Thursday, December 16, 2010

I can't see myself conducting the same diatribe every day. Although, it's been three months. But tonight . . . is Wednesday night. : )

I won't explain the relevance because it'll just boil down to the usual motif of depressing with just enough hope to keep the whip writhing.

But I will exclaim my brilliant undertaking to limit thought. And when I'm late for the world I can look down and marvel at the peace gravity brings. And my stomach folds in upon itself I can be there then and say at least I've got this great thing to do.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Faith is a Muscle

There is little that can be done completely alone. Even independent endeavors require, often times, an inspiration from the outside . . . or the inside if not directly born from the ego. My next supposition is broad enough that it may include a fair amount of people unfairly, but I feel that as a man I've inherited a distinct attraction to the concept of destiny. What I've found is that the road to its appreciation is littered with thousands of immediate experiences. The ambition to make life mean something greater is what helps me to recognize such a destiny looming like the sun, off in a great cosmic distance. And perhaps like the manifestation of man's next great evolution, I imagine traveling amongst the stars one day. There is a threat of being passive within all of us when the goal is so great that all motion stops and instead we contemplate the surrounding.

For years others have told me to set definable goals along the path. I have tried with ill results. My definable goals number in the dozens and time seems to move quickly enough to choke my appreciation of this process not realizing that being industrious is not a habit one just equips without earning it. I've spent time in between inspirations suffering from distraction, engaging in things irrelevant, enjoying the peace of not dealing with the responsibility of my acumen. I do analyze and attempt to live consciously all through my rebellion of the same purpose I search for, hoping that instead I'll be carried off in some current of serendipity and be all of a sudden inclined to work. Not realistic. And the fatalistic reality of a world without effort settles like a haze before the sunlight of vision.

Why? Because the ability to do; one man's capability requires a proof of concept. Each moment being a new one, the proof is like fuel. It needs to be consistent. Setup a goal, knock it down. Setup a goal, complete it and utilize the momentum. Setup a goal and let others see you accomplish. Setup a goal and finish it at. all. costs.

Faith is a muscle and although most people attribute faith to the gods or faith in one self as an act without proof, I believe faith comes from testing your strength and proving your increasing worth with knowledge, experience and wisdom. Faith will evolve in the trial as you understand your mastery and your influence through it.

I am trying again to live anew and exercise this emotional muscle, increase its power of influence and move beyond the state of today into the world of my future, a journey I have yet to uphold with little more than worry and forced indifference.

As you can see there is faith invested in a process of debilitation. I know what holds me back and it disheartens me. If I proceed through it, then the concept is broken and a new one replaces it. Do not lament the battles to come, appreciate the true enemy for it affords you the greatest measure of gain.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

A Resignation to Conquest

War is fundamental to the romance man is dependent on. Conflict makes us real. We make new conflicts endlessley. It's how we ease the longing of being incomplete. And then we build fears to keep us from greatness. The consequences of this paradox speak out to our future as a species.

Man overcomes fear and achieves greatness, for better or worse.

The demands will only increase less the guilt of actions not taken drown us. There are few excuses anymore where the answers emerge in the nature of challenges, in the sentiment of our favorite songs, in the movement of those we idolize or lust for.

Our resistance is the evidence of a looming greatness. And we must follow the dark road, the narrow straits, the perilous path through shifting mountains and restless caverns. The stride is truer in the flames of adversity. There is no greater focus than one achieved on the plains to perdition.

Scary thoughts.

Many of us know the battle of helms deep. I forget how the words rang. Peter Jackson brought rain and mud and hundreds of wavering souls grimacing beneath waning light and a thunderous approach. I had goosebumps. Being run through with a blade was the last thing on my mind. Being a part of history, even an imaginary one, was a thrill more complete than the love of a female, unless that female throws her lot in with a destiny engineering your arrival.

Imagination has taken a bold move. Replicating the fantasies that would normally stir us to mischief, adventure, or conquest has created a shadow request for some inevitable least for myself. How can a man live and not wish to be tested? Whether or not he learns where and when to test himself and in which manner is the bigger issue.

My cousin and I beat Uncharted 2 for the Playstation 3. The behind-the-scenes unlockable videos showed the efforts of an industrious team in conquest of the imagination. They were surely successful. There work resulted in a great adventure...a great advent. Not the game per-se.

The Great Advent won't be a great answer. It will be a great problem. And that will bring us together and to the next stage. We will face our fear together and over come or succumb and that's it. This process is repeated in every life from the earliest moments, either directly or indirectly. The only thing that tempers the future of some great eclipse is the effort of leaders who have overcome their inertia, to change the formula, to spread their energy among those prepared for guidance. Guidance will take us away from the longing, at least I believe it will. It should help.

Thus my emphasis on family. Thus my emphasis on a proper union. Thus my emphasis on personal growth. My perfect world, lol. But this doesn't mean I'm going to be a gentleman all of a sudden, they don't get a whole lot of play. Conquest requires resistance in order to be considered conquest. Look for resistance. Let it shape you.

Friday, August 13, 2010

God is Consequence

It is the omniscient ruler and receiver of all efforts. It has always existed and will so in the end. There is nothing more real and tangible than Consequence. There is nothing worth fearing and worshiping more than this lord of Justice. Consequence does not play sides. It is the proof of humanity's greatness. It is the weight in our concerns and the validation in our nightmares. There would be much to say for the benevolence of consequence if it were not so utterly felt in acts of attrition. The players busy building worlds are not the ones defending them. There are few defenders not solely concerned with their own survival. Consequence is the pyre's light. We are the logs, snuffed out into the ether.

I was on the JFK tram at the minute check-in closed. The next flight is 6 hours later. I'm at the airport thinking about why I'm so lax on life. Being on time everywhere must be great...but so is watching all the women that have come to the airport dressed for the warm weather.

I'll read, write, more likely than not play a skirmish in Starcraft II. Attempt to do some work and imagine that I really am capable of understanding how many tiers there are to self-mastery. You can control your actions and be someplace late because you prefer not to be agitated and then control your emotions so as not to stress the extra expense and idle time. I'm totally misusing these talents but it does confirm one thing: most people not even thinking along these lines have way more power than they care to recognize in the future of mankind. It's passive vs. passion out there and passive has a better long game.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Sticky Eyelids

No, not like that.

Several hours past bedtime, you may encounter a weird calm translated between your body and mind. Aside from fuzzy dry-eye I mean, if you're creative, if your pulled for reasons beyond your understanding, and if you're determined to believe that the fantasy of destiny is more than just a childhood wish. I get this way when I perform manual labor, or finally find the rhythm I was looking for in a school-paper, poem, stretch of fiction I was wrapping myself around all day while doing a million daily things. Usually I go to sleep before giving it a chance. I've been doing that for several years; betraying myself.

For all I know I may be writing now not to seem like the desperate schmuck throwing my guts to the wall to see what sticks (I entered info on Mike's [Michael Roderick's] tribe list with little to show for years of interest in production-value story-telling). I haven't been back to volition in a while, I miss it always though.

A friend of mind called today. We caught up. He's unemployed too, but he's bored for being in between semesters and taking Jujitsu for the last two months around 5 nights a week. I gotta admit, I'm jealous of his compulsion. I'm full of it . . . this inertia. My last semester was two semesters ago when my skull folded in like a wad of play-dough between a full-time job, my first film production class at Brooklyn college and business marketing at Phoenix U. There was a lot of resistance, the F.U. kind then. I'm recalcitrant. I think since the 4th grade.

I can't explain the downward spiral, it was subtle but my balls are somewhere out there now, rattling in the subconscious undercurrent of everything I love and hate about this world, having a great time without me and when I think about reclaiming them, it seems it'll be for a price paid by more than a few loved ones. That kind of change is spooky when everyone thought you were part of the furniture. Roland Deschain was given a similar prophesy on his own choices/sacrifices. I've been hearing songs all day easing the reality in past all the fear.

I'm 27, I've got to do something. I've got to get back to me. I've got to write write write write write write write write write write write write write write write write write write write write write write

Thursday, July 15, 2010

On taking an interest.

It looks like I was born with some smug apparel. I'm entertaining the idea that the reason I don't harvest respect for details is because it's someone else's details. Very little surprises or bothers me. I mostly contend with guilt when it comes to others and that's about as far as it goes.

I appreciate people as forces of nature, but not their baggage, or experiences or egos. I appreciate their living, I tolerate their character. We flip-flop between creation and destruction and get in our own way. So I don't pay attention to architecture, or all the names of the actors of the stories I can't remember fully, or how liquor is created. I don't pay attention to details, just smells, and smiles and starlight. I'm actually too reserved to be a hippy and too lazy to be conservative. I care about something but I can't name it for you, I feel passionate about mystery.

My original pangs left me believin I didn't belong, then I wanted to conquer the world as a way of making me fit here. Now I recognize bullshit when it stretches too long. I marvel at it, as if there's some gem held within that will make me see clearer. But there is no preparation for being proactive, just insanity and narcissism and belligerence.

Bah, it's late and I'm in a storm I don't quite understand. I am my own lighthouse always and this is a hint of madness with drooping eyes and a sagging frontal lobe sloshed in the mess of purposeful action. I have things to do and I'd rather exhaust my faculties figuring nothing out. This is distinctly have-not in have-town, wining for the fulfillment that comes from manual labor and prideful service meanwhile disdaining the luxury I so love to rest upon. Keyword: ungrateful, drinking cooled coffee, relentlessly figuring out how to pull a fast one on myself.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

When the trumpets cry in unison . . .

You kinda gotta march.

I won't go into detail. My aid is in demand, it's up to me to build upon my resources. My heart is wayward and my mind is chasing it in circles. I can't get a grip on time or priority most of the day. I don't feel cohesive and I'm pretty sure I won't appreciate help. This is about me getting a hold of me. I ought to be able to. Or else why live? If I can't focus and take meaningful action, why live?

I keep trying in vain to relate this blog to being American, but I do wonder if non-Americans are capable of the type of faith-crisis born from too much opportunity and too much freedom. I can think what I want to in this country, I can push my brand and make money on products I put my heart into . . .

Everyday I'm confronted with a haze of ideas, all feeding on one another and never leading me to a definable staging ground. I can sit in front of this laptop for hours with fingers poised, struck by the nuisance of doubt.

I can do better but not for others. I can't learn the way with others yelling. I may not be ready for half the responsibilities I'm poised to accept, but I'm tired of having little and doing little.

For all this venting I might as well have a therapist, but there's no money for that, just people in need and me with a bunch of hovering talent.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

No gods, No homo.

No homo - no gayness. Lets remove the literal definition and use the subtext of efeminite, vulnerable, weak.

No gods - no excuses, no rules, no divine reason. Just us.

No rulers, no crutches.
No gods, no homo.

No standards, no strangeness.
No purpose, just vision . . . our vision.

I told myself I needed a pen and paper to write. I told myself I needed pencils, erasers and sharpeners and how-to books to draw. I told myself I needed to learn perspective and research shapes before I could be a good story-board artist. I told myself I needed to do this in order to communicate to the real story-board artists, the people finding the locations, the DPs, the actors. I told myself I wanted to communicate windows into the story to the artists that drew the comics containing the stories I had written. I told myself I could learn photoshop to help with digitizing the project and after effects to make it cooler.

I told myself I could learn the piano and a beat machine to make custom tracks for the work and sell other stuff to up'n'comers. I told myself I could recruit fresh, empassioned creators for a production team in my old bedroom near my school, build workable PCs, hustle for extra cash and make stories out of nonsense just to prove that I could. I told myself I would research the masters of cinema and watch the tricks they called new that now don't get noticed unless someone's pointing them out, teach you how to look, how to appreciate what you see.

I told myself I could dance salsa and then become a b-boy and learn jujitsu and boxing and how to swim better and climb rocks, to be fit and functional and impress the need for a better diet. I told myself I could transform me into the hero capable of all these ventures and do it all cleverly with ferocity and focus.

I told myself I could be gravitational, learn other languages, take improv classes, acting classes, stand-up, open mics, to learn how to work with actors, to help break out of my shell, to earn a space for these words to blossom and inspire other folks on the fence of their own becoming. I would learn my soul's pitch, perfect it and publish it. I would create the buzz that makes the businesses want to pimp me out. My fiction would be in demand.

I told myself by then I'd have a few dozen shorts in the world and a book on the way. I write editorials in the Times. Circles I hadn't heard of would want my mind. My business side would spin off some copy-writing and grant-writing and business plan development and I'd make money.

I told myself I'd learn web-development to market my own stuff and learn a new skill I could push in the process. I'd self-promote, get businesses up. I'd teach kids how to do it all, I'd teach kids in after school programs in neighborhoods where they don't learn how to martial what's god-given into rights under-utilized, like the right to the pursuit of happiness, not just power or noteriety. Happiness.

People ask me why I'm down on myself. My mom, my boss. They don't know I have no leaders, no one projecting a truth of who I want to be, on the other side of faults that distinguish who I am today. They tell me to appreciate my accomplishments, like?

I'm here to make a difference, that's what the vision tells me, but I ain't makin shit. Double-negatives are about as far as I get and I can't figure out if I'm that close or that far from it. What would make the difference is doing the hard thing every day but every day is common enough to forget...until it's not and then I'm fucked or dead.

I've never let the anxiety get too deep. My mom taught me to fear reprecussion less and less with every mind altering guilt-trip she went through. It passed through me like a hot wave threatening to tear my world apart, until I got ice cold. Now I can't feel urgency. It's not her fault, it's just how I am. Born with a numb strength, passive to perfection. A seed of doubt was planted with a dad that couldn't stay and a girl years later that had nothing to say. Now unrequited love keeps me from blowing the world away, thats how I figure it at least and I expect no one to put their finger on it.

I let things go cause peace is too precious to lose and opportunities whither in my life till they're worn out. I'm getting older and sadder and my only comfort comes from the loss of joy from finite pleasures. The long term is more important now but I don't know how to work for it. My focus is garbage and I have too many loves waiting to spend my impulse and waste my willpower.

I need some spiritual recalibrating but I hate the way fate can call that in; with a drunk driver or a plane crash or a crack-head with a box cutter. What should you fear when the universe can't depend on you? When your country can't find pride in you? When your city doesn't include you and your community doesn't recognize you on the corner? Who loves a living ghost? And true love is for men, not boys. Boys won't get killed for it, and men prepare to die for it.

I am an American. I know nothing of the weight of my footprint. I guess with flawed perspective and fall into deep sleeps every night. All leadership seems try hard, I wanted guidance when I was 3, 5, 8, 12, 15, 17, 19, 23. I watch ambition in the world and I want to laugh sometimes. It doesn't work. I respect stubborn people now, fueled by their own bullshit and impracticality so much that others can't help but give in.

Renouncing age and resource is the best I got, hope is an old horse that shouldv'e been put down a long time ago. But, it's also an old friend. I want to leave something behind, some story with some importance and some proof of worthwhile things. I'd love for that love to be in a little me somewhere someday . . .

I told myself I'd have a family with enough money to entertain the vision of my son and daughter. I'd keep them safe and teach them how to respect their own power. I'd entertain them and listen and love them. They'd see the world from a seat on my shoulders. They'd see how people in love work together and stay young together when they watch me and mom. They'd know magic.

I've sold myself a dozen lifetimes of work accomplished by a better man than I. this is my addiction, it is my hell.

...but I am only 27 and I am not dead yet. I cannot yet speak of the end of things, only the beginnings, only the hesitations. Ignorance is evidence of possibility. Perhaps another cosmic joke is looming. Perhaps the deeds will fulfill themselves through me. Perhaps the vision is not to be trifled with and time was part of the equation. Perhaps the magic was not lost, but like all growing things, manifests at an impercepible rate. Perhaps I am not alone and somewhere I am being rooted for.

Every moment, everyday. Every moment.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Turning Tomorrow

I'm an intrapaneur... It's not a word but it's been created to define the people that commit themselves to the efforts of entrepreneurs building their team.

So I got drafted. I'm the first one here apparently.

Now that's not a bad thing though the circles in which people grab hold and rise are difficult to find if you're not looking. You're only hope is your own voice.

Getting acclimated to speaking is having an interesting affect on my observations. Real time acclimation betrays the sort of brooding that writers feed on. There are too many nuances in the results of self-improvement to record accurately. You can miss the good stuff if you're trying to hard to hold on to it.

Recently I was told that "he who hesitates is lost . . . and then you gotta go and jerk off."

I'm gonna let that simmer a little while.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Life is movement

Watching, waiting, pondering, all have a finite amount of gravity to any cause. At a certain point you become a coil winded until the tension is lost in the ether. Within that time you have the severe opportunity to lash out and cause the kinetic gratification only the soul can know and drink in. Often our senses betray what's at stake too late to make a difference. I made a general reference but the metaphor was apparent when the micro-sleep assaulted me during this day's venture into technology training.

A possible future income stream, when observed, slowly fades into scenery and stretches thin all things civil in an academically acclimated individual. I fall asleep, against my will, quickly waking, my lapses hopefully imperceptible to a room full of attentive participants. The experience is invaluable but it's also important to pay attention to the way I work. How far should a person push their limitations in unfamiliar environments? Maybe the answer to that is a non issue for those committed to evolving their life.

I hope I didn't snore.
I get most sleepy after lunch.

The direct conversations afterward are infinitely more engaging because I'm finally involved again. I think, like most people, I'm starting to lose my appreciation of the sidelines. Patience inner padawan. I say this to myself.

On to other news: I think I'm fairly perceptive to important details of a given social environment. But the amount of things left for me to learn are absurd. Programming languages, sales techniques, fitness and diet disciplines left to maintain not just for life benefit but for work benefit, active hourly planning and goal setting, being a better person in general to everyone I know: the list goes on and the priorities are always shifting and I'll be turning 27 soon . . . It's not really old or anything but as for getting my shit together you'd think some of this would have dawned on me a few years ago. where was I? I don't want to entertain the whole complacency spiel over again. It's been rubbed dry. I've always wanted momentum and opportunity and resources. The idea that it all comes down to the right connection is baffling for the amount of personal investment that becomes necessary to deserve the affiliation and make the most of it. Does it come down to natural ambition or social compassion? It's probably both right? You and the whole world important together? We are one?

It's interesting to see how the answers can't be glimpsed until your almost too busy to recognize them, as if they are meant for everyone else but you. Is assurance not meant for the leader, would that assurance betray their vigor? Are leaders meant to carry their insecurities along side their maturation? Why are demons so integral to process? Is it as simple as resistance, like gravity and muscle tone?

I'm transcending terms and making no stances. It's all fun, it's all fluff. I may perform this year at a slam somewhere. Lets see, I'd love to get some people on here.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Late in the night

I never feel lonely when I'm warm. Even if the place is empty. Warmth is comfort. It speaks to the nerves in a distinct way. Presently I'm freezing, attempting to pacify the shivers with the movement of my hands. I'm getting rid of the funk by spending the time with you guys.

Not sleeping enough will eat up your life years. All the regret sucks. Everyday you wake up knowing you had another 5 hours to go is another day you substitute peace for caffeine and fortitude for instability. But I'm here in stead, standing in the way of my physical needs, for one much higher. Consistency.

But I think now, ciao.

Much love to midnight word-stuffers.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

These are not threats

Just lies in hope's twilight.

Currently I'm reading "Never Eat Alone" by Keith Ferrazi. The man simultaneously makes the case for and against "the natural." Someone with his dedication is quite unique, and while he may prod the impetus existing inside those with the interest, I am certain the world remains divided by those born to lead and those born to follow. Greatness lies anywhere but is it really possible that an originator can be revealed in the brush of mediocrity?

I want a Bentley. If I can't have that I want a Ford Mustang. I want to make money and enjoy the process. I am never so great as I am in a strange land. At home I'm beloved. Abroad I represent opportunity, or at least I'm learning to. Finite and Infinite potential exist in the polarities of perspective and who's perspective is quite intriguing. Other people are game changers . . . well. When they apply themselves they are. Engaging circumstance is an indication of your traction in this world, regardless of the discomfort. Ferrazi wrote a book because it was truly in him to do it. Not simply a dream forever to become. He's one of these others that our internal projections tend to bounce off when we're tuned into a path of progressive living. Thought, it's easy to swing it into self-help and leave it there.

I'm operating on a fine line and I'm doing it badly. But it's in my nature to struggle with faith. I do it while whittling away at a blog in mid distraction of a show reminding me vaguely of every high school day dream I may have had about righteous confessions of love i had for this girl or that girl, full with chorus, dancing and live musicians sounding the charge and pulling whomever she was, my way.

I'm writing now to keep it all fluid, but it feels anything but. Ugh.

On to other news: I'm in Philadelphia considering a future in presentations and relationships and hotels with cheap everything and luke warm meals. There's money here and a chance to write and a lot to stretch thin in the interim. I walk around pretending to be George Clooney, except hispanic and not a celebrity. There's nothing in popular culture I care to regurgitate to make this simple practice a worthwhile investment for anyone but myself, unless of course you like the self-speculating mood you may be overtaken with in strange environments while trying to change the future of your legacy.

There may be better places for this, but until I get my act together and begin accepting the truth of the seven circles of submission purgatory (I've butchered a reference and I don't care), this is as good as I care to make it. Should a reader ever go retro-grade on the history of this miasma, I'd be pretty interested in the side-effects.

Ah well. Dreams.

Monday, May 10, 2010

the lodestar

It's not quite magic, the way relationships work. But to remove any type of metaphysical principle to the laws of attraction isn't logical. People may be drawn to one another for mutual benefit but there's a lot to be said for instinct and we can blame it on the genes all we want, but there was still a time when the genes didn't have a clue.

I said earlier today that it payed to be reminded of chaos. Exposure to it is intrinsic to our survival. Man is on the top of the food chain on this planet because we alone have the capability of navigating through it. We have imagination. Our emotions are rocket thrusters for the projections changing the face of the planet. With that in mind, unions are the pulse of civilization. I'm agreeable to the cause and effect but I have my reservations. I'm a new yorker. I got a big "fuck-you" in my pocket for any occasion. But unloading that out of pure cynicism is not the way to live.

A few entries ago, I complained about sales. I questioned the most basic frustration of any ignorant generalizer, can we really sell something we don't believe in and why? But everything I've heard is becoming clear. It's not about the product, it's about your relationship and the nearer you can get to displaying your awareness and consideration, the better you are at having the opportunity to provide value in the form of whatever it is you carry around. I don't believe sales has anything to do with pressure, just humility and observation and homework.

I'm in Philadelphia this week learning a million new things I hope to make the best of. We should all know that hope, however, just won't do. In America, hope is for the people that don't accomplish. With all the opportunity being created by people who do, the hope is unknowingly placed in the percentage of those who stop waiting to keep the world moving. They move it and the rest of the planet gets on with their lives. I wish I could still give all the credit to mother nature, but we'd be satisfied in loin cloths if she was the destination, rather than spring-board. Industry and Evolution beckon to all of us. There's a responsibility in that whether we choose to recognize it or not.

Friday, May 7, 2010


After about 5 semesters of above average performance, I take a nose dive and fail the 5 classes I register for in the following 2 semesters. My will plummets. I'm shaken and unwilling to risk any more time and money. I take a year off to forget it all with the notion that being a full-time student, while attending a different school online for a separate degree, while working full time, is not so much about confidence as it is about insecurity.

Performing obligations independent of some external prompt is not something they teach you in school. They build the routines that service you through a stagnant, if stable, career. The most you can do to show some element of control is pile your plate and accomplish the string of commands, making the most of it while you go along. The less it impresses upon you any strife, the more you can do. But the minute you question it all, the minute you suffer any debilitating emotional effects, the whole house of effort comes crashing down and on an institutional timetable, that means a full stop. I withdrew from school because up until this point, I had not had an upset to this degree. It happened in large part, due to my experience in my first film production.

I was coming to class late. I was having a hard time getting my storyboards completed. My drawing skills a mess. My short film ideas were tossed, one after another. My camera only recorded half the footage I shot for my final. Much of what was left was overdeveloped. I had the bad juju, and my lax ways in the beginning of the semester didn't help me pull through. At the end, my professor was convinced to prove every possible way I would fail. I came late to class on the day everyone was showing their dailies, and I left without entering.

Since then I've attempted to review books on visual storytelling and on drawing. I've thought a lot about what stories I would offer and if I shouldn't go ahead and put a production into play just to practice what I've been taught. But outside of an institution I have to motivate myself and I'm left to wonder about how truly passionate people resolve their issues. To wait to be told to do this or that is just evidence of a grand fault that will affect me for the rest of my life. There are reasons to spare myself the anguish of another trial I don't have the heart for.

But to admit defeat is to turn my back on a deep desire molded since I was 10 years old. I enjoyed my youth, I played video games, like girls, scraped my knees, rebelled against my mom and all that. It never came fully to surface but I thought then and I still believe that constructing stories for a living is probably the best damn career I can think of. In fact, I don't even see it as a career but an instrumental function in my design; to use my imagination to show people what's possible.

I admit, you couldn't hinge the world's fate on my shoulders without me knowing and expect me to come through. The peace in between moments is precious. I would sit out on a stoop and daydream to senility if the weather was good enough and my bills were paid. But reaching that calm plateau in life should come earned and with people to share it with. And how could I even begin to accept those blessing if I'm unhappy with my legacy (that is hoping there is a legacy to feel one way or the other about).

Fitness, relationships, wealth segment my life and my day into a series of activities, some of which I constantly trade away for pause or distraction. But at my age I want more and I don't have it and I only have myself to blame. Conditioned by the complacency of my childhood, I could argue against the universe and my parents and whomever. But life being what it is, what more can I expect to control than myself once I'm cognizant. Heroism displays the higher objective always. That's why a transformation is involved and an icon created. The act of fighting our own hesitation and impulses is an ancient formula, but school doesn't teach that.

I've re-admitted myself to the fun-house; college. I'm going back, if for nothing else, to finish what I started or at least let the clock run out on my financial aid. I don't have faith in myself, only in the moment and its power to make the future. I hope my regard for time has matured enough to be an asset in the coming challenges this fall and beyond. I pray that the love I have for realizing tall tales and romance and epic dangers doesn't fail itself under the weight of cynicism. Wish me fore-sight, clarity, will power, and luck.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Not Quite Daily Yet

With so much crap to do I can easily spend half the day between sorting out what's necessary, what's interesting, what I've put off for too long. Somewhere in between my mind gets tired and I nap. If I look at something for too long without acting on it, it's like some timer goes off and my body starts to shut down. Stimulation works as it should like direct questions, orders, threats, requests and gravity (moving around and moving things around often require spacial awareness, I don't fall asleep when I'm moving). Original projects seem to strip the life from my bones. I'm not sure what state I was in to write the entirety of my last blog entry but I'm sure I stepped away once to lie down. Currently I have tea and a sandwich to keep me moving and distracted but I feel the weight on brow, the droop in my eyes and that calm equilibrium that goes from shoulder to shoulder that I get when resting becomes like stasis. Writing is calming no doubt and I really hope the peace stems the risk of heart disease. But what if it doesn't and I need to pay for something?

As of now, years into this blog, I have yet to find one subscriber. I don't talk about current events. Often I digress into the vague of subconscious. I hope that people can relate but often I go back and I don't even relate. My thematic curve is over the individual investment in living in a "free" world. Do we fully appreciate it? Why don't we make the best use of it? How do the "bad" neighborhoods end up that way? Why are children roaming around unguided? I only have guesses. I'm not interested in research. I speak to people, I observe my community, I read the news some times but generally leave it there. Somehow I've got an answer for everything regardless.

It doesn't make me feel better that I can go on and on, but I'm fueled to in spite of myself . . . when I actually sit down to do something. Where do my days go? I'm convinced that wealth begins with a state of mind. I don't have whatever that state is and since I'm finding it I'm pretty much uncomfortable in some way on a daily basis. I'm prepared to lay down right now, but I'm hunched over this thing with an excuse for being otherwise productive, or otherwise a quitter. I woke up not 2.5 hours ago and I'm mighty tired. I've got calls to make and a book 7 pages in and 3 miles to run and gf getting home soon and tickets to buy for something on M-day and birthday party to go to and an extreme desire to play almost any slightly compelling video game. Did I forget it'd be awesome if I cooked my own food?

I've tried the planner thing. I'm going to have to try it again but I don't really feel motivated to look at it or even follow it once it's all down. How can I be this conscious of what's needed to improve my life and have this much disinterest at the same time? How can I pursue something I'm also avoiding? Right now I suck but it's inconceivable to be on the verge of 27 without a flag in the ground.

Sigh, I'm giving my body 15 minutes to get the droopy out of its system. Then I'm going to starbucks to listen to some strange world music, purchase one overly pricey latte, and believe among strangers that I am far more conditioned than my privacy would reveal.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

The Things That Make Us Strong

A complete list couldn't be warranted. No one knows the complete truth about the mystery that compels us. Some of us need quiet time to wonder and contemplate about the breeze or the way sunshine feels or the intent behind the hand caressed by yours.

We don't truly know any perspective beside that of our own. It can be a source for anxiety or even peace depending on a variety of factors. But there are no more important elements than the one we base our decisions on. In a life where the worst thing that happened to me was a seed of doubt, I have little to fret over. The little is enough to stem the courage I believe I have inside, needed for the efforts required in my destiny. It is a choice, and if you prepare, not one you will suffer as greatly for. All change hurts a little for the letting go. And until we trust ourselves to the seasons before us, we are in the dark, senses betraying an alien manifest.

This is each year of my life and fear is the stabilizer. It always has been. How we judge the calming effects of hesitation can be viewed over a life time of perilous waters, not for the chances taken but for those passed up to maintain an equilibrium in the mounting expanse of our potential. Venture too far out and you can, and perhaps will, get lost. The acquisition of personal power is not without an element of danger. If your will is too wide, too far reaching, you may thin out and lose your connection to anywhere and anyone.

The void is worthy of fearing. And the fear is its own danger. It may hold you in the grip of the thing you loathe, and the relationship is intense for its proximity to your thoughts. Obligations keep you busy. Distractions keep you away. The world was meant to be engaged as an adventure. But we are complacent in the immediate. Time passes. Opportunities dwindle. Energy becomes stagnant. And the question arrives: Is it worth it? What I'm doing, where I'm going, the people I'm involved with, the patterns I've invested in? Not thinking is easier and widely considered the higher alternative. Speculation is tied to indecision; a negative. It's sad that realization has become an island.

All the while you trade external experiences for internal ones and vice versa. You beat around the bush, circling the truth defined by the limitations you refuse explore. The silhouette of a different life takes mold and old decisions come to the surface; old mistakes perhaps and chances long gone.

"What is Love?
Baby don't hurt me.
Don't hurt me,
No more."

Yeah I know. : P

It's a classic that speaks to something generally untouched but all too common. We can build a dream in something that has no place for us and the prospect of taking control and building that place seems daunting for the lack of consideration from the environment or the minds that police it.

The relationship you want, the career you want, the home you want. Everything else is some extraneous side-story to the needs of today's children. Survival is an emotional, social thing now. Living means connecting. And some of us strive for the strength to turn the connections true and to make our hearts soluble or solvent. We need homes for the heart and mind and when we can't have them at the time we feel we need them, we suffer.

It all comes down to the quiet. It's fair to wonder if you're truly happy. Cynicism being the trend in the modern era, even the question is a painful practice because of what it means; primarily vulnerability. No is invulnerable and yet everyone moves forward. Everyone acknowledges the truth in some way; if not that they're lonely, that they do exist in a solitary viewpoint. Your environment's understanding is not guaranteed. The danger is in dissolution and a thousand smiles can't make up for genuine silence among the family you make.

The lost boys and their leader had their happy thoughts and it gave strength. It's childish to think something that simple can help people fly and be brave. I've spent a long time seeing the silly in it and protecting myself against thoughts that threatened my constitution and pointed at dreams I've long since abandoned. I did it because accepting these influences would make me subservient to unrealistic wishes, incapable of the strength I so desired; unable to live independent from the errant machinations of chivalrous dreaming.

It's bullshit but the world has no problem prizing the fantastic as fiction and in commune we follow the faiths of our projected ideals, each of us in secret revelry of a worlds full of justice and love requited and life-glory. We go home and hold our wishes deep down as the days pass until they are partially forgotten or the obligations return to claim time away from the spirit's endeavor to proceed as it should.

I've been blessed with a great dream, and the will to form it was . . . altered, sometime ago. I search now for the way to accept that the dream has always been stronger than its obstruction, that indeed the obstructions are the consequence of fears for the truth being real and a world truly capable of accepting the glory we may yet form in it. At the bottom, I see something sensible and fundamental in the thought that what makes us strong doesn't exist. It is woven into dark fabric representing the chaos of all possibility. It is the virtue reflected off our hearts, unattainable, beautiful, infinite.

Is that OK? To never truly have something, and spend your life creating it? In our wildest dreams we say YES! I never exploited that energy. I will try.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Fun-house appraisals

I spent about an hour feeling comfortable about a profile picture. I went through several snapshots on my web cam and found unsatisfactory statements being portrayed. I'm also a little loopy from some caffeine powder being sold in the drugstore. It was an experiment and hear caffeine is bad for you anyway. I was falling asleep prior from too much wonder. and now my thoughts are somewhat scattered.

At some point I'll be cold-calling for a new venture I'm involved in. My previous concern over the villainous, manipulative, salesman role is gone. Replaced is simply the foreboding of first interactions. Our life is often propelled through our reflections in the eyes of another. Being considerate is valuable, being an introvert is detrimental. I don't like it, it's strenuous but I do it in little bits and usually the fear is based in nothing but mystery. I move along ok.

When I exercise, I find extreme value in how the internal conflict between mind and body services in levels of pain and fatigue. It's like I'm finally having it out with myself after days of indecisions. Occasionally this spills over into other progressive acts, like cleaning, cooking and writing. But creating a discipline of success is still a work in progress and maybe always will be. It doesn't really matter to think about though until current levels yield sustaining profits. The industry of the soul being warped by tendency is like a big joke on the culture of youthful ambition. Guidance is not meant to be a luxury but a requirement. I give a lot of respect to people that can and have motivated themselves to their own targeted heights. However the passive suggestion to some inherent flexibility new parents may have about the care and support of their children can be a determining factor in the mass hesitation of young people to do anything more than build on their BC rank or study raid boss encounters or whatever it is that girls do with their time while boys plot to engage them.

I often receive statements from my closest elders about pride and peace of mind about how I turned out. But I know how I'm living and how I want to live in the future and the disparity is disheartening. Everyday I push and realize that during the exertion it's hard to remember why. By the time I get to looking at my own reflection, I'm confused as to what I'm searching for and that flux propels itself into the challenges invented by my initiatives, no matter how impulsive they were. I believe there are people out there that don't think nearly as much about the relationship between self and applied angles and consequence, but how human can you be if you don't learn as you go, but just act and accomplish without demanding reason or assurance. How are successful people created?

My parents aren't missing, they do have their own distractions. I'm not alone but I prefer my own shortcomings to those of others. I see that production and marketing all begin with pen & paper and solid appreciation for cause and effect. We could all be so effective if it weren't for the nameless. I can't honestly say I'm thoroughly distracted from writing or exercising or working all the time. I acknowledge that I wish not to. It is the paradox behind desire and it is invented here in society. If I can acquire, my existence giving me the opportunity to afford the acquisition, then what truly prevents the effort. A million answers and not one satisfactory about how determination prevents itself. I think language is generously applied to successful people, so much so that they seem pinnacles of focus. I have considered the idea recently that maybe success isn't hard won at all. For those most likely to enjoy and adapt to a subject of interest, it happens naturally and organically and with just regular practice they are often prepared when an impulse of supportive energy passes their way. It's possible that everything we think we know about hard-work is false.

Monetarily, systematizing an endeavor with a mixed team of specialists is standard practice for maximum freedom. Regardless, it seems daunting to the normal masses who yet even know what they truly enjoy working at. I generalize but I get out, I'm not crazy. We need a change of understanding.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

You don't lay down in NYC.

In fact, I could probably argue that anywhere. But NYC has a reputation for being particularly live. It brings people together in all sorts of environment. People are the prime mover of all things happening in our society. Knowing them should be the big business of anyone venturing anything remotely ambitious. I don't know how long it takes to earn the gumption to adopt an aggressive social stance, or if I'm fighting a genetic stamp of "introvert." What I do know is I ended up in some high-rise lounge in upper-midtown the other day. My entry ticket was my pheromone-bucket of a cousin; I don't know the science. I watch gorgeous women wave white flags in his presence. He doesn't say much and has admitted he doesn't care much either. Apparently this is key when dating in a mature market, being needless. I think I'm pretty good at pretending, it doesn't change the fact I can't remember the last time I was notified that a model saw Jesus in the back of my head and praying I'd notice her revelation and start a conversation. I used to believe that girls never looked back, this is why men always do. But, believe it or not, the hot ones you wish had more humility in them, do have their exceptions. When they make them, they don't just look back, they look repeatedly and they stare.

It's a stretch to breach the metaphor here but consider how perspective educates. New angles add dimensions to previously 2D realities. All the opportunity in NYC doesn't count for much if you aren't out there experiencing it. The opportunity of experience itself comes seldom to those who don't prepare. Taking care of yourself, maintaining your appearance and being confident enough in what you can offer may be a few of the steps that can get you into some hipster playpen overlooking the little people scrambling down below (dismiss my inferiority complex, it really does feel that way when you're up there). Did I mention, the woman inviting my cousin was just serving the drinks in this environment where none of us knew anyone personally and we drank for free the entire night, with table service which she appropriated from another group she somehow kicked out. There are so many rules to bend and break in life and most often this happens out of impulse: in this case she wanted to get to know him, invited him where she could at her leisure, took care of his people and got her time in, all without the proper authority.

The magic of wealth and freedom (moving where and when you want to, never wanting for the basics and a bit more) has little to do with money, I'm starting to think, and more to do with realizing what is already within your grasp to exploit: Strengths, positions, friends, common sense, desire and youth. There's no more royalty, upholding a cultural hierarchy is something done in the mind. It's flexible just like everything else up there. Sometimes perceptions aren't of any value and living with a forward lean can yield more results. Whatever you do, if there are dreams to pursue, don't entertain functions that reverse your output when you'd have more than enough energy to drink and dance the night away in strange environments amidst provocative energies. The work is related to the reward through you. Everyday you have the opportunity to entice the universe to play your game. But None of it happens without engagement, and exposure.

I was only out because another cousin came in from out of town for his birthday. I'm glad I didn't bitch out for laziness.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Yesterday and Tomorrow

Last night I received a call from my Aunt. She referenced me to an entrepreneur in the IT business. Sales, web technology, database management, application development, and copy-writing. My resume stinks. For what works in it, it has an equal value of detrimental nonsense that only conveys I have no clear direction. What else is new?
He was kind enough to explain the why and how and at least I have a lead to start some work. Will it get it me out of the ferris-wheel purgatory? I've got to start training anew, reset my goals and challenge my resolve. Not necessarily new activities but the focus wasn't there because the goals weren't clear. Ventures of time and money in the last month of unemployment were not what I had hoped for but it's better than nothing. Still, I'm unnerved by the question "Can you sell yourself?"
It's not a small thing to bluff when your integrity is on the line. You have to look at your short falls before plans can be put in place to fix them. But you're not allowed to acknowledge them at the moment of appraisal. It's bad business to choke when the light lands on you. And yet it's the most honest representation for someone who has so little to represent in terms of actual experience and tested savvy. You'd wanna say you think outside the box but you don't even know what the box is. You're not aware when you're considered creative or preemptive or capable because all you know are the problems you solved by the skin of your teeth. It makes me wonder if confidence is fabricated and installed from the outside in. If it's something that the ego creates, part of its function like a magic trick falsifies validity. Confidence is not a part of the natural equation, only necessity. So if survival requires fabrication it shouldn't cause such confusion. Still I don't like channeling bullshit. If I can't back it up, how would it make me look later? The world's big enough but the circles are small. After a certain period perhaps confidence becomes inherit, the life challenges meld together and are overcome with enough frequency to paste resolve over things that used to make you crap your pants. Until then do I just fake it?
I'm being given a test in copy-writing. I've read the fluff out there. It's repetitive, boring, horrid nonsense that conveys little to nothing of the bottom line. Websites are saturated with superfluous conjecture. I'm not talking about the product, just the crap that's written to get people to buy. Does income justify taking advantage of ignorance? Is beating people over the head with appropriated positivity really the way to get a message across? Am I asking too many questions about the system that works? Misdirection is happening on every level of the economy and it seems to be the key to getting things done. Without even coming to terms as to whether or not I can sell myself, I would be expected to sell someone else. Valid information can make an analytical person like me comfy. It means I can beat down antagonists, I can unsettle exploitation, I can be a self-righteous prick. And for some reason, that feels so much better. Is it better than feeling guilty for leading people on? Can I sell myself over an awful product? Is this tomorrow's challenge. What else am I bargaining if I wind up being good at it? It's easy to respect the approach of the survivalist. I think most put the questions of conscience aside and label it weakness when bills have to be paid. I haven't experienced that yet and thought of crossing the threshold . . . it better pay well.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010


I'm a ping-pong ball. Not so much by choice but by indecision and lack of preparation. I am fortunate enough to have people in my life that care about me. At the very least they appreciate I'm a minimal burden with a very high standard of respect and consideration for privacy. I don't contribute more than a low-key element. I don't disrupt or lash out. My tolerance threshold is severe. Being so cool fits well with the perpetual role of the guest. I don't believe my loved ones are intrigued so much as they aren't bothered. The good can be appreciated easier that way. And somehow I've developed this resource as a survival trait while I figure myself out. I'm aware it's become a habit and pray that the awareness itself is a sign of the finite span of this time in my life. Regardless, I acknowledge it's something that others can offer. It's a great something and most people call it home. But it's theirs. I want mine.

I am not an honest man. I reserve my judgments and live by them behind a generally closed exterior. I believe what I believe about people and let my actions generally dictate a path of least resistance. I refrain often. I do not believe faith in the general sense is necessary. I won't go so far as to call myself a cynic. I respect the less favorable outcome of the moment, and of the actions people take. I've witnessed enough of them in myself to see it reflected in others. If I'm training myself, I wonder why I would do that. Regardless, the closed circuit of my emotions has some steam to vent, some blood to let and this activity isn't suitable as a guest.

Building a home is a chance to make a statement about your life. It will reflect your strengths and weaknesses. It will become your sanctuary from the world's demands. It can fortify you and give you the peace needed to focus on whatever is most relevant. At its best, a home can be a haven for those you choose to protect and nurture. This purpose is a sign of some serious power, an indication of the stability of your existence. There is no place like home, because there is no place capable of accepting you as its master otherwise. A host's patience wears thin no matter where you go. You become integrated in their process, affected by their approach to life, unable to draw your lines less you seem ungrateful. Many people don't realize the value of independence until the bonds of dependence have made their restrictions clear. Even then they are hard to anticipate. The lack of a personal fortress, where within one can grow self-aware and cunning, means diminishing returns on the minds expanse and the maturation of its ego. A person without dire need to sustain himself will watch TV and let it take him somewhere since the guide-rails of entertainment are so much more convenient.

It's easier not to do. But not better. Being a guest for too long is an injustice upon itself, worse if the person fails to realize it. Shame will reap from his ignorance and harvest his soul.

I've found a writing contest I have enough time to prepare for. The deadline is in May an the fee is only $15 to submit. I'll be writing it as a guest, dreaming of being the host and mounting a counter-offense against all the absurd misconceptions of status that otherwise cause a foul contempt at my own promises. If I can't write a short story, I don't exist. This nature . . . It's the closest thing I have to a home, where my voice is the authority and the lines make sense.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Smug and Indignant

Approaching the one month marker to my much needed reality check (that's when the unemployment runs out), I'm finding that there is a thin line between frantic and indifferent behavior. The motivation has to be volatile to cause the excitement of urgency. If it implodes, the body is left in a void of reference. What am I talking about?

You can go over a year and have some distant appreciation of the fact that it's just easier not to do anything. Resources being available, you may criticize you're own dependence on the familiar world and it's friendlies, knowing it does little to represent the war that's coming. Surviving is not fun. It's just necessary; an unfair obligation. I might be revealing an engorged and possibly retarded dislike for the fundamentals, but authority being what it's become: an evolving reference mutated by people more inclined to exploit the obvious, the binding of "boss" and "bills", of "job" and "worth," getting out from under means a little psycho rebellion. I'm probably shooting myself in the foot somehow, but better now than never.

Opportunities can feel like burdens when you're not making your own life and used to it. Sharing controls with the controlling powers means limiting your ability to perceive a path through the frustration. What am I talking about?

I was a mean truant. I never grew out of my disinterests. I'm trying to find a way to happily partake in the labor circus but the people can and do suck. The whole "it's a part of life" deal doesn't fly with me. People shouldn't get to be assholes and the rest of the world deal. If they do, they definitely shouldn't be promoted. Maybe fairness is the harder gig. Regardless, service has been transformed. The taste is bitter. Work is hated, enterprise is forgotten, reward is alien.

The world can't run without people willing to contribute. I get that. I'm not offering up a rhetoric problem to whine about although some might see that. I'm 26 and I appreciate that new generations arrive everyday without any clue about the world they are going to inherit or if its even something they know they're allowed to be unhappy about. Happiness is the pursuit after all, lest we forget.

The days now are much faster than I ever recall them capable of being. Aggression would help but I have little. The enemy is invisible and even if I saw it I doubt I'd understand the threat emotionally. It's just an intellectual alarm going off at the moment. The survival mechanism kicks in abruptly when the wallet thins and it truly is a shame it comes to that. There's so much more to life than emergencies, at-will employment, and showing deference to idiots.

Monday, March 29, 2010


Not a lot of fun. It has very few attractive qualities and they are all quite indirect. I dare say that the positive form of discipline is obsession. To be driven by a need or hunger in such a way that preoccupation diminishes is really preferable. I can sit with my Xbox360 for hours. I used to be able to do the same with WoW. Both activities have taken up less an less time recently due to simple lack of interest. I find a vacuum however where I spin irrationally to different potentially distracting activities that don't yield much satisfaction. It's like repeatedly going to the fridge knowing there's nothing to eat.
Information being readily available, my new areas of focus are centering around the same story I've been selling myself since I was ten. I'm going to be an author and a film maker. I've got the books and the time and I'm actually finding myself with nothing better to do than to sit and read and study. The mind still wanders however and without deadlines of serious consequence, the only urgency I can generate stems from a vision of myself in ten years. Somewhere along the way I want to own property, a Bentley, a business. I've got all this time to plan and research and the days are zooming by . . . wow, I used to think time just flew when you were having fun. To think you can sense its rapidity from anxiety or speculation. It feels closer to waiting for a package to arrive that you've invested in, or crossing your fingers before they announce the lottery. The closer you get to committing yourself to a life goal, the more dreadful it seems. That fear might have been what's kept me diverted for so long. Courage being a virtue and defined in its spite of fear, would make the term "fearless" an inhuman quality. The lack of any emotion suggests a coldness that does not bend to the ego's wavering response to the dangers of the moment. Of course it's just one example I'm using to generalize the conditions, like doubt, that stamp out consistently progressive behavior. But I wonder if the distribution of monetary wealth isn't some indication of a play on the disconnect from our relative vulnerabilities. If you're sharp enough to make life a chess board, one you can see clearly and move with purpose, then what does that make you?
The important moments string together and make something as yet imperceivable. We can speculate and come no closer to realizing the balancing act of our potential weighing itself upon our decisions of courage and passion and fear. I've started to feel a guilt that grows around the hours that pass. Sometimes living starts to feel like being a part of a system you have no say in, when you get down to figuring out where the unhappiness comes from. And it's ludicrous that you'd have no say. But the alternative truth makes one pause. It's the pause that gets you, kills you if it can. I have to remember not to pause. It's OK to let the world know I got a clue and I'm using it. Maybe discipline comes down to not pausing. It comes down to faulting the argument for hesitation or moderation. I see people all around working so hard and digging themselves deeper into all forms of debt; to bad relationships, to jobs, to places they don't want to be in. It's hard to accept you can put that same effort into change, and it be OK with the world you've come to know. The paradox is it's not OK with your world and what you've accepted of yourself. Light can shine in from the outside and all it causes is trepidation at first and for a while after. If the only thing to put faith in is consequence, the despair can be strenuous if not fatal. But it's this pragmatic view that becomes evidence you're accepting control of what happens. If you can get rid of that buffer of pretext and misconception, the anxiety about the "what ifs," then the information they yield become relevant and strategically necessary to navigate your way out. Everyday yields opportunity to practice this control, no matter where you are.
"Discipline" has a bad connotation because to the average person it means forcibly doing something you don't want to do over and over again cause you have to. It doesn't portray favorable commitment, constitution, or desire because the word is beaten over the heads of individuals that can't relate: parents to children, bosses to subordinates, teachers to students. Discipline is demanded by the institution upon its dependents. There is no one word of equivalent describing when the dependent demands it upon the institution, or when the soul provides the imperative upon the body. No I'll strike discipline from my mind and see what I can do with desperation, obsession, rage and love and my own imagination to light the way. It sounds chaotic, but doing things for the sake of practicing a sterile behavior; being disciplined as an end in itself, is still submitting myself to a laborious use of my will as deemed beneficial by the standards of authority I forgot to recognize. Life should be an adventure, not a daunting practice. I can play video games religious. I escape everyday to the terms I prefer. Evidence exists that I can be dedicated to something. I just need to bring those terms home to me, and own them in the things that matter. Then discipline won't seem like a lash. It'll be a banner. And my faith in consequence will yield the spoil of production.
In the end, I as a young man with an open future, just want to declare myself something positive and forceful. Nothing is trivial.

Friday, March 26, 2010

I don't know what to write.

No. That's not true. It's not plain to me but it's there nonetheless. It's some thumping, clanking nonsense in the background. The only tangible material lies in the intent. It's most clear desperation is a stride toward legacy.

The ride is so important, so the ego frays before the dilemma of "how?" and "why?" relinquishing moments to translate the intent for the long view. It's easy to get caught up in wonder; the appreciation of life's mysticism. The quiet moments at 2am, when the pretenses fall and falling asleep feels like giving up, are the clues that the day and its distractions acted both as hiatus, and missed opportunity to fight for something closer, to the truth.

Today I quit my internship. I cut a loss of time ill spent. I'm 26. An internship without direct knowledge of the company or a strategy to win the hearts of its management is like donating life-times to the abyss of never-where. I try to find consolation in the lesson, that decision making should not be a passive consequence of external events. Were that lesson so easy . . . I've been wanting to sit still and write my business plans. My unemployment is running out, I have few games to claim my interest. I'm building the courage to jog again. My life has be a series of preparations and plateaus, but I won't stop believing that perspective can change the game. Not everyone ages well. Peel your lids back and find yourself racing a demon without regard for showmanship or declaration. In fact, the enemy of progression is silent; absence. The fight for legacy comes in simple moves, strategies, counterattacks, feints, presses and withdrawals. It's sort of wonderful when you take a step back. But I do wonder if that hand that articulates this tapestry isn't simply my willful own. Is idle deliberation a sign of the crazies? I wish someone had the authority to point that out. But I know I'd flip them the bird anyway. Being human is a trip. No wonder the signs don't come in plain English anymore.

Thursday, March 11, 2010


If I said I felt lost, I'd feel pretty funny. It seems such a melodramatic statement, complete with generalized overtones of despair having no function other than to justify idleness.

But I do. Tsk Tsk to me. And I travel between homes of family and sentiments with not real sanctuary of my own. I see the roads and skies passing around me and I wait for some solid ground, all the while knowing that waiting is a joke and an excuse ultimately revealing nothing but a standstill. Time is pushing me forward like the momentum of the planets revolution and you'd think I'd get the hint. I do in fact. I dare say maybe . . . just maybe that missing gear, that crossed wire, maybe it's been OK this whole time. What if I'm not broken and it's all some backward decision I made somewhere along the way that I'm too scared or too comfortable to re-neigh on?

Yesterday I did this and tomorrow I'll do that and the whole mission will be pushed back another hour to another week and my sadness will linger upon months of regret. But I'm awake during all this. The shame is sharpened with time and it has its own grip on movement.

I got this whole back'n'forth thing going on if you haven't noticed. I have some work I put off for several levels of a video game. This was after a day of listening, which is easy to do, to someone who cares about me and uses the time with me to self-medicate with appropriated wisdom that isn't appreciated elsewhere. I'll call him Coach. He reaffirms his righteousness, gives me confidence and we do this all day. If it weren't for the evidence he provides I'd sign off completely but I think it's working cause I come away terrified. It doesn't quite stop me from living but it makes me aware of how far behind I am. He see's my potential tomorrow, I see bad habits repeating themselves. Hope is great and all but you need a sentiment inside you that sort of works like a point man and sharpshooter combined. Move forward, line it up, pull the trigger and see what happens. It just happens to be that my trigger might take 2 years to pull. I'm guestimating.

We're talking ambition here people. According to my data, thinking is of no use by itself. It's an impotent agent. There is a great benefit in the unknown. Within it lies our greatest moment. And while adventure may imply spontaneity, it takes the strictest discipline to properly explore the potential of the thinking process.

Babble. No spelling error there. It's just what I do. Speculation assassinates progress. This all makes me wonder about drugs.

I like the idea of being an entrepeneur. Along the way I stumble into all this self-psycho-analyzing and I wonder how self-made millionaires never talk about all this. I do this because I'm a common guy with that common dream of being supremely uncommon. I know the general populace is where a lot of people end up and thats it and I don't look down on anyone for choosing a simpler path. If it's good it's good. But I wanna leave something behind, I just don't feel that, as a minority and as a lower middle class citizen, I have the programming for it. I'm scared of the lack of living and ultimately I sabotage myself anyway. I don't know why but I got a clue the other day it might have something to do with the fundamental doubt instigated in me when I attempted to rationalize my father's absence from home as I grew into adolescence. The discomfort and worry and general vulnerability sill linger. I don't think about him that often, these emotions are just residue and yet it's a sticky tar that was never completely washed off.

I don't want to make my dad the point of any argument. I don't think I can count on any resolution if I depended on him to make sense of my inertia for me, or if I depended on him to just help me resolve my dislocation from assurance. I don't want to depend on him even though I should be able to. Despite best intentions, he just wasn't there for me the way I needed. Seeing children grow up without guidance pains me. I don't know if its something I could live with if I had a child accidentally with nothing to give him and then have us forced apart or I winded up being forced to rationalize being separated from him or even worse, found myself distancing the child over emotions of indifference I hide behind some obligatory appreciation for vague concepts of whatever the hell it is stupid young men think about fatherhood. I'd rather sign up for a large term life insurance policy after getting in shape and then pay someone to steal my wallet and blow my brains out so the kid gets the money. At best someone can tell him I was trying to rescue somebody and he can build some awesome romance around it. Even if he hated me for it, he couldn't refuse to believe the act was noble and I'm sure the nest egg would give him the means to pursue his passions and test his ideal on the world.

That's a lot more speculation than I should invest in a blog entry but I don't really know what to do with this yet. Being consistent would still be a ginormous step up for me. Growing is easy when you obviously don't know shit. When you think you know is when you start to fight for inches.

Yeah, well . . .

Blogging isn't exciting anyway. I could spend 500 words speculating on the reasons why people do it and essentially I'd call it therapy, but I'd lie if I said it had nothing to do with an idea that someone with the ability to amplify might notice my message.

Self improvement, or discipline as its otherwise recognized, is hard because it's unnecessary. It breaks the equilibrium. It leaves us potentially bewildered and left thinking distracting thoughts like "why am I on this treadmill? Why am I spending hours trying to control my fingers on this stupid keyboard? Why am I saving this $20 bill? Why am I bothering?"

I submitted a readmit application to Brooklyn College earlier this week. I also recently invested in some test material software for IT certifications. I'd like to be self employed by the summer with maybe a restaurant gig to hold me down. It's all fantasy at the moment but I can't help but wonder if it really isn't all there for the taking. I'm in NYC after all. Hustling bring people together. Hunger leads to wealth and hunger is gravitational. I just hope I'm not a delusional 26 yr old. I know I'm afraid and avoiding more than a few things. Even now I prefer sleep to this rambling. I just know though, that if I don't write, I'm breaking myself and killing my future. I wouldn't feel it cause that kind of death takes a life time to a achieve, a lifetime of putting your dreams aside.

We fight for more than these dreams. We fight for hope itself.

Thursday, February 4, 2010


Why is the H at the end of Argh! AARG-HHHHHH. I don't know . . . be wise to have a mint first before you cry out in rage and exasperation.

I have insufficient funds to maintain my $1 minimum. I withdrew $40 last night only have $20 available (why in the hell would my bank let me do that if they knew I would be forced into the negative and have to pay them a penalty??? I obviously have no money to do that!!!)

What's more is that I spent that money on a round of drinks. You can't be nice anymore in this city I swear. I mean that too, the one's responsible for my insufficiency is the New York State tax and finance jerks who removed the $500 I owed them directly from my checking account instead of from the $900 I was getting from Federal. They did it on the same day I got my Unemployment allowance, meaning they took that completely and add $100 for an untimely withdrawal for a school loan payment that was scheduled last week.

A certain online do it yourself tax prep site that rhymes with shafted me nice.

It's my fault. Conscious living isn't just a suggestion, it's a raft in open water. It's the beginning to a semblance of order. And no amount of intelligence really asserts that emotional urgency that keeps your instincts a live and watchful.

Rule #1 for Americans (the hardest to learn): Make it hard to screw yourself.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Things I can see.

Dear America,
I can see the ass-end of Brooklyn College from my bedroom window. It lies across the tracks nestled in a stripe of forest-growth that goes from here to there; who knows where? In preparation for return, I did my taxes a couple of nights ago and concluded that the IRS doesn't mind the bidding war going on between various tax preparation agencies, offering up greater and greater returns as if a standard should have never been set up. Everyone wishes to gain and avoid loss. Multiply that by millions and turn the cheek on the deficit. It's only natural.
Those of us surviving unemployed with heat, a roof, and running water are probably now (after the quakes in Haiti) sleeping a little better. It's not pretty, but Americans have an existence where they still get to THINK about where they wanna go. There are too many places in the world where you can't afford to ponder because circumstances push to hard.
Still, the inevitable reality is that at our pace, resources for daily living will raise in value. We'll buy less for more and share with those we love until days are added to stretch our endurance over sickness and starvation. The homeless know it but they aren't the ones with the chance to change it. Those that due will be surprised and by the time a plan swells there'll be no more money to make a change. How long is it before we lose the right to THINK about what's right to do NOW?
I'm contemplating . . . The American Dream is also called economic mobility. It means a bloodline can rise in status and become more affluent with each emerging generation. This assumes people can make more money than they need so that each generation to come after will have a launching pad to reach their own loftier goals.
Americans in general (not the wealthy who understand the worth of risk, or immigrants who get nice gift basket upon entry, or the homeless whom generally deteriorate if it isn't for some saving grace the current populace is loathed to spare) spend more than they earn. Our economy is evolving on the motion of money that doesn't exist; credit. The false wealth doesn't cut it.
Maybe some service provider or bank figured out one day that if people were earning more than they needed in one lifetime, they could afford to spread a little more out to the world. But now too few, at least from my standpoint, have anything to give anyone; especially their children. The new plague will just be refusal, and if the population is smart they'll withhold their right to reproduce until we get this under control. We can't afford it and it's our responsibility.
I like to imagine the world Ayn Rand built in Atlas Shrugged and wonder if anything like the industrial age will repeat itself. The information age has a lot of technology but too many are just building excess amounts of power without anyone really understanding how it makes us stronger. TB hard drives for what? iPad for what? There's no problem with excess capability if that eventually translates into utility. But when $500 impulse items are abundant, and people are losing their homes because our economy can't support them, then what happens to the pursuit of happiness? What happens to the dream that the lower and middle class have?
The simple solutions of self control and fiscal discipline aren't really educated in schools. Somewhere along the lines policy makers haven't recognized that the majority masses with less money are moving in cycles like cattle. If they have recognized it, they've found justifiable reasons to keep their eyes focused on what the people of power are capable of. These people are fighting for survival as much as everyone else. They do it like they're playing chess. We do it like we're playing monopoly in reverse.
From what Obama says, he believes the country can change itself. He offers his ideas and is fighting for the ideals that I agree America should adopt. He's getting fought on a number of issues because there are entire industries that thrive on impulse, false hope, and depravity. And they do it firstly, because the people that are responsible forgetting themselves caught up in the downward spiral weren't properly warned or educated.
Every man is an industry. Local community issues, good business practice, a little brainstorming on how to offer something of value to someone else at benefit to them and profit to yourself, home-cooking, and pencil/paper ledgers on the financials are the basics. Be conscious of where you are, be vigilant, start small. Get involved and make smart decisions, not fearful ones. Don't escape. DON'T. Every time an American looks away, is another lifetime in future generations a child will be faced with the prospect of starvation or murder or some rich-kid heir will hang himself out of depression and boredom (as if there were no purpose great enough for his opportunity at education and application). It's already happened in the ghettos and the suburbs. The decline of the dollar is mutating our disposition as Americans.
The Dream needs protecting, and through all my generalizations I realize that much. The headlines in the papers don't give much hope. It's all finger-pointing. The leaders won't do it. Law isn't a substitute for habit. It's time to look inward. Money doesn't make the world go round, the opportunity to make it does. If you can't find it, you've got to make it.

Monday, January 11, 2010

What are we supposed to do?

I let this question fly. It's important. Within the news, the poetry, the documentaries are the keys to breaking down the subtle destruction of our country's economic condition, and redisigning mobility for our people. There is no dramatic upset included, just a leveling out. Let the nature of a man's ingenuity be the force behind his wealth, not the level of sophistication in which he chooses to rape his neighbor. The wealthy are dying, the seeds that they have planted have simply inherited their mess. There is an opening for new minds to set the pace, rectify the damage, protect the pursuit that was intended for us since the beginning.

But still, the question begs an answer: What are we supposed to do?

The ratio of debt to income stability is staggering. The family is the American unit and it is weak. The rich have little to complain about because they do not see the landslide spilling beneath them, at least the majority don't or they don't respect the implication.

The power lies in recognition and adjustment and that is given usually, to the desperate or the prepared. In each community in NYC, there are thousands of strangers, many of which accepting the consequences of actions that betray the reality of their influence on the current state of affairs; myself included. Life is a state of ambivalence when leadership is expected as an external experience. I'm not sure how many families discuss the power of individuality or the responsibility of existance, but with how many unguided children are out there today, how can it be a majority?

A legacy exists in the strength of endeavor passed through gut and pride of a father to his son, the emotional clarity and elegance of a mother to her daughter, the cross fertilization of logic and sensitivity to children of the opposite sex, the product of sensible effort in the form of surplus and security, and most importantly: worth as a direct consequence of love. What hasty decision can be made when an utterly true appreciation of the moment's gravity is laid bare?

...I just saw "Maxed Out." It's a documentary about debt. Not just individual debt but it's relation to our economy, our country, and the downward spiral of the common citizen. People are dying, money is being used crazily to avoid late interest payments while a host of sensible programs are diminished or cut altogether, not least of which is our own social security. I have family that will never be able to retire and I fear for being forced to work in an environment without protection, without options, without a chance for relief when my bones are far too old.

Our generation is stepping into position. We should be curageous. We should be honest. We should not gamble with life, especially the lives of others. Deliberation of cause is never folly when the future is at stake. No environment should be an excuse to fail at humanity.

Some cycles are meant to be interrupted. They just need to be wrong.