May - June, 2005

I should be asleep.

I have a final interview tomorrow, and unwritten papers to attend to by the beginning of next week, which doesn't change the fact that I've utterly wasted the past couple of days playing video games and feeling as little as possible. But I don't know why. It's as if somewhere along the line recently I decided to close my eyes and just deny my circumstances up and down until they went away. As if I could crawl into a video game for hours on end and feel happy. I haven't even been able to write anything decent enough to warrant a blog entry, and I honestly haven't cared to take one glance inside myself for the better part of two weeks. But I don't know why. Maybe I'm tired from all the useless soul-searching I've been doing this semester, which is partly due to this blog, and the fact that I've found few things more rewarding than having fun with my friends and doing everything in my power to pretend I'm 15 again. I'm 21. Fuck. 15 is a long time gone, never to return.

Anyways.

I don't know how I'm going to drag myself out of this, but I think I have to, for the sake of my sanity (and my grades). Which brings me back to the start.

Circles do that.

I should be asleep. But as I was lying there listening to music, I felt strangely compelled to look back at some of the stuff I wrote as personal reflections back in high school when I wrote nightly. I found a lot of bad poetry, granted, but I also found some things that sounded terribly familiar. Circles again.

I could talk more about the themes in these reflections, why I chose these particular ones to share, and who they're written about...but I won't. Maybe later.

The following were written between May and June 2005, and I haven't changed a word.

May 12, 2005

Maybe the trouble is that I think too much about how to say things, when I just need to say them. There is an empty void between us, filled with silence. I want to bridge the gap, to bring her closer to me, close enough to know her like a real person. She’s a name and she’s a place, and she’s the hope I have for my life, but she’s always just out of reach. I could blame myself. What do I say? How do I act? Maybe there should be a connection already, and hoping for one to emerge is as hopeless as forcing yourself to fall in love. Or maybe it’s the same thing. I have only known that closeness once before, and in that instance I was consumed by my love for another. Where is the bond now? Why can’t I feel like I am actually saying something when I speak? It’s a mystery as deep and convoluted as my thoughts, waiting to be explored, but hopelessly dark. I dive down within myself again, for even clear water has its dark depths. Sometimes the casual exterior must fall for my true self to be evident, even to myself.

I sit with my back to the table, laying against it as I crane my head toward the sky. Stillness and clouds and vast blue sky. The breeze blows through the trees at the periphery of my vision, and the wordless question appears once more within my mind. A sense of reslessness, of desire, and of hope. I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. How the microscopic events unfold into earth shattering catastrophes all around me, and I am wholly unmoved. Save by the wind. Sometimes it blows through an open classroom door, and I feel life course through me like cool water. There is some energy and natural power in such a subtle force as a summer breeze…and more than anything else I know, it can bring me to my knees.

The sea breeze blows against my face, though I am now many years younger. A strange shade of sunlight colors my memories in the hues of nostalgia, and I feel the hum of some careless summer song reverberate within my soul. My consciousness brings me nothing but the image of the green ocean lapping against the beach, like the bittersweet sound of music played in the distance, carried by some sympathetic wind to my ear, and even years later…my heart aches to feel such carelessness and grace.

Maybe there’s meaning behind the darkness and quiet of my room this summer night. Maybe I can fall back into the recesses of my mind and let the darkness envelop me. I feel myself pulled toward some other place, where the fresh minted sunlight creeps over me as I sit at my computer. Typing. Breathing. Finding the words to say. Maybe I will turn and walk out of this place and into the nothingness between stars. And be totally lost to comprehension.

Ineffable

May 17, 2005

The night sky is a deep, luminous blue, shining through the silhouette trees onto my upturned face. A haze hangs around the moon, like it should on a still night like this. I walk with my friend, and talk of the future. What will become of us? It feels like I’m living a memory, as if I know I am experiencing a time to which I will reminisce many years later. I’ll be somewhere completely different. I’ll be someone completely different. But maybe, just maybe, I’ll remember what the night sky looked like, and how I walked beside my friend, back in the lost days of my youth.

May 20, 2005

Sometimes I’m surprised by the distance between places. Only two points exist on a path for me as I am traveling: the origin and the destination. But there are other places, people living entirely outside of my notice. People who I will never meet, who exist in the nothingness between points. Maybe someday I will realize that existence is a continuity, with my reality being constantly revised by where I am. Now, I am somewhere different than I was yesterday, even if I am in the same place.

I’m just passing through. The world swirls around me, but I am safe behind by the glass barriers separating my reality from the one outside, where there are nothing but plains and space. The sunlight here is like a sweet sickness, clawing inside me, at the walls of my chest: the affliction of sparse tranquility. Perhaps I am not as safe as I thought..

May 23, 2005

There are so many paths to walk, out among the vast expanses of nothingness, among the rolling hills covered in gold. There are so many silent oases, untouched but by the wind, which gently sways the trees to a rhythm unheard by anyone. I want to see them all, to pack up and leave. Pick a direction and go. Experience the quiet of the empty expanse between the limits of human knowledge. Many things can be cages. And many people are prisoners without knowledge of their bondage. My cell has invisible bars, sometimes only as thick as a pane of glass, but impenetrable. The bars are of my own making, built slowly over the passage of my life and heated and reinforced with every meaningless day that passes when I feel nothing. I hold myself hostage to something that lies ahead of me, something I can’t see. But sometimes, free air drifts into my prison, and I can feel again, if only for a short time. Then I think of far off mountains, strange faces, and gentle winds sweeping across oceans of gold.

The first I saw of her was her bare shoulder, as we were led to the booth across the walkway from hers. I sit next to the wall, and glance in her direction just in time to notice that she has turned her head away. We talk and laugh and eat. The mood is easy, but there is some apprehensiveness within me whenever I glance over. She is beautiful. Impossibly so. I wanted nothing more than to talk to her. Hear her voice. Ask her name. And sometimes I would feel her eyes upon me, maybe wondering what my name was. Whenever I noticed, a warm happiness would spread through my body, and I would smile like a fool, though no one else noticed. We ate and talked, sneaking looks between conversations and pizza. If only we had met somewhere else, without our parents, where we could have become friends, but I had no hope of talking to her with her family so close by. My happiness had abetted by the time we stood to leave, and the realization that we would never meet again dawned on me. I saw so many possibilities, so many futures fall away at that instant when I started walking toward the door. But I couldn’t resist another stolen glance, and so looked one last time. She was looking right at me, and she was smiling so warmly I felt as if I knew her. All of my happiness spilled out in the smile I gave her, and I was sure in that instant that she was sad to see me go, just as I was sad to leave her. That smile would be the only thing we ever shared. Sometimes fate can be so cruel.

May 31, 2005

Sweeping fields lay before my feet as the sweet melody of my journey sings softly in my ear. Faroff is the subdued flute, with its blossoming tones of beauty. But rising up like a wave to carry me forward is the vast symphony of freedom, resonating through me, bringing me in tune with the universe, like the air in my lungs brings life within me. Brings the outside within. The vast spirit of everything interconnected, moving through me and around me, speaking through me to craft this music. I am at once the tall mountains and the wide valleys; all are encompassed within me as the whole is reflected in the part…existence reflected in my soul.

The most beautiful music is the most melancholic, for that is the deepest emotion. It sounds almost like the noises a soul makes as it cries for its loneliness, with its rhythm and sorrowful movement, but with the deepest expression.

June 5, 2005

There is nothing between me and the sky as the wind rushes through my hair. Sun glints off the windshield, as I trace the contour of the glass until it reaches into infinity. My consciousness expands toward the sun as I am enveloped in sublime joy, joy of such depth that I could drown in it, dive so deep that I never emerge again. Joy the color of the late afternoon sun that sounds like hazy, reverberating guitar mixed with rushing wind. It has the texture of childhood innocence, bittersweet and delicate, and fades when I try to hold on to it. Reality fades into a twilight of dream and nostalgia, bubbling up within me and washing across my soul until I am filled with the shades of red and orange cast across the clouds. My consciousness evaporates in the haze, my body becomes a conduit to the vastness of existence, everything becomes clear. But the secret slides through my fingers like water until I am left with only my thoughts.

June 6, 2005

All of a sudden, she was far back in the past, staring out across the beautiful valley, with the clear, blue ocean on either side, and the sun sinking behind the horizon. Such relentless beauty and infinite promise, laid before her feet, all those years ago. Now the light shines in slits across her face, filtered through the blinds, as the sun sets behind haze and city lights. It seemed like reality was anchored to her worn face, and her sad, questioning eyes, wondering where the time went. How did I get here? I saw her again for the first time, surreal and startlingly poignant, standing far down the path from where she had once stood, looking back to where she had once been looking forward. Autumn falls across her eyes, and the sun sets a little lower, damningly slow, casting shadow across what once was bright, welcoming the night, and the cold, saddening light shines as the day grows old.

This is the way the world ends

The sun shone cold on his face, warmth sapped by the frozen ocean of sky over his head
and all his limbs shook with that clinging frigid death. It pooled around him as he stood, radiating despair, casting it against the frozen ground like the gray light of a winter moon. He stood, breath freezing in front of his face, catching in his lungs, and he coughed blissfully in unison with the harrowed slaves, dragging their chains as they passed by him into the distance. He didn't know how long he had been standing there.

Perhaps he had always been there.

But inexplicably, he began to take a step. Frost crunched and fell from his clothing, his legs barely able to move, for he was tired from his long vigil. He lifted his leg, heavy with ambivalence, but the wind kicked up, driving him back with heart-piercing daggers. His tears froze on his face as he bowed his head against the gale, whimpers of pain ripped from his throat and swept away. But he stepped again, and again, his heart pumping vital suffering to every limb, until he was running. He ran until he reached the wooden pillar, jutting out from the middle of a frozen street, and he climbed up, heedless of the wind.

He pulled himself up to the top and stood as the wind ripped into his body and the gray clouds pressed close against his face, smothering him. All the sky crushed down on him.

He would set it free.

(He pulls off his jacket, peels off his shirt. He grits his teeth against the wind.)

He would set it free.

(...or does he smile?)

He would set it free.

(He stands, every muscle clenched in the most triumphant, soul wrenching fire.)

He would set it free, he thought.

And from the blackness behind his closed eyes, from the pit of his stomach and the grips of his shaking fists he rent the sky with his agony.

The clouds shattered like glass and fell to the ground, and the air caught fire, the cities fell and the earth crumbled.

He screamed because he had no words.

He screamed until reality shook around him.

He screamed until he forgot himself.

He screamed until there was nothing.

Trains, first attempt

I like riding on trains. It reminds me of how much I will never know and never see. I stare out the windows at the places in between, all the places I'll never call home, and wonder at the strange fortune of ending up in my own skin. On the train, I smile at everyone, and I love them in a way I couldn't love them if we were to pass on the street. We're all on our way somewhere I think, and I smile. We're only together for a short time, in a small place, with the whole world outside the window waiting for us to turn our heads, to look out at places never given to us to love but for a fleeting second until they pass beyond our vision. And maybe we look at each other, weightless in the void, to see ourselves - small things adrift in infinity.

How much like life it is.

My Hobby:

Trying to give passers by the impression that I'm not standing in a particular place because I'm waiting for someone, but that in fact I'm there for the special purpose of warding off malicious spirits from the area.

Assumptions

Every once in a while, I need to reevaluate my assumptions and the foundation for my conclusions about how to lead a more meaningful life.

Assumption 1: There is no absolute purpose given to us by a higher power. Our lives aren't so simple as doing what someone wiser than us has told us to do. The corollary to this is that there is no immortal afterlife, and as time increases to infinity any possible effect our mortal lives have had on the world and its people will drop to zero.

Assumption 2: As long as life can possibly be more enjoyable than non-existence, it is worth staying alive. With regard to the lack of imbued purpose discussed in assumption 1, there is no concrete obligation to serve anyone, since everyone and everything outside yourself will meet the same end eventually (whether or not you WANT to serve other people is a different matter entirely). As a result, finding happiness for oneself, since there would be no real value in living an unfulfilled life purely for the sake of others, would seem to be the best use of an otherwise meaningless life. In my experience, the most rewarding and enjoyable feeling comes from a sense of purpose and belonging, a notion that one is where they are most happy being and doing what they are most happy doing. (Before I'm accused of being totally self-centered, it's easy to imagine one can be most happy and fulfilled in the service of others). By that token, the best use of one's life is to find that place and do that thing.

But of course, it's not that easy. How can you know what else you could be doing?

Assumption 3: Everyone has a unique potential. What is fulfilling to one person might not be fulfilling to another, but no one is obligated to fulfill the potential of another, only their own. If a person feels like they've found a particular place and occupation that gives them the greatest sense of fulfillment and happiness, they have made the best use of their life, despite the judgments of others regarding what that person has chosen to spend their life doing. Happy plumber > unfulfilled investment banker who's only in it for the money.

Maybe even more important than finding a place and an occupation is cultivating a way of looking at the world that looks at every moment in life is a step toward that fulfillment, a worldview that asserts that life is fundamentally, necessarily good.

In this moment, I feel like an artist sitting before a pottery wheel, hands caked with the physical substance of my experience, mind and pencil sketching and resketching the ambitious designs for my life, which sits in a misshapen lump that hints at my previous unskilled and heavy-handed attempts at craftsmanship.

"As you adequately put it, the problem is choice"

I now present to you another one of my pet ideas: the illusion of choice.

I hear you asking, "Why talk about this now? Don't you know what time it is? Don't you have some ridiculous book written by a lunatic that you need to be reading right now?". Well, it all started with an IM about the election, and how there will be no right or wrong choice, only a reflection of the country's desires (though I guess this supposition assumes that the election won't be rigged).

If that's the case for the election, why would it be any different for a single individual? Are choices actually choices, or just reflections of who we are? And if that is in fact the case, to what degree do we control who we are, as opposed to the degree by which external factors shape our identity? Are we in fact just pre-programmed decision making machines, acting out conditioned behavior and collecting the resulting data to condition future behavior?

Well this may be anticlimactic, but I think the answer is yes.

In my theory, I exclude the possibility of alternate realities. If we allow for alternate realities, well, then I have no idea what my theory would be, but you can be sure that one of those alternate realities would probably involve what could only be described as extradimensional cephalopods.

Ok, so no alternate realities. What does this mean? It means that any given event only occurs one way, and that there aren't other realities in which the given event happens another way. Under this premise, even without considering motivation, any individual considering any given choice would only ever decide one way or the other, and that choice would have an indelible effect on the rest of reality and future history. I suppose you might say I'm describing fate - that all things, from the beginning of time to the end, only ever had the possibility of happening one way.

Let me take a moment to acknowledge the fact that I'm talking about stuff way out of my league, and that a better understanding about the mechanics of reality would really be required to justify the above theories.

As far as casting human beings in the role of decision making machines, I feel a little more comfortable expressing my ideas. Regardless of whether or not the universe is random or predetermined (or if those things are actually the same...think about it), and come to think of it, even if we suppose that there are alternate realities, based on my own experience as a human being, I would agree with the supposition that choices are a reflection of idenitity. If we exclude the consideration of truly arbitrary choices such as calling a coin flip (though it could be argued there's a reason, however unconscious or insignificant, for choosing either heads or tails), I would argue that people reference what they believe to be facts when choosing how to act (I'd argue they don't actually have to be facts...they can be completely incorrect, but the individual believes them to be facts). For instance, I have decided not to post on the discussion board about this idiotic book for reasons I consider to be factual, such as the inanity of talking about something I clearly don't understand, and the benefit of waiting until after class to post in the hope that I'll have some greater understanding at that time. I also considered my greater interest in writing this blog post as a contributing factor to that choice. The possible disadvantages of not posting, after some consideration, were not adequate enough to make me post. My point is, I didn't choose arbitrarily, I simply performed a cost/benefit comparison that indicated the most favorable course of action.

Yet other people will post. Other people have posted. And from what I've read of those posts, they didn't get it either. So why did they choose to post when I didn't?

Either they weighted the costs and benefits differently, or they took other factors into account, such as the threat of a lower grade or the desire to impress their classmates with their verbosity. But I would have to argue that those even more fundamental choices, the choices that form the mechanism of assessing other choices, are a result of identity. Some people are more inclined to complete every assignment than I am, and some people are even less inclined than I am. Some enjoy this class more than I do, others enjoy it less. Whatever the case, those inclinations are a result of previous experiences. If I thought that not posting wasn't a big deal, it's likely that experience has taught me that fact, or that who I am is a person who, throughout his life, has arranged his priorities in a certain way that lessened the importance of posting in his estimation. Had I learned before that not posting would have had a consequence I was not prepared to deal with, obviously I would have posted.

I would challenge someone to find a choice in which they could decide in favor of one direction over all others without any influence from their past. I don't think it's possible, because the way we think is a result of our past and the influences of our upbringing and experiences. Each choice we make (which is based on past experiences) creates new experiences, which then in turn influence future choices. So obviously our identity is altered with each choice we make, but for every choice we are confronted with, even those we aren't even consciously aware of, the outcome is a reflection of the sum total of the formative factors of our identity.

And don't even get me started on the existential implications of all this.

Anyways, I'm sure there are some other parts of this theory I've left out that I may remember later, but I hope whoever reads this weighs in on what I've said.

In the interest of full disclosure, the thing which provided me with a reason to write this blog post, the possession of which resulted in me writing this blog post, is this video. It's probably the funniest thing I've seen all week. Brian, you will enjoy it.

Survivors

Sometimes I have too much to say, so I say nothing. Sometimes I feel too many things too deeply, so I take refuge in the normal. And it's thus that I build my prison of silence and dissatisfaction.

Looking back on the past few days, I don't even know where to start writing. Let's try this:

Saturday, daytime: Eric, Alison's friend visiting from DC, and I undertook the first attempt at geohashing, and the exact coordinates of our destination were out to sea, so we planned on going on to the spit of land furthest out into the Atlantic, Rockaway point. The original plan was to take the subway out to Coney Island, rent bikes, and ride the rest of the way, but by the time we'd finished the hour-long subway trip out to Coney Island it was getting toward sunset and the weather was stormy. It was a tremendous amount of fun just to wander around Coney Island in the midst of a storm, heads bent against the wind, listening to the chilling sound of the wind through the supports of the deserted theme park, and I got some great pictures and video. We contemplated taking a bus for part of the way past Coney Island, but it was already dark by the time we were done exploring the beach and we weren't equipped for traversing the pitch black of Rockaway. Next time.

The little trip out to the end of a subway line and the subsequent wanderings on the stormy beach inspired in me an even greater desire to pursue whatever adventures happened to be close at hand. I decided I wanted to purchase a bike in order to facilitate my travels, which led to the formation of tentative Thanksgiving plans, in which Alison and I obtain bikes in DC and ride them back to NYC. In preparation for this feat I've started using the cycle machines at the gym on days when I'm not lifting, constituting my most ambitious workout regimen ever.

And while I'm extremely excited about the progress of my side projects, I feel like, to an extent, they have distracted me from the bigger, uglier questions facing me. I still don't know what I'm going to do after school...but I hopefully I can get by on boldfaced optimism.

Saturday night, Bigger Questions, and the dangers of Cactus Cooler: With Saturday night came an abortive party packed with idiots, and after helping to clean up in their wake, we ended up back at my place, where I began to furiously prepare Cactus Coolers for us all. It began with just Alison, Eric, and myself, but later Kenny showed up and filled in for Eric who had fallen asleep on the couch sometime later. I learned an important lesson that night: alcohol does not mix well with downbeat music, no matter how soothing or beautiful. I have no idea how it happened, or what set it off, but after several drinks I began to dwell on Ryan Martin's suicide and the conversation I'd had about him with a friend the night before. I had largely put it out of my mind since I first heard the news on Monday, only stopping occasionally to consider what he must have gone through before he took his own life, and why he had finally surrendered to what he must have seen as the pointlessness of his continued existence. Clearly, he was not in any kind of trouble that might have made death seem attractive by comparison, so it must have been the sheer terror of meaninglessness that drove him to his death. And I began to see that meaninglessness as if it were a villain who had killed my friend, or even more troubling, as a disaster or accident that the rest of us had somehow survived...this time. Now I see in that meaninglessness a terrible malignancy, ubiquitous and patient, waiting for us to doubt our purpose and falter in our belief in the value of life. And then it will sweep us away.

Even now, as I sit here sober and relatively hopeful about the future, I can feel it behind the walls and around corners, peeking out at me from the end of long hallways and whispering over my shoulder.

So imagine how I was then, somewhat inebriated, listening to decidedly melancholy music, with my friend's suicide at the forefront of my thoughts. That meaninglessness, that despair stood staring me in the face, mocking me, assuring me that Ryan was only the first. I felt like my companions and I were alive by chance, like survivors of a car wreck who had somehow climbed to safety only to look back in horror at the broken bodies of those who hadn't made it.

And I cried. I cried because in that moment I had no retort, no plan of my own to hold up as evidence of purpose, and I cried because I feared for my friends and I, feared the things we might yet have to face.



Watch this.
Read the second comment under "Temple Bell" on this blog. It's by Brian Borger.

Temple Bell

Tok Tok Tok

The hammer strike, I hear the echo,
amidst concrete, the sounding tempo
seeping, softening, deepening

Tok Tok Tok

Reverb from the Temple Bell,
Called to quiet, incense smell
Around the people on their mats

Tok Tok Tok

But few will hear amid the hustle
Their faces turned toward shoes and shuffle
All our eyes are closed

A list I didn't know I had

Ryan Martin hanged himself last night.

I'm not sure we were ever really friends, but I think maybe something in us wanted to be from time to time. I wish I had known him better. Looking back, I realize now how often he appears in my memory and just how much time we spent together in high school, that time that already feels like a lifetime ago. We had small problems which we often pretended were big problems, tiny little grievances that were left behind along with most everything else from high school, and I think it's sad that the entire span of my knowing him took place during a time that feels so completely unreal to me now. How terribly real this is now.

I just turned 21, and I just heard about the death of my high school friend. That makes two things scratched off a list of inevitable things that somehow still managed to surprise me when they finally came to pass. Barring major incident, of course I'd be 21 one day, just like one day in the future I'll no longer have any means to deny the fact that I'd become an adult somewhere along the line. Of course my friends and acquaintances would someday die; the Flaming Lips even told me ahead of time. But I know now there was definitely a part of me that didn't want to believe it, that has only now been forced to face the truth.

Adventures

Finally put up the pictures from the gang's visit last weekend, and I'll probably post more of the photos I've taken since then. Sorry most of them are blurry, but I hate using the flash, and in most of the places we were it would have been unwelcome. Ergo, concordantly, I need to buy myself a tripod. It's taking a while to regain my sense of composition, and I'm unhappy that some of my favorite pictures are as interesting as they are because of the color accenting feature of the camera. I think I'm making progress though, and there are some I'm pretty proud of.

I saw Equus on Thursday, adding to the short list of Broadway shows I've seen. I had no idea what to expect when I sat down in the theater, only knowing that it was highly acclaimed and that Daniel Radcliffe would be naked onstage at some point. Turns out that this was a very good, and very dark, troubling play that I enjoyed thoroughly. Also Kate Mulgrew, who played Captain Janeway in Star Trek: Voyager, was in the play, and that definitely made my night.

On a darker note, while most of my classes have remained as interesting as they were, or have become even more so since the start of the semester, the persistence of constant schoolwork and the addition of midterms have forced me to ask myself, once again, why I'm doing what I'm doing and what else I could be doing. Recently I've become very attached to the idea of pursuing side projects with my free time, but even that seems like the small picture. I want to see the big picture, figure out why I enjoy what I enjoy and decide if that's something worth spending my time on. Even more than that, I have to choose the criteria by which I judge the worth of my actions.

I'm attracted to the idea that I can somehow avoid boredom by finding a profession or project that involves constant variety, like journalism or maybe intelligence, or by constantly being involved in a number of small projects. I guess I want to have adventures, to go out and be immersed in uncertainty, which is ironic because here I am trying to figure out what to do in the future.

A divergence to help me explain my point: I've recently become even more interested in the webcomic xkcd, especially with regard to its creator, Randall Munroe. It turns out that he's only 24 (he just had a birthday last Friday), graduated from college in '06 and worked briefly with NASA until he left and started working on xkcd full time. Now he supports himself primarily on merchandise from the comic. Aside from being amazingly funny, the comic has this profoundly hopeful outlook on life and stresses the importance of unorthodox approaches to thinking and living.

Check these out:
This is the start of a five part series that presents some ideas I've really come to empathize with - http://xkcd.com/264/
And this one is a pleasant reminder to myself sometimes - http://xkcd.com/167/

His newest project is called "Geohashing"(http://wiki.xkcd.com/geohashing/Main_Page), and I think Kenny and I might take part in it on the weekends. I'm definitely looking forward to getting off campus and having some adventures.

Coming soon: Dread

Viewfinder Eyes

It was wonderful to have a camera this weekend, along with cooperative subjects and interesting settings for pictures. Managed to crank out more than a hundred photos in relatively short order (though admittedly only a few could be considered above average). I feel like my photography was better at one time, and I'd be willing to entertain the notion that I'm simply out of practice. I hope that's the case, because it seems that the most solid thing I've distilled from my musings this year so far is that I have a growing desire to express myself. I want some way to draw those formless, hyphenated emotions out of myself and put them in a photo or a movie, or maybe in writing somehow. I'm fascinated by those little feelings, so quiet and ethereal, that wash over you like a cool and gentle breeze from out of nowhere, caressing your heart, making you pay attention to where you are. It's afternoon sun, deep orange, on the sidewalk, or the sound of dried leaves blown by the wind on a gray day. Rain drops on a windowsill and distant drums. Dark nights driving alone for a long time. The swamp cooler. I wish my camera could capture some of this, though I'm not really sure what I'd do with it if it ever does.

Too lazy for a title

I'm importing the first batch of photos from the new camera...very cool pictures of the whole gang in NYC. Everything kind of pales in comparison to the awesomeness that was this weekend, and partly due to this, and partly due to fatigue, this week has sort have become an unremarkable blur. Unfortunately this is the week I need to step up and make up for earlier slacking. This will be a welcome week end.

Also, I have a bonsai now. It's a Japanese Juniper, and it's sitting on the window sill by my computer as per the plan. Good things.

I know there are things I want to write, but I've been so out of it that basic functions are pretty much all I can manage at the moment. I'll get around to deeper meaning later.

Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.

Ejection

I've been caught up writing this ridiculous paper for my "China in the Modern World" class since this weekend. One would hope I wouldn't need five days to write 5-7 pages, but here I am, and after much hand wringing over how to approach such a hopelessly vague topic (tip: if the prompt contains the world "bio-political", drop the class), sometime in the last couple days I finally built a framework for writing something that could be considered half decent. And sometime last night, I realized that what I was writing had nothing to do with that framework, and I had to change it. I'm finally in the home stretch now after making my topic more comfortable, and I wanted to share a vignette with you all. In my essay, I say that a character was essentially ejected from her past, traveling further and further away from the life she had known previously and actually shedding her identity bit by bit until an entirely dissociated personality rises up and "kills" her previous one. This person was shot out of a cannon from her previous life and her previous self, and when she landed she was in a foreign country and had completely lost her mind.

Well, I feel like, in a sense, sometime yesterday I ejected from this wreck of a week... grabbed the bare essentials of kendo and mandatory classes, pulled the handle under my seat and shot skyward toward the weekend. And yet I feel like sometime in the future I'll have to pay for the crashed jet of my neglected classes and work.

Don't care though. Too stoked for the weekend.

Also, yesterday at kendo practice our sensei introduced perhaps the coolest exercise I could possibly imagine on so little sleep. He had half of the people in armor stand on either side of the room, with one lone soul standing between the two groups. One person from either side would alternate running toward the person in the middle, trying to strike the person's head, while the person in the middle would try to dodge and counterattack by striking them in the torso as they ran through. For minutes on end, the person in the middle would have to fend off constant attack from both sides, having barely enough (and sometimes not enough) time to turn around, face the next opponent, and counterattack. Too fucking cool.

Finally, a gentleman walked in to the coffee lounge this morning and stood next to where I was sitting, typing away, with a distant look on his face as if he were looking for something. I made the mistake of looking up and making eye contact, at which point he points vaguely in the direction of my computer and asks, "What's that?". I stare for a couple seconds and reply, "What's...what?". Rather than answering my question, he asks me what I think about the economy, and if I thought we were in a recession. I told him I probably wasn't the one to ask, but if I had to give an answer I'd say we were heading that way, yeah. On hearing that I wasn't, in fact, an economist, he points to my screen and asks, "That isn't economics". Long pause. "No, this is literary analysis". "Do you think there'll be a job waiting for you?". "Maybe not a conventional one, and maybe not in this country, but yeah, there will be". He walks off.

Maybe he ejected too.

Beating the bushes

The group, which I suppose is the new incarnation of Sorekara Eiga (それから 映画 - Sorekara Movies), has produced several ideas for the new project. The most prominent suggestions so far are a quasi-western, somewhat in the style of Cowboy Bebop with regard to slightly larger than life (read unbelievable) characters and action, and a kind of twisted version of Orpheus and Euridice, with Death personified as a samurai the main character sees in both his dreams and his waking hours. The second suggestion comes from Alison, who has already begun work on a possible script.

I've learned how many of my ideas revolve around explosions and gunfighting, and as a result all of my ideas are largely useless because we lack the equipment for anything more than the most basic gunplay. Alison's idea has a psychological aspect that I appreciate (and which is lacking in all of my ideas so far).

Paul gets here tomorrow, and then the madness begins, but first...essay writing time.

Anyone and everyone feel free to suggest story ideas.

Excitement, fear

I hinted yesterday about the prospect of a grand, new project coming from Kenny and I, but while the details are still coming together, it seems our grandest vision will probably have to be put on hold.

There were discussions last night between Kenny, Alison, Nate, and I about the possiblity of building a multi-media website that would be the platform for new artistic endeavors of all sorts, whether in the form of new movies, video shorts, writing, t-shirts, etc. Unfortunately, despite the exciting prospects this idea held, it was decided that not enough time and effort could be spared to really do such a huge project justice, but maybe this will be something to come back to in the future.

However this did spark off serious consideration about other new projects we could undertake, specifically in the realm of movie-making, and after some discussion we reviewed both our Epic Japanese movie and its accompanying trailer. Reinvigorated by this reminder of past accomplishments, Kenny and I agreed at least to produce another movie, most likely involving new characters and a new story, and probably slated for completion by reading week before finals. We've already begun discussing character design.

(I just returned a patron's ID card. Her name is Kara Freewind. What a name.)

Later in the evening, Kenny was watching a documentary called Zeitgeist, which concerns various conspiracy theories about Christianity, 9/11, and others, with the basic premise apparently being that a small group of individuals at the highest echelons of civilization are conspiring to unite the entire world under a single totalitarian government. While I'm highly skeptical about that premise and conspiracy theories in general, the accompanying discussion between Kenny and I about the historical incidences of politicians colluding to bring about their own political ends at the cost of human lives (namely the two incidents that drew the US into both World Wars), was rather scary. To what degree do governments operate the way we think they do? What actually happens in secret at the top? All scary thoughts, but perhaps the most serious accusation made by Zeitgeist was that the US government is intentionally inhibiting the education of the nation's children in order to make them more susceptible to distraction by entertainment and more compliant with the government's decisions on their behalf. Whether by actually impeding the procurement of quality education or simply espousing a message of constant threat and fear in order to cow its own citizens, I fear I believe the government does act to stupify the public. And what can be done against such an evil?

Maybe our movie has found its villain.

Taking a look around

I think I've asked these questions before, but finding the answer has greater importance now that I'm on the road to mental emancipation: what does everyone my age do on a Friday night, and why doesn't any of that interest me? More to the point, what can I be doing with my free time that's recreational but not just a way of killing time? I've decided video games are not the way to go, and looking back I probably could have done a million better things with my time. That being said, the importance of time spent having fun with friends can't be understated, and I can't have expected my former self to be looking for anything more. In a way it's kind of unfortunate, but I'm no longer satisfied with simply killing the free time between assignments and responsibilities, so now I have to look outward.

Back to my first questions.

Did some work yesterday, went to the Frick Collection to begin my formal analysis of one of their portraits for Art Humanities. Even did a sketch of the portrait, and despite the condition of the gentleman's face, I think I portrayed the drapery quite well. Anyways long story short, I came back, made dinner, and was ready to spend the rest of the night NOT working. So I fired up Counter-Strike Source, and played for a couple hours. Outside our door to the hall, quite a large party could be heard (and smelled) across the hall, but I had no desire to join at all. Recently it seems, parties, or at least the parties we tend to have here, have lost their appeal. For one, they mostly consist of people standing around drinking (unlike us enlightened West coasters who prefer drinking games. Seriously...no one plays them here), but more importantly they're on campus, in dorms. So in protest to staying on campus drinking, I decided to stay in my room and play a video game. I admit that doesn't make a lot of sense, but it was actually the more challenging and interesting of the two options. It was about then that I tried to make a list of things people my age do on Friday nights. I came up with the following:

20-somethings do this on Friday nights:
1. Go to campus parties, drink
2. Go to bars and restaurants downtown, maybe shoot pool, drink
3. Go clubbing, drop E, drink
4. Play video games, drink (maybe)
5. Watch TV/movies (with or without friends), drink (probably)

And then probably the most noble in my view...
6. Go to jazz clubs, listen to awesome music, drink

Looking at this list now, I think I understand a little better why I went for number 4, and why after I week I'll probably go for number 2. The reason is, I think, that those are the only two that aren't completely passive...that don't simply involve you going somewhere and then taking in the scene. But the problem with all of them, and the reason I need a new hobby, is that none of them produce or teach anything. After talking with Kenny about this for a while we came to the conclusion that what both he and I want is a project, or maybe even more than that - a MISSION.

It was then that we started talking about the (totally epic) movie we made for Japanese, and the programs we used to write for computer science, and the thing they all had in common was that after toiling away for what seemed like forever (all told the movie took about a month...), overcoming obstacles and achieving small triumphs, we were left with a finished product we had created from scratch. We had made something with our time. And realizing the possibility of deciding for ourselves what we could do with our time and effort was invigorating, despite the vague nature of that possibility. What does someone do when they can do anything?

I think I'm going to make some small changes first:
1. Work permitting, this blog is going to go daily again
2. I'm going to get a bonsai because I want to take care of something and watch it grow

Bigger things that are probably on the horizon:
1. More movies
2. More programming (in my spare time), maybe play with Flash, maybe some web design
3. More photography (going to invest in a new camera, probably after new headphones)

And maybe once some vagueries are sorted out, formats decided on, objectives set, and scopes established, maybe...just maybe...we will produce something very new and exciting.

Whatever happens, and whatever I end up doing, I think I need to get out of the box and off the list of Friday night time-wasters. While school work will continue to take priority, I think I waste enough time every week and weekend to be able to do something interesting and constructive instead of simply trying to entertain myself.

Ennui

So, Kenny's dad died this week, and most of what's happened since then has been framed and bounded by that fact. I honestly admit I didn't think it would affect me as much as it did...I tend to be pretty detached from other peoples' troubles, but this one really hit me. I think it's because, unlike most of the shit I and most other people fuss over, this was something undeniably huge, lifechanging, and entirely out of his control. I feel like we bring most of our problems on ourselves, but this came out of nowhere and there's arguably nothing he could have done. After I heard, and even though it didn't happen to me, Kenny and I both agreed that everything else suddenly seemed very unimportant. Aside from my sadness over Kenny's loss, I felt at that moment extremely restless, and my own complacency was brought to my attention again. I felt like I wanted to get up and go somewhere far away, maybe as a way of validating the life that I still had and Kenny's dad suddenly didn't. I'm not exactly sure why, but since then I've been rather unenthusiastic about my classes and activities, and I was anxious for the weekend which ironically found me in my room, trapped by the overcast sky which seeped in and turned everything gray. I love this weather, but it always puts me in a reflective mood, which can be dangerous and/or pointless.

I've decided I want a bonsai tree. It will sit on the ledge of the window, right next to my desk. And chimes, which remind me of late afternoon sun.

Questions of serious importance (to my presidential candidacy)

I'm putting these down now, and I'll address them sometime soon - most likely on Tuesday. I really want whoever reads this blog (all 3 of you) to weigh in on these:

Why do people need God? (Extra credit, what would an atheistic world look like?)

Upon what foundation is justice based? Is our understanding of justice influenced by religion? Can (should) all be held accountable to a baseline secular law? Should people be allowed to vote on the basis of their religious beliefs alone, even though their decisions may affect people who believe differently?

Is evangelism (with or without programs for social justice) a good thing?

Set go.

In dreams, we remember how to fly

I've mentioned this before, but at various times during and certainly after my return to New York, this last summer has felt truly dreamlike, and while this was merely an interesting sensation at the time, the more I dwell on it the more I am troubled by it. When I returned to school, I immediately sought out a comfortable niche for myself, and while I think I've already taken great strides to make my experience this year far superior to last year's debacle, already I see the signs of habituation and comfort taking their toll on the ambition I had at summer's end. During the final days of August I was genuinely restless, chomping at the bit to get back to work and take what I saw to be the next step for my life. I felt like I was on the verge of something, and while some of the perspective that these last months have afforded me remains and has contributed to the growth I've undergone, I feel slightly disappointed by the anti-climactic nature of my return. Once again, I find it hard to see where I'm going, and although I've been much more active at school and in the city, and feel as if I'm getting more use out of the opportunities afforded to me by simply being in such an amazing city, even this more exciting lifestyle feels as if it has become routine. I used to write this blog daily, and now I'm having trouble scraping enough cognition together to write a blurb a week. I feel disconnected from this summer, remember it as if it was lived by someone else, but I remain amazed by everything I experienced over such a short amount of time. I suppose returning to the same place and similar activities after vacation would likely have this effect, and I'm not sure exactly what else I was expecting to happen, but I hope I never forget how I felt at the end of my time back home.

I suppose this kind of growth is slow.

On the lighter side, everyone go here:
http://tighroslin.com/

Hope everyone is well. I'd really like to hear what everyone's up to these days.

Paul, hope you're feeling better after last night. Remember that feeling and have mercy on me. :)

Can you do me a favor and tell me what I'm supposed to say now?

Lunch was at chipotle again today, as maintenance still has not fixed my fridge. Kenny and I are in line after this girl who looked to be wearing leather shoes and knee-high multicolor striped socks. She looked like some kind of Eastern European schoolgirl.

After I asked for lots of cheese and guacamole...
Girl: (earnestly) You're amazing!
Me: (long pause) ...yeah? Um, thanks.

Apparently she was complimenting me on my confidence in demanding an adequately sized burrito, but for several seconds I had no idea what the hell she was talking about.

Still Flyin'

So, I haven't dropped off the face of the earth, just been busy scratching out a little niche for myself back in nyc and working hard to get everything settled and achieve a comfortable routine. There have been a lot of changes already. First, I'm living in a place that actually resembles an apartment: wood floors, bathroom, kitchen. After a good deal of furniture rearrangement, it's livable and rather handsome. Second, I'm trying to get a job doing IT on campus, and it's required me for the first time to compile a resume, which I sent off today in the hopes of attaining employment. Skills will be learned, pay will be 1.5x what I made at the library. Fingers crossed on that one. Third, my classes this semester all appear to be excellent, especially the international politics class I got into through some divine providence. It looks to be one of the best classes I've ever taken, and may lead to some greater ambition for me down the road. Who knows? Aside from that, I'll be spending all of my free time reading. About China. They are coming.

Gah, what else is there to say? I found a green crayon the other night. It struck me as portentious, but then again it could just be a crayon. Like so many things in our life, I could assign abstract meaning to it, make it more than just a crayon. Someone asked me once in regard to my argument that my beliefs and emotions can be rationally explained, "Is there any rational explanation for feeling bad about kicking a puppy?". I had to think about it. I probably wouldn't have to worry about retribution at all, and it's not as if the action has greater rammifications. But why would I inflict pain on another creature? Is inflicting pain arbitrarily an absolutely negative act? Does my repulsion at someone kicking a puppy stem from the recognition of that fact? Another hypothesis I heard was that I could feel some sort of empathy with the puppy, that I only felt bad for the puppy because I know what that kind of pain feels like. There are a great deal of other tangents from this discussion that got thrown around over beer last night, and I'll probably return to them later. For now, I'm tired.

Hope everyone is well.

25th hour...but like, in a good way...kinda

So it's my last night in California for a while...and I spent more than a little of it considering how different this place seems to me now and taking stock of all the people and things I will miss. I will miss my friends, and I will miss having a big sky over my head, as that will soon be replaced with little blue scraps bordered by concrete and glass. To an extent, I will miss the irresponsibility that comes with total dependence, but I will not miss the illusion of stability and stagnation which I have come to realize for what it is. The world has continued spinning while I've been at home, and my life was not put on hold when I returned. Perhaps I could have done more with my time, but these three months meant a great deal, and I have learned and seen and done many things in that time. I think for the first time I've been emboldened by my summer experience, and rather than grasping desperately at my remaining time here I find myself eager to take the next step and return to the work I now see in a different light. Plus there's a pretty girl I'm anxious to see again, so that's going to help the transition I think.

I'm going to miss my parents. I spent a good deal of time with them this summer, and especially in Europe I felt like I was part of a family - not due in any part to the simple (but rather rare) proximity of the three total members of our nuclear family, but rather because of the experiences we were sharing, the reassurance of their familiar personalities in foreign places, and the respect for and pride in each other that we all shared. My parents are truly honorable, amazing people, and my respect for them grows daily. They shaped who I have become, but also gave me the immeasurably valuable ability to think for myself and live my own life. They gave me my life, not simply biologically but intellectually as well. They gave me the ability to think, which is rarer perhaps than one might believe.

While I've said already that I'm going to miss my friends, I think there's a place for them in my future even larger than the one they have in my past, and I'm anxious to share my life with them and have many adventures, because life's too damn short to spend being bored.

The next step begins now.

Discipline

I tend not to be a terribly organized or disciplined person, but I've found that keeping myself on a schedule and trying to minimize the amount of random shit I'm surrounded by at any given time can have a radical effect on my mindset. This kind of self discipline, especially when it comes to enforcing a strict schedule and separating time spent studying and time spent relaxing, gives me a degree of control that I usually lack, and it seems like control has become a precious commodity lately.

Serious discussion will resume soon, I promise.

New Rule

I think from here on out, I'm not going to post on days spent traveling, or at least not after traveling because I'm usually burnt out (like I am now). As supreme dictator of this blog, the motion passes.

Were I to write something, it would be a continuation of last night's rant, and about how wanting to believe something can be dangerous sometimes.

If someone else wants to write tonight's blog, feel free to comment away.

Also, I have decided that one day I will run for president. More later as that develops.

Desperate to believe

Sometimes I talk a big game.

I've reassured myself time and time again that the easiest explanation for the belief in God (aside from personal divine revelation) is that it serves as a means of coping with mortality and uncertainty. If one only believes in God, there is no need to fear death, and it seems to me that there is less of a need to agonize over the tribulations of this fleeting life because it is only a somber prelude to the glorious hereafter. Without my own divine revelation, or any other evidence in support of a belief in God, this notion that Man has invented the idea of God for his own reassurance undid my faith.

I had to start again from the ground up with a purely humanistic philosophy, and realized that not much was lost in God's absence. The earth was just as beautiful for existing by its own means, my love and affection for my friends and family was just as pure coming from my own fragile mind rather than being inspired in me by a creator, yet suddenly there was so much more fear and doubt. Without the guarantee of immortality, suddenly everything I had taken for granted was imbued with a deeply melancholy ephemerality, and there was no greater, guiding purpose to my life. It seemed to me that this long imagined creator had relinquished custody of my life and suddenly placed it into my own young and unskilled hands, and I had no idea what to do with it. For the most part, I still don't. But after a while, that stark autonomy and awareness of the fleeting nature of my life and the things around me grew to empower me. Suddenly, I became a wonder in my eyes, emerging from beneath this imagined creator to realize my own potential and revel in the beauty of every heart-wrenching moment of my life. I had the power in God's stead, or I should say I realized that humanity had always been in control of its own destiny. If not for fear of death, maybe we never needed God at all.

And this is all fine and good most days, and I've drawn strength and courage from this empowerment. But some days I find myself in my mom's hospital room listening to how lucky she was to be alive, or at the foot of my grandfather's bed as he struggles to sit up by himself but can't, and I want so desperately to believe there is something more beyond the veil. I have never wanted so much to be wrong. And I worry that some day all of my rationality and philosophy will do nothing to protect me from an inconsolable grief, and there will be nothing left of me.

I shall rule the seas

Not a whole lot went on today for the most part, but while shopping for my dad's birthday present I got conned into speaking with a Navy recruiter by my mom. Seeing as I've actually been glancing sideways at the idea of military service recently, I figured it couldn't hurt to bounce a few questions off of someone.

I decided I'd just loiter up to the office to look at some of the pamphlets and random shit they had outside and wait to see what they did. I had been standing outside the office for literally five seconds before one of several guys in uniform came out and offered me his hand. Then came the questions, standard ones first: age, birthplace, college y/n?, where's your school (Columbia? Isn't that in South Carolina?), etc. Then the fun ones that I seriously considered having fun with: got any tattoos?, are you on drugs?, ever been arrested?, are you pregnant? Anyways, after that was through, I had to get over the first real hurdle: So...what brings you here?

Finally, a good question.

I simply said I was kicking around ideas for after school and wanted to know what joining the Navy would be like and what opportunities were there. While getting in as an officer was somewhat more involved, I learned they pretty much just test the shit out of you and assign you someplace you show aptitude for. And then it hit me: I didn't have to know or want anything to get into the Navy because they would just mold me into whatever they wanted anyways. So here's the bottom line: sign up, do what you're told, do it well, get paid, get benefits forever. What a deal! If it weren't that nagging little bastard question of "to what end" to consider, I might have signed up right there. Problems solved. But I want more, I think, even if I don't know exactly what yet, and I think I need a greater purpose than the general good of the Navy and the good ol' US of A.

I'd heard enough, but I had to ask...

"So how do I become a submarine captain?"

He laughed.

Vignettes

This summer has been a story composed of vignettes.

Over the course of three months, I've woken up in 14 different places across 9 cities in 4 countries, and as a result my memory of this time is a patchwork of wildly different places and people - the familiar juxtaposed against the new and strange. Trying to remember all the places I've been and things I've done is like trying to remember all the elements of a dream I've recently awoken from.

Yesterday morning I woke up on my futon in Los Angeles, and my mom told me that I would have to drive us to Phoenix. This morning, I woke up on a couch in Phoenix, visited my dying grandfather, and spent the afternoon and early evening watching lightning strike across the horizon. Then dinner. Then more lightning. At about midnight, lightning began to strike every several seconds for an hour. I have never seen anything like it. I also saw my grandfather burst into tears at the mention of a name the significance of which is unknown to me, but even though I have never seen that before either, I prefer to remember the lightning.

I watched it for hours.

One more time...

Probably should have written something earlier, as I now have to drive to Arizona. I'll probably post tomorrow with fun details and such about this summer's final journey.

Old Faces

I've seen a lot of old faces recently, belonging to people I had not seen in years and who had for all intents and purposes ceased to be a part of my life, but who suddenly reemerged on the scene. Talking to these people evoked in me a bizarre recognition of my own growth as I recounted the events and thoughts that have come to define my present self, and then astounded me as I watched them evolve before my eyes from living figments of my memory into flesh and blood as they told me tales of their lives since we had parted. For each of these people, as the time we spent together came to a close, I felt the strange desire to tell them everything about myself...every secret and worry. I suddenly wanted to hold on to them and the fleeting time of our reunion, and every embrace was my attempt at bringing them back into my life for good.

They're good people, every one, and I'm going to try to remember how important it is to know them.

And my blog takes yet another turn for the emo. I'm gonna take a break from this wussy shit and go pound some sheet rock around an engine I'm rebuilding or something like that.

Between

When I open my eyes, I’m greeted by the breaking dawn over fields rushing by my window. Orange and red reflects off of last night’s rain, which has pooled among the various open spaces, and glints into my bleary eyes. Totally confused, I don’t know the time, or even where I am anymore. Seeking a quick answer to one of those, I reach for my phone. 6:21am. For some reason it’s burned into my mind, like when you happen to glimpse something with more reality than its surroundings, like when you encounter destiny. “Maybe the train’s about to crash, and this’ll be the time at the heading of all the newspaper articles”, I think to myself. I quickly dismiss my strange and morbid pretensions at clairvoyance and begin beating my brain into coming up with a plan, as staring blankly at my passing surroundings didn’t seem to be cutting it for some reason. Get food, I think, that’s always a good first call. Getting food leads to getting up leads to the possibility of finding something worth doing once you’re out of bed. But I’m not in a bed. I’m sitting on a train bound for Chicago, and then to Los Angeles some two days after that, but for all that I have no idea what patch of flatland nowhere is playing across my window at this moment. “I am nowhere”, I think, before noting that all flatland nowheres seem to resemble central California, though the latter may not be as flat. With a shrug at my own obtuse musings, I stride down the middle of the sleeping car (it’s the only movement one can perform down the middle of a sleeping car), moving confidently toward food.
Relishing the prospect of an anonymous meal followed by more outward staring, I move into the dining car and wait to be acknowledged. It strikes me that it is in fact the anonymity of travel that appeals to me so much - the outward smile and the nonstop inner monologue crouching just behind. Perhaps my judgment of others stems from my desire to understand everyone around me, but at the same time I would not allow anyone the same chance willingly. No, I’m here to be an enigma, the nameless traveler. I’m here to be a ronin. Oh, how fucking cool. “Orange juice, please”. I’m soon joined by a middle-aged white couple, which, though it initially displeased me (all I had planned on up until this point was a quiet meal and some staring, so dealing with people at 6:30 in the morning was a drastic and dangerous deviation from what I had originally hoped to spend my morning doing), presented my first opportunity to delve into the opinions of others and try to fit them into my own worldview, like jigsaw pieces. This one might be “people on trains talk like this: ”. They seem like nice people, even if the women seems to be rather loudly unhappy about this or that, and they seem interested in my story. I enjoy speaking to them, and we hit quite a few topics of interest. Inquisitions into my major inevitably lead to a discussion of China, and I am more than happy to have that conversation with them. Then comes, equally inevitably, the discussion of America’s economic woes, and it’s here that I begin to pay very close attention. The women, whose name I have forgotten (Susan, maybe?) is wearing a shirt that depicts an eagle swooping down, talons first, with the words “Freedom Reigns” across the top. This shirt, and the notions it represents, have obviously made more of an impression on me than her name, and will likely endure in my memory as the strongest reminder of this breakfast encounter. Back to American economic woes - she says “God help us” a few times, because we don’t make anything in this country anymore. She says, “God help us, it’s one of the few things we can count on”, and the man nods. My turn. “What do you think we should do?”. “Cut everyone loose. Cut back the government and leave everything up to American ingenuity again. It’s worked before”. The food arrives, and they bow their heads.
Minutes later, I watch Bryan, Ohio pass beside my window.

I wanna go home

I've lived in the same house my whole life. Even though I now spend most of the year living far away from that home, it has remained the single place that I inevitably return to, and I wonder if some part of me is still convinced that I'll never have to give this place up. Of course it's not just the building I return to, but every summer I also return to this illusion of permanence, content to let the "real world" slide for a couple of months because it'll still be there when I've had my fill of unreality. It's a mentality I've been living with for a very long time.

Sometime very soon now, however, this likely won't be the place I return to, and I confess I'm rather frightened by the prospect of severing this deep connection to my own past. Like I've said before, I feel very much like I've reached the disconnect between my past and my future, when my entire way of looking at life will change as much as where and how I'll be living. It's a narrow mindset that I live with, but I think I've finally gotten a glance at the hereafter, and I just wish I had the self-knowledge and drive to match the unlimited possibility I'll soon be thrust into.

Sad, sad, sad, all the time.

While grasping around for ideas for today's post, I realized that I usually listen to very melancholy music while I write. Actually, when my mood doesn't usually present a more suitable choice, I usually default to music that's on the softer, sadder side. I sincerely hope it's not because I'm some emo child that craves sympathy on some deep level...and I don't think that's the case despite the inevitably emo flavor of my next sentence. I think I listen to sad music because it draws me inward to myself, whereas upbeat music tends to make me more aware of my surroundings and what I'm doing. It's weird to think that I feel closest to my own thoughts when I'm listening to somber music, but I guess it could just be a result of my introspective personality rather than an indication that I'm a particularly melancholy person.

More later.

Limbo

Note: I've changed the blog settings so anyone can comment now...no need to be registered. Please feel free to write something in response to a post.

I feel as if I've reached some kind of turning point in my life, and now find myself standing between everything that's happened to me before this point and everything that I might do in the future. I have a couple theories regarding how this has come to pass. First, my best friend recently graduated from college and now faces a terrifyingly undefined existence in the wake of finishing school. This will be the first autumn in memory that he has not returned to school, and has nothing else to do but search for a job and try to establish some financial security and stability. In two years, it's possible that I'll be facing the same fate, and that realization brought about another - that soon the path laid out for me long ago by parents and teachers will be coming to an end, and I'll be left in sole custody of my life. Actually, it's more likely that I've had sole custody of my life for some time now, but I'd never before now really considered the freedom I have to choose. I'd taken school and grades and the necessity for achievement for granted for so long that I never looked beyond the next requirement, the next step. It's like I've been walking down the road staring at my feet and now suddenly I look up and don't know how I've gotten here, or where I am. That realization, brought about by my friend's precarious position, is part of the disconnect I feel now. Another contributing factor has to be my first trip out of the country, which the stark juxtaposition against my familiar surroundings has rendered almost dream-like in my memory. I remember being there, but those experiences seem so out of sync with my life before and since that I hardly believe it happened. However, the perspective that I gained as a result of being so far away from the familiar reinforced my awareness of the potential of my life and reminded me that there is so much in this world to do that I had never before considered doing.

Home suddenly feels much smaller, and as I wait to return to school with a new sense of purpose, I feel caught in this limbo between my whole life until now, and the vast possibilities of the future. Terrifying, wonderful possibilities.

A Wilde idea

"Life is too important to be taken seriously" - Oscar Wilde

As you know, I've been thinking a lot recently about the manner in which I should live my life - not so much about what I'm doing, but how I'm doing it. Recently it seems, I've learned the value and necessity of courage, and realized that perhaps the greatest danger to leading a fulfilling life is fear. So often it seems that fear drives people into complacency, because the routine and familiar can instill a sense of control. It's like the NIN lyric, "I believe I can see the future, as I repeat the same routine" - it's easy to tell the future if its the same thing every day. But knowing how your life is going to turn out isn't the point of being alive.

It's with that in mind that I've come to respect people who can live fearlessly and, one could even say carelessly, because they'll never have to suffer the regret of missed opportunities. I might even go so far as to say that death is a very small thing compared to a life lived in fear of really living. Better to be constantly at the mercy of life in all of its uncertainty.

I know someone who likes to burn the candle from both ends and is often the subject of concern from friends and parents, and many people would say this person is deeply troubled. While I'd probably agree with that assessment, I think I admire the fact that this person lives illogically and seems to be completely off the rails. Part of me believes that life is best lived close to death, or at least uncertainty, because taking one's life too seriously may be missing the point of being alive.

I know I'm grasping at a lot of complex ideas, and I'm sure I'll come back to all of them, but if this post has to be about one thing, it would be my admiration for courageous people, and people who understand what really matters in this life.

Ask yourself: what is there to be truly afraid of in your life? When is fear healthy?

More later,

Bryan

How tragic.

A quick and dirty entry, due to an impending party:

We build our lives, at least to an extent, around various people whose lives intertwine with ours for a given amount of time. Friends, lovers, colleagues, but especially friends. At times it seems we can trust them with things that we keep secret even from our own family, and the fact that they don't actually share any blood relation to us can give us a welcome perspective on our lives. But maybe their lives are never truly bound to ours, as is the case with family. Not having a large family myself, I've always relied on my friends to pick up the slack and I've never been disappointed. I have amazing friends. However, they all have their own lives to lead, and if those lives and their choices lead them in another direction from my own, what am I supposed to feel? How much can I do to keep them close to me, without, through my actions, destroying what made us friends in the first place. To be blunt, should anyone really have to work to sustain a friendship? Or is it better to wish them well on their journey and let them drift away from you?

Honestly, I don't know the answer, but at this point in my life I really wish I did. I fear that as I change, I may be growing out of friendships I've had for many years. I think to myself, "how tragic", but it's no tragedy to have had a meaningful friendship. It's tragic to expect it to last forever, and be disappointed by reality. I suppose, in a sense, they will always be your friend, but maybe (and I hate this word), after a while they're doomed to become an acquaintance. Maybe the trick is to recognize the desire for possession associated with friendship and overcome it. The friendship was what it was, and maybe trying to prolong it is just a selfish desire to avoid pain, or reluctance to relinquish someone who is "yours".

Maybe I'm trying to talk myself into something.

Bryan

Who's to say?

So, my day began with a phone call from my mom, saying she had to be hospitalized because of the multiple pulmonary embolisms in her lungs that had probably developed as a result of a blood clot in her calf. It seemed she was out of danger now, but it was apparently only by chance that these embolisms (which I have learned since then are blood clots that travel throughout the body) did not lodge in her heart and cause a heart attack, or become lodged in a critical area of her lungs and kill her. But because they didn't, the only treatment required is a simple administration of blood thinners, in large amounts at first via IV, and then later in pill form. Whew.

It's not a fun exercise to contemplate your parent's death, but every once in a while it seems that you aren't given a choice, which brings me to my point.

When I think about death (and I really try not to, as a rule), I tend to ask myself what would make someone content enough with their life to accept their death. Many people have said that you can't separate death from life, but the opposite appears to be true - death must be evaluated with respect to the life that preceded it. So, the big question: what makes a good/happy/successful/fulfilling life?

Money.

Make lots of money.

Just kidding. Wouldn't that be awesome though? Anyways, I definitely don't have an answer yet, only some thoughts and guesses.

Off the top of my head, I'm going to say there are two schools of thought on what makes a meaningful life: the journey people, and the destination people. The first group, as you may already have guessed, think a good life is found in the act of living, in the way a person chooses to deal with the realities of their experience. The second group choose a goal for their lives, and their satisfaction with their lives at any given moment corresponds with their success in pursuing this goal. I know I'm painting in broad strokes here, but I'm trying to distill some fundamental ideas about how people look at their lives.

Back to my mom for a second. I have to wonder what she thinks of her life at this point. Sometimes I envy the perspective she has on life, having lived a great deal more of it than I have. She's told me before that children are at a disadvantage because they often don't know the whole story of how their parents came to be the people they are today, and that sometimes it keeps the children from realizing the humanity that they share with their parents, that their parents also often flailed around for years and years until they finally fell into circumstances conducive to a more stable life. I think if I truly believed that, maybe I wouldn't worry so much about my future. But then I have to ask if she's lived the life she wanted, and if, faced with the end, she would be content. To use a tired metaphor, we stand at opposite ends of a gulf, one looking forward and the other looking back.

If I had to choose, I'd say I fall into the journey school of thought. I can't think of any great ambition for my life, or what I want to get from the world. I'm looking for a point of view from which to confront every day, but I lack the goals of the destination people that help them stay oriented on their path. I'm sure I'll go into some of this stuff in greater detail later, and I'll definitely have to flesh out this whole "meaning of life business" (could I have picked a broader first topic? Seriously.). For now I think I'll try to learn as many skills as possible, and try my hand at traveling. Perhaps with more experience, I'll find my path out there somewhere.

One final thought. The greatest virtue of the traveler is courage, and his greatest enemy is comfort, because comfort is what makes the traveler cease to be a traveler.

This'll have to do for a first effort. More later

Bryan

The First Step

Ok, so why am I writing a blog?

Maybe a better question would be: why am I writing a blog NOW?

I suppose my first response would be that I need to remember how to write, or more precisely how to communicate ideas. At various times in the past I've endeavored to write on a consistent basis and get my ideas down on paper or in a file somewhere, with the knowledge that no one would ever read them but me. Looking back, it was a useful and rewarding exercise, even at the moment of writing my reflections, because it helped me to get some handle on the things I was feeling and the thoughts that had passed through my mind during the day. I guess by creating a forum for explaining my ideas, I forced myself to first understand them, and since I fell off writing those nightly reflections, I find myself less capable of explaining or understanding my emotions. It seems odd that an external exercise might help one understand their own feelings, but I think that may actually be the case with me, and taking up this project again will represent a resumption of that self-examination that I found so valuable. Admittedly, those reflections were extremely personal (and often very badly written), so I'm not sure yet how much will be shared in this blog, but at any rate I feel like I can trace this newest endeavor back to those scribbled musings.
However, I feel like my purpose in starting this new project has several new dimensions that demand a public setting. I had one of the ideas that contributed to the creation of this blog in conjunction with another friend's blog, which had grown to the point where she was looking for other contributing writers to supply stories and essays and such. I thought briefly about joining the staff, and about the kind of ideas that I could write about. It was then that I considered writing several essays concerning my own thoughts/beliefs about religion, relationships, travel, and how one is supposed to live their life, all of which have undergone serious reconsideration over the past year. I had wanted to write about a few of these subjects for a while, if for no other reason than to get my ideas on a page and in some kind of understandable organization so I could examine them in their entirety instead of picking at them one by one as I usually do when talking with people. Hopefully I'll follow through on this, and some of the entries before I return to school will be in the form of these essays. This brings me to another reason for this blog, which is to serve as a forum where my ideas can be discussed, challenged, and improved upon.

Lastly, I hope for this blog to keep me honest and driven, since I plan to share my plans and ambitions here, and with any luck my sharing them with all of you will help me to follow through with them. It'll also motivate me to get out of my dorm room and find interesting material for this joint.

As for the title of the blog, "Going Outside", I thought it was a succinct way of saying that I want to find a way out of the comfortable and familiar that seems to consistently obscure the tremendous potential that my life (and every person's life) has, which I'm beginning to become aware of more and more. Yes, I hear you say. Very arty.

Alright, enough preluding. What to expect from this blog:
- Reflections on things happening in my life
- Rants about world events
- Any kind of formal writing I undertake, for whatever reason
- Whatever shit I think up later

As for updates...I think I may try for daily until school begins, then it'll probably be more like weekly. Say, every Friday.

Thanks for reading, tell/warn your friends if you find something worth sharing.

Bryan