You'd kill to be right.

Yes, you would. It's that epic battle going on in your brain. Every little thing that is wrong, is wrong, to you. You have to be right. It's part of your struggle for self-worth and proclamation of confidence. If you're wrong, then you'd be too independent and isolated. If you're right, then everything is fine. In fact, the world could be sucked into a black hole and if you're right, then God will still save you.

It all went by so quickly...

It happens so fast. You prepare for the big showdown. It's the meeting, the greeting, the performance, the test, the takeoff, the experience. And, it's gone before you know it. Hold fast, and be generally aware of that uber-tacular vibe that runs through your veins and makes you want to fly a rocket to the moon. Controllable, burnable, what a beautiful disaster. You love to hate it, even when you knew you never were meant for such a life. Pace by pace, a few steps ahead, over barriers that once tore you into tiny paper shreds. Find the tempo, hum along, and go with the flow...

Rule the World.

Gold. Second place, first loser.
Top of the Mountain. You climbed pretty far.
Die a hero. Don't waste a minute less than best.
The daredevil with the smile. You're grinning.
Go ahead, rule the world.

A Commerical Success

Did you bring it to market? Packaged and wrapped, did it appear like you did more than you actually put in? Well, duh, welcome Mr. Business Suit and Tie. If you play your cards right, I'm thinking you may have gotten away with not existing. Just by writing your name on a carbon-bound paper, and turning it in like gravy on an undercooked chicken breast, you could be a hero. The audience would clap, because they only see the visual plane that you represent. What hides beneath that candy-coated shell? Layer by layer, one day it's all going to come undone. Humor me, and put the inside on the outside. Invert the self, and have a little fun in the process. Commercially, you're hooked.

Static. Discharge.

***Republican Dictatorship***

--Due to popular vote, we bring you this uncensored commercial interruption:

"YOU SUCK."

--Okay, now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

What is culture(?): from biggie to small - there's one for all.

You got a little, we all got a little. How you cook your rice. How you braid your hair. How you call your grandparents an indigenous name, passed on generation...after generation. Little Squat. Parakeet Princess. Walk tall little one. So you're sitting there, wondering why you put your fork 'where the fork goes'. It's not as complicated as flower arrangements or candelabra placement in a church, but it's something cultural. What do you really consider culture? The urban legends tell tales of ink-blotted insignia running arm's-length down the fulcrum of some kid's weapon arm. Is that splurt just as worthy of a sub note in Britannica as the Don of an Italian piazza. Of course, the eskimos are chillin' in the North, the Incas WERE livin' mountainside, some dude is trying to get easy with an Egyptian expatriate, with Oompa Loopas making chocolate in the midwest, as Communism still happens. Culture, frame of reference? Culture, fact or fascination?

Did you grab my attention?

Round circle. Sorta round. Doesn't matter, because it is far from a round table. There is no discussion here. You look left to see someone steal the spotlight. You look right to hear some chit-chat about a topic that you have little interest in. It's kinda awkward, so bump in with some senseless thread on how you think she might be loving her job. Wrong assumption. Did you grab my attention? You're a small mind for a big child. As you pan the room with eye-vision, you want to sink into the floor, absorbed like a bad wine stain. You flip another card, laugh off the stupid premonition as poor taste, and go to sleep later thinking about the coulda-shoulda statement that would have transitioned you from lifeless to full of life. Square, not round. All too mathematical, not chemical.

Time

The senses fade in, The senses fade out, as the lights go out.

The Walk.

Options Set 1 (the hand):
With dog leash.
With beverage.
With broken leaf.
With tourist map.
With cell phone.
With other hand.

Options Set 2 (the feet):
Skipping. - vibrant/hippie/playful
Brisking. - end is near/busy workday/unfavorable weather conditions
Skimmering. - superficial/sneaky/silent
Wheelchairing. - handicapped/stolen cart from supermarket
Hopping. - silly/minimize ground conduction
Running. - athletic/late/being chased by police
Staggering. - impaired/calling attention

Options Set 3 (the head):
The you that you want to be.
The you that you are.
The you that others see.

Above the law, below the surface.

Chill That. West Coast style with a hint of policeman misuse of power. This is the line, a geometric concept describing a threshold. He takes those handcuffs and puts them on the innocent, getting high off the feeling of control. It couldn't be just one, it had to completely contain, to make the recipient cry. Once they cry, you know you've really had your fun, and so reverse the process. Let her recess to her apartment, but you aren't getting away. Sometimes, just a common observer will come by. Chill on that. It's that boiling temperament that questions the man of blue to shine that little badge in your face, all the while firmly stating the absolutely irreversible unjustified actions like prose on a white board. When you swallow your pride, you realize you're a little wrong and a little right, a little emotional but alot clearer in the head. At that moment, you know what it feels like to be put in the mud just because you challenge authority. First time's a first, but it makes your bones a bit thicker. After challenging age and intellect, separate paths follow a firm handshake. Sip in that warm twilight air; it's the only free thing you might have in a few years.

The Hindsight P.S.

P.S.: I'll proofread that breakup letter you're working on.

PS: I like being underneath you while you work. Don't drop that hammer.

P.S.: I won't be making your wedding, so can you send me that package you received in the mail?

PS: Thanks for the birthday wishes; I'm pregnant...best gift ever.

P.S.: I'm going to the moon. The Martians are requesting Space Cake.

PS: I wonder what the essence of life is. Oh, look at this neat site I found: Scientology.org

P.S.: Could you unbuckle my car seat before I crash? That would probably be the sweetest thing you've ever done for me.

PS: What if I promised you I'd never lie? I promise I won't. Honest!

P.S.: An asteroid is headed for your house. Pack your bags and crouch under the nearest table for ultimate protection. Call OSHA. This might be important.

Note to self: I'm too self-righteous

Thinking more clearly because my head is in a daze. Make sense? Hardly. Oh well, I guess the only way to really make a fair decision is to flip a coin. The hero really doesn't need applause. I bow when you don't clap. Epic Failure, I think I'm craving attention. Don't you use things to your advantage too? If you were just noble all the time, you wouldn't have anything left of you to give. Save some, store it away in a nice little bank account, that relative money you've accumulated through years of what you call work. My work involves digging through my bones, picking apart the cells and seeing how they all fit together. Why so serious? In that moment when you thought you had it all figured out, could you really feel good and evil? What makes you so different from the rest of them? My monologue isn't really anything more than a publicity stunt, minus the publicity and lacking in attractive stunt qualities. It makes it nothing... it makes it self-righteous. Look in the mirror, and who smiles back? Haha. Laugh it off, you were funny looking anyway.

(H)2(0) %CLUSTerClump%

BLoTcHY. Aggregated in one demographic: Solution #1. I'm high on the -e totem pole, hydrophilic. @FRiZzLy. HOH. HHO. OHH. 2 H's and me! Unclumped from the blob. Puppet cuts the strings, hydrophobic || "CLUSTerClump" || Transitionary stage - ut oh! - prone to evaporation. Absorbed into new clump. Little breathing room. Dammit - where is (!)freedom(?)(.) Is He > Ar? Nope - I'd take more valence electrons anyday. Or just an exotic >100 p+ [shhh, don't tell Na that] : bond me later - ok?

Caution: Speeds in Excess of Threshold may cause Permanent Damage

It started with a scratch. One on the left knee. The other on the arm. I stuttered from my stumble and wiped the blood sprinkling from the wound. It reminded me of those times I laughed at the slippery floor signs, only this time the pain drowned my overeager skater-boy tendencies. Those wheels were meant to turn, and Newton told me long ago that for every motion there is a counter-motion. I was that counter-motion. Fast-forward a few clips ahead, and you'd see me hanging outside the gliderport wiping saturated sunscreen from my chemically oxidized eye. It was more painful than blood, more acute than a cute asian, and vividly hallucinogenic. Just imagine my eye being one of those globes you spin at the pawn shop, only less entertaining and more personal. I dosed my eyelid with borrowed deli-shop water, enough to let the thick solution slowly drain out, leaving the world half-open and ugly for at least ten minutes. It couldn't compare to injuries to come, but at least it was a warmup for getting the stomach peeled by a surfboard and letting otherwise tolerable sun turn your back into a crispy crust. That ten story bluff didn't do much to convince you otherwise, for the space between your legs had rubbed dry from a salted exterior. I believe it was excruciating enough to bite the lip and shout explicatives at speedier travelers. For a little entertainment, you lost some pride. But, for a lot of entertainment, you'd be needing more to justify the part of you that you left in the sand. Physically punished, I wave my caution flag; you're just too fast for this world.

Pampering.

It's gotten out of hand. Why does society pamper those who deserve nothing more than a stern scolding and a kick to the rear. I feel like everyone is playing powderPuff kiddie sport, toying with a fake baseball while not even attempting to step up to the plate. You've seen those 40-year-old-somethings that protected little Jimmy even when he just sucked and should have picked up model rocketry instead of T-ball. You've seen those dirty dumpster punks who could have worked the greenhouse, but decided instead to go tear up some old lady's weeds, the alternative to planting in some smelly warehouse. You don't see the Principal take it easy on these chaps. You don't see them just pat their hand and pass over a Get-Outta-Jail Free voucher. They learn the hard way that life will not tolerate their messy immaturity. So why do we tolerate it when a politician jumps up and down like a toddler? Why do we allow that trashy prostitute to offer services to the cop who just arrested her? Why do we play hide-and-go-seek with greenbacks when the Federal Reserve gives inside employees Swiss Bank accounts in exchange for indiscriminately misplaced scoffings of hard-working middle class patrons? Did we ever tolerate straight up violence at the playground? I see the shortcoming in the adult work; life ain't fair for a reason. Adults are just as scummy as those junkies that burn wood in trash bins during the winter to prolong the high. All those nice barbeques and social etiquettes can be washed down the toilet for all I care; where is dignity? I'll continue to stare blankly forward next time I see the well-dressed businessman open the door in overly dramatic chivalratic form for that despondent secretary who can't wait to go to lunch to snack on some minimal-caloric granola bar, all the while talking about her ungodly new neighbors and that hot intern. It's all so wrong. Maybe that guy who just didn't fit in all that time really was the truest of them all. Maybe he just didn't want to pamper, or be pampered. Maybe, he knows life ain't all it's cracked up to be.

CDEFGABC

Pachelbel with his Canon;
Bach fugued Tocatta;
while Barber stringing Adagio;
Beethoven moonlit Sonata;
Copland commonly composing Fanfare;
a circumstance Elgar wrote Pomp;
Gershwin blue Rhapsody;
Handel sung to Messiah;
Mozart a Figaro;
Sousa Marching;
Tchaikovsky Numbers 1.8.1.2. Overture.

Lights, Rockets, Sky.
One, World, Gone.
All, Black, Notes.
White; Carbon; Paper.
Love, Without, Composure.
Composing, Life.
I,am, Music.

Riding the fence to work...

You're riding this fence. You teeter one way. You teeter the other. You lean back. You lean forward. How unsure can you be? There's really no other way to ride you see. If you hopped to the green grass, it'd be soiled with weeds. If you toppled to the pavement, it'd be just too rough. You've decided to stay collinear with the fence, but tilting to the front just makes the grass or pavement seem too close for you. Leaning back brings the sky into view, but at some point you know you're going to lose your balance. So you just sit upright... pedaling along at a moderate pace. You look left to see the fast cars in the fast lane. You look right to see the slow mowers taking care of a persistent growth of grass. As they mow on by, you can even see the green stubbly sprout reforming its original turfy stature. It's at that moment, you realize there's no real good way to ride that fence. Once you're off, you want on. Once you're on, you want off. Shouldn't have built that damn wooden boundary without thinking of the consequences it would bring you. Fences keep the criminals in, and the visitors out. I'd visit a criminal any day.

Puppet Show #4189

Your little indices are tickled with excitement. They dance along that carved out paper cutout of a set piece with vivid emotion. Without a mouth, there really are those times when you just have to imagine what speaking could have been. All that play and no words. You can't be very extreme when you're a puppet either, because once you leave that stage, you no longer exist. It's a temporary career, and usually only the kids laugh, but you have no real other career opportunities. I mean, you could go play rock paper scissors or join the shadow imaging club, but there really isn't much future investment in those areas. You are just waiting for that cold metal ring to slip over you for life, but I think you've invested too much in your dancing. After all, those silly paintbrush costumes wouldn't suit you for that long. And you tell me every night, how it's better than being shoved up some nose or used to annoy one of those human creatures, but I beg to differ. Maybe you weren't always cut out to be a puppeteer. Maybe fingers are boring after all.

It's just a crosswalk.

Merging is one of those things that takes care of itself 98% of the time. The 'main' stream is autonomous in its movement, and you have to slide in to become part of that stream. But damn, let's add some populace and bikers and cyclists and handicap carts and scooters and skateboarders and cane-walkers and stumblers and toddlers. They merge or cross the merge, letting a solid white silhouette man followed by a flashing red hand assist their ability to follow a boxed elongated rectangular path. There's always those nasty corners, where the yielding gets messy, with out-of-nowhere endings to bike routes and indiscriminately misplaced markings. Still, the yield leaves that 2% error for those mistakes you read about in the papers. It's that man who almost made it, but got smashed by an intoxicated BMW-wielding driver too involved in his bass heavy music to notice the blood on his windshield. It's kind of a shame that he causes all the problems, jamming traffic and causing those overdrawn rich vain women to flip open their pink cell phones to call their boyfriend the "oh my god" moment. Someone in that parking circle is still finishing his taco, while that 85 year old man with the broken down electric cart didn't even lift his chin. They sweep the streets, take care of that red blood cell mess and repaint the crosswalk. Merging mostly works, after all, 98% of the time experts say.

The humanity of automation...

Error! Robot! Overload. Operation complete is a daily subroutine, intended to be checked off and databased before wine hour with cheese. It's a contaminant of life's synchronicity, a block in normal operation. After all, when did you ever really abase yourself from the system? Cycling through predefined options, I take a repository of ideas with me on the road. I stop at local hotspots to get heated with spot-on commentary of a could-have-been moment, lucky enough to buy 25c sodas in subsidized vending machines. If I ever get that chance to dance around space with a gravity-filled vacuum, I'd sit down fireside with some physicists and spit in Zero G's. Enough to see suspended colloids roll back the top portion of my nose and submerge my face in vitrified water, I think I'd be ready to have a heart. I'd be ready to extend my hand and unplug myself from the wall. It's all that commentary that really got me the first time, so I might as well be talking by myself in the outer ether with earthy pride for the rest of my telomeric cellular life cycle.

Right at that moment you thought you broke through...

Upon passing by graduation ceremonies, I'm dosed with a rosey scene of future life. They've got the friends, they've got the enemies. Heck, they even have a bouquet of roses, real rosey. Their parents fawn over every little accomplishment, categorizing each in a nice spreadsheet format, ready for distribution to other family members or prestigious job-giving 'affiliates of the extended family' and smiling every second. In transit, I kind of feel like a fish swimming up stream for no real reason. No roses, No big hugs, No rosey sense of accomplishment. As all that sweat pours over the human you thought you were, you really notice you're just giving in to that happy feeling of being rewarded for something you didn't do. After all, they feel that way too, although not nearly as aware that they don't deserve all those high fives and placarded kisses on the cheek. Roses were not meant for such shallow experiences.

Pipe Down Mr. Pawn.

Check. Check Mate. Pipe down Mr. Pawn I proclaim with pivotal pragmatism. Protesting the transmutated form of the python is problematic you see. Pipe down Mr. Pawn before you fawn yourself with crowd-surfing pundits punishing the problematic you see. You see green richer than most, piped full of oil and gunned down in alleyways. Check. Check Mate.

It doesn't take much to achieve greatness...

You really don't need much talent in this world to achieve greatness. With a hand full of rocks and a slingshot, you can become the greatest slingshoter. With an Altoids box and some illegal substances, you could become the greatest hallucinogenic salesman with the lowest budget. With some metals and an iron hammer, you can become a blacksmith. With a body and some acrylics, I'm sure you could even walk the runway. Damn them all who told you that you couldn't be what you wanted. Ever since the time you pushed the launch button to send the Science class rocket into the sky, didn't you want to be great? It doesn't really take much to achieve greatness. Anybody can be a somebody, as long as you don't take no from anybody. There are so many who live in the prospective confines of their own little cozy life. Relative to their daily shopping, punitive behavior affirmations, tax paying, snob-nobbing, and gossiping, they really don't have time to become great. This is why they'll tell you every reason why you are bound to fail. After all, it doesn't really take much to be worthless either...

Note to Self: Most People are Not Worth the Time

How many times has there been a general lack of decent reciprocation from your fellow humans? We expect too much from people. We require a constant connectedness with the world around us, which is why we have all sorts of gizmos designed to keep us continuously hooked into the world. But, I believe we should put more faith in the abstract and substantial. Instead of devoting so many hours to gaining the approval of one individual, why not pool your eggs into multiple baskets? Make short term friends with many people, and see how the consequential variety of life leads to the prolongment of certain relationships? Invest in the itinerary of the unknown, as it may pay out the greatest. Lean back, lock onto a bird as it dips into the icy waters to retract a fish, and keep a distinct mood of clarity and universality. With the tools of concrete gifts, most notably the wealth of information available on the internet, your personal pursuits will be indeniably more satisfactory. Randomize your gestures, being a selfish worm only when necessary, but give delight to those who applaud the different. The sleep couldn't be more amazing when there is creative consults on the mind, and you could be snoring on a park bench under the moonlit stars without a hinderance of getting back to your roots. Leave the past behind, and embrace the 'I' in Life.

Another deviation from the norm...

I proclaim, with honest sincerity, that I have very little interest in the tedious self-proclamation of most. With this said, I begin a new era of discovery and independence.

Incandescence...

Illuminate me, find in me a bright spot that you can come close to in order to feel safe. It may be that life is dark enough to warrant such escapes, but I think we all need a place to harbor our fears and tears. Incandescent, because it's ever glowing. Incandescent, because it's warm and comforting. Whether it's that teddy bear you've always held tight to, or that moral idea that you've followed so rigorously, I find the light that is found inside is always burning. A never-ending wick and a foundational wax candle support this flame, but it is the flame that constitutes all the energy used to better the self.

The Perpetual Obligation

What is life without obligation? Go to class, do the laundry, keep in contact with friends, eat 8 green vegetables a day. When do we, or can we, draw the line and say I want to live my life as I see fit? When can we take a step back and truly think through our choices and not follow in the path of others? Some say the wake of disaster is brought upon by negligence of 'standard' rigor, however, I believe that this is entirely false. It is when we don't carve our own channel in the mold of life that we become something far less than what we set out to achieve. How many times have you felt let down because you try someone's other 'successful' tactics? It is one's own enlightenment that brings glory and pride to one's daily events. Take a step off the road traveled and blaze new trails on the road less traveled. Enjoy the satisfaction, and the suspicious excitement, of having a personal victory come to fruition as you achieve your dreams!

Ubiquitous Disillusionment

It's everywhere. It's inside you and outside you. It's the compelling myth of humanity, that leech of a vice that holds us all back from reaching our true potential. I say with absolute contemptment that we are all subject to such rationalizations and oblivious blind-sided attacks. When you least expect it, expect it! In terms of personal contact, I have little faith in human compassion, as many lie, cheat, and usurp their way to the top. Even those white fables we create often seem so innocent at first, only to spin disastardly out of control in the end. Be truthful, be kind, and be wise. Do not succumb to rationalization. Do not be a victim of societal pressures. Be yourself, Be the man.

One way ticket in the wrong direction...

Ever get the feeling you just bought a ticket to go somewhere, except you're going in the wrong direction? You wake up, half asleep and in a daze, middleway through your trip and realize that you are heading in the exact opposite alignment from what you originally intended. Life hits you hard sometimes, and you just take it. You keep going, ignorantly unaware of all the damage you are causing both yourself and to others. Stop for a second and turn around, right now. It may take just as much time to retrace your steps, but at least you can re-evaluate your compass heading. For goodness sake, think about the direction your life is heading. Choose wisely, Purchase smartly, and Live Fully. You'll thank me later.

The Price of Admission

I wonder how much does it really cost to achieve greatness? What corners must be cut? What sacrifices must be made? How can I, as a thinking member of society, come out ahead? It is this gate I both hate and love. Walking up to the gate is an easy task. However, finding the ticket for admittance is another story entirely. In life, we wager various things that are 'worth' a certain value to us. As we place our bets, we observe others with both apprehension and hostility, hoping that our stake is heavily favored to win. Unfortunately, we are neither concerned nor understanding of the complexity of such tasks. When we win, we often mistake the reason for something ordinary. When we lose, we often mistake the reason for something extraordinary. It is the misplacement of the true reason that the price of admission becomes such a hard task of addressing. Look in the strangest of places to find the often easiest route to victory. Achieving such a ticket can become less tiring when intuition and intrigue fills the life of the achiever. And, achieve, you shall.

How many licks to the center?

How many layers must we reveal before we know the true meaning of something? It's that old adage, of how many licks it takes to get to the epicenter of that epitomous lollipop. In life, we continue to use our tongue to expose the quick of various individuals. How many days or conversations does it take to get to the true self? Is there a litmus test which I can use to analyze another's revealing layers? Take what you see at face value, but always know there is something deeper - darker, more obscure, complexer. It is when we reach this core that we really find out who that person actually is. Take a few licks, and pretty soon, you'll find out just what you're in for, or who you're in for.

How far must one go to see the distance?

How far must one travel in order to "experience it all"? How much must we see in order to call ourselves sages of the world? To tell you the truth, I believe we can throw much conventional thought away as we attempt to understand why we do the things we do. It is the possessed that become enfatuated with an inane sense of pleasure in the most odd circumstances. The crippled may walk amongst the living and even the most worthy fellow may induldge in a hypocritical laugh. For it is earnest to live a true life, but how close must we grow to those experiences we typify and standardize our paths by. Must we walk a million miles? Must we talk a million conversations? Must we overcome a million obstacles? How far must one go to see the distance?

The Sum of Our Parts

Are we but not the sum of our parts? Are we broken pieces of fragments glued together to make whole? I feel as if our lives are interwined in such a way that we cannot mistaken the interconnectedness of the world, however I believe each one of us could fully function as a complete individual. I make the case that the bits of us that are scattered throughout the world may be held together by others, but this is a very dangerous way to live. For how can we know that the others will always be there for us? We do not, and so I say with great confidence that our own mind will stand trials of thick murky days. It is just to reach out to others and ask for their appreciation, but at the end of time, we stand alone in our most wrenching battles. How many times have you felt you have not been appreciated by others? I believe this is merely your interpretation of that person's reactions, and so look to your own self for the justification. Let the guidance and awareness of others inspire you, but truly make the sum of your parts your own.

One new year, One small step for a (kind) man.

Another year has blown by, and with it comes the memory of thousands of interactions and hundreds of times that life has scultped the path that our future will be guided down. I say with great pleasure that the new year will bring plenty of additionaly incredible experiences, and I hope my mind is channeled in such a way that I can develop into a gifted man. I have high expectations for life in general, as I'm constantly comparing feats and talents, and it is through this perhaps inane categorization that I find the most joy in becoming stronger, faster, fitter, stabler, or more adapted to handle what life may throw our way. I'm bringing in the year with a sense of pride, but also a humility that we cannot solve all our problems on our own. And so, I hope this next year will bring everything you wanted and more. I welcome you to my blog, and I hope you will share what I see in this world throughout the next year. This blog will terminate exactly 365 days from this moment, and I hope it will give you inspiration as well as allow you to see new and old things from different perspectives. Welcome, to a notebook for life!