Thursday, May 27, 2004

I am sometimes amazed at the power of thoughts. Whether they be true or false, good or bad, thoughts that a person think truly affect how they feel, what they do, and ultimately, who they are. I've often wondered how much all of those factors affect each other. Do my feelings determine what I'm thinking or do my thoughts determine how I feel. A little bit of both sometimes. But there are some times that I've experienced a strain of thought, in which I feel very tense, edgy, and basically just moody, but then my strain of thought leads to one little thought that just changes everything. It's not usually anything profound or amazing, as if I've solved any of the mysteries of the universe. But I have those light moments of clarity. Those few times when I feel the there is a rightness to the way things are and to where I'm going. For a few moments, apparently because of a little thought, usually a positive one, my feelings aren't just a challenge to me, something I need to control.
I don't know, maybe I'm just screwed up. But I've never been one to freely give in to my emotions. I used to cry when I was a kid and I was angry. I was almost incapable of doing violence, and when I wanted to really badly, I'd cry. Otherwise, if I gave in to my anger and lashed out, I'd cry afterwards because of my weakness in giving in to my emotions. I don't know where I learned that. If it was just because of my moral upbringing, or if somewhere along the line someone told me it was wrong to be angry, or if it was just a natural thing. Since I've been serving at a restaurant, it's become harder and harder to control things like anger. But again, there is real power in thoughts. If I take a moment, not just to suppress my feelings, but just to set them aside for a moment while I change the way I think, then in that moment everything can change. It's a crazy thing, and I find it fascinating. I always like to understand how people work, and it always seems to be unfathomable. Some people don't think things through and act on instinct, and they're often called stupid. Others shut off their emotions and relate to people through intellect, and they're often called cold. Are "stupid" people actually unable to use their brains to figure things out, or are they just unpracticed? Are "cold" people really unable to relate to people on an emotional and personal level, or are they just unpracticed? I have a hard time letting go. Other people have a hard time controling themselves. It all just seems so utterly crazy to me. Either that or it's just late and I'm going to get up tomorrow and look at my blog and wonder why I went on forever about this one little meaningless thing.

Monday, May 24, 2004

I find it to be a horrible tragedy that there are so many horrible movies about religious and biblical things. Not only are these terrible flicks a bane to society, but they tarnish the good nature and the powerful meaning that are in the very stories they attempt to portray. I'm seeing one now (I say seeing, not watching, because I'm about to change the channel). I know it's mainly because they're all low budget, but it still bothers me. I didn't know anyone would be silly enough to make a movie with the story of Judah and Tamar, a story that definitely does not get taught in Sunday school. Can't afford good actors, good writers, or good production, then don't make the movie. Not to mention the music. Ugh. Thank goodness for Gibson's the Passion of the Christ. One of the only biblical movies I've ever seen that's any good. I really don't have any more to say. The crudity of this terrible movie leaves me speechless. Speaking of speechless. Why do people always speak in an English accent, as if trying to authenticate a foreign or historical scene, when English wasn't even a language at the time. Does it really make it sound more Jewish to depict an ancient Hebrew with an English accent?? Just ludicrous. I need a cigarette. (I don't even smoke, but this crap makes me want to).

Sunday, May 23, 2004

I've been reading books recently about destiny. I've always believed that life must have a purpose. I'm even ready to accept that each person has a specific individual purpose. But I realize that in the case of an individual purpose, I have no clue as to what mine might be. I have an idea of what people in general are supposed to do here on earth, though I am willing to admit that much may be lacking in my understanding of it, but if each person was made for a specific purpose, some reason that each one has to be here that belongs only to that one and no other, then I'm lost. There are things I have wanted to do in life. There are things I have wanted, which have been unattainable to me, or if they were attainable, then I had no clue as to how I might do so. Why must things in life be so complicated. Sometimes I just wish I were given a dream. Joseph had a dream, and though it didn't tell him where to go or what to do, it at least assured for him that he was somebody. But I get overwhelmed by all the people that are in the world, each with their own perspective, their own mind and their own "destiny". Perhaps. But I look around sometimes and see tons of people that I don't even know, who have never heard of me and have no connection to me, and they have things that are important to them, and they have their own stories to tell, and all of it together pales in comparison to the history of the world. I just seem so small and insignificant. Not that I need to be significant in the spectrum of all humanity and its history. But I at least need to feel that I have a certain place and purpose. Some reason that on August 20, 1980, my mother gave birth to me instead of some other guy (or girl). Perhaps there is no real purpose, just a bunch of people around, who just have to live life, and together try to fulfill the general purpose of humankind. I'd be willing to accept that, too, but that doesn't always sit right with me either. (real philosopher, right? I know "sit right with me" isn't exactly a logical epistemology). But suppose I have a certain purpose, I know there are some in the world who would tell me that deep down I know what it is, and it's just a matter of committing to it.
The other problem is the whole matter of achieving said destiny. Do I let life carry me along and just give in to whatever wind blows my way? Do I go with my feelings? My gut? Do I act when something "sit's right" with me? Do I work hard toward something I've thought long and hard about? Or do I just live life the way I'm supposed to live it, and expect that I'll end up in the right place and be the right person. I don't know. Maybe this is all a bunch of nonsense. Maybe I should just say, "screw it," and get on with my life. But if that means getting on with dissatisfaction, then I'd rather search for something else. Okay. Whatever the case, life goes on.

Friday, May 14, 2004

What's really cool, are those poetry contests. You know. You submit a poem and then you get some congratulatory speech about how great your poetry is and how wonderful your accomplishments are and how you should be really proud. And then they slam you with the "special offer." I don't know what silly people actually cough up over a hundred dollars to buy a book that has *a* page that actually contains one of their own published poems. Then they get all excited because they've been published. But do they win anything? It's a contest right? I've gotten a lot of congratulations, but I've never won anything. I don't even know if my poetry is any good, because the only people telling me their opinions about it are close friends (who are, for the most part, going to be nice) and these organizations who want to sell me superexpensive "anthologies." And it's not like you can find any of these anthologies anywhere else. So it's not like real people might glance at my poetry. Just other hack poets who think their work is important. I keep entering the contests, just to see if anything ever comes of it, and on the unlikely chance that my little work might get noticed, but really, the overpriced crap they sell is insulting.

Thursday, May 06, 2004

The Time: Late at night

The Place: A small, enclosed space (ie. my apartment)

The Problem: want to write about something, but not really thinking about anything.

So, I'm thinking I'll post some poetry. (I know... *groan*... not more people posting their crappy poetry). But seriously, did you ever meet a beautiful woman that made life unbearable simply by her outstanding beauty, even if just for a few days? Here's a poem about one I met. whew.

Alas, that such a vision should exist to haunt my dreams.
A travesty, that I should breathe the beauty that she beams.
If I had never gazed at such a lovely form as this,
My mind had never wandered to desire a tender kiss.
I would have been content to think such beauty wasn't real,
Just the talk of fairy tales, or something that you feel.
But no!, she really walks and breathes and haunts the world of life,
An instrument of torture much more piercing than a knife.
Alas, that I have seen what's more inspiring than the sky.
For now the forms that once were grand seem naught but all awry.
And if I wake and find my mind released and all forgot,
I'd count it but a blessing and my life a happy lot.

And that's it. Not too painful I hope. I know, the knife line is a little bit out of place, and kind of a stupid rhyme. But I liked the lines after that a lot. There's no title. I have yet to think of a good one, even though I wrote the thing like a year and a half ago. alright. Anyway
The dreamers are the sad and weary.

Monday, May 03, 2004


There are a lot of thing in my life, things which I actually enjoy doing, which could be considered worthwhile or in some way productive. These are mainly things that I have thought about doing or tried to do or started at some point in my life, but most of which have never been fully accomplished. Such things include my desire to write a full length fantasy novel, learn Japanese, or finish a professionally recorded cd of my music. The strangest thing to me is that, though I enjoy these activities when I actually do them, it is one of the hardest things for me to actually bring myself to work on them. I've never understood. It's easy for me to turn on a video game, or the television. And while a bit better is the easiness with which I can open a good book (mainly fiction), it seems like most of the things that could actually have a good amount of significance for my future and for the good of the world and all that kind of cool stuff for some reason, which I cannot come to point my finger at, carry with them an unaccountable dread. Not the kind of dread one faces when one's imagination goes wild after watching Dracula, but the kind of dread an eighth grader has before having to write an English paper. Even if it's some easy English paper that can actually be fun, like writing a cool story (and now I've come full circle to my desire to write a work of fiction). It's like all the great stuff that we could be putting our minds to has the subconscious label of "HOMEWORK!" And I, for one, never want to do it. I never feel like doing it. Sure, once I force myself to do it, it can actually be pretty fun. As fun as playing Socom 2 online with a bunch of other people who are wasting their time? Perhaps not. But fun, nonetheless, and perhaps with an extra quality those other activities do not have, that wonderful sense of accomplishment. So what is it? What is it about the thought of "Homework" that just makes me go, *ugh*? Is it that I have to think? But I LIKE thinking. That's the whole thing. I have no problem devoting myself to a book full of cryptograms and puzzles, but I won't work on a great work of art. I've never been able to understand it, and though I try to motivate myself, and perhaps will find better ways to motivate myself, I still have not, as of yet, found a way to convince my subconscious mind that the productive things that I want to do are just as enjoyable as the, well, less productive things. hmmm. Just something to think about. Maybe I need to start reading some of those motivational or inspirational little notes on some feel good sort of daily calendar, where you tear off a page to reveal each day. But I really hate those things.

Sunday, May 02, 2004

It's true, I do watch television, more than I can say I like. But I've been watching this show, and to save face I won't speak of the name. I watch this show semi-regularly, but it irks me that it's only good about half the time. I mean, I swear they must have two writers, one to screw everything up and make the show aweful, and the other to fix it all and make it awesome. While I really appreciate the skill of the good writer, it still just bugs me. Just have the good writer write all of the episodes, and maybe, just maybe, you'll have a really good show. But no. Let's keep the stupid, aweful writer, and let our TV show go down the toilet every other week. Maybe I'm wrong, and there is only one writer, who can't really come up with anything good until he just makes everything screwy and terrible. In which case, I'd suggest some kind of counseling or medication, cause the guy could not be in his right mind. Anyway, do-do-do-do-do-do-do. That's it.