My younger, most well mannered cousin offered me this stuff called Black Powder. I think that was another name for dynamite but I'm not sure and too lazy to highlight and scroll down to search google for Black powder. Considering I just typed that all out, you may be skeptical to believe me. Nope, LAZY.
Anyways, I held onto it for months and did zero research. I went through force factor, which inspired a weird, imprecise feeling. I thought I was stronger, it worked. Often it spurred my apetite and for that I was grateful. I have been off force factor for a few months now and decided to try this Black Powder. I mixed it and consumed it on an empty stomach like the directions instructed. I became very hesitant though because it wanted an empty stomach...this is the very first and only supplement to ask such of me. I comply and I'm lifting weights within thirty minutes like I was supposed to.
Nothing is notably different and all I keep thinking about is all the caffeine it said it had in it. How much did it say? I honestly never knew, I just knew it had some in it. Anticipation effects...not yet.
So, I get to the last part of my work out, today was a leg day, I was on squats. I usually get too lazy to do free weight squats lately because my knees have been unbearably pained by them, well that and the motion is extremely uncomfortable. I proceed to do the squats. I struggle with 140 lbs. I get curious but I add weight. The asian next to me started with less than 100 lbs but he was smaller than me. I tried to ignore him as I have a tendency to ensure that I do more everything than the person next to me. Grrrr. I bump up to 185 lbs. I do that set and still my body isn't responding like I'd want it to. Meh. I bump up to 225 lbs. Finally beginning to find some rhythm with my form. A but happier behind that. I notice that I'm quite out of breath though. I take my time, its no rush. I do another set at that 225 weight. The fluidity of my motions are still improving by leaps and bounds. I have almost not a single qualm with my movements. I take another break and rest a moment to appraise my fatigue level. I feel fine for the most part and I typically would be done here but the Asian guy next to me is now doing a weight similar to my own. I decide, "hell, my rhythm is great now, I'll do another set and bounce."
So, this is my best set. I even do this set faster and with less overall effort. As I go to replace the weight, my spidey sense rings like a four alarm fire bell. I take a step and the weight of the World is dumped on my plate like some over eaters challenge. I take a seat. The seat I've now taken does not help any. I look for a place that I can stretch out but mentally because my eyes are fading in and out of focus. I think of the stretching mats. I plan on making a journey there. I don't remember that journey but I remember laying down because what happened next was all non plussing.
I'm there for a minute and my body begins to sweat like a fully open faucet. Problem is, I really don't sweat that much, even in the heat. I'm just not that sweaty. Anyways, I'm beyond drenched, nauseated and slightly disoriented. I think to myself..."damn that caffeine" it was merely a scapegoat.
As I lay there laughing at myself and swearing off of that Black powder as if it were alcohol and I over did it, I begin to think about how my body feels and I notice my heart aching. Fear strikes a note in my head. I resolve myself that everything is already done, the effect is already half lifed. I may be lying but I don't know or care because I need the delusion to provide me faith and confidence.
I feel like crap but I refuse to be a slob because of it. I get up and retrieve the supplies to clean where my sweat lay there soaking into the mat. After wiping the mat I find myself lightly disgusted at the people who were there before me. What I wiped up was pure black ratchedness. WTF? I lay there dying in that yuck factory. I wore myself out trying to be a decent person when I would have been better off leaving it the gross ass way it was.
I lay there against a bouncy ball catching my breath until I mustered enough strength to stumble out of the gym. Chest out back straight but the head was looking two feet ahead of me. I could not afford to stumble.
Suddenly, I begin feeling jacked while still nauseated. I decided to drive. My mother calls. She didn't notice that I sounded like shit. I kind of hoped she would. I was in a sinking ship. I decided I was a man, I went to walmart. My father deserved to get his birthday card on time even if I didn't get his present off on time. I did this mayne. Eli. Stumbled through wally world...confused and directionless. Ran to the post office, looking strung out and minimally coherent. I made my way home. Grrrr.
As I finally lay down I grab the container of black powder and use my phone on the barcode. I pull up several websites that say the health risk is heart and muscle failure. I laugh. I guess that was too close for comfort and I was just happy that my reckless nature didn't do me in. Alls well that ends well, right?
Now, I need to find some sex and magic. Van Hunt.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Its easier being bitter
Apparently, I don't have a tremendous wealth of experience or knowledge at my humble age. My opinion seems to grate the people it comes into contact with. I only say things I see to be true. Somehow I developed a parallel way of dealing with people by acknowledging that though they may not agree or see what I do, that their view is still as real as anything I see. This is difficult because it brings to the front and center the potential that I could be just as inattentionally blinded as those I chide. This is difficult to grip. Anyways, I dislike bitter people. Bitter people are my topic tonight.
From a very young age, I refused to be jaded or bittered by the negative things that happen. All I've ever seen being jaded produce is agony and pain and misunderstandings. I want to avoid as many confrontations as possible. Oddly enough, I get into more confrontations than most people because of this. I see it as me being proactive despite the fact that all the action in the world can only achieve so much.
With me avoiding becoming bitter, I've always played the bigger person and at times it becomes extremely tiring. There is never an opportunity to be wrong without critical dismissal of your worth. There are no bonus points and a positive image is easy to up-end without much in the way of wrong doing.
Eventually, I was left to realize that the only thing I received from being the bigger person and not getting jaded by my experience was the satisfaction of knowing I did the proper thing. But I could achieve so much with simple delusion like most people. Nonetheless, I persist because at this point I have told enough people that this near ascension level being is expected of me and I told my father(who in his own right is superlatively magnanimous). I aspire to be like he in many ways. That includes not taking the easy route and falling into a simple delusion that allows me to focus on some fact while heavily disregarding others in order to supply my need for self approval and social recognition.
Basically, it is a lot easier just getting mad, blaming everything and everybody else and being an overall killjoy. People bend to these malingerers willingly as if to avoid disturbances but really they just reinforce that a person can act unreasonably and receive what they want because of their approach.
So, the wrong way has been taken the most and the response is overwhelmingly clear: the easy road sucks in the end.
With women, they seem to try and fix the bitter men. With men, they try and run fast from the bitter women. This is largely backwards but if you squint just right, it makes perfect sense.
I know I rambled. I know I was barely coherent and I know I should do revisions to iron out the kinks in my writing and perhaps one day I will, but today is simply not the day that will be done.
Let go of the bitterness, I implore you. Being jaded has very little positively conducive potential. While being fresh and unwavering with patience leads to a world of opportunities that few ever even know exist.
That's my love for now. Jya
From a very young age, I refused to be jaded or bittered by the negative things that happen. All I've ever seen being jaded produce is agony and pain and misunderstandings. I want to avoid as many confrontations as possible. Oddly enough, I get into more confrontations than most people because of this. I see it as me being proactive despite the fact that all the action in the world can only achieve so much.
With me avoiding becoming bitter, I've always played the bigger person and at times it becomes extremely tiring. There is never an opportunity to be wrong without critical dismissal of your worth. There are no bonus points and a positive image is easy to up-end without much in the way of wrong doing.
Eventually, I was left to realize that the only thing I received from being the bigger person and not getting jaded by my experience was the satisfaction of knowing I did the proper thing. But I could achieve so much with simple delusion like most people. Nonetheless, I persist because at this point I have told enough people that this near ascension level being is expected of me and I told my father(who in his own right is superlatively magnanimous). I aspire to be like he in many ways. That includes not taking the easy route and falling into a simple delusion that allows me to focus on some fact while heavily disregarding others in order to supply my need for self approval and social recognition.
Basically, it is a lot easier just getting mad, blaming everything and everybody else and being an overall killjoy. People bend to these malingerers willingly as if to avoid disturbances but really they just reinforce that a person can act unreasonably and receive what they want because of their approach.
So, the wrong way has been taken the most and the response is overwhelmingly clear: the easy road sucks in the end.
With women, they seem to try and fix the bitter men. With men, they try and run fast from the bitter women. This is largely backwards but if you squint just right, it makes perfect sense.
I know I rambled. I know I was barely coherent and I know I should do revisions to iron out the kinks in my writing and perhaps one day I will, but today is simply not the day that will be done.
Let go of the bitterness, I implore you. Being jaded has very little positively conducive potential. While being fresh and unwavering with patience leads to a world of opportunities that few ever even know exist.
That's my love for now. Jya
Thursday, July 7, 2011
And So What
I'm lonely as all well...hell. I wish that all these miraculous women I keep hearing about actually didn't seem to be repulsed every which way from my immediate vicinity. Sure, long term vision, my past has been a decent one. How I've been forgotten even while I'm remembered is too complex and whiny for me to comfortably put that thought into words.
I don't feel loved. Sure I know people say they love me but they sure as all...well...hell, don't show it.
I should have been smanging recklessly. Not giving a second thought to the wretched ratchetness and shenanigans that I could get into. I mean, I'm still thin but I'm very muscular & decently handsome. I'm nobody's joke. Alas, I live by what I consider a code of morals or standards. That mess is killing me. I need touch..romantic like, lustful and so many other ways. I'm not just impatient, I'm itching for interaction. So, I've come to the edge of giving a good damn.
Who wants to watch me plummet to hell in a hand basket full of grenades? We could record the whole thing. :-)
I don't feel loved. Sure I know people say they love me but they sure as all...well...hell, don't show it.
I should have been smanging recklessly. Not giving a second thought to the wretched ratchetness and shenanigans that I could get into. I mean, I'm still thin but I'm very muscular & decently handsome. I'm nobody's joke. Alas, I live by what I consider a code of morals or standards. That mess is killing me. I need touch..romantic like, lustful and so many other ways. I'm not just impatient, I'm itching for interaction. So, I've come to the edge of giving a good damn.
Who wants to watch me plummet to hell in a hand basket full of grenades? We could record the whole thing. :-)
Monday, June 27, 2011
Stuck in the Eighties
Being born in the early portion of the eighties, I was conscious enough by the end of the eighties to remember the eighties first hand. Going back to the mid part of the eighties when things were extremely exciting, I remember the clamoring voices, the television gathering and the aftermath of some of the biggest events in the eighties.
Back then, it didn't matter to me when things came to widespread approval or appeal. I just wanted what was good. Back then, I just wanted to be a part of something. I know, a lil advanced for a lil dude. I wanted some kind of love. Though, it seems a bit imbalanced to say that I understood or had actual longing for love because I did not urge to love; I simply wanted it.
Perhaps, it was the depth of natural affinities co-mingling in my brain soup of thoughts inspired by what I saw on the tv screen and what people talked about all the time in real life. Love was huge in the eighties. My mother has always played tons of love songs end on end. Had me writing love poems by the age of 4 and maybe 5. I am not joking. Only, back then, I thought all poems started off "Roses are red, violets are blue...". Cute huh?
I am completely amorous. I love everything. I've always been a lover and not a fighter. But the eighties also had enough violence to fill the air with a bloody mist, at least in my personal life. Which made me very police officer like in my response which was typically to nullify the threat and talk it out rather than to properly engage the threat in hand to hand combat which in my opinion is easier.
Either way, I am a person that loves as much as possible but cannot deny the existence for the need of self defense. This fact alone leads me to my appreciation for everything Bruce Lee and the Black community.
Blacks seemingly love everything Asian. This coming from a Black guy sounds weird to me. Kung-fu to Karate, from weird cuisine to customary dress and etiquette, I have seen few Blacks balk at conforming to Asian sensibilities. It is awe-inspiring. I myself did so at a very young age and by that I mean the very moment I yearned to be a ninja, my fate was sealed. And things only got worse.
I saw this movie called "The Last Dragon". It is a motown production so the sound track is groove heavy and catchy. The characters are very easily some of the most likable you will ever catch in a movie. They are sincere and well intention-ed and honest people. They make you believe in a better World. Yes, MAKE. As far as the protagonist go that is. The antagonist is such an ego-laden douche that you the viewer are inspired to jump through the screen to exact a vengeful come-up-pence on his tail. Luckily, nobody needs our help in truly exemplifying the paths and resistance necessary to deal with the likes of him. And I modeled my ninja behavior behind what I saw in this movie. For so many reasons.
The character growth allowed me to remain naive and honest. I can be sincere without feeling like I lost out of some portion of my pride. I don't need to win it all in order to feel like any of it mattered. And I could be humbled by love without wanting to make up for what I loss in hanging my head. This movie has been a very silent motivating factor for me and I haven't lost my way from what it taught me. And I take care of whatever I can in this fashion; especially now that I am able to fully explain what has been an under current in my motivations to walk away from silly aggressive encounters. When nobody is endangered, then I am complacent. When others are in danger, I activate a very sharp "bark". When I'm in danger, I just watch everything that moves, quietly. Because I can run when I'm the only one...there is no need to engage. When it is others, I cannot run and I must protect them from unnecessary violence. I become much more deadly. All this because I want nothing but to love and experience life through that lens and I do everything to return the life I experience to that lens.
With that, I realize that I am not only stuck in the eighties but in the movie The Last Dragon. I am working hard to maintain the dignity and characterized sacrifice that I once viewed and have always adored and aspired to become. It is no wonder then, that one of my nick-names growing up was in fact, Bruce Leroy. Surely, I wasn't the only one to notice my mentality because I definitely never kicked or jumped kicked anyone.
I guess we are quietly smarter than we allow ourselves to be loudly.
Back then, it didn't matter to me when things came to widespread approval or appeal. I just wanted what was good. Back then, I just wanted to be a part of something. I know, a lil advanced for a lil dude. I wanted some kind of love. Though, it seems a bit imbalanced to say that I understood or had actual longing for love because I did not urge to love; I simply wanted it.
Perhaps, it was the depth of natural affinities co-mingling in my brain soup of thoughts inspired by what I saw on the tv screen and what people talked about all the time in real life. Love was huge in the eighties. My mother has always played tons of love songs end on end. Had me writing love poems by the age of 4 and maybe 5. I am not joking. Only, back then, I thought all poems started off "Roses are red, violets are blue...". Cute huh?
I am completely amorous. I love everything. I've always been a lover and not a fighter. But the eighties also had enough violence to fill the air with a bloody mist, at least in my personal life. Which made me very police officer like in my response which was typically to nullify the threat and talk it out rather than to properly engage the threat in hand to hand combat which in my opinion is easier.
Either way, I am a person that loves as much as possible but cannot deny the existence for the need of self defense. This fact alone leads me to my appreciation for everything Bruce Lee and the Black community.
Blacks seemingly love everything Asian. This coming from a Black guy sounds weird to me. Kung-fu to Karate, from weird cuisine to customary dress and etiquette, I have seen few Blacks balk at conforming to Asian sensibilities. It is awe-inspiring. I myself did so at a very young age and by that I mean the very moment I yearned to be a ninja, my fate was sealed. And things only got worse.
I saw this movie called "The Last Dragon". It is a motown production so the sound track is groove heavy and catchy. The characters are very easily some of the most likable you will ever catch in a movie. They are sincere and well intention-ed and honest people. They make you believe in a better World. Yes, MAKE. As far as the protagonist go that is. The antagonist is such an ego-laden douche that you the viewer are inspired to jump through the screen to exact a vengeful come-up-pence on his tail. Luckily, nobody needs our help in truly exemplifying the paths and resistance necessary to deal with the likes of him. And I modeled my ninja behavior behind what I saw in this movie. For so many reasons.
The character growth allowed me to remain naive and honest. I can be sincere without feeling like I lost out of some portion of my pride. I don't need to win it all in order to feel like any of it mattered. And I could be humbled by love without wanting to make up for what I loss in hanging my head. This movie has been a very silent motivating factor for me and I haven't lost my way from what it taught me. And I take care of whatever I can in this fashion; especially now that I am able to fully explain what has been an under current in my motivations to walk away from silly aggressive encounters. When nobody is endangered, then I am complacent. When others are in danger, I activate a very sharp "bark". When I'm in danger, I just watch everything that moves, quietly. Because I can run when I'm the only one...there is no need to engage. When it is others, I cannot run and I must protect them from unnecessary violence. I become much more deadly. All this because I want nothing but to love and experience life through that lens and I do everything to return the life I experience to that lens.
With that, I realize that I am not only stuck in the eighties but in the movie The Last Dragon. I am working hard to maintain the dignity and characterized sacrifice that I once viewed and have always adored and aspired to become. It is no wonder then, that one of my nick-names growing up was in fact, Bruce Leroy. Surely, I wasn't the only one to notice my mentality because I definitely never kicked or jumped kicked anyone.
I guess we are quietly smarter than we allow ourselves to be loudly.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Need of Approval
I won't have much to say here.
This entire life cycle that we are processed through is centered around approval. From our ability to grasp language and become attractive, we are constantly judged on our worth based on societal approvals.
Some of you may outright disagree. You may stop reading now and leave. I don't have time to deal with dissenting voices on the basis of some fundamental difference in view of language comprehension. Right or wrong, I know what I see.
First its about fulfilling our parents wishes. Of course this depends on our parents. Some of our parents have very reasonable and low set goals. Some are not so reasonable(here is a shout out to all the tiger mom's in the building). Then when we are maybe 40 years old and going through a mid-life crisis, we finally realize just how much we weren't living for ourselves. We do crazy things like create bucket list and jump out of airplanes and bungy jump all in the name to find a cheap yet exhilarating thrill. To confirm we are alive and have control of our own lives.
Why does it take so long just to have that thought of autonomy and independence? Oh, I have tons of answers but this isn't about the answers, this is about why we don't ask them. We are too busy re-calculating our social GPS's and trying to figure out where we stand. Some of us develop healthier strategies to obscure and distract ourselves from this unpleasant process. Others of us simply grunt under the weight of all the judgments placed 'pon they weary souls. All these self help books do a good job at echoing the successful man's mantra or expressing the senses of sacrifice necessary to move forward in the stream of life. Yes, Life stream. Some even go as far as to explain this need for approval and sharing the approval of others. We still talk around it.
Enough of my blathering, let me make it personal. I do not know whether I am smart or not so smart. I do not know whether I am attractive or if there is something on my face that women keep trying to lick off. I do not know why people are so convinced they know other people based on mere speculation and hear-say, but I do know that no matter what constraints you put it in, 1+1=2. The addition sign is not some running metaphor for limitless extrapolations of contradictions to deny the rule. Verify the simplicity of yourself. You are one individual and like whole numbers you can be broken down into parts. So follow this one moment where I shut up this notion of 1+1 can =3. You take 1 adult and add in another adult and you get two adults. You may develop a child of that situation but a child is not equal to an adult. Qualified. But I still need approval to feel validated with what I'm saying. You know what I'm saying?
Why do you think that racism is still alive and kicking? Because it has been codified as something that is natural. It has been approved of as something that rest within all of us. But cars aren't natural and neither is a brick house or gas heating or electric shavers. We just pick and choose which contradictions we excuse and choose to hold protective custody over the ones that allow us to remain immature in as many ways as possible.
This is why we cannot have anything nice. Too busy applying the lowest one of our desires over each other...no, not sex but close, emotional gratification. We feel some kind of way and grant the impulse action thereby verifying whatever ill that was born of our poor and misled perception of the way the World was as we saw it at that moment.
This is why I think all white women are the same. This is why people claim Black men are afraid and insecure. This is why white men are given such an atrocious image. Because we allow ourselves to be pulled into malarkey simply because it doesn't directly attack us.
Before all of the biases and negative experiences, in our innocence, we were better and capable of honesty. Now, honesty has been removed from us and we are stuck to scour the World as we know it for the approval that we need. (I think scour is the perfect word to create irony in this situation).
Fare thee well.
This entire life cycle that we are processed through is centered around approval. From our ability to grasp language and become attractive, we are constantly judged on our worth based on societal approvals.
Some of you may outright disagree. You may stop reading now and leave. I don't have time to deal with dissenting voices on the basis of some fundamental difference in view of language comprehension. Right or wrong, I know what I see.
First its about fulfilling our parents wishes. Of course this depends on our parents. Some of our parents have very reasonable and low set goals. Some are not so reasonable(here is a shout out to all the tiger mom's in the building). Then when we are maybe 40 years old and going through a mid-life crisis, we finally realize just how much we weren't living for ourselves. We do crazy things like create bucket list and jump out of airplanes and bungy jump all in the name to find a cheap yet exhilarating thrill. To confirm we are alive and have control of our own lives.
Why does it take so long just to have that thought of autonomy and independence? Oh, I have tons of answers but this isn't about the answers, this is about why we don't ask them. We are too busy re-calculating our social GPS's and trying to figure out where we stand. Some of us develop healthier strategies to obscure and distract ourselves from this unpleasant process. Others of us simply grunt under the weight of all the judgments placed 'pon they weary souls. All these self help books do a good job at echoing the successful man's mantra or expressing the senses of sacrifice necessary to move forward in the stream of life. Yes, Life stream. Some even go as far as to explain this need for approval and sharing the approval of others. We still talk around it.
Enough of my blathering, let me make it personal. I do not know whether I am smart or not so smart. I do not know whether I am attractive or if there is something on my face that women keep trying to lick off. I do not know why people are so convinced they know other people based on mere speculation and hear-say, but I do know that no matter what constraints you put it in, 1+1=2. The addition sign is not some running metaphor for limitless extrapolations of contradictions to deny the rule. Verify the simplicity of yourself. You are one individual and like whole numbers you can be broken down into parts. So follow this one moment where I shut up this notion of 1+1 can =3. You take 1 adult and add in another adult and you get two adults. You may develop a child of that situation but a child is not equal to an adult. Qualified. But I still need approval to feel validated with what I'm saying. You know what I'm saying?
Why do you think that racism is still alive and kicking? Because it has been codified as something that is natural. It has been approved of as something that rest within all of us. But cars aren't natural and neither is a brick house or gas heating or electric shavers. We just pick and choose which contradictions we excuse and choose to hold protective custody over the ones that allow us to remain immature in as many ways as possible.
This is why we cannot have anything nice. Too busy applying the lowest one of our desires over each other...no, not sex but close, emotional gratification. We feel some kind of way and grant the impulse action thereby verifying whatever ill that was born of our poor and misled perception of the way the World was as we saw it at that moment.
This is why I think all white women are the same. This is why people claim Black men are afraid and insecure. This is why white men are given such an atrocious image. Because we allow ourselves to be pulled into malarkey simply because it doesn't directly attack us.
Before all of the biases and negative experiences, in our innocence, we were better and capable of honesty. Now, honesty has been removed from us and we are stuck to scour the World as we know it for the approval that we need. (I think scour is the perfect word to create irony in this situation).
Fare thee well.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Post to End All Post
This is a mentality I adopted that mirrors a song that is currently out "Like its my Last" and an ideology "Live each day like its your last" that the song borrowed much of its worth from.
Also, I try and love every woman that gets close to my heart like she is the last that I will ever love. This keeps my losses painful and bitter. This keeps me always willing to work. This keeps me naive to the truth of incompatibility.
If you are reading this, then you know me well enough to know that I'm not just a person who sees myself as different but that many other people see me as different too. Often, this different is a bad thing. People love the things that are most like themselves. I speak purely from the perspective of corporate speak and the job world in general. The amount of insecurity and ridiculousness that occurs frequently is insurmountable not because it is impossible but because it is the individuals involved that are unwilling to create a better version of themselves. Instead, these people attempt to create a "truer" version of self, sometimes unaware of the constraints and disability involved in that character. Point is, this influences work life & home life. Point is being told I'm different yet being expected to fall within the same tracks for progress is not only an idiot expectation but an unreasonable one as well. And this takes me back to why I brought it up in the first place, despite my infinite love and truth behind that, loving like its my last love has been the most destructive thing in my life. And so I write and I write like its my last.
This however is the purpose of this entire post...I'm going to stop living like its my last; I'm going to stop loving like its my last; I'm going to stop being so well intending. Why? because I see a greater and far more poetic beauty in preparation coupled with reckless abandon.
I'm writing a will explaining everything I know, have hidden or loss/miss. I will define my truest words and etch them in stone. Then I will live like life doesn't matter and only what I want is significant.
I was a person who wouldn't sacrifice the tears of a friend for personal gain. Now I'd sell anybody I could convince to buy themselves off to slavery too themselves.
Not anyone can love me back to life. I lost all my hopes and I only have dreams but in my dreams, I'm not the man that you might see being helpful and loving. I'm that shadow that chases you around your thoughts awaiting a moment of carelessness with which to implement my version of doom. I am love. I am passion.
Also, I try and love every woman that gets close to my heart like she is the last that I will ever love. This keeps my losses painful and bitter. This keeps me always willing to work. This keeps me naive to the truth of incompatibility.
If you are reading this, then you know me well enough to know that I'm not just a person who sees myself as different but that many other people see me as different too. Often, this different is a bad thing. People love the things that are most like themselves. I speak purely from the perspective of corporate speak and the job world in general. The amount of insecurity and ridiculousness that occurs frequently is insurmountable not because it is impossible but because it is the individuals involved that are unwilling to create a better version of themselves. Instead, these people attempt to create a "truer" version of self, sometimes unaware of the constraints and disability involved in that character. Point is, this influences work life & home life. Point is being told I'm different yet being expected to fall within the same tracks for progress is not only an idiot expectation but an unreasonable one as well. And this takes me back to why I brought it up in the first place, despite my infinite love and truth behind that, loving like its my last love has been the most destructive thing in my life. And so I write and I write like its my last.
This however is the purpose of this entire post...I'm going to stop living like its my last; I'm going to stop loving like its my last; I'm going to stop being so well intending. Why? because I see a greater and far more poetic beauty in preparation coupled with reckless abandon.
I'm writing a will explaining everything I know, have hidden or loss/miss. I will define my truest words and etch them in stone. Then I will live like life doesn't matter and only what I want is significant.
I was a person who wouldn't sacrifice the tears of a friend for personal gain. Now I'd sell anybody I could convince to buy themselves off to slavery too themselves.
Not anyone can love me back to life. I lost all my hopes and I only have dreams but in my dreams, I'm not the man that you might see being helpful and loving. I'm that shadow that chases you around your thoughts awaiting a moment of carelessness with which to implement my version of doom. I am love. I am passion.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Qualms with Sensationalism
Ever heard the term "trendy"? I would bet my financial security that you have. The thing about that term is that the general consensus of comprehension of that word, is nearly esoteric. It is in one of the most conflicted relationships that I have ever witnessed personally. Why? Because most people separate trends from what they like and appreciate and place that particular title on lesser more disdained "things".
Instead of measuring sheer potency or functionality, a trendy crowd will focus on some superfluous and almost always analogous aspect of their current trend of choice. This includes the true artist and purist of the World. When minutiae are the focus or the reasoning behind an extreme heightening of adoration then you have a clear sign of the beginnings of a trend.
Some of you may ask why I care or what got me focused on this topic. As I sit here and think, it was the preference that was expounded passionately by my most recent love interest. She could barely appreciate, anything out of her field of taste, in earnest. Basically, Beyonce. Though, I'm not a huge fan of her myself, I totally appreciate what she contributes to society. She ain't perfect...far from it but why do I even need to say that? Because my opinion matters to me and I want it to matter to you. I don't want to be dismissed as some fanboy who swoons over Beyonce because that isn't who I am. I'm just a guy who knows what I like to hear & see. Mrs. Carter fits that profile nicely. The thing is, I'm calling it like I see it and maybe I'm blind. I also don't stalk about the web looking for news or rumors on celebrities.
Anyways, as I thought about this disregard of whatever talents Beyonce has, I was listening to "Dangerously in Love 2" which is easily my favorite song from her. I thought, "It is true that this is a trend of disrespect coming to denounce all that this woman is." And as I noticed that society jumps on and off of bandwagons trying to delicately balance itself between those who should win and those who should perish. We are all involved in a tug-of-war in one way or another. This battlefield was never intended to be evacuated. I defer.
I denounce my opinion here & now. This is how I retreat from this field of endless battle. I know far too well that I will be chased. I know far too well that escape will be short-lived and I can only hope for brief moments of life without trouble. Be it thus. I desire to avoid trends and trending arguments. Lupe Fiasco. I just want to do what is the most right. Forget how I feel about it. And getting a job and working my life away isn't living well or doing the right thing. That is more akin to doing the acceptable thing than the right thing. I want to do the right thing; I want to contribute my passion to the overall worth of mankind no matter how little or great that contribution is. May these be the truest words I ever wrote.
Instead of measuring sheer potency or functionality, a trendy crowd will focus on some superfluous and almost always analogous aspect of their current trend of choice. This includes the true artist and purist of the World. When minutiae are the focus or the reasoning behind an extreme heightening of adoration then you have a clear sign of the beginnings of a trend.
Some of you may ask why I care or what got me focused on this topic. As I sit here and think, it was the preference that was expounded passionately by my most recent love interest. She could barely appreciate, anything out of her field of taste, in earnest. Basically, Beyonce. Though, I'm not a huge fan of her myself, I totally appreciate what she contributes to society. She ain't perfect...far from it but why do I even need to say that? Because my opinion matters to me and I want it to matter to you. I don't want to be dismissed as some fanboy who swoons over Beyonce because that isn't who I am. I'm just a guy who knows what I like to hear & see. Mrs. Carter fits that profile nicely. The thing is, I'm calling it like I see it and maybe I'm blind. I also don't stalk about the web looking for news or rumors on celebrities.
Anyways, as I thought about this disregard of whatever talents Beyonce has, I was listening to "Dangerously in Love 2" which is easily my favorite song from her. I thought, "It is true that this is a trend of disrespect coming to denounce all that this woman is." And as I noticed that society jumps on and off of bandwagons trying to delicately balance itself between those who should win and those who should perish. We are all involved in a tug-of-war in one way or another. This battlefield was never intended to be evacuated. I defer.
I denounce my opinion here & now. This is how I retreat from this field of endless battle. I know far too well that I will be chased. I know far too well that escape will be short-lived and I can only hope for brief moments of life without trouble. Be it thus. I desire to avoid trends and trending arguments. Lupe Fiasco. I just want to do what is the most right. Forget how I feel about it. And getting a job and working my life away isn't living well or doing the right thing. That is more akin to doing the acceptable thing than the right thing. I want to do the right thing; I want to contribute my passion to the overall worth of mankind no matter how little or great that contribution is. May these be the truest words I ever wrote.
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