of Thanksgiving, specifically.
"Hey Jojo, don't forget your name. Might try to keep you from the man you've been. So don't go that way. Don't go that way."
That's the way in which I often find myself walking. Around this time of year I catch myself. I see my family, I see all the beautiful reasons I'm alive, and I realize that my own happiness is never one of them. We live to love others, and in doing so, to know who we are. The more we focus on ourselves, the less we remember who we actually are. Our best comes out whenever we finish last. This song helps me relax and be happy for everyone else. When everything sucks, be happy that things don't suck for someone else. Instead of being selfish or jealous, or any of the things I've been, it's so much better to just be content. Stop, look around, and stand there. Love where you're standing, and love who you've "married." Don't make up problems based on what you think you don't deserve. Then people won't tell stories about who you could've been.
A little deeper. Not really a specific memory, but this song holds a very special place in my heart. As to the band's original intention lyrically, I could be way off. But again, lyrics read one way to the writer, and another way to the listener. I'm still listening, not to myself, to you. To the people that I live for. To her. To them. To Him.
"One of these mornings, we'll be home."
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Song #1: Cheap Trick - "Surrender"
When I was a kid, up into middle school and freshman year, my dad and I would go to Worlds of Fun CONSTANTLY. We always got season passes. (To this day, my family has a tradition of renting a cabin in the WOF village the last weekend of October, to celebrate halloween/my birthday.)
I wouldn't bring anyone. It was just me and Dad. We rode all the coasters, the Mamba, the Patriot, the Prowler (well, that wasn't built till a few years ago, but still). Then we'd ride them again. We were (and are) coaster fanatics. Worlds of Fun is the best thing we've got in this area. (We actually drove to Six Flags, St. Louis, once. It was pretty fun, but not what we were used to. The lines spanned miles..)
The times that I spent with my dad were times that I could never trade for anything. He was my hero. We've ridden those roller coasters countless times together. It was a way in which we bonded. But it was the little things that bring this song, and others, to mind.
Once we went on a Sunday night. I was in 7th or 8th grade. It had looked like it was going to rain. We got to the park, and it started pouring. We stood in line at the Spinning Dragons, soaked. Finally, we rode it, and we rode one other ride a few times because it was an indoor ride.
At that point, my Dad found out that we were under a tornado watch. So we had to hit the road. We came home drenched, having only ridden a few rides, and still it's a memory that I'll hang on to forever.
When I was younger, 9 or 10, my dad and I would always compete to see who could spot the top of the Mamba from the highway. We would be listening to whatever his music happened to be. One song I'll always remember as our "Worlds of Fun" song is SURRENDER (LIVE) by CHEAP TRICK.
"This is next one! ....is, the FIRST song, on our newww album." Ah Cheap Trick. I never got into them, but that song became part of me. I always thought of sunny days where the air was filled with the crisp smell of warmed gravel underfoot. It was the Worlds of Fun smell. To this day, I could tell that smell immediately. Summer afternoons were spent soaring skyward then back to earth on trains with seats for two, four to a car. (The seat in the verrry back was the best...you went down the hill the fastest.)
"Mommy's alright. Daddy's alright. They just seem a little weird.
Surrender, surrender, but don't give yourself awayyyy...
...ayyyy....AAYYYYYAYAAAYYYYYY."
I paid no attention to the lyrics that I mindlessly sang in the car. All I knew when I heard it, was 'it's gonna be a great day.' I lived to ride roller coasters with my dad. It was the reason I left my house, other than school. I stayed home most of the time, recording songs in my basement, playing my guitar, or I'd be at Paul's house across the street. Those were my preteen years. And through all the confusion of that age and the misery it sometimes brought...I miss it. I miss it a lot.
I wouldn't bring anyone. It was just me and Dad. We rode all the coasters, the Mamba, the Patriot, the Prowler (well, that wasn't built till a few years ago, but still). Then we'd ride them again. We were (and are) coaster fanatics. Worlds of Fun is the best thing we've got in this area. (We actually drove to Six Flags, St. Louis, once. It was pretty fun, but not what we were used to. The lines spanned miles..)
The times that I spent with my dad were times that I could never trade for anything. He was my hero. We've ridden those roller coasters countless times together. It was a way in which we bonded. But it was the little things that bring this song, and others, to mind.
Once we went on a Sunday night. I was in 7th or 8th grade. It had looked like it was going to rain. We got to the park, and it started pouring. We stood in line at the Spinning Dragons, soaked. Finally, we rode it, and we rode one other ride a few times because it was an indoor ride.
At that point, my Dad found out that we were under a tornado watch. So we had to hit the road. We came home drenched, having only ridden a few rides, and still it's a memory that I'll hang on to forever.
When I was younger, 9 or 10, my dad and I would always compete to see who could spot the top of the Mamba from the highway. We would be listening to whatever his music happened to be. One song I'll always remember as our "Worlds of Fun" song is SURRENDER (LIVE) by CHEAP TRICK.
"This is next one! ....is, the FIRST song, on our newww album." Ah Cheap Trick. I never got into them, but that song became part of me. I always thought of sunny days where the air was filled with the crisp smell of warmed gravel underfoot. It was the Worlds of Fun smell. To this day, I could tell that smell immediately. Summer afternoons were spent soaring skyward then back to earth on trains with seats for two, four to a car. (The seat in the verrry back was the best...you went down the hill the fastest.)
"Mommy's alright. Daddy's alright. They just seem a little weird.
Surrender, surrender, but don't give yourself awayyyy...
...ayyyy....AAYYYYYAYAAAYYYYYY."
I paid no attention to the lyrics that I mindlessly sang in the car. All I knew when I heard it, was 'it's gonna be a great day.' I lived to ride roller coasters with my dad. It was the reason I left my house, other than school. I stayed home most of the time, recording songs in my basement, playing my guitar, or I'd be at Paul's house across the street. Those were my preteen years. And through all the confusion of that age and the misery it sometimes brought...I miss it. I miss it a lot.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Introduction for WW
Even though I've been posting here for months, I'm writing this introduction for writer's workshop, because we're starting a new assignment. The theme is for everyone to choose, in his or her blog. It must combine my love of two things (writing, and one other thing). And the theme must be constant throughout.
Similar to what I have been doing, answering questions (each post beginning with "Why" or "Where" or "How"), I've decided to post songs that can be linked to personal memories. There are certain songs, albums, and artists that when listened to, tend to bridge mental gaps for certain people. Lyrics aren't often meant to be literal or technical; if written honestly, they are to be healing agents, made custom for the listener based on his or her experience with the music. If a song brings with it a memory or the thought of a person, then the lyrics should appear to mean something similar, whether they're meant to be interpreted that way. Genuine lyrics don't "cover all the bases" or "appeal to a specific audience." They read one way to the writer, and another way to the listener. People write lyrics for the answers they can't find in other people's songs. For most of my good memories, there are songs that take me to them. Music is, in a way, like time travel. It can confuse us as easily as it can clarify the past. Some songs pop up when remembering a single moment, while others take us back through entire phases of our lives.
Similar to what I have been doing, answering questions (each post beginning with "Why" or "Where" or "How"), I've decided to post songs that can be linked to personal memories. There are certain songs, albums, and artists that when listened to, tend to bridge mental gaps for certain people. Lyrics aren't often meant to be literal or technical; if written honestly, they are to be healing agents, made custom for the listener based on his or her experience with the music. If a song brings with it a memory or the thought of a person, then the lyrics should appear to mean something similar, whether they're meant to be interpreted that way. Genuine lyrics don't "cover all the bases" or "appeal to a specific audience." They read one way to the writer, and another way to the listener. People write lyrics for the answers they can't find in other people's songs. For most of my good memories, there are songs that take me to them. Music is, in a way, like time travel. It can confuse us as easily as it can clarify the past. Some songs pop up when remembering a single moment, while others take us back through entire phases of our lives.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Why He's Gone.
A few nights ago, Friday, a classmate of mine, Tom, hung himself. Today is Monday. And the entire senior class has been mourning his passing. I barely knew him, but we've had classes before in the past. Last year, he and I made an egg carrier in physics. It was supposed to keep the egg from shattering when we dropped it on the floor.
I remember that Tom was always quiet. He spoke up whenever it was absolutely necessary, but stayed quiet whenever it wasn't. He didn't talk to hear his own voice, like most people. For that I admired him. He seemed content. He seemed okay. "Seemed" is a stupid word.
I haven't been able to think about anything else all day. What could have been. Like I said, I barely knew him, but I knew who he was. I saw him in classes we had together, and we were friends on Facebook. He was my age, and his name was Tom. I wish I knew what happened.
You never know what people have brewing under the surface. Tom, for all intents and purposes, was an average high school kid, with problems and traits like us all. But something in him led him to believe he had run out of options. No one here knows how to feel about it, especially not me, besides sad.
No one goes without being missed. No one commits suicide without hurting someone. The thoughts that lead people to think suicidal things are lies, because anyone who ever reached out for help was faced with the choice of taking it or leaving it. Tom not only left his help behind; he left a school, a family, friends, and a future behind. He walked out on his own life, because something in him lied to him and said it wasn't worth trying.
I don't know much about the situation, but I know that Tom deserved better. No one gets to tell him that now. It's too late. That's why he's gone. Tom either didn't know the truth, that is he was completely worthy of the life he had ahead of him, or he chose to ignore it.
Suicide hurts. Lies hurt. Truth heals.
I remember that Tom was always quiet. He spoke up whenever it was absolutely necessary, but stayed quiet whenever it wasn't. He didn't talk to hear his own voice, like most people. For that I admired him. He seemed content. He seemed okay. "Seemed" is a stupid word.
I haven't been able to think about anything else all day. What could have been. Like I said, I barely knew him, but I knew who he was. I saw him in classes we had together, and we were friends on Facebook. He was my age, and his name was Tom. I wish I knew what happened.
You never know what people have brewing under the surface. Tom, for all intents and purposes, was an average high school kid, with problems and traits like us all. But something in him led him to believe he had run out of options. No one here knows how to feel about it, especially not me, besides sad.
No one goes without being missed. No one commits suicide without hurting someone. The thoughts that lead people to think suicidal things are lies, because anyone who ever reached out for help was faced with the choice of taking it or leaving it. Tom not only left his help behind; he left a school, a family, friends, and a future behind. He walked out on his own life, because something in him lied to him and said it wasn't worth trying.
I don't know much about the situation, but I know that Tom deserved better. No one gets to tell him that now. It's too late. That's why he's gone. Tom either didn't know the truth, that is he was completely worthy of the life he had ahead of him, or he chose to ignore it.
Suicide hurts. Lies hurt. Truth heals.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Why I'm Not Too Smart
Today was a late start (School starts at 9:40 instead of 7:40). I woke up at 6, slide my "alarm bar" on my phone to the Dismiss option, and went back sleeping. I didn't even think of hitting snooze for some reason. I woke up later around 8:30, not knowing what day of the week it was or what time it was or anything of that nature. The sun was shining in my clean room. (That's right, you heard me...CLEAN.) I gave thanks, because I could tell it would be a beautiful day. And above all else..it was Thursday. The best day of school every week. (Thursdays are even days, so I have NO hard classes. Maybe we've been through this? Eh, whatever.)
I'm in 6th block right now, typing away. I'm starting to sound like your average "Look at me, I can write and be descriptive and smart" student, so I'll stop with the details and just explain the title: "Why I'm Not Too Smart."
I feel as if liberals (left-wing, democrat, what have you) are very smart. They are all intellectually sound and confident in their, well, smartness. But I've come to find that most of them stand for the things I despise...abortion, gay rights (as if they're not already in their rights), etc. (By the way, I reserve the right to express my views in this blog, with no intention of offending anyone. I just want to be honest.)
Maybe God made us this way. When we get too smart, we start believing our own ideas, like evolution, for example. Discovering things and analyzing them, giving lofty speeches, these are the ways in which we empower ourselves mentally. After being full of "the smart," we come up with ways to be number 1, so that no one stands beyond us or above us. Truth is, someone does stand above us, and He's the only reason we're allowed to think the way we do, even breathe.
I'm sure God appreciates intellectuals, always thinking, using their God-gifted brains. But no one is smarter than God. And by trying to convince ourselves that He's not there, or not relevant, or maybe just not listening, we're dumbing ourselves down big time. Most scientists will tell you the earth is millions of years old and that we are the product of plants and animals growing and changing overtime. And WE believe them, because they're just oh so smart. But if a two-year-old tried to explain the theory of evolution, it would probably sound something like this:
"There once was nothing. Just a big NOTHING. Then NOTHING exploded into SOMETHING and made THE WORLD. Then animals happened, and then there were PEOPLE. And that's what happened."
Does it really make any fucking sense? People take things that don't go together at all, and make them belief systems. The same goes for food, music, everything. Most of it was weird in the beginning, but then smart people started endorsing it, and it became completely normal. Fact. Is it weird that America was founded by Christians? Yep. Is God an interesting and weird mythological CONCEPT? Apparently.
Now picture this, coming from the mouth of a two-year-old:
"There once was nothing. Just GOD. Then GOD made THE WORLD. Then GOD made animals and then PEOPLE. And that's what happened."
It doesn't take a lifetime of research and "smartness" to say something that actually makes sense. The great truth, is that there are many children in the world who know more about life than the most acclaimed scientists in the world. And sadly, I don't see a trend starting.
God, this world is all yours. Help the few of us who are listening to change it.
I'm in 6th block right now, typing away. I'm starting to sound like your average "Look at me, I can write and be descriptive and smart" student, so I'll stop with the details and just explain the title: "Why I'm Not Too Smart."
I feel as if liberals (left-wing, democrat, what have you) are very smart. They are all intellectually sound and confident in their, well, smartness. But I've come to find that most of them stand for the things I despise...abortion, gay rights (as if they're not already in their rights), etc. (By the way, I reserve the right to express my views in this blog, with no intention of offending anyone. I just want to be honest.)
Maybe God made us this way. When we get too smart, we start believing our own ideas, like evolution, for example. Discovering things and analyzing them, giving lofty speeches, these are the ways in which we empower ourselves mentally. After being full of "the smart," we come up with ways to be number 1, so that no one stands beyond us or above us. Truth is, someone does stand above us, and He's the only reason we're allowed to think the way we do, even breathe.
I'm sure God appreciates intellectuals, always thinking, using their God-gifted brains. But no one is smarter than God. And by trying to convince ourselves that He's not there, or not relevant, or maybe just not listening, we're dumbing ourselves down big time. Most scientists will tell you the earth is millions of years old and that we are the product of plants and animals growing and changing overtime. And WE believe them, because they're just oh so smart. But if a two-year-old tried to explain the theory of evolution, it would probably sound something like this:
"There once was nothing. Just a big NOTHING. Then NOTHING exploded into SOMETHING and made THE WORLD. Then animals happened, and then there were PEOPLE. And that's what happened."
Does it really make any fucking sense? People take things that don't go together at all, and make them belief systems. The same goes for food, music, everything. Most of it was weird in the beginning, but then smart people started endorsing it, and it became completely normal. Fact. Is it weird that America was founded by Christians? Yep. Is God an interesting and weird mythological CONCEPT? Apparently.
Now picture this, coming from the mouth of a two-year-old:
"There once was nothing. Just GOD. Then GOD made THE WORLD. Then GOD made animals and then PEOPLE. And that's what happened."
It doesn't take a lifetime of research and "smartness" to say something that actually makes sense. The great truth, is that there are many children in the world who know more about life than the most acclaimed scientists in the world. And sadly, I don't see a trend starting.
God, this world is all yours. Help the few of us who are listening to change it.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Vacancy.com Scholarship Essay: "Where to Hide"
This is my entry for the essay contest via Vacancy.com. Please enjoy!
"Where to Hide" - Brandon Upson - 1 November 2011
"Where to Hide" - Brandon Upson - 1 November 2011
Growing up in Olathe gave me my love of wide, open spaces. A six-year-old gets his jollies from running through a field of green or chasing the big brother around an empty office. We all know that everything seems gigantic when you are naïve and small in size. Prior to growing up, the world opened up several hiding places for me. I could find my little getaway, my escape, just about anywhere. We lose this advantage the moment we grow up, and out. We take up more space, and therefore, the spaces get smaller, even disappear.
As an adult, it becomes something of an ordeal to find comfy, cozy places to settle. We are generally uncomfortable with ourselves, whereas children go about their daily lives unaware of any such discomfort. This is because the world is bigger, less suffocating. Personal space, for once, is not an issue worth considering.
I will be on my own in maybe a year, maybe sooner. It is safe to say that I have found a place with little to no suffocation, a place to hide. The apartment for me is in Indian Meadows, in Olathe, the city where I grew up, where I first discovered my childhood love of hiding.
Although these apartments are not in the middle of nowhere, they are spacious, secluded, and me. I can envision my life there as a student in college, because Indian Meadows suits my needs, let alone my dreams; atmosphere is an important aspect of my work performance as well as my overall comfort. A major setback for me, currently, is my lack of comfort at home, which leads me to procrastinate.
In short, Indian Meadows would make my studies more studious, my comfort more comfortable, my hideout more hidden. Moreover, I would be returning to where I was raised, and it is still only a few minutes away from the family home.
As far as physical features of the apartments go, the fitness center will be nice. Furthermore, the living space is the right size – not too large, not too suffocating. My dream apartment is not gigantic; I do not want to get lost, because there is a significant difference between lost and hidden.
The colors appear warm and welcoming, not washed up or glamorous. I prefer a place that is humble yet presentable. Indian Meadows seems to be a place easily kept clean and easily inhabited. I have been told that a home is the resting place for a heart. I would love to rest my head on a pillow in an apartment that welcomes me the way a home should. Indian Meadows could be home. From all that I have seen and read, my ideal home, as a student in college, lies therein.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Observance/Reflection: Halloween
Halloween Halloween this is Halloween.
Yep! Today's the day. Not a huge deal, but it's fun. It'd be more fun if I weren't in school right now, but hey, it's not really a "holi-day," ya know. School views halloween like Columbus Day (another day we ought to have off school). Like it's just an excuse to celebrate candy and to escape through costume. Hey, what else is it really? That's basically it. Just a good ol' American party.
Hey, what are all holidays honestly? Excuses to celebrate, they give us something to look forward to throughout the seasons. People forget about every day in between Thanksgiving and Christmas, because they're just full of anticipation. It's as if all our potential as people comes out a thousandfold on one particular day. We're appreciated to the max on our birthdays. We love God more on Christmas and Easter. We can't wait till autumn each year because "HALLOWEEN IS COMING UP!" No one ever says anything like, "Hey...Sunday, October 30th!! So stoked!"
Holidays make all other days of the year seem pointless. For this reason, most days are unremarkable. Today is Monday. Tomorrow will be Tuesday. The day after that will be Wednesday. Then comes Thursday. Finally it's Friday, but it's one of many. It'll pass. A few days later it'll be Monday again. And the cycle repeats. Holidays are a break from the cycle.
Okay, this is what I'd like to change. How about we make every day remarkable? why not celebrate the things we love every day? Why not live day to day with something to get excited about? We pour our hearts and souls into single days of the year more than others because we have high hopes for happiness. Is it wrong to be happy a week before Christmas but do nothing on December 25th? Most days are numbers, but give them names, and they become events. Everyone freaks out about January 1st because it's not Sunday, it's New Year's Day. Sunday means nothing. St. Patricks Day, Valentines Day, Presidents Day...March 17, February 14, February 20. Those days mean something. No one gives a shit about March 16, February 13, or February 19. (Disregarding birthdays, anniversaries, etc.)
Every day is a gift, not just the "special" days. We have something to look forward to each day...LIVING. Breathing, seeing the people we love, and if not seeing them, thinking of them. We get the honor of waking up each day and walking, talking to one another, or simply hearing the voices of others. These are privileges, given to us by a God that celebrates our lives every day, by listening to all our prayers, complaints, and taunts. We deserve nothing more, yet we deserve to soak up the days for all they have to offer, all of them.
Today is Monday, October 31, 2011, and it's going to be a great day. Thanks for everything, God.
Observance.
Yep! Today's the day. Not a huge deal, but it's fun. It'd be more fun if I weren't in school right now, but hey, it's not really a "holi-day," ya know. School views halloween like Columbus Day (another day we ought to have off school). Like it's just an excuse to celebrate candy and to escape through costume. Hey, what else is it really? That's basically it. Just a good ol' American party.
Hey, what are all holidays honestly? Excuses to celebrate, they give us something to look forward to throughout the seasons. People forget about every day in between Thanksgiving and Christmas, because they're just full of anticipation. It's as if all our potential as people comes out a thousandfold on one particular day. We're appreciated to the max on our birthdays. We love God more on Christmas and Easter. We can't wait till autumn each year because "HALLOWEEN IS COMING UP!" No one ever says anything like, "Hey...Sunday, October 30th!! So stoked!"
Holidays make all other days of the year seem pointless. For this reason, most days are unremarkable. Today is Monday. Tomorrow will be Tuesday. The day after that will be Wednesday. Then comes Thursday. Finally it's Friday, but it's one of many. It'll pass. A few days later it'll be Monday again. And the cycle repeats. Holidays are a break from the cycle.
Okay, this is what I'd like to change. How about we make every day remarkable? why not celebrate the things we love every day? Why not live day to day with something to get excited about? We pour our hearts and souls into single days of the year more than others because we have high hopes for happiness. Is it wrong to be happy a week before Christmas but do nothing on December 25th? Most days are numbers, but give them names, and they become events. Everyone freaks out about January 1st because it's not Sunday, it's New Year's Day. Sunday means nothing. St. Patricks Day, Valentines Day, Presidents Day...March 17, February 14, February 20. Those days mean something. No one gives a shit about March 16, February 13, or February 19. (Disregarding birthdays, anniversaries, etc.)
Every day is a gift, not just the "special" days. We have something to look forward to each day...LIVING. Breathing, seeing the people we love, and if not seeing them, thinking of them. We get the honor of waking up each day and walking, talking to one another, or simply hearing the voices of others. These are privileges, given to us by a God that celebrates our lives every day, by listening to all our prayers, complaints, and taunts. We deserve nothing more, yet we deserve to soak up the days for all they have to offer, all of them.
Today is Monday, October 31, 2011, and it's going to be a great day. Thanks for everything, God.
Observance.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Why I'm Not a Reader (not what you think)
Even days are seriously the best. For one day in each week, I get a break from constant SPANISHMATHSCIENCEBLAHHH.......it's nice.
I'm in 6th block, by the "cell." Feeling great. Last night at work I started thinking about the dream again. The dream to compose a score by next year. In all honesty, I'm pretty far from that coming true, but I at least know it's achievable. I've been planning small things...Start by paying off my late fees at the library. check out books on basic music theory. Do some digging around online, figure out what pieces I would need and how to write for each piece. Maybe I should talk to some people who have orchestral experience. Something in me is afraid of even trying, because I know this won't be easy. But in the end, all I want to do is write music! Being able to hear something in my head and then transfer it to real life, what a dream. Not something small, not local metal bands or random shit in my basement. I want to actually breathe music to life, music that people haven't heard before. I want to trigger the teary-eyed scene in the climax of your favorite movie. I want to write the sounds you hear when Leonardo DiCaprio jumps those rooftops, chasing after the antagonist, spitting epic one-liners. The music makes those moments real.
Last block in writer's workshop, we finished watching Finding Forester. If you've seen this movie before, you can understand that I'm pumped on everything right now. I feel smart and ambitious. (Granted, I am still just a bored senior in high school typing away during class.) Regardless I've been wondering where to go, since the fork in the road is quickly approaching. I could invest in a new band, do the whole "band" thing again, be with my friends, live the moments that I call "dreams," or I could move on, and elope with this new dream of mine, and do what I was born to do...write music. I want to learn theory and everything because even if I didn't learn now, I would undoubtedly learn eventually, considering my career, no matter what it is, will revolve around music.
The time to truly believe in someone is when everyone else thinks they're crazy. What about me? I think I'm crazy. Should I believe in myself? Or am I really just crazy? It's ridiculously hard to tell sometimes.
There are so many things I could be doing to help this journey kick itself off, but I'm afraid of failing. It's easier to admit that in writing than it is in speaking. I am afraid. I really am. I don't know what will actually happen, because my expectations seem too good. So I freak out, thinking that none of this could ever possibly happen, and that I'll end up 50, shopping at the same old grocery store, telling my kids "high school is the best time of your life," whereas right now, it obviously isn't. Where does that transformation begin? Where in life will I be content with falling short of ALL my dreams? It can't happen. I don't think I would ever allow it.
And THAT'S what keeps these dreams alive. Dormant as they may be, they're breathing. And the big one, it's breathing heavier and louder than it has before. It's almost speaking to me. My hope is that it will learn to yell, even scream at me, until I feed it. People don't give up on their dreams. Dreams give up on people, because it's the people that fail their dreams. I have a responsibility, a gift, and if I don't nurture it, I'm just an old man in young shoes, waiting to catch up, waiting to fail, and waiting to be totally fine with it. God don't let this body pass through without letting my soul shine through. Let me change something in the world while I'm still stuck in this skin. Let the music be my face for you. Lead me to the dream. Don't let me walk past it, because it will always be there, even if it gives up on me.
Big dreams. Music dreams. My dreams.
I'm in 6th block, by the "cell." Feeling great. Last night at work I started thinking about the dream again. The dream to compose a score by next year. In all honesty, I'm pretty far from that coming true, but I at least know it's achievable. I've been planning small things...Start by paying off my late fees at the library. check out books on basic music theory. Do some digging around online, figure out what pieces I would need and how to write for each piece. Maybe I should talk to some people who have orchestral experience. Something in me is afraid of even trying, because I know this won't be easy. But in the end, all I want to do is write music! Being able to hear something in my head and then transfer it to real life, what a dream. Not something small, not local metal bands or random shit in my basement. I want to actually breathe music to life, music that people haven't heard before. I want to trigger the teary-eyed scene in the climax of your favorite movie. I want to write the sounds you hear when Leonardo DiCaprio jumps those rooftops, chasing after the antagonist, spitting epic one-liners. The music makes those moments real.
Last block in writer's workshop, we finished watching Finding Forester. If you've seen this movie before, you can understand that I'm pumped on everything right now. I feel smart and ambitious. (Granted, I am still just a bored senior in high school typing away during class.) Regardless I've been wondering where to go, since the fork in the road is quickly approaching. I could invest in a new band, do the whole "band" thing again, be with my friends, live the moments that I call "dreams," or I could move on, and elope with this new dream of mine, and do what I was born to do...write music. I want to learn theory and everything because even if I didn't learn now, I would undoubtedly learn eventually, considering my career, no matter what it is, will revolve around music.
The time to truly believe in someone is when everyone else thinks they're crazy. What about me? I think I'm crazy. Should I believe in myself? Or am I really just crazy? It's ridiculously hard to tell sometimes.
There are so many things I could be doing to help this journey kick itself off, but I'm afraid of failing. It's easier to admit that in writing than it is in speaking. I am afraid. I really am. I don't know what will actually happen, because my expectations seem too good. So I freak out, thinking that none of this could ever possibly happen, and that I'll end up 50, shopping at the same old grocery store, telling my kids "high school is the best time of your life," whereas right now, it obviously isn't. Where does that transformation begin? Where in life will I be content with falling short of ALL my dreams? It can't happen. I don't think I would ever allow it.
And THAT'S what keeps these dreams alive. Dormant as they may be, they're breathing. And the big one, it's breathing heavier and louder than it has before. It's almost speaking to me. My hope is that it will learn to yell, even scream at me, until I feed it. People don't give up on their dreams. Dreams give up on people, because it's the people that fail their dreams. I have a responsibility, a gift, and if I don't nurture it, I'm just an old man in young shoes, waiting to catch up, waiting to fail, and waiting to be totally fine with it. God don't let this body pass through without letting my soul shine through. Let me change something in the world while I'm still stuck in this skin. Let the music be my face for you. Lead me to the dream. Don't let me walk past it, because it will always be there, even if it gives up on me.
Big dreams. Music dreams. My dreams.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Why I Could Do This With My Eyes Closed
I was walking up the stairs. Oh, those stairs, where you're shoulder to shoulder with people whose names and faces mean nothing to you. (I can be a bit of a misanthrope, sometimes.) I had headphones in. It's hard to be "attached" to something when it's always abandoning you. I have had three different iPods. First one, broke. Second, stolen in physics class last year. Third, vanished at a friend's house. (Not stolen, vanished. I swear.) So it's pretty easy for me to give up on my musical connections when I am barely "connected." But I have my phone. It holds a small amount of music, but it's something until I get a new iPod (and the cycle repeats). But popping in headphones for a whole class (like I used to) made me see things brighter. I was disconnected, back in the arms of Music. It felt good. My brain cells weren't bouncing off my cerebral walls. It was like having the first cigarette months after quitting. (Can't really know what that's like, but hey, good comparison.)
"Quitting" tastes horrible in my mouth. That word burns my music-filled lungs. I hate the idea that, for some time now, I haven't been connected to music. I've gotten the feeling that it doesn't matter, because music comes out of me as well as it goes in, maybe more so. But having music IN me again changed my thinking. Suddenly I had my focus back. I could pinpoint the tasks at hand and execute them. I even felt like making conversation with people (haha, first time for everything). Whatever the case, I had some odd strength about me. It was addicting.
Hearing music is different than having it at the forefront of your ears, where no one else can cut through. Music gets a VIP seat to the show that is me. And once it's there, everything else makes sense. Even math. (Math making sense. Imagine that!)
Writing with music is something to behold. Right now I've got Alesana's new album spinning in my ears. For that I will remember this experience in the midst of a week that will ask a lot of me. I'm working tonight till 10, tomorrow till 10, and the day after till 10. Friday, I turn 18. (Whoa....WHAT?!) Going to Blake's house for a movie night instead of having a big party. Bringing Bridget with me. It'll be the first time for her meeting some of my friends. A few of them she's met before. Regardless, I'm excited. Then Saturday I'm going to Worlds of Fun with my family and my best friend, Paul. Eighteen will be a great year.
If I had to choose between ears and eyes, I would without a doubt choose ears. Having that always agreeable voice in my ears, backing everything I do, helping me make decisions, giving me the light my eyes simply cannot...I can't live without it. I'm back to headphones for good. My "internal" iPod, as much as I love it, cannot suffice for all the times I'm feeling lost. I'm finally realizing that I cannot write every song I've ever heard in a single thought. (Since this is writing, not talking, I take this time to reveal some information about me that I'm uncomfortable speaking of.) I have perfect pitch. I can hear notes, tell you the letter (A, B, C, D, E, F, G), sharp or flat. Doesn't matter, I've had this ability all my life. I can memorize songs, pitches, just by listening to them once. I can learn songs on guitar by listening to them a few times. When people ask me, "What songs can you play?" I have no idea how the hell to answer them. I don't keep track. Most of the popular songs I can play, I learn by accident while screwing around or jamming.
I hate telling people all of this, because it makes me feel like I don't deserve any of the music I've written. I feel so unworthy of music as a whole, and that's why I continually run to it, whether mentally, or audibly. Lately I've been running to it mentally more than audibly, but I know now that both are important. You can't write a great book without reading a good one first. Music listening strengthens the voice of your music. It's like adding influences to your collection of experience. It's something that will change you, in some way, big or small. I am currently being changed in a big way, by the sweet sounds of Alesana's new album. (This is the part where I try not to sound stereotypical or cliche.) You need to experience this for yourself. don't let me tell you it's important, or it's life-changing. Listen to music, but do it to see with your ears what your eyes could never show you. Get the whole picture, because the one in your mind is still in progress, and it will remain that way till the day we die. Keep taking in, so that you can keep putting out. There is never a point where influence from others won't help you. Not just in music, in all forms of art and in life in general.
Take what is given, listen to it, and love it because someone else imagined it for you. Because as long as it's original, it's something you never would have thought. Everyone has something else to bring to the table. Again, big or small, doens't matter. Some people completely change the world of music you think you know. Artists have done it multiple times throughout history. It takes one mind to influence many. I can't stay in the bubble of my mind's own symphony. I have to let other artists in and let them mold me, while I'm still in control, because I can never stop appreciating their creations. I'm done being selfish.
Life. I could do it with my eyes closed. As long as I have a good set of ears. But I can't rely of any part of me to account for the rest. Open eyes. Open ears. Music heals.
"Quitting" tastes horrible in my mouth. That word burns my music-filled lungs. I hate the idea that, for some time now, I haven't been connected to music. I've gotten the feeling that it doesn't matter, because music comes out of me as well as it goes in, maybe more so. But having music IN me again changed my thinking. Suddenly I had my focus back. I could pinpoint the tasks at hand and execute them. I even felt like making conversation with people (haha, first time for everything). Whatever the case, I had some odd strength about me. It was addicting.
Hearing music is different than having it at the forefront of your ears, where no one else can cut through. Music gets a VIP seat to the show that is me. And once it's there, everything else makes sense. Even math. (Math making sense. Imagine that!)
Writing with music is something to behold. Right now I've got Alesana's new album spinning in my ears. For that I will remember this experience in the midst of a week that will ask a lot of me. I'm working tonight till 10, tomorrow till 10, and the day after till 10. Friday, I turn 18. (Whoa....WHAT?!) Going to Blake's house for a movie night instead of having a big party. Bringing Bridget with me. It'll be the first time for her meeting some of my friends. A few of them she's met before. Regardless, I'm excited. Then Saturday I'm going to Worlds of Fun with my family and my best friend, Paul. Eighteen will be a great year.
If I had to choose between ears and eyes, I would without a doubt choose ears. Having that always agreeable voice in my ears, backing everything I do, helping me make decisions, giving me the light my eyes simply cannot...I can't live without it. I'm back to headphones for good. My "internal" iPod, as much as I love it, cannot suffice for all the times I'm feeling lost. I'm finally realizing that I cannot write every song I've ever heard in a single thought. (Since this is writing, not talking, I take this time to reveal some information about me that I'm uncomfortable speaking of.) I have perfect pitch. I can hear notes, tell you the letter (A, B, C, D, E, F, G), sharp or flat. Doesn't matter, I've had this ability all my life. I can memorize songs, pitches, just by listening to them once. I can learn songs on guitar by listening to them a few times. When people ask me, "What songs can you play?" I have no idea how the hell to answer them. I don't keep track. Most of the popular songs I can play, I learn by accident while screwing around or jamming.
I hate telling people all of this, because it makes me feel like I don't deserve any of the music I've written. I feel so unworthy of music as a whole, and that's why I continually run to it, whether mentally, or audibly. Lately I've been running to it mentally more than audibly, but I know now that both are important. You can't write a great book without reading a good one first. Music listening strengthens the voice of your music. It's like adding influences to your collection of experience. It's something that will change you, in some way, big or small. I am currently being changed in a big way, by the sweet sounds of Alesana's new album. (This is the part where I try not to sound stereotypical or cliche.) You need to experience this for yourself. don't let me tell you it's important, or it's life-changing. Listen to music, but do it to see with your ears what your eyes could never show you. Get the whole picture, because the one in your mind is still in progress, and it will remain that way till the day we die. Keep taking in, so that you can keep putting out. There is never a point where influence from others won't help you. Not just in music, in all forms of art and in life in general.
Take what is given, listen to it, and love it because someone else imagined it for you. Because as long as it's original, it's something you never would have thought. Everyone has something else to bring to the table. Again, big or small, doens't matter. Some people completely change the world of music you think you know. Artists have done it multiple times throughout history. It takes one mind to influence many. I can't stay in the bubble of my mind's own symphony. I have to let other artists in and let them mold me, while I'm still in control, because I can never stop appreciating their creations. I'm done being selfish.
Life. I could do it with my eyes closed. As long as I have a good set of ears. But I can't rely of any part of me to account for the rest. Open eyes. Open ears. Music heals.
Friday, September 30, 2011
An Observance 9/30/11
Simply, tomorrow is October! What happened?! September is gone. Today is it. After this bright, beautiful day there is no more September 2011.
Seriously, holy shit! It's THAT time of year. No, it's not fall. It's only the time of year I LIVE FOR. (Sorry, I'll calm down.)
Anyway, here's another observance...I'm actually really tired. (You wouldn't know that by the above paragraphs, because I don't sound tired.) Maybe in word we're the opposite of what we are in person? Like, if I were relaxed, I'd be able to write something dark and chaotic. When I'm stressed I write about simple things. These writings never fail to balance me out.
Then there's crap like this...that doesn't mean anything. This is when I'm tired and don't feel like writing, but I just do it. It's not vomit. It's just whatever comes to mind, as long as I don't pass out before my fingers hit the keyboard. I didn't necessarily need to write this instant, but it was fun.
So that's it...people write to balance their emotions. In writing and in person, those emotions are met halfway and blended. Both sides are important. They both deserve to be nurtured. Maybe the lesson for me is that my "in person" side should be nurtured a little more? After all, I need something to write about. (I don't expect anyone to fall in love with these psychotic rants of mine.)
Observance.
Seriously, holy shit! It's THAT time of year. No, it's not fall. It's only the time of year I LIVE FOR. (Sorry, I'll calm down.)
Anyway, here's another observance...I'm actually really tired. (You wouldn't know that by the above paragraphs, because I don't sound tired.) Maybe in word we're the opposite of what we are in person? Like, if I were relaxed, I'd be able to write something dark and chaotic. When I'm stressed I write about simple things. These writings never fail to balance me out.
Then there's crap like this...that doesn't mean anything. This is when I'm tired and don't feel like writing, but I just do it. It's not vomit. It's just whatever comes to mind, as long as I don't pass out before my fingers hit the keyboard. I didn't necessarily need to write this instant, but it was fun.
So that's it...people write to balance their emotions. In writing and in person, those emotions are met halfway and blended. Both sides are important. They both deserve to be nurtured. Maybe the lesson for me is that my "in person" side should be nurtured a little more? After all, I need something to write about. (I don't expect anyone to fall in love with these psychotic rants of mine.)
Observance.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Why I Let My Guard Down
Recently I've been feeling pretty great. Senior year has been a breeze so far. And I've made it that way. I have chosen a stress-free road, for the most part. Maybe the biggest thing I learned from junior year: freaking out will make even the smallest issues seem huge. School isn't a huge issue for me currently. I have mostly A's and B's. Also, I'm done caring about other people as an outsider. Because there is no "inside" - it's just a giant group of people, all doing their own thing, literally...
But every so often, a few things here and there will get to me, and that familiar friend from junior year will creep up uninvited...stress. It's not like you can ever kill it completely. Even old retired people have stress in some ways, maybe on a smaller scale. But it's nice knowing that I've learned how to deal with it. If the level I'm on now were to stay this level forever, I'd be okay. I feel like things are going to stay about the same, or get much harder...in the future, that is.
Today I let me guard down for half a second. I let stress stare me in the face for a few moments. It freaked me out. His face was ugly and creepy, but I let him pass, instead of inviting him. Now he's out tormenting someone else. It's not my problem. Beautiful. I was in a pickle because my mom still hasn't set up the senior picture thing, and today's the last day or something like that. But regardless, it all got settled. I don't have real problems. I have small, fun, "senior" problems. I love 'em all. I feel like the kid I probably would've hated freshman year. If you can't beat them, join them. Or in this case, "stop caring so much, because there is no 'them' - just a large group of people in a building, all kids doing their own thing at all times." The great truth, children, is that there is nothing to fit in to, ever. Only an ocean (a building, a cafeteria), and it's usually big enough for us all. If you're there, you're there. Some people don't even make it that far. Be proud of where you are, whether you feel like you belong there or not.
Right now, I'm in a hallway, typing away on a laptop. Like a loner. And I love it. I fit in perfectly. I wouldn't be here if it weren't true. "Great times ahead." These are those times.
No stress. Much love.
But every so often, a few things here and there will get to me, and that familiar friend from junior year will creep up uninvited...stress. It's not like you can ever kill it completely. Even old retired people have stress in some ways, maybe on a smaller scale. But it's nice knowing that I've learned how to deal with it. If the level I'm on now were to stay this level forever, I'd be okay. I feel like things are going to stay about the same, or get much harder...in the future, that is.
Today I let me guard down for half a second. I let stress stare me in the face for a few moments. It freaked me out. His face was ugly and creepy, but I let him pass, instead of inviting him. Now he's out tormenting someone else. It's not my problem. Beautiful. I was in a pickle because my mom still hasn't set up the senior picture thing, and today's the last day or something like that. But regardless, it all got settled. I don't have real problems. I have small, fun, "senior" problems. I love 'em all. I feel like the kid I probably would've hated freshman year. If you can't beat them, join them. Or in this case, "stop caring so much, because there is no 'them' - just a large group of people in a building, all kids doing their own thing at all times." The great truth, children, is that there is nothing to fit in to, ever. Only an ocean (a building, a cafeteria), and it's usually big enough for us all. If you're there, you're there. Some people don't even make it that far. Be proud of where you are, whether you feel like you belong there or not.
Right now, I'm in a hallway, typing away on a laptop. Like a loner. And I love it. I fit in perfectly. I wouldn't be here if it weren't true. "Great times ahead." These are those times.
No stress. Much love.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Rough Poem: "Peace Within, Peace Without"
It's today. Today's the day.
Oh God, could it be today?
Today's a way in which I'll fail
I've jumped a boat without a sail
Destined to die at sea today
Oh God, things look dim today
Today, Today, can't do this today
I might as well stay in bed and pray
That I do not become the hunter's prey
Because I'm being watched, hunted, stalked
The hour has passed, don't look at the clock
They know I'll fail, they know I'll snap
It seems to me I'm under attack
No sleep, no food, haven't showered in days
Put me in a coma, I hate this phase
I want to sleep through it, leave it behind
But the thought of today is still sharp in my mind
And the pain is like blood, a gorey display
Of the wretched, horrid decay of today
I don't want it to be this way
But no matter how long, today is the day
Today Today, today is the day
Today is the day I go out and pray
Pray that I might live to see
The better than best in you and me
But I'm afraid, afraid of these days
These days I have to go and face
The world that hates my everything
And tries to silence me when I sing
Kills the vocals in my lungs
Slits my throat and cuts my tongue
And still, the bitter day is young
Today, today, today
Tomorrow, and the next, and the next
And the next, and the day after,
Then the week, the month, the year
The decade and the lifetime...
From a distance this sounds horribly cliche. As a whole I think it could be something worth reading. With MANY improvements, corrections, etc. Oh, and it's not finished. It's about halfway done, lengthwise.
Oh God, could it be today?
Today's a way in which I'll fail
I've jumped a boat without a sail
Destined to die at sea today
Oh God, things look dim today
Today, Today, can't do this today
I might as well stay in bed and pray
That I do not become the hunter's prey
Because I'm being watched, hunted, stalked
The hour has passed, don't look at the clock
They know I'll fail, they know I'll snap
It seems to me I'm under attack
No sleep, no food, haven't showered in days
Put me in a coma, I hate this phase
I want to sleep through it, leave it behind
But the thought of today is still sharp in my mind
And the pain is like blood, a gorey display
Of the wretched, horrid decay of today
I don't want it to be this way
But no matter how long, today is the day
Today Today, today is the day
Today is the day I go out and pray
Pray that I might live to see
The better than best in you and me
But I'm afraid, afraid of these days
These days I have to go and face
The world that hates my everything
And tries to silence me when I sing
Kills the vocals in my lungs
Slits my throat and cuts my tongue
And still, the bitter day is young
Today, today, today
Tomorrow, and the next, and the next
And the next, and the day after,
Then the week, the month, the year
The decade and the lifetime...
From a distance this sounds horribly cliche. As a whole I think it could be something worth reading. With MANY improvements, corrections, etc. Oh, and it's not finished. It's about halfway done, lengthwise.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Why I Can Never Be Sure
It's blogtime! Here we go....
This is one of those moments where nothing really makes sense. I'm in English. Almost the whole class is in groups. I'm working alone. Totally okay with it. Kind of.
I am finding that I am introverted to the extreme. I am constantly in my own mind. "Retracting." It's hard not to be. Wherever I go, I'm usually uncomfortable with myself. Even at home, I can't always be myself. The only person I can truly be myself with is my mother. Honestly, I can be whoever the hell I am in front of her, and not be held back by anything. We have a great relationship. Something I'd never ever trade.
But in the real world, I just can't be sure. Of anything. I used to know exactly what I was doing, until I started wondering why I did. Wondering why I possessed such firm beliefs. So I stopped standing so tall on those beliefs. I started slouching. And I everything else followed. Grades. Relationships. Confidence. Self-esteem. I guess I had something beautiful and then lost it. Besides my mother, I could be myself in front of God. He didn't care, because I cared for Him. I let Him know who I was FOR Him. He just smiled and let it happen, because I was doing something right for once.
Now I do my own thing. Yes, I do. No matter how much I want to deny it, I have been walking alone for some time now. God has still been there. He never leaves. It was me leaving. Even in the times that I wasn't sure before, God would take care of my non-understanding. He would meet me more than halfway. That insurance I had before is gone. Because everything else has taken His place at number one in my life.
It makes me sick, but it's something I had to put into words. I used to let God walk me through the storm. Now I've been making storms of my own, leaving God out entirely. I have been fucking up everything I touch, and blaming it all on the world. It's not the world's fault. It's definitely not God's. It's mine. I am to blame for forsaking the only truly good thing in my life. And I am desperately in need of an uprooting.
No one can ever be sure of anything beyond this life. All we know is all we're given. But putting the Most High, the most good person you'll ever find, above all else, will seal the cracks for good. Keep Him there, you'll be who I once was. Walk away, and you'll blind yourself. I need His eyes seeing for me again, His ears hearing, and His mouth speaking. If I can't come back, then I'm already dead. Blind. Deaf. and Mute. I would ask you to take a look at who God is, but I wouldn't know. My eyes are closed. I can't take the speck out of your eye. There's a plank in mine. I have no clue what to tell you, because I only listen to myself. And I am the biggest hypocrite I've ever been. God help me. Light my path. I can't keep stumbling in the darkness.
Take a Look, Said the Blind Man
This is one of those moments where nothing really makes sense. I'm in English. Almost the whole class is in groups. I'm working alone. Totally okay with it. Kind of.
I am finding that I am introverted to the extreme. I am constantly in my own mind. "Retracting." It's hard not to be. Wherever I go, I'm usually uncomfortable with myself. Even at home, I can't always be myself. The only person I can truly be myself with is my mother. Honestly, I can be whoever the hell I am in front of her, and not be held back by anything. We have a great relationship. Something I'd never ever trade.
But in the real world, I just can't be sure. Of anything. I used to know exactly what I was doing, until I started wondering why I did. Wondering why I possessed such firm beliefs. So I stopped standing so tall on those beliefs. I started slouching. And I everything else followed. Grades. Relationships. Confidence. Self-esteem. I guess I had something beautiful and then lost it. Besides my mother, I could be myself in front of God. He didn't care, because I cared for Him. I let Him know who I was FOR Him. He just smiled and let it happen, because I was doing something right for once.
Now I do my own thing. Yes, I do. No matter how much I want to deny it, I have been walking alone for some time now. God has still been there. He never leaves. It was me leaving. Even in the times that I wasn't sure before, God would take care of my non-understanding. He would meet me more than halfway. That insurance I had before is gone. Because everything else has taken His place at number one in my life.
It makes me sick, but it's something I had to put into words. I used to let God walk me through the storm. Now I've been making storms of my own, leaving God out entirely. I have been fucking up everything I touch, and blaming it all on the world. It's not the world's fault. It's definitely not God's. It's mine. I am to blame for forsaking the only truly good thing in my life. And I am desperately in need of an uprooting.
No one can ever be sure of anything beyond this life. All we know is all we're given. But putting the Most High, the most good person you'll ever find, above all else, will seal the cracks for good. Keep Him there, you'll be who I once was. Walk away, and you'll blind yourself. I need His eyes seeing for me again, His ears hearing, and His mouth speaking. If I can't come back, then I'm already dead. Blind. Deaf. and Mute. I would ask you to take a look at who God is, but I wouldn't know. My eyes are closed. I can't take the speck out of your eye. There's a plank in mine. I have no clue what to tell you, because I only listen to myself. And I am the biggest hypocrite I've ever been. God help me. Light my path. I can't keep stumbling in the darkness.
Take a Look, Said the Blind Man
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Why I Can Tune Out People and Things That Make Noise
I live in a house that is loud nearly all the time. Everyday someone is screaming at someone else ("someone" usually meaning my little brother and/or sister). Then my mom or my dad will jump in. (Hey, let's yell at our kids, then maybe they'll stop yelling! GENIUS. :/) Anyway, loudness. Or as Steve Carell would say... "LOUUUD NOISES!"
I'm used to it. It sucks, but I'm used to it. I'm not always able to concentrate, but if nothing else, I can retract into my inner thoughts. My mind is like a shell to a turtle. Give it a pair of headphones, some food, and a notebook...you've got one happy turtle.
Tuning out is an art. I don't know why it's not offered in college as a major. In a world full of so many useless noises and waste-of-time conversations, it's important to have selective hearing. As dictator-like as this sounds, it's so true in many cases. We just don't have time, or at least I don't, for the yelling, the vent making funny noises, the arguments, the lies. Listen to the poor. Listen to the rich. Leave the fools in their ditch.
Again, as important as I believe it is to give everyone's words a chance, don't invest your time in nonsense. And don't mistake genius for nonsense. Sometimes I lend too much attention to the wrong sources. Sometimes I don't share my ears enough. It takes an open mind to master the art of tuning out. Because you have to know when to tune back in. Fair enough.
One mouth. Two Ears. SHUT UP.
I'm used to it. It sucks, but I'm used to it. I'm not always able to concentrate, but if nothing else, I can retract into my inner thoughts. My mind is like a shell to a turtle. Give it a pair of headphones, some food, and a notebook...you've got one happy turtle.
Tuning out is an art. I don't know why it's not offered in college as a major. In a world full of so many useless noises and waste-of-time conversations, it's important to have selective hearing. As dictator-like as this sounds, it's so true in many cases. We just don't have time, or at least I don't, for the yelling, the vent making funny noises, the arguments, the lies. Listen to the poor. Listen to the rich. Leave the fools in their ditch.
Again, as important as I believe it is to give everyone's words a chance, don't invest your time in nonsense. And don't mistake genius for nonsense. Sometimes I lend too much attention to the wrong sources. Sometimes I don't share my ears enough. It takes an open mind to master the art of tuning out. Because you have to know when to tune back in. Fair enough.
One mouth. Two Ears. SHUT UP.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Why The Grass Is Green(er)
Most of us are staring at a fence. Most of us can't climb that fence. So we'd rather go through it; knock it down, or carve a hole big enough to crawl through. Some of us are on the same side of the fence, while others reside beyond it, on the other side.
They say the grass is greener on the other side. But here's the thing...I'M on the other side. I've been there my whole life. The grass is green over here, yes. But so is yours. And I've been trying to get to the other side, just like you. Wanna trade sides?
Now you're wondering what the hell I'm talking about. Basically, there is no "greener." There are only different shades of green. No matter what side of what fence, no matter how green you think the grass might be, you're all equal. There's nothing separating the ghetto from the rich neighborhood...except that damned fence. Without fences, walls, gates, the land is all the same. And so are the people. "All men are created equal." It's where they go that changes.
Don't hop the fence or climb over the gate to get to your friend's castle. No. If you want to live like a king, BUILD a castle. Make your side of the fence the one with the greener grass. Or, love the shade of green that's already there. There is no higher or lower. The ground is level. The only value of said ground is that which you place upon it. If it weren't for fences, we'd all be equal again, like we were created to be. Green grass. Castles.
They say the grass is greener on the other side. But here's the thing...I'M on the other side. I've been there my whole life. The grass is green over here, yes. But so is yours. And I've been trying to get to the other side, just like you. Wanna trade sides?
Now you're wondering what the hell I'm talking about. Basically, there is no "greener." There are only different shades of green. No matter what side of what fence, no matter how green you think the grass might be, you're all equal. There's nothing separating the ghetto from the rich neighborhood...except that damned fence. Without fences, walls, gates, the land is all the same. And so are the people. "All men are created equal." It's where they go that changes.
Don't hop the fence or climb over the gate to get to your friend's castle. No. If you want to live like a king, BUILD a castle. Make your side of the fence the one with the greener grass. Or, love the shade of green that's already there. There is no higher or lower. The ground is level. The only value of said ground is that which you place upon it. If it weren't for fences, we'd all be equal again, like we were created to be. Green grass. Castles.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Why Things Are Hard To Reach, Even Though I'm Tall
When you're a kid, the aisles at the grocery store seem HUGE. Fifty feet high. A thousand miles long. And you always wonder, "How the (heck) do people get those cans on the top shelf?!" Then, you'd grow, and you'd impress your mom by how high you could reach. "LOOK MOM, I can get the can all the way up there!"
Now I work in a grocery store. I can reach everything. And anything I can't reach, I can use a ladder or a pole. Life is easy, because I'm tall.
As great as this would've sounded as a small child, staring down the aisles in a grocery store, it's really not the case. Things that are way more important NOW...IMPOSSIBLE to reach. Remember how the days draaagged on? When you were younger? You had all the time in the world, and to do whatever you wanted. No obligations, not a care in the world. We all had something easily reached (not groceries)...time. It was right there, in our chubby little hands. On the ground, our level.
Now we're all huge, and time is somewhere by our feet. But the ground is filthy, and hardly any of us want to reach down there and grab it. We're risking a lot, it's much easier to pull by the strings standing up, and just get whatever you can take.
I have to work till 10 tonight. No big deal. I'm in English. Can't focus. Room full of mouths, speaking. Not ears, listening. So here I am. There's this annotated bibliography assignment (bam bam bam) due sometime next time or this Friday or sometime over the rainbow. (Tehe.) I'm not sure where to begin, and I feel as if someone will be asking me for it, like, tomorrow. Or the next day.
The store I'm in now doesn't have cans or bread or cheese or milk. It has time. The longest amounts of time are the most expensive. They're on the highest shelves in each aisle. Homework time is in the aisle that no one can find. I'm a foot tall. All I want to do is get taller so I can reach that top shelf. Like growing up all over again. I'm looking forward to work tonight. Top Shelf. No Time. NO TIME.
Now I work in a grocery store. I can reach everything. And anything I can't reach, I can use a ladder or a pole. Life is easy, because I'm tall.
As great as this would've sounded as a small child, staring down the aisles in a grocery store, it's really not the case. Things that are way more important NOW...IMPOSSIBLE to reach. Remember how the days draaagged on? When you were younger? You had all the time in the world, and to do whatever you wanted. No obligations, not a care in the world. We all had something easily reached (not groceries)...time. It was right there, in our chubby little hands. On the ground, our level.
Now we're all huge, and time is somewhere by our feet. But the ground is filthy, and hardly any of us want to reach down there and grab it. We're risking a lot, it's much easier to pull by the strings standing up, and just get whatever you can take.
I have to work till 10 tonight. No big deal. I'm in English. Can't focus. Room full of mouths, speaking. Not ears, listening. So here I am. There's this annotated bibliography assignment (bam bam bam) due sometime next time or this Friday or sometime over the rainbow. (Tehe.) I'm not sure where to begin, and I feel as if someone will be asking me for it, like, tomorrow. Or the next day.
The store I'm in now doesn't have cans or bread or cheese or milk. It has time. The longest amounts of time are the most expensive. They're on the highest shelves in each aisle. Homework time is in the aisle that no one can find. I'm a foot tall. All I want to do is get taller so I can reach that top shelf. Like growing up all over again. I'm looking forward to work tonight. Top Shelf. No Time. NO TIME.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Why I Take Naps (seriously)
Yesterday was Sunday. It was a LAZY Sunday. I did absolutely no homework. I stayed up till midnight to wish my girlfriend a happy 7-month anniversary. I texted her and posted on her Facebook wall. It was worth staying up, even if she fell asleep before I did. (Haha, I'm just glad she got more sleep than I did for once.)
It took me a while to finally pass out. I had an unanswered text and unfinished homework on my mind. The prefix "-un" makes me crazy. But once I finally fell asleep, that's all that mattered...SLEEP.
I suppose I had a tough time getting to sleep because I had taken two or three naps earlier. (Haha, ya think?!) Like I said, lazy. Sunday.
ANYWAY I awoke this morning with several crazy dreams reverberating up there. One moment I was at work, watching a scary movie with my manager on break, in the middle of the floral department. The next moment I was at a music store playing some kind of "virtual drumset." Also, I vividly remember the scary I movie I was watching at work. (This is all the dream, of course.) The movie, "Are You Afraid of the Dark" (which is actually the name of a real movie I have yet to see), was about a crazy lady who shot people. (Not to sound like a 4-year-old.) Then somewhere in the back of my mind, the plot elaborated into something about Mother Time reclaiming her children from an alternate timeline after a nasty divorce (with Father Time, of course). The children were future doctors, motivational speakers, etc., who would come to cure AIDS, save lives, and be remarkable people in the future. But their future was reversed when Father Time took them away. They were ommitted from their natural existence and positioned in a void world.
Something tells me I should start jotting this down. (Oh wait...) But this isn't the first time this has happened. I've conjoured up other ideas, all inspired by dreams. I almost want to experiment with it...Try sleeping after eating different foods, undergoing different experiences, etc. Your thoughts can allow you to capture raw and insane subconscious moments of genius, but only when I'm sleeping. (Haha, when I'm awake, nothing...)
Anyway, besides the fact that I absolutely love sleeping, I take naps for inspiration. I go to sleep to see what's really going on up there. Because that thing about only 10% of your brain being used in the daytime. It's kind of true. The other 90% is what makes the Spielbergs, the JJ Abrams, and the Stephen Kings. I'm by far none of those, but I enjoy seeing what my strange mind throws up. It's a healing method, for mental insanos like myself. Take Naps. Have Dreams. Write Books.
It took me a while to finally pass out. I had an unanswered text and unfinished homework on my mind. The prefix "-un" makes me crazy. But once I finally fell asleep, that's all that mattered...SLEEP.
I suppose I had a tough time getting to sleep because I had taken two or three naps earlier. (Haha, ya think?!) Like I said, lazy. Sunday.
ANYWAY I awoke this morning with several crazy dreams reverberating up there. One moment I was at work, watching a scary movie with my manager on break, in the middle of the floral department. The next moment I was at a music store playing some kind of "virtual drumset." Also, I vividly remember the scary I movie I was watching at work. (This is all the dream, of course.) The movie, "Are You Afraid of the Dark" (which is actually the name of a real movie I have yet to see), was about a crazy lady who shot people. (Not to sound like a 4-year-old.) Then somewhere in the back of my mind, the plot elaborated into something about Mother Time reclaiming her children from an alternate timeline after a nasty divorce (with Father Time, of course). The children were future doctors, motivational speakers, etc., who would come to cure AIDS, save lives, and be remarkable people in the future. But their future was reversed when Father Time took them away. They were ommitted from their natural existence and positioned in a void world.
Something tells me I should start jotting this down. (Oh wait...) But this isn't the first time this has happened. I've conjoured up other ideas, all inspired by dreams. I almost want to experiment with it...Try sleeping after eating different foods, undergoing different experiences, etc. Your thoughts can allow you to capture raw and insane subconscious moments of genius, but only when I'm sleeping. (Haha, when I'm awake, nothing...)
Anyway, besides the fact that I absolutely love sleeping, I take naps for inspiration. I go to sleep to see what's really going on up there. Because that thing about only 10% of your brain being used in the daytime. It's kind of true. The other 90% is what makes the Spielbergs, the JJ Abrams, and the Stephen Kings. I'm by far none of those, but I enjoy seeing what my strange mind throws up. It's a healing method, for mental insanos like myself. Take Naps. Have Dreams. Write Books.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Why I Can't Wait to Get Back to Playing Shows
I'm trying to get as many hours as possible at work. There's a little (okay, a BIG) fine due. (Blogged aaalll about it yesterday. Hint: cops.) The ticket I'm not worried about at all. Today my paycheck is waiting at hy-vee, plus I have money left over from saving for my new guitar. (Bye-bye, so long, it's been nice.) Hence the extra hours - NEED money. There's never enough. I don't love money, but I want however much it takes to get what I want. (Shallow comment of the day.)
Raking in the dough is like fishing to me, because I can't fish. And I'm trying to. Okay, fishing is probably harder than sacking groceries, but still, tough times. I'm really tired of people not being able to communicate. The Uprooting has not had one practice yet. Certain people have cell phones that shouldn't. I said something like, "Give that cell phone to someone who will answer it. There are starving kids in Africa." Not always in my right mind when I say things.
This is really out-there in general. This whole post. I'm not sure what I'm getting at. Just felt like writing something. Kind of in a poetic mood. But I have a tough time sharing poems unless they're PERFECT, and that moment doesn't come for a while. I rarely finish things. Regardless, I wanted to type up something here today. Just a little time to say that I'm ready to get moving with this new project (The Uprooting). Once I get my new gear, I can comfortably write and record full songs, as opposed to random ideas and riffs. I need to start compiling some of the things I come up with.
I miss the small shows and the people. It was basically jamming with friends...but on a stage, in front of people, that cared. Well, some didn't care. Regardless it was always a nice release. On one hand, I wish that Grave Awakening had stayed together. On the other hand, I realize that we were meant to break up, and I really just need to start something big with this new group of musicians. Funny, because it's basically three of the same people and one outsider. Just need new gear, times for everyone to get together at once, and a place that will let us practice. Sounds pretty simple, right? Was I being sarcastic just now? I have no idea. I'm so tired. I'm not a big fan of this whole thing. Oh well, I wanted to write, so I wrote.
BLAHHH.....(just vomited on my keyboard. Thanks for reading what I threw up.)
Can't Wait. To Play. More Shows.
Raking in the dough is like fishing to me, because I can't fish. And I'm trying to. Okay, fishing is probably harder than sacking groceries, but still, tough times. I'm really tired of people not being able to communicate. The Uprooting has not had one practice yet. Certain people have cell phones that shouldn't. I said something like, "Give that cell phone to someone who will answer it. There are starving kids in Africa." Not always in my right mind when I say things.
This is really out-there in general. This whole post. I'm not sure what I'm getting at. Just felt like writing something. Kind of in a poetic mood. But I have a tough time sharing poems unless they're PERFECT, and that moment doesn't come for a while. I rarely finish things. Regardless, I wanted to type up something here today. Just a little time to say that I'm ready to get moving with this new project (The Uprooting). Once I get my new gear, I can comfortably write and record full songs, as opposed to random ideas and riffs. I need to start compiling some of the things I come up with.
I miss the small shows and the people. It was basically jamming with friends...but on a stage, in front of people, that cared. Well, some didn't care. Regardless it was always a nice release. On one hand, I wish that Grave Awakening had stayed together. On the other hand, I realize that we were meant to break up, and I really just need to start something big with this new group of musicians. Funny, because it's basically three of the same people and one outsider. Just need new gear, times for everyone to get together at once, and a place that will let us practice. Sounds pretty simple, right? Was I being sarcastic just now? I have no idea. I'm so tired. I'm not a big fan of this whole thing. Oh well, I wanted to write, so I wrote.
BLAHHH.....(just vomited on my keyboard. Thanks for reading what I threw up.)
Can't Wait. To Play. More Shows.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Why Cops Are [insert really hateful adjective here]
I ought to be studying for the Pride and Prejudice test I have to take in seminar, but this can't wait. I am disgusted, outraged, and just plain pissed. Time to get uprooted. Let's see what I come up with...
This morning I was driving like a madman past a school zone (of course, because I was running late for school). Going "39 in a 25," that's what the ticket was for. The cop pulled me over. I put on my cheery "What seems to be the problem, officer?" face, and I still got a damn ticket. (The officer was a WOMAN. People say that only works when females get pulled over. NO, IT COULD'VE WORKED. Well, maybe not..) Anyway, that's just $120 I won't be putting towards new music gear. Woo-hoo, thanks life.
I thought freewriting about it in Writer's Workship 4th block was good enough, but the shitty mood I was in pulled a boomerang on me, because I was called down to the office to receive, yes, another ticket. It was only $10. I pulled through in the parking lot. Yeah, it's a big deal. For some reason, I was at least twice as pissed about the second, less expensive ticket. Probably because of the "Are you effing serious, two in one day?!" factor.
Anyway, this happened just moments ago. Now I'm recovering with the sweet sounds of Noah and the Whale. Back by the "cell" in 6th block. This is a good escape. But I'm still somewhat flipping out about the ticket.
Maybe I'm doing something wrong. (Hey God, I'm sorry. I love you.) But really, c'mon, am I wrong in wondering? Karma doesn't apply to everything, but I'm at the point where even "It could always get worse," doesn't necessarily comfort me. Those five little words usually do the trick that pulls me out of my cynical sphere, but not today. I'm exercising my right to be thoroughly pissed. I feel like I deserve it.
Then again, I don't deserve it at all. The weather is perfect. Practice with the Irrelephants today after school. Today was a new comedy that looked hilarious and witty in the trailers but was less than half as good as expectations led me to believe. Where did I go wrong? Where could I go right again? I've been derailed.
No, I don't expect you to have the answers. I just needed to rant for a bit. Nothing deep or earthshaking. A speeding ticket. AND a parking ticket. I'm still alive. I love everyone and everything just as much as I did before. Ooops, not true. I love cops even less than I did before. (And I did not love them that much before this morning.)
There are some good ones out there. Maybe. I wouldn't know. I don't think I've met any. Big fines. Little problems. Major frustrations.
Annnnnd L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.
This morning I was driving like a madman past a school zone (of course, because I was running late for school). Going "39 in a 25," that's what the ticket was for. The cop pulled me over. I put on my cheery "What seems to be the problem, officer?" face, and I still got a damn ticket. (The officer was a WOMAN. People say that only works when females get pulled over. NO, IT COULD'VE WORKED. Well, maybe not..) Anyway, that's just $120 I won't be putting towards new music gear. Woo-hoo, thanks life.
I thought freewriting about it in Writer's Workship 4th block was good enough, but the shitty mood I was in pulled a boomerang on me, because I was called down to the office to receive, yes, another ticket. It was only $10. I pulled through in the parking lot. Yeah, it's a big deal. For some reason, I was at least twice as pissed about the second, less expensive ticket. Probably because of the "Are you effing serious, two in one day?!" factor.
Anyway, this happened just moments ago. Now I'm recovering with the sweet sounds of Noah and the Whale. Back by the "cell" in 6th block. This is a good escape. But I'm still somewhat flipping out about the ticket.
Maybe I'm doing something wrong. (Hey God, I'm sorry. I love you.) But really, c'mon, am I wrong in wondering? Karma doesn't apply to everything, but I'm at the point where even "It could always get worse," doesn't necessarily comfort me. Those five little words usually do the trick that pulls me out of my cynical sphere, but not today. I'm exercising my right to be thoroughly pissed. I feel like I deserve it.
Then again, I don't deserve it at all. The weather is perfect. Practice with the Irrelephants today after school. Today was a new comedy that looked hilarious and witty in the trailers but was less than half as good as expectations led me to believe. Where did I go wrong? Where could I go right again? I've been derailed.
No, I don't expect you to have the answers. I just needed to rant for a bit. Nothing deep or earthshaking. A speeding ticket. AND a parking ticket. I'm still alive. I love everyone and everything just as much as I did before. Ooops, not true. I love cops even less than I did before. (And I did not love them that much before this morning.)
There are some good ones out there. Maybe. I wouldn't know. I don't think I've met any. Big fines. Little problems. Major frustrations.
Annnnnd L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Why Autumn Is Best
Short answer: It just is. Best time of year. Hands down. Period. Moving on.
Long answer: This weekend my parents were out of town, and my siblings. It was just me at home. I wasn't in the house that much, but I ate and slept there a few times. Saturday morning was the last time I saw them before they left for the lake. Friday night we had a cookout of sorts with my girlfriend (Bridget) and her family, along with some of my extended family (the grands, the cousins, the aunt). Followed by stargazing with my lady :) Great night had by all.
Saturday I went to Oli's, spent the night there. Classic bro time/almost recording with the Irrelephants. Jamming unplugged with Luke outside. There was a gentle breeze. Perfection.
Sunday I went with Bridget and her family to Richard's (Bridget's brother's) wedding shower. (For whatever reason, I freaked before going. I was nervous, probably because I didn't know what to wear or what to expect. Plus I was somewhat out-of-it from Oli's the night before.) Regardless, it was a success. I met more people and shook more hands than I thought possible in one day. Got home around 10:30ish. Crashed during a 70's show marathon.
Today is Labor Day. (That's right, it was Labor Day Weekend.) About two hours ago I got off work. I came home to my mother grilling outside and my dad and siblings tearing apart an oversized tree branch that had fallen about a week ago. (By the way, they had fun at the lake. I didn't go because I had already planned on going to the wedding shower.) I sat and talked with Mom for a bit outside.
Our backyard is sort of a hill. The patio has a quaint little table with chairs for outdoor gatherings. Down the hill there's a mini playset with swings and a slide. I remember picking it up from my dad's friend's house. We helped take it apart and put it back together. It was so rewarding at the time. I was twelvish.
Anyway I realized what I had been waiting for all this year. My time. My season. Technically it's still summer, I guess. But this week is supposed to feel like fall. I think today was just a sweet taste of what's to come. And it was awesome.
Furthermore, as a writer, this is the season where I'm feeling the most blessings. Then I always come to realize that I forgot to count them earlier in the year. I love always wanting to write, sing, and even by kinda sorta physically active when this weather rolls around. The forecast has a huge effect on me. I'm hoping it'll help me be inspired to do my homework. Senior year hasn't asked much of me so far, but it's dragging on nonetheless. I'm looking forward to a nice, comfortable lull this fall and winter. Where stress does its best to avoid me, because it knows I don't have the time. Great weather. Much love. Per. Fect.
Long answer: This weekend my parents were out of town, and my siblings. It was just me at home. I wasn't in the house that much, but I ate and slept there a few times. Saturday morning was the last time I saw them before they left for the lake. Friday night we had a cookout of sorts with my girlfriend (Bridget) and her family, along with some of my extended family (the grands, the cousins, the aunt). Followed by stargazing with my lady :) Great night had by all.
Saturday I went to Oli's, spent the night there. Classic bro time/almost recording with the Irrelephants. Jamming unplugged with Luke outside. There was a gentle breeze. Perfection.
Sunday I went with Bridget and her family to Richard's (Bridget's brother's) wedding shower. (For whatever reason, I freaked before going. I was nervous, probably because I didn't know what to wear or what to expect. Plus I was somewhat out-of-it from Oli's the night before.) Regardless, it was a success. I met more people and shook more hands than I thought possible in one day. Got home around 10:30ish. Crashed during a 70's show marathon.
Today is Labor Day. (That's right, it was Labor Day Weekend.) About two hours ago I got off work. I came home to my mother grilling outside and my dad and siblings tearing apart an oversized tree branch that had fallen about a week ago. (By the way, they had fun at the lake. I didn't go because I had already planned on going to the wedding shower.) I sat and talked with Mom for a bit outside.
Our backyard is sort of a hill. The patio has a quaint little table with chairs for outdoor gatherings. Down the hill there's a mini playset with swings and a slide. I remember picking it up from my dad's friend's house. We helped take it apart and put it back together. It was so rewarding at the time. I was twelvish.
Anyway I realized what I had been waiting for all this year. My time. My season. Technically it's still summer, I guess. But this week is supposed to feel like fall. I think today was just a sweet taste of what's to come. And it was awesome.
Furthermore, as a writer, this is the season where I'm feeling the most blessings. Then I always come to realize that I forgot to count them earlier in the year. I love always wanting to write, sing, and even by kinda sorta physically active when this weather rolls around. The forecast has a huge effect on me. I'm hoping it'll help me be inspired to do my homework. Senior year hasn't asked much of me so far, but it's dragging on nonetheless. I'm looking forward to a nice, comfortable lull this fall and winter. Where stress does its best to avoid me, because it knows I don't have the time. Great weather. Much love. Per. Fect.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Why I Hate Small Spaces
I've never been in jail, but I get the feeling it's very similar to my sixth block class. I hate to sound shallow, but it's basically a very small room with few places to sit, stand and/or walk. Also, I get to share this tiny "classroom" with like 10 other people. (Reason for putting "classroom" in quotes: Sixth block is hardly a class.)
Let me back up...Sixth block is SEEK (Students Examinig and Exploring Knowledge, or something like that). Pretty much, you have to appear smart at one point in time, then you can take this so-called "class" until you graduate. You. Do. Nothing. We start the day by solving a problem and writing a sentence with an obscure word. Then we do test prep/college research/speed reading/homework. Translation: study hall. (Further translation: Do nothing but jack around for 45-90 minutes, depending on the day of the week.)
Allow me to point out, much of this writing is done DURING SEEK! I have literally nothing better to do, and I want to write stuff. (I promise, it gets deeper.) Being that it's a smart class, I am surrounded by smarties, always analyzing the shit out of things we'll never need to know. In some special way, I guess I'm cutting a new path through the jungle of knowledge. Doing this helps me to know myself. C'mon [insert teacher's name here], I'm just doing what Shakespeare taught me to do!
Back to the classroom. (Let's call it the "cell" for now.) I'm stuck in here with several people I don't know that well. I've seen these same people for nearly 4 years in a row. Never connected with them. It would've happened by now. Growing up in a private school and crossing over right at 7th grade...well, things change. ANYWAY, they're all yapping it up, discussing the problem we have to solve, discussing things I've never been involved in - stuco, sports (freaking sports). Basically, I can't breathe. Not a big deal, because the only thing (well, not the ONLY thing) that sets this "cell" apart from that of a jail would be, well, an easy escape. The hallway outside has four or five desks lined up against the wall.
At the far end of the hallway, close enough to the classroom but far enough to keep me sane. This is my runaway, my safe place (to get a little cliche). I can take one of the laptops out there, do this silly little blog thing, and forget that I'm even at school. Also, amazing view of the roof through the window (as odd as it sounds, the top of the lower level is parallel with the floor).
Now you know where this started. We're getting to know each other. This is great.
Thing is, I can't be in there constantly. It does things to my brain. A small space can be torture. No, I don't have a problem or a phobia. I'm just a quiet guy with loud thoughts. I can concentrate almost anywhere on my own thoughts and tune the world out, but when my surroundings outstand my own thoughts, I have to get out. It makes me crazy. Lending attention is easy. Having it stolen is something else entirely. I'll listen to anyone who wants/needs to be heard. Everyone has something to say.
Being in a room (in a school) where everyone listens only to themselves...God, no. I say, if anyone cares to hear what I have to say, without talking to me, read it at talstbm.blogspot.com. That's all. In the real world, I'd rather speak up only when it's utterly necessary. I have one mouth and two ears, I understand.
Hearing is a sense. Talking is an action. You can't learn much from talking, except what you already know down in there somewhere. You probably just forgot, because you didn't listen well enough the first time. Small spaces. Big mouths. No words.
Let me back up...Sixth block is SEEK (Students Examinig and Exploring Knowledge, or something like that). Pretty much, you have to appear smart at one point in time, then you can take this so-called "class" until you graduate. You. Do. Nothing. We start the day by solving a problem and writing a sentence with an obscure word. Then we do test prep/college research/speed reading/homework. Translation: study hall. (Further translation: Do nothing but jack around for 45-90 minutes, depending on the day of the week.)
Allow me to point out, much of this writing is done DURING SEEK! I have literally nothing better to do, and I want to write stuff. (I promise, it gets deeper.) Being that it's a smart class, I am surrounded by smarties, always analyzing the shit out of things we'll never need to know. In some special way, I guess I'm cutting a new path through the jungle of knowledge. Doing this helps me to know myself. C'mon [insert teacher's name here], I'm just doing what Shakespeare taught me to do!
Back to the classroom. (Let's call it the "cell" for now.) I'm stuck in here with several people I don't know that well. I've seen these same people for nearly 4 years in a row. Never connected with them. It would've happened by now. Growing up in a private school and crossing over right at 7th grade...well, things change. ANYWAY, they're all yapping it up, discussing the problem we have to solve, discussing things I've never been involved in - stuco, sports (freaking sports). Basically, I can't breathe. Not a big deal, because the only thing (well, not the ONLY thing) that sets this "cell" apart from that of a jail would be, well, an easy escape. The hallway outside has four or five desks lined up against the wall.
At the far end of the hallway, close enough to the classroom but far enough to keep me sane. This is my runaway, my safe place (to get a little cliche). I can take one of the laptops out there, do this silly little blog thing, and forget that I'm even at school. Also, amazing view of the roof through the window (as odd as it sounds, the top of the lower level is parallel with the floor).
Now you know where this started. We're getting to know each other. This is great.
Thing is, I can't be in there constantly. It does things to my brain. A small space can be torture. No, I don't have a problem or a phobia. I'm just a quiet guy with loud thoughts. I can concentrate almost anywhere on my own thoughts and tune the world out, but when my surroundings outstand my own thoughts, I have to get out. It makes me crazy. Lending attention is easy. Having it stolen is something else entirely. I'll listen to anyone who wants/needs to be heard. Everyone has something to say.
Being in a room (in a school) where everyone listens only to themselves...God, no. I say, if anyone cares to hear what I have to say, without talking to me, read it at talstbm.blogspot.com. That's all. In the real world, I'd rather speak up only when it's utterly necessary. I have one mouth and two ears, I understand.
Hearing is a sense. Talking is an action. You can't learn much from talking, except what you already know down in there somewhere. You probably just forgot, because you didn't listen well enough the first time. Small spaces. Big mouths. No words.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
An Observance 9/01/11
Thursday is the only day of the week Blake and I have lunch together. And of course, we sit at the outcast/nobody's business table. Fine by me.
Today I realized just what one could see from that table by the wall. (Maybe I hadn't noticed before because our cafeteria just got new lights.) Whatever the case, I had the best view of everyone in that room. And our cafeteria is BIG. I surveyed a sea of heads as I was munching on nuggets and fries for $3.50 (not worth it at all). I was sitting next to Blake, but my soul was wandering the place like a lost kid in a grocery store. I saw the preps, the jocks, the preps (and the preps). Main reason for staying away from the cafeteria - too much senseless chatter from people I'll never associate with in the future. Anyway, I just sat there, watching people walking to and from the lunch line. Watching people sit down, get up, walk around, and sit down again. I have no idea why, but it was incredibly interesting to me. (People-watching, you call it? Hmm, sounds like my kind of sport.)
Then for whatever reason, I sporadically came back to myself, there next to Blake. Across the table from us were two "nobody's business" kids. One of them had long hair, the other had longer hair. I sat there, and watched them. I remember hearing them say things like how much "this school sucks" and "I want to punch half these people in the face." In a strange way, the me from two years ago would have agreed. These kids kept banging their fists on the table. It was some sort of desperation in them. Or perhaps just a healthy does of "I don't give a fuck," a popular saying of theirs.
While there was nothing really to "fit in to," I felt out of place. Blake, my good friend, was hanging with these guys because they had lunch together, along with Trey. Blake (at least now) is about halfway what I saw in the kids across from us, or the complete opposite. Sometimes I wonder what they thought when they said the things they did. This is what I've gathered.
No one is worried about what you look like, how high or low your voice is, or how obvious it is that you skipped the shower part of your morning routine to make time for extra sleep. (Ps, I did that three times this week. I'm so lazy.) Thing is, you're worried about you. I'm worried about me. What is he, she or it worried about? Not me. Definitely not you.
As much as it's nobody's business what everyone was up to in the cafeteria, it was my business today. Instead of focusing on "Is my hair okay?", "Did I brush my teeth? Do my homework?", I stepped outside of myself and walked around as the people I saw. It was refreshing.
Today I realized just what one could see from that table by the wall. (Maybe I hadn't noticed before because our cafeteria just got new lights.) Whatever the case, I had the best view of everyone in that room. And our cafeteria is BIG. I surveyed a sea of heads as I was munching on nuggets and fries for $3.50 (not worth it at all). I was sitting next to Blake, but my soul was wandering the place like a lost kid in a grocery store. I saw the preps, the jocks, the preps (and the preps). Main reason for staying away from the cafeteria - too much senseless chatter from people I'll never associate with in the future. Anyway, I just sat there, watching people walking to and from the lunch line. Watching people sit down, get up, walk around, and sit down again. I have no idea why, but it was incredibly interesting to me. (People-watching, you call it? Hmm, sounds like my kind of sport.)
Then for whatever reason, I sporadically came back to myself, there next to Blake. Across the table from us were two "nobody's business" kids. One of them had long hair, the other had longer hair. I sat there, and watched them. I remember hearing them say things like how much "this school sucks" and "I want to punch half these people in the face." In a strange way, the me from two years ago would have agreed. These kids kept banging their fists on the table. It was some sort of desperation in them. Or perhaps just a healthy does of "I don't give a fuck," a popular saying of theirs.
While there was nothing really to "fit in to," I felt out of place. Blake, my good friend, was hanging with these guys because they had lunch together, along with Trey. Blake (at least now) is about halfway what I saw in the kids across from us, or the complete opposite. Sometimes I wonder what they thought when they said the things they did. This is what I've gathered.
No one is worried about what you look like, how high or low your voice is, or how obvious it is that you skipped the shower part of your morning routine to make time for extra sleep. (Ps, I did that three times this week. I'm so lazy.) Thing is, you're worried about you. I'm worried about me. What is he, she or it worried about? Not me. Definitely not you.
As much as it's nobody's business what everyone was up to in the cafeteria, it was my business today. Instead of focusing on "Is my hair okay?", "Did I brush my teeth? Do my homework?", I stepped outside of myself and walked around as the people I saw. It was refreshing.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Everything You Don't Care About
My name is Brandon. I write songs...and poems..and stories. I am actively involved in a few bands: The Uprooting, and The Irrelephants. God is the center of my life. Everything else revolves around Him. I'm trying to be profound. Let's see how far I get.
Honesty is a huge deal. If you can't tell the truth, you stand for nothing. Know what you believe.
Music is my best friend. It looks me straight in the eye and doesn't run away, ever. It knows who I am, even though I'm still trying to figure out who it is. There's so much to music, you can't stop getting to know it bettter at any point.
17 (almost 18) years have passed in a hurry. Growing up I thought it would take so long. Yesterday I was 12, playing with my stepbrother outside, just learning to play guitar, complaining about elementary arithmetic homework. What happened? It's almost like waking up from a dream.
Sorry, I guess I'm not really sure who my audience is. If anyone's listening, know that much of this is vomitous and unorganized. My thoughts rarely make sense, even to me. (Maybe you guys could help?) I'm ready to set things straight on paper, as I always am. A keyboard just makes it that much easier.
I am inspired by the love of my life. Bridget is the most amazing person I know. She has helped hundreds of souls through her organization "Be the Hero." Words fail at describing how I feel about this girl. (We will most certainly get to that later.)
Ummm...........pshhh yeah. More later.
Honesty is a huge deal. If you can't tell the truth, you stand for nothing. Know what you believe.
Music is my best friend. It looks me straight in the eye and doesn't run away, ever. It knows who I am, even though I'm still trying to figure out who it is. There's so much to music, you can't stop getting to know it bettter at any point.
17 (almost 18) years have passed in a hurry. Growing up I thought it would take so long. Yesterday I was 12, playing with my stepbrother outside, just learning to play guitar, complaining about elementary arithmetic homework. What happened? It's almost like waking up from a dream.
Sorry, I guess I'm not really sure who my audience is. If anyone's listening, know that much of this is vomitous and unorganized. My thoughts rarely make sense, even to me. (Maybe you guys could help?) I'm ready to set things straight on paper, as I always am. A keyboard just makes it that much easier.
I am inspired by the love of my life. Bridget is the most amazing person I know. She has helped hundreds of souls through her organization "Be the Hero." Words fail at describing how I feel about this girl. (We will most certainly get to that later.)
Ummm...........pshhh yeah. More later.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)