Technically not true... but the title is basically a non sequitur, so I don't need to worry about that.
I'm cutting down to half an hour online per day as of tonight. Now that I'm basically working full time plus some stuff on the side, that shouldn't be an issue. And considering that I spend maybe 10% at most of my time online actually communicating with other people (and this counts), I really shouldn't have any reason not to give it up. Maybe even the 90% of the half-hour, too. I'm certainly busy enough...
There's a problem here, though. I realized several minutes ago that, even though I've either been somewhere or been doing something important all day, I feel like my day has disappeared without anything happening. I feel almost no different than I would if I'd spent the entire day playing computer games.
I need to do something. With people. Like cycling or disc golf maybe. Or FourNet. Carl, we should find people available to do that. I'll probably have time next week, sometime in the evening.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Apparently I can post stuff without a title, because I just did
I am exceedingly bored.
Also, my stomach is mad at me again. And I didn't even eat anything this time. Hmph.
Well. Regardless, I now have a full-time job.
I need to post stuff that's longer than one line.
I get to eat rhubarb crisp! Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss... happiness...
I am going to attempt to get all my pictures off my phone. Again. Ah, the wonders of no texting...
I hope the YSA conference next weekend is suitably interesting. It's basically my only chance to have interestingness on a reasonably large scale until I get to the MTC.
Also, my stomach is mad at me again. And I didn't even eat anything this time. Hmph.
Well. Regardless, I now have a full-time job.
I need to post stuff that's longer than one line.
I get to eat rhubarb crisp! Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss... happiness...
I am going to attempt to get all my pictures off my phone. Again. Ah, the wonders of no texting...
I hope the YSA conference next weekend is suitably interesting. It's basically my only chance to have interestingness on a reasonably large scale until I get to the MTC.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
This is not who I am.
It's everything,
It seems,
And yet it's not everything
It seems.
These cracks between intentions and reality--
Scars or tattoos,
I do not know,
There were too many hands in their making--
These cracks
Are the chains of existence.
And in these chains,
You are bound--
You, and you, and you--
Bound to my past
And futures.
I cannot release you,
I cannot recompense
For these chains.
They are not the bonds I desired.
And what of your chains,
Cast about me?
Surely I am not alone,
Am I?
----------------------------------------------
And when you say
Forgiveness,
I hear you,
And I know you believe in your mind.
I can see your heart, though.
It is easier
To say than be;
All these wedges are too far in.
You will go where you will.
Where will I?
I leave behind more
Than I once had.
I wake up,
And we are gone,
Leaving me to slay shadows.
----------------------------------------------
This is not home.
I do not know where home is,
Or if it is.
I am alone, separate, clueless,
Eager to find
Maybe you.
Experience is a swift teacher,
Silence, a servant
That at least will obey.
Bitter, eager, weathered, fresh,
And I can only do
With what I have.
Maybe it will be enough,
Eventually.
----------------------------------------------
You can see me
Because I can faintly see you,
And where I have acquiesced
Is where you are real.
If another forgets,
You will remember
Because I chose you to.
When I am gone,
What will happen?
You return, against prediction,
To you;
Maybe I will find you again
And be your memory.
At least we have that.
----------------------------------------------
And when everything is detached
From a context I never really understood in the first place,
I can see clearly where I think I am,
And where I was.
It took us too long to meet,
And our collision was a shadow of the dance
That never really was.
And when I say I wish I really knew you
So long ago,
I really mean it
Even though you may not realize
I need to.
----------------------------------------------
If and when we meet again,
Who will we be?
It is an eternity,
Condensed into a year--
A year for me,
A year for you.
There was always a better place for me
And you didn't bind yourself
Quite so firmly.
As long as the cycles of life tear us apart,
I'll be praying that yours
Can be a bit
Like mine.
----------------------------------------------
I see reality clenching its fist at you,
So familiar.
What you do not know
And what I do not know
Is our meager story.
There are others,
Far better.
But I have seen the legions arrayed against you
And I know them:
I fight them too.
If I really knew you,
Maybe we'd see.
----------------------------------------------
I will leave these dreams--
Daylight is the better part,
And I can be my own,
Even if alone.
I miss your company,
Never your chains
Wielded unaware.
I am sorry if you miss me too.
I pray we meet again
Someday.
----------------------------------------------
This reflection I see--
I can't erase it,
Try as I might.
Is this really who
I am?
Hideous.
I loathe
The grotesque features
And drooling mouth,
Dirt-streaked face and matted hair.
I want to squish
The vile thing,
Destroy its misery.
Me?
I look--
This is not what I see
Except at the mirror,
Where eyes penetrate.
This time, I beg
For your blindness.
----------------------------------------------
It seemed like a good idea at the time,
But like all good ideas,
It can only be counted on once.
This is not who I am.
It seems,
And yet it's not everything
It seems.
These cracks between intentions and reality--
Scars or tattoos,
I do not know,
There were too many hands in their making--
These cracks
Are the chains of existence.
And in these chains,
You are bound--
You, and you, and you--
Bound to my past
And futures.
I cannot release you,
I cannot recompense
For these chains.
They are not the bonds I desired.
And what of your chains,
Cast about me?
Surely I am not alone,
Am I?
----------------------------------------------
And when you say
Forgiveness,
I hear you,
And I know you believe in your mind.
I can see your heart, though.
It is easier
To say than be;
All these wedges are too far in.
You will go where you will.
Where will I?
I leave behind more
Than I once had.
I wake up,
And we are gone,
Leaving me to slay shadows.
----------------------------------------------
This is not home.
I do not know where home is,
Or if it is.
I am alone, separate, clueless,
Eager to find
Maybe you.
Experience is a swift teacher,
Silence, a servant
That at least will obey.
Bitter, eager, weathered, fresh,
And I can only do
With what I have.
Maybe it will be enough,
Eventually.
----------------------------------------------
You can see me
Because I can faintly see you,
And where I have acquiesced
Is where you are real.
If another forgets,
You will remember
Because I chose you to.
When I am gone,
What will happen?
You return, against prediction,
To you;
Maybe I will find you again
And be your memory.
At least we have that.
----------------------------------------------
And when everything is detached
From a context I never really understood in the first place,
I can see clearly where I think I am,
And where I was.
It took us too long to meet,
And our collision was a shadow of the dance
That never really was.
And when I say I wish I really knew you
So long ago,
I really mean it
Even though you may not realize
I need to.
----------------------------------------------
If and when we meet again,
Who will we be?
It is an eternity,
Condensed into a year--
A year for me,
A year for you.
There was always a better place for me
And you didn't bind yourself
Quite so firmly.
As long as the cycles of life tear us apart,
I'll be praying that yours
Can be a bit
Like mine.
----------------------------------------------
I see reality clenching its fist at you,
So familiar.
What you do not know
And what I do not know
Is our meager story.
There are others,
Far better.
But I have seen the legions arrayed against you
And I know them:
I fight them too.
If I really knew you,
Maybe we'd see.
----------------------------------------------
I will leave these dreams--
Daylight is the better part,
And I can be my own,
Even if alone.
I miss your company,
Never your chains
Wielded unaware.
I am sorry if you miss me too.
I pray we meet again
Someday.
----------------------------------------------
This reflection I see--
I can't erase it,
Try as I might.
Is this really who
I am?
Hideous.
I loathe
The grotesque features
And drooling mouth,
Dirt-streaked face and matted hair.
I want to squish
The vile thing,
Destroy its misery.
Me?
I look--
This is not what I see
Except at the mirror,
Where eyes penetrate.
This time, I beg
For your blindness.
----------------------------------------------
It seemed like a good idea at the time,
But like all good ideas,
It can only be counted on once.
This is not who I am.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
it can only be counted on once.
Is today another yesterday?
Tomorrow will be,
In two.
I reminisce into a memory hole,
Networking alone.
What is the past, if not
Whole? Unified?
Beaten into one yesterday
Out of many todays
And soon today.
It is a failing fight
To reach in, grasp a string
Amid the ruthless rigid form.
It chooses for me.
It, my grown child,
Friend and enemy.
-------------------------------------------------
The hands that grasp me are sleeping,
Clamped around my neck
In absence of intentions.
Why are you here?
I am sorry,
Unwilling servant of my enemy.
I will not resist.
Agency works two ways
But only one can see.
Captive of myself
And you.
I drew my own lines;
If I cross,
To whom do I answer?
Slave of agency,
I will let myself lose.
-------------------------------------------------
As if I was not enough,
I tear at the links on either side
Striving for a different chain.
Is it my place
To take hope in a hopelessness
That cannot recover?
When will I learn
To end?
It is the irrevocable
That I hate the most.
-------------------------------------------------
Easier than fighting
Is surrender.
I'll wait as long as I need to,
Because I have nothing else to do.
You'll find me if you look.
Maybe I'll stay.
I have nothing better to do.
What are needs
When we have ourselves?
I'll keep mine.
-------------------------------------------------
It is a strange riddle,
To let go
And be held on to
Without being grasped
And not releasing.
And I have a choice in half the matter,
Only half,
Entirely half.
Where is, and
What is my work?
Who can I trust
In their duty?
I fear them
Because I fear that they are like me.
-------------------------------------------------
I have seen eternities
Interact and detach.
Neverending, it seems.
I know the cycle
Of the realities,
Endless change.
And yet where all these intersect
In now,
I lose all dimension.
I am blind.
Take the present, and cast it aside.
We have all futures.
Where are we?
Threads dancing in
Asynchronous rhythm,
Touch, release,
All things fly in their course.
Where we are becomes where we were,
As infinite as time.
All we are tangent,
Intertwining and releasing
Across eternities.
-------------------------------------------------
All this is a display
For your benefit and mine,
But mine more particularly.
We are all pawns in this game I'm playing,
Me most of all.
Impressions are lies mixed with truth.
Interaction is truth presented in a lie.
I am masked deeper than even I know.
Take this
As a first and last warning:
You have never met me,
And probably never will.
-------------------------------------------------
What is so illuminating
About this darkness?
I see in depth
And clearly, in twisted sight.
In the cider press,
I crush away a bitter juice
Instead of sweet.
I embrace the blackness
To write bad poetry.
Sad.
-------------------------------------------------
I think I am fighting here
Against reality.
And so I do not need to win,
Only endure
Until reality changes.
After all,
This enemy is irrevocable.
And yet,
I have faced worse
And endured.
Tomorrow will be,
In two.
I reminisce into a memory hole,
Networking alone.
What is the past, if not
Whole? Unified?
Beaten into one yesterday
Out of many todays
And soon today.
It is a failing fight
To reach in, grasp a string
Amid the ruthless rigid form.
It chooses for me.
It, my grown child,
Friend and enemy.
-------------------------------------------------
The hands that grasp me are sleeping,
Clamped around my neck
In absence of intentions.
Why are you here?
I am sorry,
Unwilling servant of my enemy.
I will not resist.
Agency works two ways
But only one can see.
Captive of myself
And you.
I drew my own lines;
If I cross,
To whom do I answer?
Slave of agency,
I will let myself lose.
-------------------------------------------------
As if I was not enough,
I tear at the links on either side
Striving for a different chain.
Is it my place
To take hope in a hopelessness
That cannot recover?
When will I learn
To end?
It is the irrevocable
That I hate the most.
-------------------------------------------------
Easier than fighting
Is surrender.
I'll wait as long as I need to,
Because I have nothing else to do.
You'll find me if you look.
Maybe I'll stay.
I have nothing better to do.
What are needs
When we have ourselves?
I'll keep mine.
-------------------------------------------------
It is a strange riddle,
To let go
And be held on to
Without being grasped
And not releasing.
And I have a choice in half the matter,
Only half,
Entirely half.
Where is, and
What is my work?
Who can I trust
In their duty?
I fear them
Because I fear that they are like me.
-------------------------------------------------
I have seen eternities
Interact and detach.
Neverending, it seems.
I know the cycle
Of the realities,
Endless change.
And yet where all these intersect
In now,
I lose all dimension.
I am blind.
Take the present, and cast it aside.
We have all futures.
Where are we?
Threads dancing in
Asynchronous rhythm,
Touch, release,
All things fly in their course.
Where we are becomes where we were,
As infinite as time.
All we are tangent,
Intertwining and releasing
Across eternities.
-------------------------------------------------
All this is a display
For your benefit and mine,
But mine more particularly.
We are all pawns in this game I'm playing,
Me most of all.
Impressions are lies mixed with truth.
Interaction is truth presented in a lie.
I am masked deeper than even I know.
Take this
As a first and last warning:
You have never met me,
And probably never will.
-------------------------------------------------
What is so illuminating
About this darkness?
I see in depth
And clearly, in twisted sight.
In the cider press,
I crush away a bitter juice
Instead of sweet.
I embrace the blackness
To write bad poetry.
Sad.
-------------------------------------------------
I think I am fighting here
Against reality.
And so I do not need to win,
Only endure
Until reality changes.
After all,
This enemy is irrevocable.
And yet,
I have faced worse
And endured.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
but like all good ideas
A test--
Will I turn to the right or left--
I say, as if
It is not my decision.
There is a part of me
Deeper than agency.
I tell myself, anyway.
And I manipulate and dance about
And yet I never touch
Me,
As if I were another.
Self.
Where is self
And singularity?
Isolation is a hunger.
And a fast?
A fast to purify
All the cobwebs that may not exist?
To starve into submission
What is not a sin?
And amid all this,
What if the years deflate, and I am touched
By a curse I failed to cast away,
Despite my belief?
It is all the same, eventually,
And the memory is the fear.
----------------------------------------------------
I have bought into a cruel economics
In the name of reality.
The cheapest item, when lost,
May become precious as gold
Or as dust.
A dealer in second chances thrives
On the misery of the man
Who gave the first.
And I am all,
A god in these dealings--
I say, as I fall.
My suffocation
Will be my own.
Never yours.
----------------------------------------------------
In the poetry of the damned,
I take a verse and read.
It is my reflection staring back,
Sunken, gaunt,
A potential beyond my imagination.
His verse is familiar,
His voice,
My own.
Where we meet
Is where fear vanishes.
Disgust in division,
Desire in unity.
I am repulsed and drawn.
And when the spell is broken,
I see in his face
Desolation
And the spark of myself.
----------------------------------------------------
In this height,
I despise all heights.
The awakened sea beats;
I feel it, welcoming.
Deep it swallows, deep I stand,
Hard and cold.
Am I immune to erosion?
Weathered and tall,
Lofty and strong,
I shiver unmoving.
I will break before I bend,
I fear.
----------------------------------------------------
All this is mine,
This frail illusion.
Let me, at least, keep it.
Will I turn to the right or left--
I say, as if
It is not my decision.
There is a part of me
Deeper than agency.
I tell myself, anyway.
And I manipulate and dance about
And yet I never touch
Me,
As if I were another.
Self.
Where is self
And singularity?
Isolation is a hunger.
And a fast?
A fast to purify
All the cobwebs that may not exist?
To starve into submission
What is not a sin?
And amid all this,
What if the years deflate, and I am touched
By a curse I failed to cast away,
Despite my belief?
It is all the same, eventually,
And the memory is the fear.
----------------------------------------------------
I have bought into a cruel economics
In the name of reality.
The cheapest item, when lost,
May become precious as gold
Or as dust.
A dealer in second chances thrives
On the misery of the man
Who gave the first.
And I am all,
A god in these dealings--
I say, as I fall.
My suffocation
Will be my own.
Never yours.
----------------------------------------------------
In the poetry of the damned,
I take a verse and read.
It is my reflection staring back,
Sunken, gaunt,
A potential beyond my imagination.
His verse is familiar,
His voice,
My own.
Where we meet
Is where fear vanishes.
Disgust in division,
Desire in unity.
I am repulsed and drawn.
And when the spell is broken,
I see in his face
Desolation
And the spark of myself.
----------------------------------------------------
In this height,
I despise all heights.
The awakened sea beats;
I feel it, welcoming.
Deep it swallows, deep I stand,
Hard and cold.
Am I immune to erosion?
Weathered and tall,
Lofty and strong,
I shiver unmoving.
I will break before I bend,
I fear.
----------------------------------------------------
All this is mine,
This frail illusion.
Let me, at least, keep it.
It seemed like a good idea at the time...
Take a second and remember--
All the reasons we had
Are what?
The when and where are gone,
And so are we.
And a week away without
Is the light I needed.
I hate it
When I'm right.
Give me an error,
Take away the calculations,
ACT, SAT, AP Acronym
Cannot help me here.
Occam's Razor strips away
Reason, meaning.
What is the value of friendship?
What is the factor of happiness?
Where is the guide, model,
Lock-step cause-and-effect standard
Equation?
Is all this even necessary?
Essential?
I am writing this, so
Yes.
---------------------------------------
As I am blind,
I have reason to make a request--
A matter of perspective, if you will.
I saw--
In my mind, mind you--
A thing that I believe can be defined
As color.
It is not the emptiness of darkness
Or the image of light pressing on me--
Yes, I can detect light,
My eyes are not that far gone--
And yet...
I saw it.
And nothing like it.
And I know it exists
In your world.
Tell me,
When people speak of green, for instance,
What is it?
It is grass, I know--
Thin blades, springy, living--
And it is also, say,
A couch.
Hideous, ugly.
It is nonsensical how colors
Can be so many things,
And yet it isn't.
But--
And here's the problem,
The thing I've been trying to get at--
I saw this color.
I can't ask what.
I can't describe,
Can't compare,
The many things I have never seen
To the one I have seen.
You see?
(Ha ha.)
I am sorry.
You can't help me with this.
I guess I'll just have to let myself
Wonder at the meaning
Of color.
---------------------------------------
It's hard to tell
What to tell.
I see a fine line, if that,
Between my silence and yours;
I dare not foray for fear of overstepping,
So I do not speak.
My silence is mine,
Even if the end is the same.
Nobody speaks.
I can at least pretend
I have alternatives.
I know the cure will come eventually
In silence,
But just once,
I wish you could be here.
---------------------------------------
Why do I keep returning to see
This chasm where the hopes of man
Are cast so deep?
I cannot feel joy,
I cannot feel right
In such a Godforsaken desolation
And yet I do.
Do imagined needs draw me?
Is it that I find peace here,
And harmony?
I am afraid
Of what that means.
And when I stand there,
I can hear the dreams crying out
In death.
I listen to their story,
And they are mine.
---------------------------------------
And when we see the faces
That we thought we knew in dreams,
What has become of us?
Is it the mind that shapes the world,
Or the world that shapes the mind?
Is that even the question?
I knew you better in sleep
Than consciousness,
And I hear from you more often
There, too.
I am a thief of your entity,
For my benefit,
Though our realities barely touch.
Everything I take,
You do not miss,
And yet I am a thief.
Unintending,
Unbidden,
And yet
I am.
Dreams are a shadow of reality,
And reality a shadow of dreams.
And where am I?
Real?
Sometimes I wonder.
All the reasons we had
Are what?
The when and where are gone,
And so are we.
And a week away without
Is the light I needed.
I hate it
When I'm right.
Give me an error,
Take away the calculations,
ACT, SAT, AP Acronym
Cannot help me here.
Occam's Razor strips away
Reason, meaning.
What is the value of friendship?
What is the factor of happiness?
Where is the guide, model,
Lock-step cause-and-effect standard
Equation?
Is all this even necessary?
Essential?
I am writing this, so
Yes.
---------------------------------------
As I am blind,
I have reason to make a request--
A matter of perspective, if you will.
I saw--
In my mind, mind you--
A thing that I believe can be defined
As color.
It is not the emptiness of darkness
Or the image of light pressing on me--
Yes, I can detect light,
My eyes are not that far gone--
And yet...
I saw it.
And nothing like it.
And I know it exists
In your world.
Tell me,
When people speak of green, for instance,
What is it?
It is grass, I know--
Thin blades, springy, living--
And it is also, say,
A couch.
Hideous, ugly.
It is nonsensical how colors
Can be so many things,
And yet it isn't.
But--
And here's the problem,
The thing I've been trying to get at--
I saw this color.
I can't ask what.
I can't describe,
Can't compare,
The many things I have never seen
To the one I have seen.
You see?
(Ha ha.)
I am sorry.
You can't help me with this.
I guess I'll just have to let myself
Wonder at the meaning
Of color.
---------------------------------------
It's hard to tell
What to tell.
I see a fine line, if that,
Between my silence and yours;
I dare not foray for fear of overstepping,
So I do not speak.
My silence is mine,
Even if the end is the same.
Nobody speaks.
I can at least pretend
I have alternatives.
I know the cure will come eventually
In silence,
But just once,
I wish you could be here.
---------------------------------------
Why do I keep returning to see
This chasm where the hopes of man
Are cast so deep?
I cannot feel joy,
I cannot feel right
In such a Godforsaken desolation
And yet I do.
Do imagined needs draw me?
Is it that I find peace here,
And harmony?
I am afraid
Of what that means.
And when I stand there,
I can hear the dreams crying out
In death.
I listen to their story,
And they are mine.
---------------------------------------
And when we see the faces
That we thought we knew in dreams,
What has become of us?
Is it the mind that shapes the world,
Or the world that shapes the mind?
Is that even the question?
I knew you better in sleep
Than consciousness,
And I hear from you more often
There, too.
I am a thief of your entity,
For my benefit,
Though our realities barely touch.
Everything I take,
You do not miss,
And yet I am a thief.
Unintending,
Unbidden,
And yet
I am.
Dreams are a shadow of reality,
And reality a shadow of dreams.
And where am I?
Real?
Sometimes I wonder.
Monday, May 18, 2009
why I should not be allowed to think after midnight (last night)
There is a disconnect between my mind and my hand, between impressions and actionable thoughts. I am left wandering, staring rootless at a blank sheet of paper. The broad strokes and indefinable images of synesthesia do not translate into the words they represent. Ideas confined, defined, lose their vitality. It is not my place to complete--let the fragments fall, unaltered. No human hand can mimic the pattern of a shattered glass; no human hand can unify its pieces.
The glass was born broken.
And what can I say? Perhaps that is for the best. Even it dissolves when I touch it. Real, yet not. The veil cannot part, the mists will not break. I regret what is not real; I covet that which did not exist. Unstable as water. Firm as a shadow, and as tenacious. Without review, without peer, judgment is broken.
A child's cup, a clay figurine. The imitation cannot exceed its model, but it can exceed the imitator. And clumsy hands defy even that.
It is shattered glass, smoke in my eyes, and yet to me, it is beautiful.
The glass was born broken.
And what can I say? Perhaps that is for the best. Even it dissolves when I touch it. Real, yet not. The veil cannot part, the mists will not break. I regret what is not real; I covet that which did not exist. Unstable as water. Firm as a shadow, and as tenacious. Without review, without peer, judgment is broken.
A child's cup, a clay figurine. The imitation cannot exceed its model, but it can exceed the imitator. And clumsy hands defy even that.
It is shattered glass, smoke in my eyes, and yet to me, it is beautiful.
Monday, May 11, 2009
w00t
Well. I appear to still not have a job. Remaining options are a decent job that doesn't provide me with many hours, a perfectly good job doing something I suspect I'd hate (telephone surveys, basically), or continued unemployment while I look for something else. Maybe I'll just combine the first and third options...
Thursday, May 7, 2009
yay, vol. 1
I'm bored. And I have nothing else to do (except sleep, but I generally avoid sleeping at night). So, I shall fall back on my two staples: music and reverse stalking/anti-stalking. If you are reading this, please comment and tell me at least one song I really ought to listen to. You know you're just dying to abandon secret anonymity and spread your favorite music.
Either that, or you are not reading this, for any one of many reasons. I shall have to do something about those reasons, then.
Either that, or you are not reading this, for any one of many reasons. I shall have to do something about those reasons, then.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
And there was much rejoicing
In light of the number of blogs I've been informally following here, I have decided to make my own. Lacking anything else worthy of saying here at the moment, I shall quit talking.
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