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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.