A heavy foot on the accelerator gives you tunnel vision. When there is nothing left around you, is when you find your purpose. Once you figure that out, everything else becomes more dull. The contrast in your line of sight lies with your purpose. Everything else takes a back seat. It's the hardest thing in the world to find purpose, and even if you're lucky enough to find it, you try to talk yourself out of it over and over again. Is it really this? It can't be....right? Who knows? That's the way I see it. Justification doesn't come easy. Especially for a restless soul. With whatever pains I have to endure to get to that end, I'm willing to sign up. With purpose comes validity. With validity comes silence. Things make sense. In the way they're supposed to make sense.
Put the houses in a row, on the streets we used to know. The street leads to wherever you want it to. For a boy with unconventional ambition, that's a pretty sight...albeit scary. Without revealing too much, I'm waiting for Austin. Patiently.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Slayed by random acts of kindness...
It's sometimes amazing to me how life shows you how good it can actually be. When all practicality is taken from motivation, it leaves you wondering, "how am I this fortunate?" When you open a mailbox and the surprise of your day rests inside, it's a good feeling. When you're in the position to help someone in need, and not only recognize that opportunity, but follow through with it...well, that's a good feeling too. You always hear folks speak of how there are still good people and how, generally, there is still good left in this world. We sometimes find ourselves questioning that notion. But times such as these shine a floodlight on that observation. Even when the the bricks in the walls seem to be losing their mortar and falling from every which angle, it's the simplest things that remind you of why every breath is a blessing. Why every moment holds it's own weight in the infinite moments of our lives.
"To do something that matters." That's the best quote I've heard in months. I feel that's been a guiding light in my life. To do something that matters. What does that mean? It means something different to every person, but when you do something that matters, you know it. When something is done for you that matters, you know it. Without hesitation, you know it. The equation is different for every person, but the feeling is the same. Do something that matters. These matters are the matters of the world. They are the rise and fall of the sun every day. They are the rain that sprouts the seeds. They are fortitude burning in your belly. They are the climax of the novel. They are the one-liner in the movie. They are the tide that smooths the sand. They are the thaw of the cold winter snow. They are the lips of lovers. They are the presence of God. They are what we are, and with out them, nothing matters.
I am blessed with so many people in my life who are doing things that matter. I try daily to be one of them. Those relationships are the most valuable possession I own.
"To do something that matters." That's the best quote I've heard in months. I feel that's been a guiding light in my life. To do something that matters. What does that mean? It means something different to every person, but when you do something that matters, you know it. When something is done for you that matters, you know it. Without hesitation, you know it. The equation is different for every person, but the feeling is the same. Do something that matters. These matters are the matters of the world. They are the rise and fall of the sun every day. They are the rain that sprouts the seeds. They are fortitude burning in your belly. They are the climax of the novel. They are the one-liner in the movie. They are the tide that smooths the sand. They are the thaw of the cold winter snow. They are the lips of lovers. They are the presence of God. They are what we are, and with out them, nothing matters.
I am blessed with so many people in my life who are doing things that matter. I try daily to be one of them. Those relationships are the most valuable possession I own.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Sometimes it causes me to tremble...
The world is waking up around me and all I can think of is the dreams. When you bleed blue, it's hard to explain your ideals. She bandages my wounds when she lays next to me and asks me why my mind is so heavy. There's no way for her to understand. Even when I don't understand. She asks if she can carry some of the load, but she can't. The thought is there though. I suppose that's enough.
Swinging a revolver around makes people nervous. It makes it tough to approach somebody. Especially when it's in a foreign land, out of your comfort zone...on a date with uneasiness. Everything is welcomed on American soil. Nothing is ever ill-conceived...at least not in the arena of self-fulfillment. Even in the hotels you feel at home. I see her eyes squint through the smoke at the party, while she tries to make it known that she's not looking at me. She knows that I know, and I know what she knows. It's a fun little game. Maybe.
It seems to be a "boomerang effect" thought. You throw it away, out of sight, but the tricky bastard always seems to find it's way home. Like an albatross with an internal compass. I wonder if you can lose yourself in the mass. In New York, masses of people. In Montana, mass of sky. In Arizona, mass of sand dunes. Colorado, mountains. Florida, ocean. California, assholes. Texas, ignorance. So on and so forth.
Why is as simple and stupid as it is complicated and impossible. Wasted hours in some high-rise office building, banging away on a keyboard. The Spanish Conquistador never came close to this. The Decembrist never came close to this. Their wars were fought outside of their minds. Oh how fortunate.
Swinging a revolver around makes people nervous. It makes it tough to approach somebody. Especially when it's in a foreign land, out of your comfort zone...on a date with uneasiness. Everything is welcomed on American soil. Nothing is ever ill-conceived...at least not in the arena of self-fulfillment. Even in the hotels you feel at home. I see her eyes squint through the smoke at the party, while she tries to make it known that she's not looking at me. She knows that I know, and I know what she knows. It's a fun little game. Maybe.
It seems to be a "boomerang effect" thought. You throw it away, out of sight, but the tricky bastard always seems to find it's way home. Like an albatross with an internal compass. I wonder if you can lose yourself in the mass. In New York, masses of people. In Montana, mass of sky. In Arizona, mass of sand dunes. Colorado, mountains. Florida, ocean. California, assholes. Texas, ignorance. So on and so forth.
Why is as simple and stupid as it is complicated and impossible. Wasted hours in some high-rise office building, banging away on a keyboard. The Spanish Conquistador never came close to this. The Decembrist never came close to this. Their wars were fought outside of their minds. Oh how fortunate.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
I Think MySpace is Fucking Stupid
You know, I've been thinking. I wonder to myself, (pre-2003) how people ages 20-32, communicated with each other, being that MySpace/Text Messaging/Emailing/etc., etc. have become so ingrained in our social networks. The funny thing is, MySpace isn't really about other people. It's about you. It's in the friggen' name. MY - Space. "Look at me, I'm unique, my life is full of excitment. I have a higher existence and consequently my experiences are far suprerior to your's...and here's pictorial proof of every one of those points." Space. It's all vanity-induced. The mass-gathering of "friends," the pictures, the poses, the digital vomit that comes off our cameras from every weekend, or drunken party we attend. Shit, I'm guilty of it too. I always post pictures of my latest trip, or stupid weekend excursion for the world to see. Yet, I understand the irony of self-promotion. Nobody cares....nobody but me for mine, and nobody but you for yours. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I hate it. Much like my hatred for American television. I have gone far beyond seeing past what TV does to a person. Makes you mindless, dumbfounded, staggering drones. Blathering on about who fucks who on Desperate Housewives, or who has the most "talent" in some ridiculous phone-in-popularity-contest-reality-show. What does it really matter? Same with MySpace...what the fuck does it really matter? All it does is make us egocentric, internally-driven robots only concerned with further perpetuating our "online persona" (the most important of all...I mean, for God's sake...who wants to find out who the real person is behind that profile pic...definitely not me), and giving us a faux reality of who a person really is. When the reality couldn't be any further from what's posted on the bulletin board. We all shit in toilets and wipe our asses the same. We all eat too much or too little, we all cry when we're weak, we're all jealous of something or somebody, we all want more money, we all undercut people, love people, have times of happiness and sadness, puke when we've drank too much, smell bad when we don't shower, use credit cards too much, think of weird shit in our weird little brains, and all the other things that make us connected on so many levels.
You see one of the problems I see with MySpace is actually a splintered effect of a much larger underlying problem with society in general. We all HAVE to be unique. Uniqueness is a fucking commodity nowdays, and the weirder you are the better. The more independent from status quo living, or what we deem to be status quo living, the better. But what the fuck is the status quo anymore? We're hit over the head every day, from every which angle, from every form and type of medium with an extreme overload of information. It's too much information to process. We get all scatter-brained. So we force things out and force ourselves up to be louder than the noise. To be noticed. Before we know it, we're balancing ourselves on our own pedestal screaming, "LOOK AT ME! I'M A PAINTER/MUSICIAN/SURFER/BALL PLAYER/SEX KITTEN/COMEDIAN/RICH GUY/ACTRESS/BULLSHIT AFTER BULLSHIT. PLEASE LOOK AT ME!!!! PLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSSSEEEEEE!!!!!"
You see, back in the old days. Like say the pre-internet/9-11 days....we got to know somebody with our own senses. We touched them, we listened to them, we saw them (in person), we heard about their weekends, their trips, their stories, and if we were lucky enough, we even gained some insight on their inner monologue, instead of reading it on some stupid blog or bulletin. Yes, I realize the irony at play here. But, after the contact with that person, if they were a piece of shit, we knew they were a piece of shit. If they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married, then you knew they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married. But we did it with a trial by fire.
When I move to Austin, a city chock full of "I don't really give a shit" attitude, I think (know wait, I know) I'm going to bury my MySpace profile six-feet in the ground. Then, if I want someone to know about me or what I do, or have done, or will do...well, I'll fucking call them and have dinner. I might even ask them about themselves.
And I'll try to be as humble as possible.
You see one of the problems I see with MySpace is actually a splintered effect of a much larger underlying problem with society in general. We all HAVE to be unique. Uniqueness is a fucking commodity nowdays, and the weirder you are the better. The more independent from status quo living, or what we deem to be status quo living, the better. But what the fuck is the status quo anymore? We're hit over the head every day, from every which angle, from every form and type of medium with an extreme overload of information. It's too much information to process. We get all scatter-brained. So we force things out and force ourselves up to be louder than the noise. To be noticed. Before we know it, we're balancing ourselves on our own pedestal screaming, "LOOK AT ME! I'M A PAINTER/MUSICIAN/SURFER/BALL PLAYER/SEX KITTEN/COMEDIAN/RICH GUY/ACTRESS/BULLSHIT AFTER BULLSHIT. PLEASE LOOK AT ME!!!! PLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSSSEEEEEE!!!!!"
You see, back in the old days. Like say the pre-internet/9-11 days....we got to know somebody with our own senses. We touched them, we listened to them, we saw them (in person), we heard about their weekends, their trips, their stories, and if we were lucky enough, we even gained some insight on their inner monologue, instead of reading it on some stupid blog or bulletin. Yes, I realize the irony at play here. But, after the contact with that person, if they were a piece of shit, we knew they were a piece of shit. If they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married, then you knew they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married. But we did it with a trial by fire.
When I move to Austin, a city chock full of "I don't really give a shit" attitude, I think (know wait, I know) I'm going to bury my MySpace profile six-feet in the ground. Then, if I want someone to know about me or what I do, or have done, or will do...well, I'll fucking call them and have dinner. I might even ask them about themselves.
And I'll try to be as humble as possible.
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