November is Over

This worries me. This semester is almost over and though I wished for it daily I'm going to be sad that it's over. I'm reminded of a Dr. Seuss quote, "Don't cry because its over, smile because it happened."

Titles are still Superfluous

I told another person the truth. She took it well. That's exciting. Her name is festive in nature, though with a different spelling. I find her compelling.

I helped my sister move over the break. It was a working vacation, though obviously from my lack of posting, I didn't get anything academic done.

I'm still afraid of loneliness.

I hate being questioned. Why is that?

Aiden has fallen off the map. Or is it off the page? I'm not sure where I see him going. I want him out of the park. He want's out of the park. That damn park. It's so dark, dreary, mysterious, haunting, terrible. Holy crap it's a metaphor.

I want to write more.

This is the start of that.

I feel like a bad student for fiction. I should have written more. I apologize. Though I think I owe the apology more to myself than others as it's me that's mostly affected. I delve into self-pity. I won't do that here, but I will say, to myself, that I'm sorry for not living up to your standards, but I need to give myself a break. If you want to write more, write more. Just do it. It's not that hard. The act of actually writing is not that difficult, being creative, being authentic, being true- that's hard.

Everything

Everything you think you knew was a lie

Happy Thanksgiving

Somebody should say it.

To Do

Spend my life reading.

I'm making a list of my favourite authors and all of their books. I plan on devouring them. I plan on making it my mission to read them all, intently. To reread them all. To understand them all.

Shells

I'm lost in a world full of sad people and empty shells. Literally. The streets are covered with shells, of all kinds. Egg, peanut, crab, lobster, you name. Shells all over. Always over. Sometimes under. Mostly under. They are left there by the sad people, walking around in utter disdain and without purpose, people afraid to be. They move in silence around commotion. There is no disharmony but there is nothing but it. Everything seems bleak. Rundown. Narrow. Impossible. Everything is impossible. Generalizations are impossible. Generalizations are all that occur. Generalizations are sustainable. Generalizations are.

-

Oh my.

Chandler Bing

"I'm hopeless and awkward and desperate for love!"

Words

I'm curious as to what are the most awkward words.

My vote goes to the word "awkward" itself.

It's a silly, SiLlY world!

Sarah moved through her apartment. She walked gracefully even in the most casual of settings. She put her ipod on shuffle... "Say my name, say my name, if no one is around you, say, 'baby I love you,' if you ain't runnin game..." She jumped around, mouthing the words. She takes the time to enjoy herself. She takes the time to be herself. She side-stepped around her coffee table walking towards her bedroom. BUZZ...BUZZ. Her cell phone vibrated against the table, exaggerating the sound through the hollow wood. She turned to its interference. Missed call, it read. "I'm not dealing with this now." She continued to her room, plopped herself down on her bed. She started sobbing.

"WHY AM I HERE?!" Aiden shouted from the center of the park. He was lost in the darkness and the tree's. Blakely looked up at him frightened, cold, hungry. He was disenchanted with the situation.

Silly Student, Blogs are for Writers

Aiden thought for a moment. Or rather, a moment longer than he normally would. Staving off impulse and relying on intellect. He wasn't used to staving off anything. He wasn't used to anything. He felt Blakely shivering. He was cold. He was cold too. He didn't realize it until that moment. He was freezing. How long had he been standing on the corner? Too long. It was past 8. He left the park at 6. "Where have I been,"? he thought. It wasn't like him to be that much out of his mind. It was always like him to be that much out of the mind. BBBLLLLAAARRRRR!!!!!!! He turned to the blinding headlights and blaring horn of a 1990's looking sudan. He was in the street. He didn't even freeze in front of the car, he kept moving. He didn't want to keep moving. He wanted to run back to the corner. He didn't want to move forward. He didn't want to.

Sarah was washing a dish when the phone rang. Last Train by Travis was playing through her headphones. "She, well she's so strange. I don't know anything about her..." She missed the call.

He was walking towards the park again.

Class 11/11. Yay Veterans!

"When the revolution comes, my back won't be against the wall"

"Does it end at midnight, or when you go to sleep?"

"Cool"

"Happ. Birth"

"Did you get a haircut?"

"Like a month ago."

"Oh. Well it looks good."

"It's a rush. It's a rush. I can't handle this right now."

I just wrote on Shane Jones paper. That's pretty legit.

I just read with Shane Jones. NBD.

"Do you know J.K. Rowling?"

http://andiamnotlying.com/2010/types-of-bitches/?ref=nf

Just write a few short sections..

Didn't write from point A to point B.

February is terrible fucking month.

"I constantly forget what month it is."

Light Boxes

I failed my midterm. Not for this class...at least I hope not, but for Calc. Oh well.

It was the only book I made off of Kindel.

It was the wrong choice.

I work a day job.

Do you think having a beard makes you a better writer?

Yeah definitely. That should be the first thing you do.

So you do think it's self-indulgent.

Pyramid Song by Radiohead

Bad called Salem, I like a lot.

Argyle knee socks will make you a better writer.

Intensity Write/Ride:

"Oh I'm gonna be funny. It's a rush. It's a rush. I can't handle this. OMG OMG you're so funny and so relevant...I hope one day to be relevant, also to look like a camel which apparently was used for sodomizing as punishment. That is distasteful. Therefore I shall change the subject to lead poisoning. Arsenic is for breakfast, lunch and dinner because your pizza went bad. Don't eat the crust, it sat in the egg yolk for too long. Avoid all things gelatin. Question and fill me up with red gas, who do I smell like? You smell like a fat guy who uses burger juice. You smellito the girl in my class who apparently never showers. I found a shower cap under my cousin's sandwich. I want to climb a tree and build a house. It would have a trapdoor to Saturn where I can see the aliens playing basketball with Diane Calher. Who is Diane? Is she your mistress?

Nobody likes a loud slut.

Quiet ones --- I can get behind that. There are no sluts except quiet sluts, they don't even say "no" I sewed a slut into a newspaper. Her name was Tapanga. SOunded like icing on a cake. Avocado icing, high in fat-but lotsa protein!!! (Thumb print looking picture).

That's gross, I ate a cupcake yesterday and it was great.

Hello my friend. I wasn't that funny. Hello my silly bird.

I have not been following the no deleting rule.

http://tomandlorenzo2.blogspot.com/2010/11/glee-s2e6-never-been-kissed.html

"What is this class?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you saying something, Chelsea?"

& I was like, oh, where's my money?

Something about war.

Yes it's a war novel.

How do I feel about war?

I mean, I'm not pro-war.

Do you think its a just endeavor?

Are you going to sell me a child?

Do you have racist friends?

Why are you still friends with them?

What advice would you give us as writers?

Read a lot and write a lot.

It's mostly like sitting down and writing a lot.

For me, writing's like writing short things each day.

Writing like 300 words a day or writing like a paragraph. That adds up.

If I liked a journal then I would send into them.

I just sent stuff into to independent publishers and hoped someone would pick it up.

What makes it a story bad to you?

Gut reaction.

Do you have bouts of incompetence?

Probably when the professor talks about light boxes.

Or the girl goes inside the horse.

spjones...

Amy Tan, Jeanette Winterson, Ian McEwan.

I would be a bass guitar and I would love to be played by Jenny Lewis. Or maybe a piano played by Vienna Teng. Probably the second.

...

I feel like my canister is out of gunpowder and colour.

Orange is circling all around

the sun moves across my skin

The air tingles my toes

I am still

I am washed over with joy

I am washed over with sorrow

The ocean carries my body away

My body carries my spirit away

My spirit carries everything away

I am away

Possibly my favourite lines of Shakespeare:

Then, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds

Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;

When down her weedy trophies and herself

Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide.

And, mermaid-like a while they held her up:

Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;

As one incapable of her own distress,

Or like a creature native and indued

Unto that element: but long it could not be

Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay

To muddy death.

This is a close second:

I do repent; but heaven hath pleas'd it so

To punish me with this, and this with me,

That I must be their scourge and minister.

I will bestow him, and will answer well

The death I gave him. So again good night.

I must be cruel only to be kind.

Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.

Funny that my favourite lines come from Hamlet, when The Merchant of Venice is my favourite play.

I'm not sure what that means. Or if there is any meaning. I'm tired of looking for that. It's tiring.

I think I'm going to get perspective instead.

I have no words today. The words have died.

So I'll make a list instead:

Study for Midterm

See Professors

Talk to old French professor

Study for Classes

Write 5 Page Papers

Read for English

Memorize Glyphs

Write for Fiction

Do Math Homework

Sleep

- Pass my freaking classes

Sometimes I wish I went to Evergreen State College. They learn. They don't have marks of distinction. They don't put pressure on students to do anything but learn. Maybe there or Hampshire College. Somewhere even more liberal than Brown.

I hate feeling as though my life is determined by my GPA. I don't care about it anymore. Success is not something that is measured by numbers, or at least it shouldn't be. I hate feeling like I'm just another number. I need to focus. Maybe I need adderall? Maybe I just need some sleep? Maybe I need to not be taking Math and Psych and Anthro? Because I don't really care about them. Maybe I need to get my priorities straight? I need to get my priorities straight.

At least I'm growing as a person and a friend. I'm trying to grow into somebody that I can be proud of. At least I'm growing.

Time

It's going by a little too quickly. It can't be the second week of November. It can't almost be Monday. It can't be daylight savings time. It can't be nearing Thanksgiving. It can't be nearing the end of the semester. It can't be and yet it is. Time is going too fast. It doesn't slow down. I understand that. I get that time moves quickly. I get that time flies. I get that time is time and it moves in a linear fashion. I get all of this. I don't get what I've done with my time. I don't get how so much can have happened in this seemingly large amount of time and all I can think about is how it felt like yesterday. How it all seems to have collapsed into each other. I can't fathom how quickly things change and how quickly things come and go and how there's never enough time to do what actually matters and be with the people you should be with and do the things you should do and live the life you should live and just be and just be happy. Life is too short and its a fascinating and scary thing. I'm only 19, I shouldn't be thinking about these things. I shouldn't be worrying about these things. I shouldn't be worrying, period. It takes too much time and effort and energy that I simply don't have. It's a fruitless endeavor and yet it seems to also be the easiest. To lose oneself to worry is probably the most natural thing, and also the dumbest. I feel like I've been locked into this ivory tower and everything outside of it is strange, foreign and almost nonexistent. I'm ready for...whatever I'm supposed to be ready for. I'm excited for whatever I'm supposed to be excited for. Yet I'm petrified of everything I shouldn't be afraid of.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I never know where I'm going with these things. I never want to know. It's more exciting that way.

Unsure

I'm not sure where Aiden is going. I can't say that I can't continue. Because I can. I'm very curious to see where is life is going to lead him. Michelangelo once said that, "every block of stone has a statue inside and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it." I think its a similar situation for the writer. There's always a story there. I suppose on every piece of paper there is a story to be written and it's the task of the writer to uncover it. However, I think that writers tend to have a different mindset. I could be wrong. I'm probably wrong. But I do think that writers tend to think that its actually their work, that it's their genius, and to an extent it is, but a lot of it has already been there, it's just been their job to uncover it. I'm not sure if I'm making sense, but why should that matter? I'm uncovering what was always supposed to be there, aren't I? And if I'm not then how is this coming into being? I can't possibly support the notion that it's all me, that it's all my mind, that it's all my thoughts. I think this is how the muses came into being...the greeks had something there, divine inspiration, forces that make work more creative, authentic, inspiring. I don't necessarily think that there are actual beings that make this happen. I just think there's something else. Something in the mind that is constantly untapped, that releases something, that recalls things that inspired you and made you stop and think and brings them to the for front that brings them forward and is released in your work. I just don't know. But I refuse to believe that everything I do is my own.

Back to Aiden. I really do like him. I really do like the story. I need to make some edits for flow and clarity, but overall I'm very proud of it. He's a cool kid. He's just lost, like me. Maybe that's where some of my fear has come from of continuing, because I might find a bit of myself. That sounds like it would be nice. Like I should strive for that. But I'm a little afraid, because I'm afraid of what I might discover. I'm going to try to come to terms with this and make more progress in my work.

This post is sporadic. I like it. I like eccentricity. I like different. I like giraffes.

Aiden's Continuation

Where we left off:

He sat on a bench looking out into the distance. Out into nothing in particular, just out. He remembered the first thought when he woke up, "unicorns took my breath." He laughed at the thought, but was saddened that it wasn't true. humf, humf, humf. He looked down at a puppy sniffing about him, looking for something he didn't have. Aiden bent down to pet the little lab. He looked about for an owner. Someone to claim the little thing. No one came about. He picked the little guy up and sat him next to him on the bench, stroking his back, waiting for something. He had always been waiting for something. The puppy lied down, giving into the rub. Aiden made a new friend. Aiden had a friend.

He sat there for a while pondering. Simply pondering life and serendipity and the universe. "Does the universe listen? Does it know? Can it know? How could it know? Should it know? Shouldn't it know? What is there to know?" He needed a friend more than ever. He needed some form of companionship. Some form of unconditional love and here was little Blakely, a chocolate lab mix (though with no overtly distinguishable features to determine of what other kind) who instantly loved him. A puppy who claimed him. Its a strange thought. That an animal can claim you. For some reason people seem to think that they're the ones deciding, that they're the ones who get to determine what pet they get...but couldn't it be the other way around? That the animal chooses you and you affirm it? I like that notion better. It gives them some control.

The sun was beginning to set. It caught Aiden by surprise. As if he was witnessing it rise rather than fall. As if it was new light. How long had he been there pondering? Blakely was shivering. His stomach grumbling. Aiden picked him up, placed him in his coat, closed the buttons and held onto him. Blakely looked up and liked his face, acknowledging the act of kindness and loving him ever more so for it. It was time to go home. Aiden froze. What home was he bringing this animal back to? What home did he have? Did he even have a home or was it just a dwelling? Just a place to lay his head. Just a place to escape. And if it was a place to lay his head, why did he never sleep? And if it was a place to escape, why was he never there? Aiden didn't have a home. He had a space of his own and material objects. He didn't have a home.

He looked down at Blakely. He was sad.

He kept walking. They both needed food. He made it to the end of the park, passing other people walking their dog's, running, talking, gossiping, social interacting. He kept walking. He was always walking. Olive street. Where was he to go from here? Left. (He lived right). He moved along, making his way further and further from his apartment. Further and further from where he needed to go. He didn't realize. He didn't care. He didn't want to realize. He didn't want to care.

The sun had set. It was dark out. It was bleak out. The streetlights only lit enough. Rimrock. He was on the other side of town. Where had he been? Why was he always in his mind and never in his right mind?

Japan to China

#43- jet ski across the pacific ocean

Potluck

I'll bring the pot, you bring the luck.

Markos

Originality is non existent. Authenticity is all that really exists. You were authentic.

Class 11/4

"Me? I'm just happy about the ice cream."

"There was like half left and he was like, 'sorry, there's none left.'"

Concerns about the structure of the class.

Prompts for each of us????????

That's cool. I like prompts that make me feel like an individual.

NO FINAL!!

The final has been caaaannnnnccccccccceeellllleeedd

Write a lot. Just write until you get good. There is no shortcut. You have to put in the hours.

"I feel like I just killed the mood"

Bleak weather

kills the mood

sleep all day

kill productivity

I used to write poetry. I used to be happy writing poetry. I used to have time to write poetry. I should surrender myself to poetry.

"I think the class brings out people's creative personality"

"You should keep going with it. I felt like I could listen forever."

"My kidney meets your heart"

"We get sucked out through the roots"

"Comfy knows no pants"

"I do remember what red is and what blue is and what green is."

"It filled my head and my vision and my hearing"

"They were scarlet"

"Babies voices are terrible black mushrooms"

"Imperialism leaves behind"

"I'm the medic, I'm not here to preach ideology"

"I remember meeting the hegemon"

"We took to the streets"

"I bought him a fucking muffin"

"You kick like the best"

"I started playing marbles"

"No longer alert"

"There is a light fixture in the sky"

"Where did the day go"

"We've all got a chance for redemption"

"Place is empty"

"He isn't here anymore"

"One could imagine pictures in there"

"Write the pretentious douche out of yourself." That is the best advice I think I've ever gotten.

Aiden felt himself slip away. He was caught in some state of fear and anxiety. He was daunted by time, by his future, by his past. He was caught in a time slip. He was a person embracing the human condition, faced with reality. As he moved across the park, he noticed the ethereal beauty of the leaves falling past him. He witnessed the sun sink in and out of the trees like a boat ebbing and flowing on a tempestuous sea. He held a cursory glance with a squirrel frolicking with its companions. He noticed life. He felt himself slip away.

Aiden had never been the type to live in the moment. Never the type to reach himself or his true persona. He never really knew himself. Once when he was little he fell in the bathtub and cracked his chin. He thought he would never grow out of that little boy who cried profusely for someone who never came. Once when he was little he sliced his foot open with the shards of a crock pot. He wanted ice cream. His foot healed, but his scar never faded. Once when he was little he had a crush on little Sarah Williams. She crushed him like only little girls can. Once when he was little he thought he was handsome. His classmates crushed him like only classmates can. Once when he was older he thought he was handsome. His boyfriend crushed him like only boyfriends can. Once when he was older he dared to be different. Society forced it out of him.

He kept walking through the park, admiring the young lovers bracing the cold together, admiring the old couples who never braced anything without one another, admiring the children laughing and playing while their mothers and fathers watched nearby letting them feel safe and loved and happy before they would have to grow up and face the world. He admired the people. He admired the world. He detested the world. Sooner or later it would crush all of them. Sooner or later it would embrace all of them. He kept walking through the park. He kept walking. He put in his headphones. "My Boy Builds Coffins" played. He kept walking.

How can everything be fine and terrible at the same time? How can everything be one thing and the other? How can people experience joy while others are experiencing sorrow? How can people experience fullness while others face starvation? How can people experience love while others are stuck, perpetually apathetic? Why is everything a positive or negative? Where is the middle ground?

Once when he was little his sister took him to Disneyland, where he got to laugh and play. Once when he was little his sister crushed him, where he got to cry and sulk. Once when he was older he told her the truth. Once when he was older she turned away from him. Once when he was little he loved her. Once when he was older he loved her. Once when he was little she loved him. Once when he was older she didn't know him.

He sat on a bench looking out into the distance. Out into nothing in particular, just out. He remembered the first thought when he woke up, "unicorns took my breath." He laughed at the thought, but was saddened that it wasn't true. humf, humf, humf. He looked down at a puppy sniffing about him, looking for something he didn't have. Aiden bent down to pet the little lab. He looked about for an owner. Someone to claim the little thing. No one came about. He picked the little guy up and sat him next to him on the bench, stroking his back, waiting for something. He had always been waiting for something. The puppy lied down, giving into the rub. Aiden made a new friend. Aiden had a friend.

..I'm going to continue onto this story for a while. I like the way it's going.