a review of everything

I just read all my blog posts, because I had nothing else I wanted to do. It made me feel better. I haven't felt like myself this week. And I'm not sure there is any particular reason for it, that's just how I've felt lately. And now I'm going home for Thanksgiving, and sometimes when I go home I feel less like myself than I even do now. I'm glad that I write things down. I can tell when I was writing something because I had to put some truth on paper, and when I was writing to try to find myself again. Does anyone else feel this way? I suppose that's partly what I'm doing right now. At ten o'clock in the morning. Rather uncharacteristic of me. I've written jokingly before about how I'm not a morning person. I've written comical stories about alarm clocks and snooze buttons, but the truth is, I wake up to silence and an empty apartment, and the only person around to pull me out of sleep is myself. It is simply uninteresting. I live for the night. I live for having no assignments left to finish, and enjoying a respite with my favorite people. Not all of my actions or plans are entirely deliberate, but it is likely that if I spend time with you it is because I enjoy your company very much. Afterward I go home alone, and I put myself to bed. But sometimes I write something first. Because it helps me hear my own voice when I have the luxury (and the curse) of hearing no one else late at night. It's strange to read my journal sometimes, to hear my own voice. Even more strange, I almost perfectly follow a pattern of one entry written late at night to relieve some stress or despair that won't leave me long enough to sleep, followed by another entry written in bliss. Though, I suppose that since I don't write as much as I used to (something I'd like to change), at least I do write quality. And it would make sense that I only have been writing when I'm experiencing one extreme emotion or the other, instead of just stringing words together when nothing particularly exciting is going on. What is unfortunate is that long after I am gone, someone might find my journals and think I was totally off the hook for about ten pages, and then fine for thirty. Fortunately, no historian would probably ever be interested in my journal because it is more introspective than anything, though I used to worry a lot (and quite seriously) about the consumer culture and the possibility of depleting the fresh water supply. So when the fresh water supply does deplete and I go live on a boat in the lake, I can always tell people that I knew it was coming and had a plan. Or maybe I'll just grow gills and live in the ocean like Kevin Costner in Water World. Only, I won't be able to write, because I imagine it would be difficult while swimming around in the ocean. I think it is now time to go out into today.

water, where art thou?

This morning the water at the beach has been turned off until noon, which meant that I had to wake up far sooner than I would have liked in order to take a shower. I'm debating whether to skip class and just leave now for Thanksgiving, because I'm sure there will be plenty of traffic at 4pm. I felt like I had something to say but now I forget what it was.

i look out my window

It's snowing.

48 hours and counting

In exactly two days I will be done with my midterms and my first (hopefully my only...) attempt at the GRE. A beer sounds so good right now. A nice crisp Killian's, frothy at the top the way it is when fresh from the tap. Just one lovely beer. But for now, it will have to wait.

i continue to remain calm.

"There is no wealth but life." John Ruskin This quote was at the top of my gmail today.

a poem for everyone who hates bedtime.

I hate to go to bed, I do. Almost more than I hate a bucket full of poo. But sleepy I am, and to sleep I must Or my brain tomorrow may very well bust. So goodnight, adieu, I must shout "shoo! shoo!" To the thoughts that slow My mind like goo. So while I'd rather stay awake Because that'd be so great, I'm going now. It's been real. (Lolz) -OK

The old and the restless

I am attempting to blog from my phone. I will be surprised if this works.

My comments on the first day of class mostly pertain to bring annoyed that everyone on campus is much too young for my taste. It would be understandable if everyone just looked very young; exuberant and fresh, their first day of higher education. Full of hope and excitement, giddy in the anticipation. I was the same way, I'm sure.

But it isn't just the first day atmosphere. It is an issue of it all just being too young. The campus I love is now a haven for lost, dependent beings. The CABS shout out each stop in a horrid, computerized voice. People no longer just figure things out for themselves, excited by the challenge as we all seemed to be three years ago.

I'm going to be late for coffee. More at another time about french. Sent from my BlackBerry Smartphone provided by Alltel

an interesting experience

I've started using this program on my computer called Yahoo Widgets. If you've never heard of this, don't worry, not many have. I found it one day a thousand years ago and it was a great way to spend several hours avoiding doing anything important. Widgets is basically this hub for other smaller programs to put on your computer, mostly from third-party program creators. For instance, if your are looking for a weather updater that you can keep on your laptop, you just search for one and you'll find several different programs that all allow you to have some sort of weather display available on your computer desktop. The point of explaining the widgets is this: I have a fantastic program made by someone who clearly appreciates the art of waking up as much as I do. Being far from a morning person, I have devised many clever ways to get myself out of bed everyday. Mostly, I continue to add alarms to my morning regimen. Strategically. For instance, I have until recently used three alarms. One is my stereo, which starts playing soft classical music around 5:30 (yes). I find that at the right volume, it does not wake me up completely, but a part of me hears it somewhat and subconsciously registers that I need to begin weaning myself from my comfortable dreamy state. At about 5:50 I have my phone alarm (a very obnoxious, monophonic, techno beat) play at a sufficient volume annoying enough to make me walk across the room to put in on snooze and subsequently get back in bed. Once I've snoozed my phone, I've started to consciously notice the stereo music, which stimulates brain activity. If I'm lucid enough, I'll program the timer on the microwave to beep in 15 minutes. This way, my actual alarm beeps somewhat like a fire alarm at 6 o'clock, and five minutes after I've snoozed that, my phone alarm has gone off again, and the microwave alarm has gone off as well. I cannot say with certainty how many times I will snooze various alarms on any particular day, but if anyone ever made a video of me completing this ritual, I'm sure it would become a youtube sensation. Why do I do this? Why don't I just set one alarm for 6:30 and be done with it? Sometimes I do. It's always a gamble as to whether I will actually follow through with any morning schedule, but I somehow always miraculously manage to get to work at the same time every day. Back to the widgets. I have a widget that serves as a computer alarm clock, harnessing my itunes library. As of yesterday, this has become another fixture to the morning routine, set to play something peppy about ten minutes after my stereo plays sweeping Chopin selections. I recently purchased a song called "Sunny Sunday" and chose it as the first song in a playlist for waking up, but this was a mistake. I once read about those people who have sensory issues where their brains associate letters or words with color, or sounds with color, or musical tones with numbers, etc. It's very interesting. There are even some people who hear words and then sense particular tastes; often the words they associate with a taste do not have anything to do with that taste, either. As fascinating as these people's brains are, I'm sure this would be quite difficult and annoying at times. The morning that I used Sunny Sunday as my wakeup song, it started playing and was actually quite disturbing, despite the fact that I love this song. It is mostly vocal and acoustic guitar, but there are some other synthesizer parts to it, and when it was playing, I was half asleep and for some reason the music was so grating, and the sounds the synthesizer makes sounded like twigs. Yes. The music sounded like twigs. I'm not really sure how to explain this, but every time this one tonal sequence played, it sounded like twigs. Twigs don't sound like anything, I realize this. It was horrible, and I promptly turned off the music and went back to bed. But later, I realized that people with sensory confusion must be as annoyed as I was with Sunny Sunday. Because I was convinced that every time I listened to it I would just hear and see twigs and other wood products. The good news is that I've since listened to Sunny Sunday and I still like it, and (perhaps more importantly) I didn't hear or see twigs and branch like things. I think tomorrow morning I'll just wake up to a talk radio show.

look at that

I just thought I might provide an update on the Astronomy situation. Kid now has green hair. End of story.

intergalactic fools

I wrote the following during my Astronomy lecture this evening. _____________________________________________ We are learning about the huge basin on Mercury caused by a catastrophic meteroid impact billions of years ago. And we're looking at some diagrams and photographs showing how the shock waves are imbedded in the current geological makeup of the terrain of the hinterlands. But wait. "Kid" has a question. Kid is the eight year old son of a thirty something student in this Astronomy lecture. Kid is, along with his mother, the near-perfect manifestation of "That Guy." Every class has a That Guy. That Guy assumes the demeanor of knowing everything, yet is able to, simultaneously, assume the responsibility of asking questions at the most aggravating and inconvenient moments over the course of a lecture. That Guy moves you to believe that there is such a thing as a stupid question. Kid and "Hippie Mom" (yes) together join forces to fulfill the role of That Guy. Hippie Mom could easily leave Kid at home. He is eight. But, more importantly, one could interpret the interaction between them to indicate some sort of extraordinary intellectual ability on his part. I will explain. Hippie Mom approached Drennis (my secret name for Dr. Ennis) on day 1 of class, explaining that Kid would be attending throughout the quarter and that she hoped it wouldn't be an issue. Of course, Drennis could never have known. How could any of us? It seemed touching, even. Sure! Let Kid dabble in planetary studies! See Drennis' rocks and models at work! We were so wrong. We were all so very very wrong. Kid asks 95% of the questions in lecture. 100% of which may be considered part of the stupid category. Not as if he can't help it. Kid is the evil creation of Hippie Mom, who encourages and allows his innappropriate behahvior to flourish unchecked. She tossles his hair which each new, brilliant, out-loud observation - which for the rest of us was a subconscious reckoning at the age of five - rudely brought into actual discussion. Drennis is forced to subdue his genius to answer Kid's questions using such analogies as "Jupitor is like silly putty or apple sauce." Today, we see that Kid has gotten a haircut over the weekend. Of course, Kid and Hippie Mom are available for full viewing pleasure of any in the room, as they sit front and center of one of the largest pit lecture halls on campus. Hippie Mom is clearly thrown off her usual hair-tossle routine, and instead feeds Kid's ego by handing him treats, such as pretzel or dorritos (what kind of a hippie is she anyway?) or just gasps at him in disbelief. In fact, Kid and Hippie Mom often repeart variations of a performance in which Hippie Mom will ask a question and Kid, clearly insprired and unable to help his pavlovian response, actually attempts with his eight year old jargon to answer Hippie Mom's question. Drennis is speechless. We are all beside ourselves with shock. I have actually paid money to be here. Not only has Hippie Mom managed to be unsure as to why planetary bodies do NOT, in fact, orbit the earth, Kid is actually able to give her an incorrect and incomprehensable explanation for this staggering phenomenon...possibly even with a vague reference to Star Wars or mumblings about the speed capabilities of the mothership. Today's question? After Drennis flashed a slide stating that the average temperature of Venus is 900 degrees F, Kid asks if people burn when it's that hot. If Kid belonged in this classroom or paid any attention at all, he would know that there is no oxygen on Venus so there is no combustive activity. Drennis decided to tell Kid that they burn bodies at the crematorium at 12oo degrees. Kid was noticeably shaken. Strike one for Drennis.

...and what if you held all the cards?...

...or the coin? If you had the choice of sacrificing one to save thousands, would you do it? What gives you the authority to make that decision? Ever? Is it justice? Is it morality? Where do we draw the line? I was watching John Adams, the HBO miniseries a few weeks ago with a friend, and I noticed my increasing annoyance with a Mr. Dickinson of Pennsylvania. He was the only man in the First Continental Congress to hold out against building the Continental Army until the final vote. He refused to be moved. Why? Because he was a Quaker, and fundamentally opposed to violence of any sort. Of course, I have the benefit (or the curse) of hindsight. Mr. Dickinson was standing in the way of my America! Was Mr. Dickinson right or wrong? Let's examine the possible consequences: If Mr. Dickinson was able to sway the vote to his side, and encourage the other delegates to opt for the most peaceful activity possible, the United States would be another Canada or India or Australia. Sounds good, right? Not to us. But imagine: The future of the Western world was determined by a few dozen men in an unbearably hot room a couple hundred years ago. The question on everyone's minds? What right does Britain have? What rights do we have? I ask the same question of each one of us. How much power are we given? I realize that reducing the entire early history of the United States to a few moments in a chamber in Philadelphia is a rediculous exercise, but the point is this: Why do we choose to take things into our own hands and at what points? Defense and standing up for what we believe in is without a doubt something everyone must learn. But what of when it comes time for us to pull the trigger in the name of preventative justice? Nearly every story we are told has a good man and a bad one. The best stories are the ones in which the good man is good through and through - he does what is right no matter the circumstance, no matter how much the bad man deserves to be finished. In the moment when we ourselves feel the tension of the glorious moment when the villain will be vanquished, he is left hanging by a thread, untouched because it is right to spare him. It is just to spare him. But we are continually called by the allure of preventative justice. Sacrifice the vallain, save the innocent. What a tempting course of action. So what do you say? Would you take the reigns? Would you sacrifice one man to save a thousand? One hundred? Five?

macbeth takes a nap, and i write something else

My adrenaline levels until I finish papers will be a bit high, as they will be all that I can think about until they are gone from my life forever. I made the unfortunate mistake of deciding that I would get everything done before Saturday morning and drive to Pittsburgh for a couple of days. It is only unfortunate insofar as I cannot sleep very much before I actually go to Pittsburgh. And lack of sleep, as many of us know, has this knack for increasing any current anxiety or stress or frustration. The only frustration I have is with the fact that I have to write these papers. I think there should be a class in which my entire grade is based upon participation. And maybe if they need some concrete evidence of writing ability, a brief in-class writing assignment. Why is more necessary? Why don't I just carry around a portfolio of the thousands of pages I've written throughout my life as evidence that not only have I demonstrated that I learned something in class, but that I can write just fine. Practice makes perfect, you say? Yeah. Unless the assignment is incomprehensible and just ends up doing more harm than good. I had a discussion last night in which I became quite convinced that learning about State Government is important and that it is unfortunate the public school system neglects to teach its students how the State actually gets things done. It's always federal federal federal. The more we were talking, the more I realized that actually, knowing how something works is important. Yet, what good does it do for you if you only rarely can use it to change anything? That is, unless you decide that you are a destined politician (gag). I guess you could apply that to pretty much anything, following my off-the-cuff logic here, but I think what I'm saying is that I am more of a cynic every day. I hate watching the news. I hate reading the news on the internet. Listening to it on the radio can be alright, but whenever I turn on AM610, Rush is doing those cheesy radio ads about PosturePedic matresses or dental glue. So how am I supposed to know what is going on if a) I can't find a news source that isn't inundated with headlines about how Actress B slapped Actress D in the face and Model R has turned singer and made a new album and b) I can't read private news sources like the drudge or something at work, because they are politically tinged and biased (as if work isn't political or biased). It's too bad that I am feeling an all-time high of apathy and cynicism during the election year. Or maybe it's just the fatigue and papers talking. I would like to note that those who were fired today have my deepest sympathies. The boss-man clearly needs to rethink his decision making.

bliss

Today whilst I sat in front of my new flat-screen computer monitor at work, I was overcome by the most extraordinary bout of thirst. I quickly finished entering a phone number into google contacts, hunted the wallet out of my bag, and feverishly dashed from the office in search of a cool, refreshing beverage. Now completely parched, I reached the nearest liquids expo: The vending room. Home of the average pop and chip. Or, so I thought. . . For mine eyes did fall upon a most unexpected and wondrous site. The very last selection of the oldest vending machine, scratched hastily onto a piece of white printing paper and inserted into the button label were the words "Diet Vernor's." I reached quickly to press the button, filled with joy over the prospect of a crisp, cool ginger ale. But, alas. A demonic, red message lit up near the coin slot. SOLD. OUT. But all was not lost. After pressing the button frantically once or twice more in hopes of a computer malfunction, I noticed that "Vernor's" was a legitimate selection, ready for the taking. Complete with the actual Vernor's label on its vending machine button. I inserted five U.S. quarters, made my selection, and heard the satisfying crash of a fresh bottle of Vernor's land at the base of the machine. Retrieving my beverage and enjoying a first sip of that equisite carbonated delight, I could not help but think to myself: Who drinks diet Vernor's, anyway?

blah

Sometimes I really hate this stupid blog.

i love my job. i hate my job.

In a majoritarian system, politicians inevitably play the game of deflection. They never seem to answer a straightforward question, because it is impossible to magically agree with everyone. Thus, my job is born. Hundreds upon hundreds of deflections of the plain and simple truth. My worst day on the job? When someone is smart enough to ask the question "Do you agree or disagree with ___?" without inserting his or her own opinion. Because then I can't spin it. I enjoy most when people want to know things that I don't have to be vague about. I feel like I'm actually helping and not just spending hours writing responses with many words and little meaning. Other times I get angry at the people who write us. Today, woman: "My grandson attends a charter school. Since the charter schools do not get calamity (snow, etc.) days, my grandson had to attend school 6 days longer than the public school children. This is terrible! He recognized the double standard immediately! How can I possibly explain this injustice to him? I've written letters to everyone!" She wrote the letter last week. Her grandson will be done with the school year in...drumroll...three days. Oh! The injustice! We should call the NAACP! Where are the human rights advocates? And so on. What a waste of time. Switching to a more positive subject, I'd like to say that I'm becoming quite a darts player. At least compared to what I was capable of last week. I'm also reading Deception Point and it's fantastic (aliens!). Also, I finally got my grades for the quarter and I'm pleased (oh yeah). I must say that the euphoria of summer and the immense lightness that occured after my last final has kind of disappeared. Now it seems that all is business as usual (boo). Thank goodness that two of my classes are first term. I am somewhat excited, though, about classes. Even though it seems it will be a hot summer, last year it was wonderfully empty on campus. And I was smart enough to drop tennis before I contracted skin cancer at the outdoor courts. I heard a horrible story today (sizzle! radiation! crisp! rot!) about tanning beds that I am reluctant to share here due to its grotesque nature. Needless to say, I am even less inclined to use one than I was before. Now I feel I must clean my ever-dirty apartment and enjoy the fact that several people have been moving out of the apartment complex everyday. This is a good sign for summer. Peace and quiet!

three words

Iced. Green. Tea.

you might be on the clock, but that doesn't mean you can't work your tranny hott mess anyway. tranny.

I have a lull in my afternoon activity, which hasn't happened for a long time. This is because I just finished my examinations for the quarter. I'm not sure what to do with myself. Though, I have some awesome plans tonight with some awesome people. And, it's someone's birthday, though I do have yet to meet this individual. Today I had Le Grand adventure somewhere in Upper Arlington. Upper Arlington - though the residents are generally all WASP types and own vehicles with a sizeable appetite for petrol - is like a fresh breath of air. I would like to reside in this place, but I should probably wait until I'm actually making money and not just spending it on school. I visited a small business for baby furniture and other items for the bundles of joy. It was a trip. Mostly because I thought the round crib with the chandelier inside it's canopy was probably the most adorable thing I've ever seen. Even moreso than a lolcat. And a lolcat is hard to beat. I would like to say that I love it when I receive a Jcrew catalog in the mail, because I always have to laugh at the color names of the clothing: Deep Surf, Sour Lemon, Dark Slate, Golden Moss, Tidepool, hibiscus, traffic green! Fun, right? I have nothing else serious or amusing to say. Except that I'm looking forward to the steak. Also, I have to go because I'm a judge on next week's Cleveland's Next Top Model, and they want to tape it today so I've got to get myself to the garage. One final thought.

The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat. So people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee, but an absolutely defining sense of self. Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino.

Thank yer.

vacuum cleaner circa 1981

When I woke up this morning, my surroundings looked like a blend of junkyard, black hole, and compost pile. So I got out my good friend Suckerz, the vacuum, and had a go. I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I'll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I sha'n't be gone long. --You come too. -Frost

had we but world enough, and time

Last night, whilst taking a turn about the grounds with a friend, I became engaged in a most riveting conversation. The topic: Space and time. And space-time. And the universe. And objects. Subatomic particles. Everything . . . ? Theoretical physics. It's candy for the brain. The side affects include a sort of crazed bewilderment. Today we watched some Carl Sagan movies on Youtube, which led us into an animated video explaining ten dimensions. Watching that video pretty much voided all other thought for the rest of the day. Ten dimensions make absolute sense. And at the same time, they make no sense whatsoever. It's incredibly complicated. It zooms out as far as possible, and then all at once I am crashing back into myself and only the things that I can see or hear or touch or know. Think about this: What would you look like if you could see all of you? Meaning, all of yourself as you have been and will be in every time and place all at once, like an undulating snake of selves as a progression? That's five dimensions. Freaky and fun. But not good for finals week.

chopin is nice for paper writing

Early in the morning I hear on your piano You (at least, I guess it's you) proceed to learn to play. Robert Louis Stephenson Merci pour la musique, Monsieur Clarion. I suis at a loss for a topique. Je do not sais quoi to do. C'est juste that I do not want to ecrire my papier. My paper pour la classe of science politique. Oh zut.

what do you mean?

Well...

2 November 2007

But even as it fades, I will have this day. For today, everything has been muted. -Myself

25 November 2007

I can't stop thinking about ___. Since she died last Tuesday, everything and anything will remind me of her. I think a lot about ___, about how she died, about her family, about how she was on the phone with her boyfriend when she hit the other car, about my own friends. I think about my life and my death. I ask myself if I'm ready. I wonder why I am so upset and unsettled by the fact that she is gone. Many others have passed through my life before. Why do I find sudden death so troubling? Would I be less affected if she died in her sleep?

Am I depressed or am I simply aware? And why does it take ___'s death to open my eyes to what I know is true and would say to anyone else? Did I realize the seriousness of it all? And can we really feel this all the time? Can we be prepared all the time?

I'm scared to die unprepared. I'm afraid of forgetting again how transient it all is. I don't want to pass through this world in the moments I have oblivious to the truth and the vastness of what our lives and deaths really mean. I want always for my life to be somewhat muted to the banalities which cloud the reality almost tangible to me this moment.

I have felt more like myself this Thanksgiving weekend than I did leading up to it. School, consumerism, the world, social life . . . what does it all mean? I live my life and I love my life here. But ___ dies and I go home and I see my family and I see my friends and what has changed is the lens through which I see it all. The candle I'm burning smells something like the house did over a decade ago, and the distance between the past and the present blurs. It makes me feel like myself. I never feel more like myself than when it's all muted; when all that is left is what is real. I never want the static again.

27 November 2007

I'm still trying to hold on. I asked in my last writing two nights ago whether I am depressed or simply aware. I believe it is the latter. I already feel myself forgetting.

I thought about it more today. I've written before about feelings. I've said many times in the past that feelings are overrated. If we wait until we feel like doing what we know we should, we will rarely accomplish much at all. But I neglected to remember and contemplate other types of feeling - those not necessarily associated with inspiring action. The feelings I have now which are fading all too quickly from the forefront of my days have more to do with that "lens through which I see it all." They are not the reason for actions or the reason for what I know is right; they do not induce me to believe the truth. Instead, they are confirmation of truth.

I asked last writing, "why does it take ___'s death to open my eyes to what I know is true" and would say to anyone honestly?

I can understand so well why men and women devote their lives to religious pursuit and live closed from the world in abbeys and monasteries with fewer distractions and fewer patterns/schedules/rituals which make it nearly impossible to be always aware, always enlightened, always connected to truth.

In fact, my distrust in feelings lies in how quickly they have died after events and retreats which can never be like life; the richness of the retreat and separation from distraction allow beautiful feeling to accompany a present logic, justifying it.

I read Rilke's Book of Hours during the summer, and various others of his poems. One of my favorites I have thought about consistently these past few weeks:

If only for once it were still.

If the not quite right and the why this

could be muted, and the neighbor's laughter,

and the static my senses make -

if all of it didn't keep me from coming awake -

Before today, I loved it because it was exactly how I've felt . . . for a long time, without every being able to define it. But today - a couple of hours ago - riding the shuttle back here to my apartment, I said it in my head and suddenly realized the last line. "if only it didn't keep me from coming awake."

I feel awake. Awake is being and feeling the truth with every step. The weight of it is carried in every moment. It is the best way to feel and to live and be. Everything is more real and beautiful - it is not depressing and closed off, it is open and free and liberated.

But to be awake and not closed off from the truth, we have to close out the static our senses make - the world. The manifold of distractions. The mundane activities to which we gladly (and rightly so) devote ourselves. We have to keep living our lives, otherwise what is the point of being here? But it's such a labyrinth, life. Life - day to day life - it gets in the way of feeling what we know. Everything beautiful that I feel is remembered each time something wonderful or tragic or sudden or . . . final . . . happens. ___ is gone from this place forever. But last Monday night she was lying in her bed just like I am now. Life and death are profound and without description. They are all around us - they are us - and we breathe life and we feel it. Then we see death and we feel the brevity of it all, and we feel our own death which will come too. I am not afraid. But I am awake. It is still impossible to even imagine dying. It is what will happen when I am old and sleeping, no? I bet ___ believed that, when she gave it the passing thought that becomes customary to us all. "Some day." That day came.

Then in one vast thousandfold thought I could think you up to where thinking ends. I could possess you, even for the brevity of a smile, to offer you to all that lives, in gladness.

Rilke said it all in twelve lines. If I felt like I do - even as it fades so fast - now, I could understand so much more. I could live so much more meaningfully in my heart. And then maybe that would feed more of my action and change a life. Thoughts and feelings are not overrated - they are everything. But we cannot but discredit them because we cannot possess them long enough to depend.

I can only mute the static so much longer. But, oh! how I wish the silence would not fade.

so it begins

I start this blog with a few comments. I don't much like blogs, and the probability of this one's deletion is quite high. This is due to the fact that I am a private person and I like to fly under the radar, as it were. But who am I kidding? I gave (some of) my stealthiness when I acquired THE MOBILE DEVICE. Nonetheless, malicious and pointless material be banned from this place. Life is brief. Thus do we begin.