Monday, December 5, 2011

What I'd Like to Know

What the hell is wrong with a nice white picket fence?

Friday, November 18, 2011

A Conclusion

   The world’s a fucking shit-hole. The really sick part is that we’re born with the capacity to conceive something better; I guess you could say that makes this place hell. The only thing to do is to try and be kind.

Monday, November 14, 2011

In Summation

There is no doubt in my mind that the gargantuan audience is still watching from their perch From which they also spy the leaves
That caress the faces of the inevitable sirens of solace and silence and solitude
Without which the poets and the writers would be reduced to mere flickers
On the screen that is the walls of my small studio apartment
In the avenues of this city of light and darkness
Which every city in this great and monstrous country will claim to be at intervening intercourses in the interstellar maze of haze and pottery glaze
The wonderment of the stars without me peers down through the glory holes of the mall stall
The beanies and the braids mingle together under the umbrella of primetime television
And utter despair at the confusing cosmos and burning effigies of the soul
With this last dark night I will let this lone man stand un-judged and alone
In as true a peace as anyone might ever know
At least through the frames of my thin nearly unnecessary spectacles
Through which I also perceive eternity from my own small pinhole
In a black piece of cardstock
In my tiny third grade chair

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Stuffy Stuff Stuff

You never realize how much stuff is made until you try looking for something slightly obscure. Just try looking for a certain type of side table online, it will send you reeling into a transcendental angst faster than you can say "Google Shopping."

Thursday, February 24, 2011

An American's anxiety

     In the movie Citizen Kane Charles Foster Kane speaks a line that I find very appealing, "I'm an American, I've always been an American."
     This quote always made me feel a terrific sense of profound belonging. I'm not talking about having the American dream or a flag waving, star spangled sense of tear-jerking, fourth-of-July national pride. I'm referring to the national identity one gets from them and their family having been born in a certain place with a certain culture and attitude. There is something I find not wholly undesirable about this part of my person.
     However, I have an overwhelming feeling, that if I am to ever discover the true essence of myself and thereby create something with at least a little beauty, I must first get rid of any notion that I am anything but myself and that any word-able identifiers apply to my soul in any way. 
     I think that I ought to listen to the intuition which formed the latter paragraph on the grounds that any sense of nationality inevitably leads one to estrange themselves from the part of humanity which does not reside in the plot of land which marks their country, but I do not believe I will ever be able to fully shake from my psyche the American label, at least not in this life.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Here We Go

     The first order of business here, before I officially return from what might be called a hiatus of sorts, is to dedicate this post to Patrik--you may blame or give credit to him for this blogs shaky return to its somewhat oafish feet.
     Now! With a fresh paragraph I mark it official and with this marker comes the second order of business, which happens to be to get to the point of this post. Sadly, this is easier said than done, for there are many incoherent apparitions of thoughts that are manifesting themselves in my mind, but which when I attempt to take hold of and put down in plain English, fail to translate into anything except pure, literary fluff. These reflections have led me to the conclusion that I have no choice except to write on the nature of my reflections themselves, the format of which is this blog itself. I am aware that I have once already written a post on blogs and that one should only be alloted one of his medium in that medium, for if one reflects on his or herself too much I am a firm believer that they will eventually turn themselves inside out and the world will see them for what they really are, which happens to be nothing at all, and they will promptly disappear forever.
      It turns out that all I really have to say is that those of you who know the flesh and blood me are aware that my speech is nothing like my writing here. This concerns me slightly, because I consider myself one who always stands for real content from a person and when I detect a facade of any sort I usually denounce the work of the poor individual as utterly worthless. However, this writing, however obnoxious (and however many self deprecating comments I make) is from my soul which I offer to you. I close with an appropriate quote which also happens to be the quote for which this blog is named.

"One's identity ought not to be comprised of things which they don't partake in. It also ought not to be
reflecting those things of which we seem to emphatically take part in. The whole idea of a personality is almost entirely for the benefit of others. The truth is we are all incoherent enigmas who do not know ourselves--anyone who did is more than likely no longer continuing to cycle through this life."
-Author Unknown