Samadhi

After moving this conversation to my blog, I feel the need to recap the past couple years since my last post here. At this time, I have too much to say about other topics that I feel more necessarily require addressing at this point, so I'll probably recap the past at a future date.

However, until then, here's a brief recap: so much weed, prozac sucks, wellbutrin's a life saver (literally), narcolepsy, two years at Big Boy, three years at LCC, racism, sex, magic mushrooms, meditation, mediation, remediation, rehabilitation, so much love, so much loss. Coping, acceptance, and peace.

I'll touch on those last three here.

The last week has been full of oddly inexplicable bouts of uncontrollable laughter. This Samadhi has gotten me more than a few strange looks at work; but largely, when people see the impregnable smile, radiating compassionate acceptance, nurturing confidence, and an indomitably jovial spirit, they cannot help but smile right back.

The most astounding shift in the past week has been almost what I would classify as a relaxation of expectations -- or possibly even an elimination of expectations. It all began with an essay I wrote for my philosophy class, which proposed the idea that "truth" could only be applied in the first person, in present tense. I think the pragmatics would say this is the truth "making itself true," or something like that. Personally, I wouldn't refer to the truth making itself. Not because it wouldn't work, but because it sounds odd. Picturing the truth doing any sort of thing doesn't ring true for me.  The truth is just happening. It just is, and then it isn't -- but it always will be, and always is, really.

And while that doesn't really seem like it would have a real sort of implication on my life, it's totally reshaped how I view... everything. I don't believe that anything must follow another -- every observation is a pattern, and learning that pattern is a reifying structure designed to reinforce patterns (the human mind). This is how we learn, and it is incredibly affective; however, what we learn is not necessarily as effective.

By recognizing this, watching the pattern it followed, and following them to the core of my "self," I've realized that this is not the core of my being. I am not who I am. I do not believe what I believe. I act. I pretend. I guess. I play. And that is all.

Mull that over for a minute and tell me what you don't think.

Just kidding. Keep reading and I'll tell you why I don't think: I do not have to presume what another person is thinking before expressing what I think. I consider what I understand their position to be, of course, but I recognize that my understanding is necessarily only as deep as my own understanding; therefore, any understanding that I have of what their position might be is as valuable as what I considered "my position" on a topic is -- or at least was, considering my previous understanding of any issue or occurrence that could be disagreed upon by seemingly opposing "positions." And, as everybody is just like me, whether they realize it or not, their understanding of "my position," too, is only as deep as their own understanding of the total "issue" at hand. Or, er, at conversation, depending on whether the circumstances ask for hands or tongues (or both, tehe). But seriously, dispute me on this. I'm interested to hear your opinion.

That was a bit of an overly complicated idea, which most likely came about by my new understanding of context, implied context, and what I have tentatively decided on calling "semiotically implying context." In that implied context, I took great measures to whittle apart a really abstract idea into something formatively valid. As I have yet to do with my idea of formative valitivity. It's a thing, though....

Kind of.

I don't know, that's the cognitive side of it. That's been incredibly profound and interesting, but I think the true profundity can only be seen in the radical emotional shift that pulled the ground out from under my feet. Well, truly, the shift was much more of a phenomenological shift than a cognitive or emotional shift, so it was the implications of the experiential, phenomenological shift that affected my emotional and cognitive cognition (that was an odd construct -- but I digress.)

It was like, before the shift I was trying to inject some impossible amount of happiness into my life to overcome this unbelievably huge emotional blockage, stagnating as crippling depression. What I realized was that I was looking at the problem wrong. The depression wasn't already there -- I had to choose for it to be there before I chose to combat it with happiness -- so I could combat it with happiness.

I realized I was processing everything backwards emotionally. It's very strange. I think has to due with how I learned to handle emotions: particularly those like fear, anger, and sadness. Rather than recognizing these as learned reactions to shifts in consciousness (the "consciousness of," which I have referred to previously) caused by experiences, I have variously processed them as "inescapable consequences of a life that's too hard to live" or "nonexistent" (repress, repress, repress). Turns out, that method of thinking has some pretty shitty consequences, hahaha.

When I turned to my heart, though, it spoke differently. Care comes first. The message was fairly loud, happened around last Sunday (May 12, 2013), and has resonated through my every thought and action since. From here, my anxieties have bloomed into genuine concern for myself and others in the future tense, my anger into the same in present, and sadness the same in the past. These used to be are unnecessary attachments that took up emotional space, sitting there, clouding up clear processing and Samadhi. But now... now they are why I breathe, why my heart beats, why I choose to live this life. Why I choose to care.

I hear this is the sort of shift that comes to a Bodhisattva, but I haven't sat in a week or two. My practice is awful, really -- but I try to stay present.

I don't think I've reached nirvana quite yet, but I can feel a phoenix rising:

My heart swells and crashes like the ocean surf, bringing with it love and rebirth.

With Love and Peace,
~Lee

Observations of Life

Specifically today, I'm going to be talking about observations I've made in my life recently, observations that have started an alarming shift in both my entire cognitive process, and by extension, my personality, work ethic, and goals.

 Anybody who knows me is probably painstakingly aware that for the majority of my life, I have lived with depressed and anxiety problems that have affected me to a much greater extent than I have seen these problems affect others.  On top of that, I've always been against medicating myself for these issues, for I feel that chemically altering my mood would create an ingenuine representation of my personality, thoughts, and opinions.  I have relied upon natural supplements at times to curb the worst of the problems, but all in all, I've just sat around feeling depressed.

I don't recommend doing this, by the way.


My sophomore year of high school, I started seriously considering the rudementary existentialist questions:  What is the point of life?  How should I live it?  What's so great about life anyway?  Etc.  I had, of course, considered these questions before, but never before in such a serious manner.  In previous years my answer was something more of "I don't need a reason, so I'm just going to have fun," but that answer became less and less satisfying as I matured, until my dissatisfaction with life peaked my senior year.

Upon entering my first year at LCC, I felt as though I had failed myself. Lansing Community College is pretty much a haven for dead-beats and dropouts who have been forced to reconsider their lackidaisical lifestyles due to the looming economic crysis, and considering how much effort and stress I placed on my academics all through middle and high school, LCC was about the last place I wanted to end up.  Ever.

And let me tell you, when you suffer from depression, dissappointment is a killer.

However, by an odd twist of circumstance, LCC lead me to my passion for philosophy, which in itself brought me some peace of mind -- for my life-plan was the center of my concern my senior year -- and by another odd twist of circumstance, I met a man named Josh Routhier who helped me realize that I'd been approaching my problems from entirely the wrong angle.  For anyone who doesn't know, Josh is a Zen Buddhist, and though I didn't consider our first few confrontations the pleasantest, I slowly grew to esteem and respect his wisdom and compassion as much as my narcissistic tendencies would allow.

Through our various dialogs, Josh introduced me to a process of self-examination I honestly believe is essential for the healthy functioning of any creature with self-reflexive awareness.  Through meditation and self-study, I've begun identifying and hopefully correcting many of the misconceptions that had lead me astray through my life in the first place.  Of course, the answers to the existential questions that had been burning into my consciousness have continued to elude me; but while exploring these new questions of consciousness, I think I've come a little closer to answering them.  Of course, the answers aren't even close to my original expectations;  however, I think that the answers I'm coming to are much more fulfilling than those I was originally seeking anyway.

Within the past month, I've become increasingly engaged in self-studying and both passive and active meditation, and I've come to a couple rudimentary conclusions:

• First, life (in a philosophical definition -- not a biologists') and consciousness are one in the same.  Life is defined by the existence of consciousness, on whatever level it might exist;  lack of life is the lack of consciousness.
• Consciousness is the combination of an innate awareness, which is ever present, and an active decisiveness, which fades in and out of awareness.

Of course, these conclusions are, as I said, rudimentary, and I'll probably add and subtract from them later;  however, for now, I think that's a good explanation.  I will probably continue to build upon these ideas in the future, but for now, I need to finish some homework.

Shades of Fiction

I speak a world in black and white.
It's how I communicate.

But it's not how I see.
See, I see a world of gray.
But there are no words for gray.

So I stick to my blacks and whites,
Despite my growth into gray,
And hope the world understands
What I understand
And What I speak,
But I doubt.

The world, I think, still sees in black and white.

And I pity them.
Yes, I pity them.

It rained again today,
Like yesterday.
Not that you would care --
I'm sure you have much more important things to think about --
But apparently, I don't.
I've been staring out the window
Since the rain started
Last week.

There's something entrancing about the steady downpour,
How it gathers into pools on the earth,
Which continuously grow and overflow,
And which never seem to absorb
Into the soggy ground
Or evaporate into the cold, damp air.
It's like the tears that flowed from her eyes,
How they gathered into pools on my arms.
I felt the warm liquid growing and overflowing
As I stared into the rain.

The tears stopped.
They're poisonous, you see,
And she knows this, so she stopped them.
Held the poison inside herself,
For me.

But the rain never stops.
It continues, despite my most earnest wishes,
Despite my pleadings,
Despite my prayers.
It continues,
Gathering in pools, which grow and overflow,
And never seem to absorb or evaporate
Because the ground is soggy
And the air is cold and damp.
I think that's why, at least --
Not that it matters.
I stopped caring why long ago;
Now, I just watch the rain.

I can hardly even remember when it started.
Was it really last week?
I don't think so --
It doesn't feel like it.
I... I can't remember the sun.
I can't remember its warmth
Or its color.
Did it smell?
No, I don't think so.
I can't remember where it was
Or who made it.
Was it God?
No, I don't think so.

And so I stare out the window,
Watching,
Wishing the rain would stop,
But it will never stop.
The poison, pouring, from the clouds,
And into my heart.

I hate the rain.

A soldier without a name.

In the throes of war, a soldier can't stop to let his emotions settle and sift through his story to find the facts.  He wades through waist-deep pools of politics and perjury, surrounded by the fog of fatigue and fear, and when the bullets and bombs appear out of the blanketed haze he shoots and runs and hides and prays that he'll make it out of this battle and see his family again and before he takes a breath it's over.

And his friend is dead at his feet.

We Never Saw the Rainbow

When our generation was born,
We were given a box of crayons
And sternly instructed
To create any picture
We could imagine.

So we opened the box
To gaze at its glorious colors,
But when we peered inside
The crayons were almost gone.
Broken, worn, discarded, and destroyed,
They spoke nothing to our artists' hearts
But death.

Commanded by our fathers,
Enchained by their legacies,
We gathered the fragmented pieces,
Brought together our hands,
And wrote a note:

It told the end of our lives.

The fragile and fragmented pieces
Cramped and collapsed
Under weight of
Our heavy hearts and hands,
Which slowly succumbed to
Disease and decay --
As we watched our colors diminish
And die.

But we pressed on.

Starving, sweating, and crying,
We wrote until our end was written,
And collapsed
On bloody hands and broken knees.
And we cried to God --
That his next child might heed
Our epitaph.

I Don't Care About This Post

Sometimes I wonder if I should care about things like the Michigan/Michigan State game.  Then I wonder why I'm wondering in the first place.  I wonder if, truly, all actions are the products of society, or if an independent "self" (as the existentialists call it.  The religious folks call it a "soul," and the scientists, I think, call it a "cognitive thought process") rules our thoughts.

Maybe it's a combination of both.  That's what I've always thought.  But if it is truly a combination of both, where can we draw the line?  How do we establish where we are individual and where we are a product of social forces?  And how permanent is the "self"?  How easily malleable is a "soul"?

I guess these questions all depend on circumstances, but I hate to leave an answer so vague.

Perhaps a person is first created as a "confluence of forces," as the post-modernists have told us.  We act like our parents until we realize they're losers (but only because our peers tell us they are), so we rebel until we realize they were right all along.  But then, how do we realize that, if everyone is pressuring us in different directions?  And how to people break free of the terrible torments of a parent's abuse?

Perhaps, in times of inner turmoil, we begin to question our sense of "self," our sense of identity.  Perhaps we are most vulnerable (Is vulnerable the right word for change?  Certainly vulnerable carries a negative connotation, and surely most growth of personality is positive) to change when we feel most vulnerable about who we are.

But still, this explanation doesn't cover every circumstance.  People are indefinitely changing, even when they don't feel vulnerable.


But I guess assuming "all or nothing" would be ignorant anyway.  I am not a politician.  Perhaps a "ramp" or exponential growth curve maps the relationship of personal vulnerability and malleability.  Perhaps the change of "self" can be predicted given the right data and equations.  Perhaps life is a scientifically solvable problem (not that life is a problem).

But I don't like to think that.  I like to think something a little more substantial than mathematics maps out human existence.

But perhaps that comes in with how we start questioning our beliefs.

I Must Seem Like a Terrible Person

Sometimes I wonder how other people perceive me.  Most of the time, shortly after wondering, I think to my self, Fuck their opinions.  I don't give a shit.

But on those rare occasions I do give a shit, I ponder how other people see me, and I try to look at myself from a neutral perspective, judging as an outsider might, inferring from words I speak or write, and here's what I've concluded:

I must seem like a terrible person.

For example, if I didn't know me, I might look at a few of my past Facebook statuses to get a feel of what type of person I am.  Here they are in chronological order, going backwards:

1. "People of Facebook, stop liking things.  I really, really don't give a shit."
2.  "When I have children, I will name them Juggernaut, Alphons, and Death.  No wife of mine shall bear female offspring."
3. "Yes, being part of the Aryan* race is a requirement for dating me."
4. "Why do we love?"
5. And finally, "Fuck. This. Weekend.  FUCK!!!"

The last guy is only bad because I received a response from my aunt saying to tone down the language because her kids might read what I posted, and I only wanted to respond, "Fuck you."  I didn't, but I wanted to.

Well I'm here to tell you all today a secret.  It's a secret I've been keeping for a long time and one I never thought I'd tell while I was still alive.

I am not a bad person.  I'm mean.  I'm cruel.  I'm brutal.  But I always try to do the right thing, no matter how hard it might be.

Shouting a Nuance

I am Jack's crumpling sense of moral integrity.  I am submitting my opinions and ideas on the flaws of our society's social constructs into a 300 words or less column in a media form that only exists to appease the masses.

I disagree with my decision, but I'm following through with it anyway.

Look for my column, "Shouting a Nuance," in The Lookout, LCC's newspaper.  If you don't get The Lookout in your area, I'm going to post the columns on my blog anyway, regardless of legal troubles that may ensue.

Hopefully I'll find the motivation to start writing here more frequently too.

Heaven.

What if every change was a good one?
What if every choice changed the world?
And if every smile was full of laughter?
Would we ever let our lips uncurl?

What if every word saved a life?
And every verse, a thousand more?
What if every road led to love and peace?
Could we ever wish for more?

Poetry: The Passage of Time.

There are so many things I want to show you
Before my life is done;
So many words to tell you
But the days still swiftly come.

I want to give you to my heart
And everything on my mind
I want to pour out my thoughts
And watch, with you, the world go by.

But the historians are chronicling more quickly every day
And the facets of my thoughts are vanishing into the haze
I can't remember
I can hardly speak
My eyes are drying
Knees cracking weak.

I can't stop the world from spinning
I need to meet the next deadline
I need to rush, despair and panic
No, I can't spare you a dime.

But now, I feel, the world is spinning
And I can't even see your face
Because I'm too busy running about
To even stop and notice the place

I can't remember who I was.
I don't know who I've become
Because in the throes of life,
I've lost to what I once clung

But if I stopped, would you still love me?
Would you even know who I am?
If I stopped and saw the mirror
I don't think I'd like that man.

But I will try.

What was I thinking?
What did I feel?
If I can't see without you,
How can I know what's real?

If I can't see what really matters
If I can't touch or hold or feel
Then whatever doesn't bother
Is what's really real
And whatever I have worked for
That I've been "earning" all my life
Is just another object
That doesn't have life.

The world is weak
And life is bleak
For without love the point is naught.
And continued striving
And corporate climbing
Gains nothing that was saught.

So I'll take the time to tell you
I'll sit you down and speak
We'll stop and watch the world pass by
This promise, finally, I'll keep.

Lee's Blog: Organization.

I think I finally just figured out how I'm going to organize my blogs:
One blog.

Yes, that is what I'm doing now.  But!  Here's the secret to my new organization scheme:  It's all in the titles.

That's right.  My new blogs are going to be organized into categories based on their titles, so stuff that's just general Lee's Blog will be classified as "Lee's Blog:"  followed by whatever I feel like titling the entry.

But say I want to post something deep, I'll put it under the category of "Deep Thought:" or if I want to post something funny, I'll put it under "I pulled this out of the black hole in my closet:"

Or something to that effect.  What do you (the readers) think of this scheme?  Simple.  Organized.  Unified.

Or would you (the readers) prefer a more dispersed scheme?

A New Kind of Goal.

I have yet to create my second or third blogs, but it is decided that I most likely will.

However, this post would have been on this blog anyway.

I decided today as I was driving to Meijer to pick up some tennis balls for my drier that I'm adding a Kindof Goal to my list.  I am quitting social networking sites.

*Horrified Gasp*

But why Lee?  Why would you commit such a terrible, self-depriving act?  Why would you torment yourself so cruelly, so barbarously?

Because social networking sites suck.

For hours on end, I will sit in front of the computer screen attempting to find a way to entertain myself using social networking sites.  Why do I do this?  Because they exist, and they're supposed to be entertaining.  They're supposed to occupy people's time and people are supposed to enjoy that, but I never have.  I hate them.  They bore the fuck out of me.  If anyone pays attention to my social networking status updates, they'll know that I've posted at least three or four of them explaining how myspace/facebook has utterly failed in entertaining me, and does this daily.

But somehow, even with my intense hatred for them, I manage to lose my life to them, so I'm quitting all together.

See, a lot of times I'll be running through the Internet, trying to think of fun, Internet related things to do, because I know that I used to enjoy doing them, but whenever I'm on the computer, I'll have mybook or facespace open and numbly slide back to them, stare at the screen for a bit, and then shut down my brain entirely from boredom.  I cease even attempting to rid myself of boredom because of social networking sites -- I don't know why, don't ask me that, but I do, so I'm done with them.

I know the Internet can be fun.  It always used to be before I spent all of my time on myfacespacebook, and I am pledging the remainder of my life to rediscovering that fun.

I'm not tossing out twitter, though, because that can be useful, and I may comment a few status updates or something on the facemybookspace every once in a while.  This is just more of a "get rid of the terribleness of those sites from my life" goal.  Not a "destroy the good along with it" goal.

The Split.

Alright, so I just had this idea.  Now, I'm going to warn you, there is a chance the demon who lives in my closet may be fully responsible for it (implanting it via brain wave manipulation through sonic devices, I don't know, he's done it before, that's why I don't own ferrets anymore).  Here's the idea:

I'm going to set up three separate blogs.  The first blog will be Lee's Blog as you know it, nothing changed (except this post, which will be moved to my third blog).  It will contain my general philosophical ramblings that I've been posting here for a while.

My second blog will be a new Lee's Blog.  It will NOT contain "heavy" subject matter in the slightest.  It will basically be different stuff about my life, and will contain material like my Kind of Goals, weekend plans, random invention ideas and the like.

My third blog will be an entirely new creation.  Something you've never seen before!  Unless, that is, you've read around cracked.com a bit or explored other similar sites.  Basically, it's going to be just plain funny, stupid articles about stuff like, "How to Kidnap the President's Daughters," "What if Logan Actually Did Rob That Bank?" and, you can't forget, "I am Man."  Alright, so I guess it's not completely new, but it's radically different from what I usually post on here.

Please, tell me what you think:

Is the demon in my closet right?  Should I split up my blogs into three?
Should I do those three ideas, but keep them all on the same page?
Should I just scrap the whole idea and continue doing what I'm doing?
Or do you have another revolutionary idea that will make me literally billions of dollars?
Oh, and just because I feel it necessary to ask:  Do you guys think my normal posts are a bit long-winded?  I feel like they usually are, and I might try to cut them down -- but probably not, because that would take effort.

Change.

It's something I think about a lot in my life.  It's something that's constantly happening and constantly affecting us.  Changing knowledge, changing views, changing friends, changing loves, changing times.  One change I've had in the past two weeks was that I learned the difference between affect and effect.

Nothing is constant.  And, personally, I would never want it to be anyway.  I want to be a person who can live his entire life believing one belief stronger than any other belief he believes, but if tomorrow I hear the truth is completely contrary to what I've believed, I want to believe just as strongly in that belief and love it just as much as I loved my old belief, without regret or disconcertion.

One of my current beliefs, and one that I don't see changing for the rest of my life is this (as stated by Ralph Waldo Emerson), "Today speaks what today thinks in hard words, and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict everything you said today," for it is far greater a sin to never stand up for your beliefs than it is to one day change them.

I don't think a lot of people believe this.  I think a lot of people see change as the greatest human sin, but that's so far from the truth.  A change of beliefs doesn't change who a person is.

Or at least that's what I've always thought.  But then again, I've always wondered, What are we if not our beliefs?  I've always defined a human being as what he or she believes in.  It separates us from animals that cannot feel or believe.  It separates us fundamentally as people, but it leaves so much unexplained.  It serves its purpose as a temporary answer to the question, but it could never hold as a true solution.

One of my beliefs that I'm trying to change is that I need to be the best.  That's not true.  It's strange, almost wretched, how adding three words to a belief can be so hard:  I need to be the best I can be.  The first statement brings me to my best by feeding my ego and believing that I am and can be greater than anyone else, and while that fact is true, anybody can be better than everybody if they try hard enough--that is a fact.  It's not me that is greater than everyone, it is the human potential.  The second statement allows me to accomplish the full human potential without having to compete against anyone else.  I don't need to be better than anyone;  in fact, helping others will help me achieve my own potential.  Not that that would ever motivate me to help people, haha.

Because even though that's not going to change anything on the outside of me, it's going to change who I am.  I don't want to continue with some massive ego, thinking that I'm the greatest person in the world.  I'm not the greatest person in the world.  I am the greatest Lee Rumler in the world, and that's all I need to be.  That's all I want to be.

I want to be me.

And I want me to be happy, which is another change of beliefs that has actually lead me to be pretty stressed lately.  I always thought I'd be happy with my plans of computer engineering, but now I really don't know;  I think I want to be a writer, but I don't want to give up my dreams.

I haven't figured it out yet, but I will.  It'll take some time and maybe some self-discovery, but I'll get there sometime.

Change.

I realized today that I've changed over the years.  I have changed so much.  And every day I love who I become a little more, because that is the nature of change.

Maybe...  maybe who a person is...  isn't who a person is.  It's not how a person looks or what a person says or believes.  A person is who they are becoming.  Constantly.  A person is the person they are constantly changing into.

I revised one of my beliefs today.

I always used to believe I didn't care what anyone thought.  A few years ago, I decided that probably wasn't true, so I changed it to, "I don't care what you think about me," which worked for a time, but it still left me with a somewhat empty feeling.  So about a year or more ago, I changed it to, "I don't care what you think, but I care what you feel."

That still wasn't right.  It left something to be desired, like I wasn't quite saying what I meant to.  Today, I think I finally figured it out, at least, until the next time it changes.

"I care what you think.  Please tell me."

I am invincible.  Words and insults don't hurt me.  But that's not important.  Not for you.  What matters is that I help as many people as need it, and I can only do that by listening.

Change.

How have you changed?

Comment it;  blog about it;  vlog about it;  just think about it -- it doesn't matter.

What We Got

I hate hurting people. Out of every single concept I hate, hurting people is the greatest. Whether it be my hatred toward people who hurt people or my own hatred for hurting people, I hate it. Beyond belief.

But sometimes hurting people is necessary -- and I'm not talking about that "she/he deserved it" shit, that's fuckin' stupid -- no one, I don't give a shit how fuckin' terrible they treat anyone else, deserves to be hurt -- I'm talking about the times when you have to say something to help someone, but you know it's going to hurt them. I hate it. Even with the best intentions, your words are going to be taken in the worst way possible, and I hate it.

Did I mention I hate it?

I did that today. Once. The other time I was just being a sick, twisted person, which makes it even worse. I didn't need to hurt Taylor, I just did it because I was mad, and I'm sorry about that -- I'm trying to fix that; I don't want to strike out in anger anymore. Ever.

I had to hurt Logan today, though, and, unfortunately, I think that's going to be the first in a series of wounds, and I deeply regret every one I'm going to be forced to cut.

But that's life, I guess. You're gonna have to do shit you don't want to do, but you have to, and there's nothing you can do to stop it, so you might as well just roll with it and do the best you can.

Some people say "Shit happens." I don't know how I like that phrase. I guess it's true, but it's kind of pessimistic. I mean, it basically says, "Bad stuff is going to happen to you, so deal with it." I have another phrase I like to say, and I think it's a bit more optimistic:

Life happens. Sometimes life happens good; sometimes life happens bad, but life happens, and you're never gonna stop it. I figure as long as you're still kicking, you're probably winning, and the best you can ever do is hold onto what you have, whatever's important to you. Whether it's your friends, your family, or just your ideals pulling you through: whatever it is, it's probably good enough to live for, and trying to find anything else bigger or more important is just gonna end with you staring at the sky wondering.

I'd rather be happy than informed any day, and if someday some guy figures out the meaning of life when I'm sitting around, chilling with my friends in our apartment, living it up, I can go without knowing until we're done, and, hell, if the only way I can learn is if I leave my friends at that very second and listen to him explain it, I'd pass.

Because my friends are what I got, and I wouldn't give them up for anything. Not certainty of God, not the meaning of life, not endless talent, money, or women. Nothing.

And I'm not saying my friends are all I got. I got a bunch of great stuff, like my family, my ideals, my brains, my ideas, everything, and they're all what I live for.

See, the problem comes when life happens bad, and those things you love are taken away from you, but I figure when that happens you only have one option: grab onto whatever you can take with you and run like hell, and if you can't do that, and you're left with nothin', you've always got yourself and a whole slew of memories and experiences to help you find something new.

Not that that'll happen, most likely, because life's usually good enough, and even when it isn't, you can pretty much deal with it and keep what you have easily enough.

I guess this is just to everyone who's been dealing with a lot lately, because I know most of us have and probably will continue for a while at least. No matter how much we lose, we usually still have something somewhere we just haven't looked.

And if you look everywhere and still can't find shit, you can always join the circus.

I hear the touring's great this time of year.

A Writer's Heart

Partly because I didn't want that depressing post being my first anymore, partly because it's one of my Kind of Goals to write more (blogs, journals, essays, books, etc.), partly because I'm procrastinating, and partly because I'm just inspired, today is another day to update the blog.

Certain people have been harassing me about not updating my blog constantly, as they seem to enjoy, so I will respond to their comments in brief now:

Firstly, fuck off -- I do what I want.

Secondly, I prefer to not update my blog unless I have something fairly significant to say. I despise pointless writing almost as much as I despise complaining, and I refuse to produce it myself unless under gunpoint, which hasn't happened as of late. The next time it does, though, you can feel assured that there will be a flood of meaningless dribble cascading its way onto the Internet. Until then, I shall stand firm.

That is not to say that I necessarily dislike people who write without purpose. While it may be true that I don't quite appreciate their efforts, no one should, by any means, assume that I dislike their efforts, because any writing, no matter how inconsequential, is a subtle portal into the writer's thoughts and feelings; therefore, it holds significance.

I suppose I just contradicted myself, now didn't I?

Well, whatever -- you know what I mean, and that's really the whole purpose of writing, isn't it?

I mean, of course grammar and punctuation and spelling and creativity and eloquence are nice, and all are important in their own way, but the purpose, the real purpose of writing, is to communicate what you mean. And I just love that. So much work, so much dedication and time can be put into one piece of writing only a few sentences long all to instill within you the precise message the author is attempting to impart.

Which I suppose takes me in a circle back to why the hell do people write meaningless dribble? Not that I'm saying the people who have been harassing me are writing meaningless dribble -- they just have a lot more to say than I do, but I have seen people whose entire lives are completely based off nothing. They have no motivations behind their actions, no drives which pull them through the day, nothing. I can't comprehend how they function, really.

But I already said I was leaving that topic, and I am.

I have realized that I want to be a writer. I love language: writing, singing, speaking, poetry, books, everything (except newspapers), I love language, and I think... that it has become my passion.

I think I've realized that I don't love computers as much as I thought I did. Don't get me wrong, I still love computers, but I don't think I value the connections between circuits as much as I value the connections between people. I don't think I love math or science close to as much as I love English, and I think that I'm going to change my life plans.

I want to be an author.

I want to write books, screenplays, blogs, everything. I love writing, and I want to live off it, but I don't think I can. It's almost impossible to live as an author, because unless, by some stroke of luck, I become famous, I will have zero dollars in the bank account 23/7 (that was not a typo), and unfortunately, I want to eat and maybe even start a family someday.

I don't want to be an author because there is almost no way I can make it, and I am not, and never will be, egotistical enough to believe I can in a world full of the amazing creators we have.

But yet, it is what I need. It's what I long for.

I have a writer's heart. Creativity is my mother and structure, my father; logic, my brother and care, my sister. God placed freedom in my soul and gave me his will to create and share, and all I want is to serve him.

Yet I'm blinded by dark clouds in my future.

It's very upsetting, you see?

But I'll figure it out. I think I'll attempt to go to MSU instead of Kettering. More opportunities in my passions, you see. So unless Princeton, Stanford, or MIT accepts me, I'm set for future plans.

But now I have a question for all you thinkers and writers:

What is your heart made of? Who do you want to be? I look forward to reading responses.

And for everyone who doesn't have a blog and wants to comment, don't worry! You don't need one! Just create a google account (or use the one you already have, you tech-savvy genius) --it's easy, free, and doesn't send you shitloads of spam-- and comment away.

This Is Fear.

Imagine a 200,000 pound press. In case you don't know what that is, imagine a giant robot that can exert 200,000 pounds of force with little difficulty. Now imagine that robot bringing down a brushed steel hammer two feet in diameter down on your heart.

That's pretty close to how I'm feeling right about now.

Why?

Because I realized today exactly how much shit I have to get done within the year, and I don't think I can make it.

On top of that, one of my greatest dreams was shattered when I found out I got a B+ in choir, and because of that, I don't think it will even be possible for me to get into Princeton, Stanford, or MIT. I'm afraid for my life because everything I thought I wanted to do I don't want to do any more. Everything I thought I could count on, I can't count on any more. I'm scared to death of my future, and I don't want to go on with it.

I never thought that I would be afraid, because I've never feared the unknown. Everyone is always talking about how they're so afraid of "leaving behind everything they've ever known," but that never bothered me. I love learning new concepts, I love figuring out the unknown, but what I never realized was that there's something you leave behind nobody ever mentions.

And that's what I love.

My friends, my family, my teachers, my classmates, my home. I love them. I don't hold some ridiculous fear for some imaginary power that will crush me in the future; I just don't want to let go of what I love, because that's all here, in Leslie, Michigan, my least favourite place in the world.

Everything is here.

But everything is changing. Everything has to change. Suddenly, I'm feeling myself change. My drive, what I once held as my indomitable will, is slipping away like sand as I try to hold onto it while chasing after my love.

My views, my perspectives on life: they're all going askew. I can hardly define them any more.

I don't even think I want to be an engineer any more. I want to be an actor or an author or a musician.

But that's never going to happen.

I want to pursue my dreams, but I'll never reach them, because I'm not good enough. I'm good, but I'm not good enough.

That's how it always is in the world. And I hate it

I hate it. I hate what's happening to me. I hate the world we live in. I hate this town. I hate this time. I hate this road I walk down.

Because I'm lost: I don't know where I'm going.

And I'm confused: I don't know who I am.

And I'm alone: I don't know who will be there tomorrow.

And I'm afraid.

So afraid.

Kind of Goals

New Years Day is coming, a day of partying and resolutions that are forgotten within the first few weeks of the year.  I've never liked New Years Resolutions for that exact reason.  Nobody keeps their promises beyond the first few weeks because it's near impossible to remember something that long.

This is why I've decided to make some pre-New Years Goals:  Goals to be completed before New Years Day arrives, or at least that's the plan.

I have this theory about goals.  Goals are incredibly hard to achieve by nature, because once a person establishes a goal, reaching that goal becomes a chore, and except for those few exceptionally motivated people in the world, no one wants to complete something they have to do.  So this is why, instead of goals, I'm establishing some Kind of Goals for myself.  With Kind of Goals, a person doesn't have to complete them, they just have to work toward completing them, and they will have succeeded in their Kind of Goals.

This Years Kind of Goals (to be completed before December 31st, 11:59 p.m.):

• Get everything that I need to do done by my dentist appointment (sometime Dec 28).  That means a lot of writing in the next couple days.
  
• Cut my showers down to 15 minutes each.  At least.
• Exercise every day.  Every day.
  
• Drink at least 47 oz. of water a day.  Water is good.
  
• Update my blog at least one more time before the end of the year.
• Start taking my medications regularly.  The doctor prescribed them for a reason.
• Establish an actual sleeping schedule.  This is, of course, to be completed after the first goal I stated, because I'm going to be doing a lot of work.
• As soon as I wake up, get out of bed.  I don't care if I have to throw myself off the side of my bed (onto another bed on the floor, of course.  I don't want to kill myself), I want to be out.
• Decide whether to move my computer to my room or not.
• Clean my room.
• Clean my bathroom.
• Clean my stuff around the kitchen.
• Write that list of 500 things about myself.
• Shorten my "in between" times.  And by that I mean the times in between activities;  for example, when I'm playing a game and I say, "Hey!  I should do some homework!"  I actually do my homework, instead of putting it off for three and a quarter hours, and hating myself the entire time.
• Make at least five people smile a day.
  
• Never lie to anyone again ever.

All of these, I shall work on.  If I don't complete them, then at least I tried, but if I do, I have accomplished something.

Oh, and as for my personal life, I met this girl.  Her name is Kayla Martin.  Well, I guess I already knew her, but I think something good might just come from it.  I'll keep you posted.

One of Those Days

Have you ever had one of those days... where at the end you just feel like the world could just end right there and you would be perfectly fine with it because everything is perfect? Everything in life is working out and everything is turning out perfect. Love is there in every friend and every family member. That girl you've been flirting with gave that smile that told you I... I think I love you, and you sent one right back. You didn't have any homework, and you didn't feel like staying up just because you're afraid of what might happen when you fall asleep. You feel safe, content, and happy. You casually toss around the idea of killing yourself right then and there because it's so perfect and today would be the perfect day to die, but you would never do that because you never want today to end. Ever have one of those days?

Today was not one of those days. I went to sleep last night at 5:30 p.m. hoping to be rested and happy today, but after a restless night where I spent brief periods in a daze some might classify as sleep between hours of lying, staring blankly at my ceiling, I woke up at 9:20 a.m. to my ex-girlfriend (bless her soul) calling me telling me I needed to get to school because I was an hour and five minutes late to my choir exam and if I miss it I'll fail the entire class because somehow, despite how sickly restless my sleep was, I still managed to sleep through my alarm for a full half hour.

So I run into school. I didn't shower. I didn't use my acne medicine. I didn't eat. I didn't brush my teeth. I grabbed pants, t-shirt, keys, wallet, shoes, and ran out the door. I get to school, Sco is mad but doesn't show it, I completely bomb my exam because I'm still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

I walk into calculus to do the same work we've been doing for the past two weeks, and I don't have my backpack or book or paper or pencils, so I can't do anything else.

I get the second biggest headache I've had in my life (the worst was yesterday), and I can't work on the cemetery drawing I'm getting paid for because of it.

I get home to find out I have two A-'s in different classes I wasn't even worried about.

I haven't had an appetite in two days. I didn't eat for over 36 hours, and I didn't notice. I can't sleep any more. I almost had a panic attack driving to Chelsea today.

I'm starting to fear for my health and sanity. I don't think I'm going to be able to hold up my different acts for much longer.

My plans for the future have been shattered and I'm more confused than I ever have been about my life and what I want to do and what I'm going to be.

Yesterday, for the eighth time in a row within six months, I found out the girl I had fallen for has a boyfriend.

Have you ever had one of those days... where at the end you look back and wonder why you even go through it any more? Where you wonder if the constant misery you live in is even worth the people you stay alive for? You look in the mirror at the end of the day like you do every day and ask yourself, "Where did that smile go? I haven't seen it in so long." And then you realize you haven't actually been happy in three years and you don't want to keep living if you don't find something, anything, that would make you a little happier, but no matter how hard you look, no matter how much you wish, no matter how you hope, every single opportunity is smashed back in your face so hard your nose and mouth and eyes are bleeding and you can't see, you can't speak, so you just lie back down in the hole you've dug inside your soul that's the only place you feel safe because you're away from everybody and everything and no one can hurt you there until you feel like you have just enough strength to pull yourself out again, but immediately upon exiting, some sick God slams his foot back into your face and stomps on your hands as you try to pull yourself up, putting you through the same torture yet again. And you have no idea why you keep pulling yourself up because you know that every time you open your eyes, someone's going to be there, and they're going to hurt you more than ever before, and it's never worth it. Nothing is ever worth it.

Ever have one of those days?

Today was one of those days.

And so was yesterday.
And the day before yesterday.
And so was three days ago.
And so was four days ago.
And so was five days ago.
And so was six days ago.
And so was a week ago.
And so was two weeks ago.
And so was three weeks ago.
And so was four weeks ago.
And so was a month ago.
And every month before that.

And I don't know what I'm going to do if tomorrow is another one of those days.