Delete

I have never practiced sentimental acts like filling a shoebox full of memories, compiling a photograph book, or keeping notes written to me. There is something that twists in me when I come across an item that reminds me of any time that occurred 12 months prior to that moment. When I toss such memories like rubbish in the waste bin, it is as if I removed old moth eaten scarves from the recesses of a closet. Even the most cherished recollections are delicate to the nameless part of me which devours them. There are only some reminiscences that I willingly wrap around my neck and walk out into the cold in. What makes the fabric of those few untainted by inevitable ruin is unknown to me. At times I know the very moment I am in will not withstand damage in a small number of months. Something in me is urgently striking the delete button.

A Jovial Twosome

The only component of bowling that can be deemed as fulfilling is the profound satisfaction one gets when one glances down at the silly shoes that delightfully lack of harmonizing colors. I covet a twosome of such delightful foot wear for they have a jovial disposition. But, any time I glimpse up from the happiness planted underside my short frame, a vast displeasure at my surroundings urges me to run through substantial smoke and out the door….with the shoes still fastened to me. My whole being is in disagreement with the lack of enjoyment, unsoiled air, and music that was not performed by men with perms that characterizes every such structure where a weighty orb is plunked down in the effort to destabilize a grouping of off-white plods of wood. If the atmosphere is not enough to disgruntle my person, the sport itself will assuredly accomplish a similar distress. My inability to achieve victory at the sport is not a factor in my annoyance. In fact, I am relatively proud to say I have not wasted time on improving my proficiency of striking at the foundation of positioned sticks. My aggravation is owed to the uncreative and fruitless squandering of my existence.

I wear a size 5 and ½…..

Not every knot can be untied...

Oh, Summer. How I scorn your persistence to fraudulently unravel the framework of knowledge and expire strength of will. Each day I see how you swindle copious disposed individuals to descend into your snares of lethargy and self-indulgence. The words relax, vacation, and rest crawl out of your putrid teeth like insects. I refuse to take part in such a foolish misuse of life. Watching you dine on your victims of the masses by alluring them to squander their lives on brainless reality television, catnapping until 1 o’clock, and increasing their risk of malignant melanoma as they lie on the beach and “sunbathe”, only makes me more determined to defy your feeble enticement to embrace the couch as my profession and the remote control as my instrument of employment. I am binding the chords of my intelligence and self-discipline tight so not even your astute fingers can slightly slacken my resolve. In three months, as I see you decompose into the colors of fall, I will cackle at your end and wave my victory in your face. And with your last warm wind of life, I trust every page read, avenue explored, empty bottle of sunscreen, morning enjoyed, hefty paycheck, neglected electronic, and action of servitude from my days in the sun will be propelled like darts into your remembrance. It is my sole endeavor to make each day of your continuation wretched as I thrust my sword of tenacity further into your lie of finding fulfillment in amusement. You will anticipate the day when the first leaf falls!

59

I have made 59 paper cranes in one day. The term addiction is now a word my mind has inadvertently grasped to the dismay of my social and academic life. Even though my undersized fingers can collapse a bright sheet of paper into a delicate creature of flight without attention, this brainless activity has captured my fancy due to its air of sophistication and distant history. A thousand paper cranes is said to assure a wish come true. I have no wish. Instead, I hope to suspend a sea of folded bestowers of aspiration from my dorm ceiling. So, I will continue creasing until my room is filled with the tiny pieces that form into one life-size puzzle of promise. The feeling of my dwelling space will restrain one immense wish for me to formulate at any time.

Beward the ideas of march...

Spending 20 grand a year to engage in a world of ideas instead of walking on the surface of them and obtaining a skill seems a bit impractical. But, I don’t want to be so narrow that I am not human. I crave to be the kind of individual who reaches past the roots of my personhood. I desire to be challenged by the minds of men so my faith can be toughened and deepened. I want the ideas of hypocrites, counterfeit Christians, intellectual ideas, and my own pride to brush against the skin of my identity and build up the calluses of understanding. I want to change, to grow, to study things that are real to this world. Carelessly growing up and growing old into a comfortable thinking of familiarity is like stagnant water…useless. Fully sunken in challenge, in my opinion, help me to be a stronger Christian, a better manager of my mind, and more empathetic toward the misguided thinking of others.

You dream of colors that have never been made....

I want the sky to be a ceiling of scarlet leaves....


I want to hide in a sea of crimson umbreallas....


I want to sail the sea into a ginger sunset...

In too deep...

I just read a book in two days and thus ignored people, the outdoors, food, and all other things that fill a day. The result of my reclusive reading was surprising. When I did again speak to other humanoids, I found my vocabulary and wit to be heightened. I felt so accomplished I wanted to tackle all of my remaining school work just to keep the high. And, I found waking up to a Sunday of rest quite depressing. My dear friend Literature needs to visit me more often.

The Trees of East Bay Street

I feel bottomless affection for Savannah purely because there dwells the most magnificently eerie and stunning trees that I have seen nowhere else. In my opinion, all other lofty woodland vegetation seems like mere shrubbery and does not merit the title of “tree,” after my encounter with the trees on East Bay Street. They grasp your attention subconsciously with their peculiar grandeur. Instead of fussing with the detail of twigs, the imposing beings of wood interweave their thick branches with the warm Georgia atmosphere. Moss drapes the twisted appendages and gives the trees a look of knowledge and portentous age, similar to a man’s graying hair. They seem to bear secrets. I desperately wanted to climb the shrewd entities and listen to their undisclosed understanding. But, my questions were hushed by the tree’s menacing dignity, before I could utter them. It is odd that they were planted in the midst of the disarray of traffic and quickly fleeting crowds of tourists. The longevity and opulence juxtaposed to the brief disorder only intensifies the majestic nature of the trees if an eye is keen of the difference.

Wouldn't it be nice?

How I desire to be a part of this time…

Where men donned the air of sophistication upon their heads

And black and white articulated the world.

84 degrees

The sun has me wrapped around its finger. I sit around pining for its presence all winter, complaining constantly about much I abhor the world without it, and sulking in my icy depression. When the sun does deem to show up, I smother it with my company. Even when the sun decides to slumber after a day of presentation, its tepid attendance pervades the night atmosphere and charms me in its hidden radiance. Reclining in the thick contouring grass, starring at the blackened ceiling of night, and swimming in the humid breeze all leave me incandescently happy.

I find the indoors unnecessary when the sun’s personality is as affable as it has been this weekend. Today I wandered on the railroad tracks, with the sun behind a wall of trees, casting jagged silhouettes on the parallel planks. Pacing on the abstract shadows, heading down a never ending aligned passage cultivated much contemplation and contentment. After spending the entirety of my Sunday in the company of the golden luminosity, I ended up with a permanent blush, new dots flecked across my pallid epidermis, and merriment saturating my disposition.

Perfection.

Poisoned Rationality

Glossophobia is the fear of public speaking.

And, I have it!

This affects as much as 75% of the population. It is ranked above the fear of death.

I am not certain what is more troubling; the fact that I am influenced by an unsound horror of the masses or that my fright is so irrational that I am more alarmed to utter syllables into the hearing than to be slaughtered. That could be used for my gain if I was going to slay the Lions of Injustice habitually. But, unfortunately, a crowd’s expectant ears will almost certainly be more ordinary in my days than a beast beckoning me for a duel. Frankly, my fear is dim-witted.

Yesterday, I had to speak in front of a multitude. A crowd of prisoners. Normally, I shun any kind of situation where I am being noticed by a collective group. When it is my birthday, I avoid places like the cafeteria or any location where those gathered could sing me their tuneful wishes. In high school, I took F’s on assigned speeches in order to stay unnoticed and unmoved at my desk. But, last night I could not sit sweetly among the crowd for my charge was to encourage them with my presence and my message. Unhappily, I could not mollify my self-interested longing to remain unvoiced. My selfishness would just not do. Since those facing me were incarcerated for their selfish acts and doubtlessly wounded by others selfishness toward them, I had to counteract their life experience in what small way I could. So, I stood up and spoke. At first, I scarcely remembered what a word was and each one was agonizing to force out of my jaws but, in time, my difficulty transitioned into ease. By the end my rendezvous with Fear, I moderately enjoyed relaying what I was confident about confidently to the inmates. I think I just might grin. Maybe not.

I get to orate my thoughts to a multitude of prisons...

every Wednesday…

for a semester…

I’ll reconsider that grin in a month…

Here it goes…

The Foe of Fatigue

I contented a need yesterday that I have not required since my imaginative flow was expressed in coloring books, Simba was my one true love, and my knowledge was acquired from my pious screening of Sesame Street. At 8 o’clock p.m., I went to sleep. This is a happening I am mortified and reluctant to disclose. But, there was no other alternative. I promise. For days, my endeavors to write, think, read, or to do any of my intrinsic conducts were impeded by exhaustion. So, I either had to cease my soul’s habits or go against the grain of my nature and disregard the night. I opted to give the Destroyer of Life, which I call sleep, a blow at my character this once. In truth, I fashioned this foe of fatigue by occupying my time of sleep with reading or thinking. Bah! O how I abhor sleep and long to stay awake always. Why can I not transcend this human constraint? Auspiciously, in giving my antagonist the upper hand there was a special burn on the sunrise this morning because I rose above the strike. All of the contemplations that had unconsciously amassed and were hindered by my zombie-like condition, emptied out of my person. The unoccupied spaces on the edges of my lecture notes, I crammed with illegible ideas. At work, I almost had to clean the thoughts emanating out of my pours off of the dishes along with the leftover sustenance of lunch. I will doubtlessly squander my sleeping hours catching up on all I neglected in my weariness this week, thus refashioning my foe. Alas…

An Undersized Avalanche and the Superiority of White

I have many deep and reflective matters that I could put in writing. But, some shallow motive within me beckons this particular blankness on my blog to be about the really simple and pointless things I contemplated or observed today.

Ahem…

I never put ice in my drink. The underlying cause for my aversion to adding such coolants to my beverage is that the method of getting the ice into my cup is slightly scary. I discovered this intimidation today when I offered to get a friend her drink and she requested her glass be filled with ice. Approaching a machine I rarely visit, I mimicked the actions of the guy in front of me. I put pressure on the metal lever with the plastic cup and a fast rushing throng of solid liquid came forcefully out of the appliance. The consequence of wanting a cooler drink is an undersized avalanche! You truly do not know when the freezing flying pieces are going to impede their flood or if they will resolve to go in the preferred unfilled container instead of striking you.

My only interaction with the beast of an entity called The Government is taxes. With this only contact to judge the system, I conclude complete abhorrence and insolence towards it. Not because I do not want to compensate money, I will gladly offer my share, but because it requires me to obtain a certain set of skills which I do not possess and a deadline to not only acquire these abilities but perform them flawlessly. The consequence of not succeeding at these two feats; trouble! Numbers elude me. Forms with business jargon baffle me. I should shoot the government in the knee!

White/clear things always taste better! The only Life Savers I will consume are the clear ones. My preferred gummy bears are clear. The chalky valentines’ day hearts are horrible expect for the white pieces. Jelly Beans are the same.

Balloons should not be popped. It is like slaughtering happiness.

Cheerios and Contemplations

I am sitting on my never made bed, satisfying my mouth with Honey Nut Cheerios and thinking. My zombie like stare contrasted to the fixed motion of my arm delivering tiny rings to my machine like chew, certainly creates an peculiar scene to my studying roommate. I am grateful for her contrast in bubbly character in this moment. I could describe her in one word; pink. My roommate prides in her pinkness until it explodes all over her life like an overblown piece of bazooka gum. The cheery pastel of femininity is the true shade and her nature and does not match the darker shades of my countenance. I am darker than blue. This fact of my disposition is what has led me to my Cheerio binge upon my polka dotted sheets simply over thinking. Cereal and contemplation; marvelous!

So, this week I:

-Raised my hand in class for this first time in college. The question asked begged for my personal reply and I knew to leave it hanging in the abyss would be to slay the very make-up of my being. So, I risked the raising of my arm. I turned red once I noticed the gathering of gazes yet I answered proudly. I did it. I hope to never have to again.

-Studied for hours in the sun. I am almost done thawing out from the blasted winter.

-Received legitimate mail!!

-Watched Power Rangers and relived my childhood desire to be the pink ranger and slay the maniacal menaces of the underworld.

The First Battle

There is a battle to be fought,
Before the weapon is in hand,
Or the enemy is in distance to strike.

The battle is in the mind,
To take captive our fears and doubts,
To secure our thoughts and
Command our mental faculties.

To walk into the shadow of death placing our
Destiny in the hands of God,
This is the Heart of ancient Knighthood,
When every day was a battle in the mind.

—Sir R. I. Tulak

Tasteless Truth

I’m the kid who shoves their hand elatedly in the cookie jar and because they seize too many scrumptious spheres cannot get their filled fist out of the container. My cookies are thoughts. My overexcited zeal to think gets me in a disarray of joy with an ending consequence of impossibility to consume all knowledge that I feel I must. Today, I arrived at the actuality that I have to let go of a few of my desired ends or I will remain immovable in this maddening realm of infeasibility and never actually enjoy what I am granted as human to understand. It’s an astringent reality. I’m going to pout immaturely for a few days more and then permit my mind the absence of these contemplations. I do not know if my obstinate mentality will consent to this but I should attempt.
* pushes face into the dark masses of my bed hoping the unseen folds of my pillow would absorb my thoughts as quickly as they captured my capability to breathe*

I fail.

Resignation or Defeat?

Do you ever fight with yourself? I had a three hour skirmish tonight. Regrettably, I am no knight who can eliminate a dragon with a clean thrust of the sword. When battling to prevail over the sturdy walls of my distrust, the risking side of my feels akin to a weak gazelle at a watering hole whose reptile antagonist is nearby and hungry. The cold blooded beast of mistrust has annihilated my hope for another night. I just cannot shake the belief that my walls are my only protection in a world such as this.

Gravestone Impression: “Dedicated to the Unknown”

My first philosophy class unfolded unerringly as I hoped. I had a fixed expression of ecstasy at the beautiful disarray of fervent arguing ensuing around me. The professor brilliantly presented unapologetic questions and to the alarm of the students around me, he granted no answers. He left them confounded and openly perturbed at their own inability to come to a conclusion. I felt effortless accordance with the chaos as if the Unanswerable was where I belonged. The unknown is purely the agreement of my nature. If my all questions could be answered, I would stop inquiring and therefore cease to cultivate any thirst for understanding. Philosophy is simply that: the pursuit of wisdom. It is imperative to ascertain who we are not and what we cannot understand and not just identify who we are and what we know. I think there is more beauty to be found in our questions then in our answers. Drowning in the vastness of inquiries, is the when I feel God’s glory the most. So, step back…I’m diving into this bottomless pool. Who needs air, really? I’d rather not drown in the dry land of the explained. I will play in the torrential downpours of mystery while my classmates are parched by their angst.

Things I think to be true:
If the Unknown had a face, he would be handsome!
Tea is the thinking drink.
Exploring is the Unknown masqueraded as activity.

Wishing for this world to thaw....

“Man... cannot learn to forget, but hangs on the past: however far or fast he runs, that chain runs with him.” Friedrich Nietzsche

Being home I saw shadows of who I used to be and shadows of who I’ll always be. As I revisited the place I hoped would vanish into the forgotten, I felt as though I could only sit as stare as the memories and changeless faces replayed their place in my being. I constantly wanted to scream…”My roots never penetrated this soil!” But, I was left silent as the recollections fogged my clear protest. I felt as though winter had personified itself as my formative years and froze my progress out of the past.

I escaped from the pungent chill and flew south for the winter…

"Accepted Progression.....Curse You!"

“ Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up interest wrinkles the soul. You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope as old as your despair. When your heart is covered with the snows of pessimism and the ice of cynicism, then, and then only, are you grown old. And then, indeed as the ballad says, you just fade away.”
-Douglas MacArthur

Growing old terrifies me. Acquiring the natural old woman odor of stale air and lotion, looking like a sad and drained silhouette of who I once was, or even having to put more than typical effort to make it up a set of stairs does not worry me. What fills me with alarm is the complacency that seems to overrun the average mentality with age.

I find strange fulfillment in waking up in a new place. If I could, I would open my eyelids to a new surrounding each day. Will the time come when I find comfort in awaking in the same room?

Watching movies makes me feel discontent because I spent over an hour of my life viewing an individual live instead of living myself. Will I one day watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune religiously as I eat a microwave dinner on my lazy chair?

I anticipate the challenge of new thoughts and eagerly welcome the questions of existence. Will I find horrid rest in those mysteries?

I see the woods as the atmosphere for soundless awakening. Will I one day enjoy the progression of repetitiveness?

I say to Life, “Bring on the careworn skin that wilts into folds from the years of joyous endeavors and the forgetfulness that comes because there are too many grand recollections that have collected in the memory bank of the mind to retain them all!”

But to the day where mystery, newness, fervor, challenge, and restlessness die, I say, “I’d rather die a thousand deaths than live one moment in the disintegration of youthful aspiration.”

I admire the individuals who arrive in their grave untouched by complacency and likely never to be phased by its existence.

There are just to many scenarios to analyze....

I realized today that I think…way too much. My thought process alone on creating this blog was pervaded with my analytical addiction. It went something like this:

Huh…this whole blogger system is pretty cool. Should I create one? My friends have not only intriguing things to ramble about but their ramblings are far from pointless…in fact..they are clever. I don’t think that I would have anything of purpose to put out into the cyber world. I won’t make one. But, there is something about putting thoughts out into the void that beguiles me to try. I want to know what the void will do with them. Hmmm….but, I tried the whole blogging thing in middle school. I found my old xanga site a few days ago and grimaced at each of my entries. I was weird. Deleting my previous site didn’t prove successful since I couldn’t figure out the system…drat….I don’t like my 14 year old reflections floating in the void. Creating something that I will stumble upon years later that will only end with my self-disapproval is not wise. Maybe I don’t want to see what the void will do with my thoughts. Writing potentially to an unknown population…seems self interested….I don’t even like my friends reading anything I write…I don’t like rereading what I write. I erase my essays from my hard drive as soon as they’re graded….this blogging thing won’t end well. Man, I’m such a cynic. I will create a blog simply to challenge my disparaging contemplations. But, what is the………

I’ve decided to stop overanalyzing there.

So here you go Void….