Who needs a resolution when you're gearing up for a revolution?

Having figured out the point of human existence, I find myself overwhelmed by the sheer volume of minutiae that must be hammered into place. A metaphysical jigsaw puzzle. Only, the pieces all look the same and I'm missing the outer pieces. And the corners. The top of the box might come in handy, too.

So, instead of attempting to manage that intangible clusterfuck of an imbroglio, I'll instead reflect on my hard-learned lessons. Listen up, kids; you just might learn something.

This year probably deserves an overwrought angst-ridden diatribe instead of the philosophical fly-by I'm giving it, but I didn't get what I deserved this year either. We're even, 2006. I really didn't want to do a list, but it's either that or I write a book.

Grab a pencil. This is important stuff.

1. Love: I don't know if it exists yet, but the nature of what everyone calls "love" has become a little clearer to me. I would say that 75% of the dating couples I know and 90% of the couples in relationships I know are miserable. From what I see, people are looking for consolation and gratification from another person with their preference of crotch-equipment, at least until they have a petty disagreement and their rapture falls to pieces. There's gotta be more to the love thing. We can improve on this somehow; don't ask me, I'm no expert. That may not be love either, but it'll be better. I'm going to be trying a lot of different things to find it.

2. Justice: I can fathom something like love existing. Justice, on the other hand, does little more than piss me off. I read an article about a 17 year old kid being given 3-5 for statutory for having consenting oral sex with his 15 year old girlfriend. She didn't file charges, her parents did. And people call the sentence justice. It makes me shudder. The only reason people believe in justice is to get revenge on their transgressors, and the executors of justice only carry it out to make themselves feel better about their own transgressions. But Andy, shouldn't we punish the bad people? I'm not a man of religion, but Jesus said it best: "He without sin among you, cast the first stone."

3. Truth: One of the only ideas worth living for, and the single one worth dying for. Truth is the essence of meaning, and the creation of meaning is the whole point of existence. Lying is blasphemy; hypocrisy is sacrilege. There. I've told you the most important thing I can.

4. Good: The only good that you can ever do will never be done for yourself. Self-interest is not goodness; how great is the world if there is still pain, starvation, and suffering? That's a stupid question. Those things will never go away. Sure it's stupid, asshole. What do you suggest, ignoring the needy while you drink your $5 coffee in your car that burns money? I shouldn't have to feel guilty for having nice things. Any guilt you feel is because you know you should be helping those people. The least that you can do is vote for the right person. The most you can do is actually help your community. Call me what you will. If someone who believes in equality is a communist, paint me red and send me to China with a hammer and sickle.

5. Nothing: The most valuable use of doing nothing is to enjoy the time spent doing it. That's how you live a long, happy life. My grandmother told me that a while ago, and she's old, wise, and happy.

There you go. Don't say I never did anything for you.
____________________________________________________________________
Soundtrack:
It Ain't Me, Babe - Bob Dylan - Another Side of Bob Dylan
Everyone Who Casts a Shadow - Wolfsheim - Casting Shadows
Now You've Got Something to Die For - Lamb of God - Ashes of the Wake
Listen Up - Deaf Pedestrians - Deaf Pedestrians
Riddle In Londontown - State Radio - Us Against the Crown

Play the record backwards, there's a message there for the suckers

Shit. It's almost Christmas. Let's take a break, shall we?

TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Name:	Andrew James Bodine
Birthday:	March 23, 1987
Birthplace:	Chicago, Illinios
Current Location:	Woodstock, Georgia
Eye Color:	Hell if I know. I usually just say gray
Hair Color:	Dark brown
Height:	6 flat
Right Handed or Left Handed:	Righty
Your Heritage:	Scandinavian, German, and British
The Shoes You Wore Today:	I stayed home all day. That's a good feeling
Your Weakness:	Sad eyes and smart, pretty girls
Your Fears:	Failure, lonliness
Your Perfect Pizza:	Mushroom, beef, onion
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:	Keep that GPA above 3.5
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger:	"heh"
Thoughts First Waking Up:	Damn
Your Best Physical Feature:	Dunno
Your Bedtime:	Whenever
Your Most Missed Memory:	I used to be a happier person. I miss those days
Pepsi or Coke:	Pepsi
MacDonalds or Burger King:	Neither
Single or Group Dates:	Single, but group dates are a more casual type of fun
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea:	Nestea with lemon
Chocolate or Vanilla:	Vanilla
Cappuccino or Coffee:	Coffee
Do you Smoke:	Not for a few months
Do you Swear:	Often
Do you Sing:	When in the mood
Do you Shower Daily:	Yup
Have you Been in Love:	I thought so
Do you want to go to College:	I'm in college and I love it
Do you want to get Married:	I'll cross that bridge if I find it
Do you belive in yourself:	Yeah. Sure
Do you get Motion Sickness:	Nope. I have an iron stomach
Do you think you are Attractive:	I've been called "foxy," and I get checked out in public. I, however, don't think I'm attractive
Are you a Health Freak:	Yes
Do you get along with your Parents:	Sometimes
Do you like Thunderstorms:	When I'm indoors
Do you play an Instrument:	Bass!
In the past month have you Drank Alcohol:	Lots. >=)
In the past month have you Smoked:	Nope. Cravings are back, though
In the past month have you been on Drugs:	No
In the past month have you gone on a Date:	Unfortunately, no. I should think about doing that sort of thing again, though
In the past month have you gone to a Mall:	No, oddly enough
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos:	I haven't had any Oreos
In the past month have you eaten Sushi:	No, and that makes me sad
In the past month have you been on Stage:	No, but I'd love to preform once I'm good enough
In the past month have you been Dumped:	Nope. That would be 1 and 6 months ago, respectively
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping:	Not in the past month...
In the past month have you Stolen Anything:	Nope
Ever been Drunk:	Haha. "ever."
Ever been called a Tease:	Once or twice
Ever been Beaten up:	Nope
How do you want to Die:	Blaze of glory sort of thing
What do you want to be when you Grow Up:	Wise. And not fat, for fuck's sake
What country would you most like to Visit:	Ireland
In a Boy/Girl..
Favourite Eye Color:	Not important. I'm a sucker for sad eyes, though
Favourite Hair Color:	Also not a big deal. Different hair looks good on different girls
Short or Long Hair:	Same as above
Height:	A little shorter than me
Weight:	I care about my appearance, and I expect girls I date to do the same
Best Clothing Style:	Same as above
Number of Drugs I have taken:	Only pot and only once
Number of CDs I own:	Countless, and well over 2000 iTunes songs
Number of Piercings:	None yet
Number of Tattoos:	Also none yet
Number of things in my Past I Regret:	A whole fucking bunch of them, but I'll live on

Fourteen-million miles away from sane

I don't know that I actually have much to say. But I'll start typing and stop when I feel I've said something, even if it isn't deep or important. I gotta talk. Say something. Express myself, manifest my thoughts. Speak the fuck up.

I once asked someone the meaning of life. I was told that the meaning of life is to find meaning in life. I immediately dismissed it as blitheness.

Could it be so simple? A change in prepositions? Simple isn't the best word, I admit, but is there really no greater purpose? People are always telling me I should live for love or God or justice, but what if all I'm supposed to do is find my niche? Other people tell me that all I'm supposed to do is pass on my genes and die. So, since I don't plan on kids, does that mean I should simply exterminate myself since I'm just draining the planet's resources without contributing to the diversity of my species?

So. Find meaning. I don't know where to even find the proverbial stones to overturn. Either "find meaning in life" is just mere restatement, or ambiguous statement. Perhaps it would be more apt to make meaning of life.

I don't like to think that meaning is hiding from me. "Find" is a stupid word, in this case. I also don't like how the word infers that it could just be lying around, an ease to collect. Nor do I care for the implication of possession. You can't own meaning. You can only understand meaning or create it.

So. Make meaning. What do I have to work with? Meager financial situation, an over-interest in the abstract, and loneliness. Let's put a positive spin on that. I'm a "hapless intellectual Bohemian romantic." I like the sound of that.

What can I do to create? Well, the idea of having some control makes me a little giddy. I don't have much to work with, but judging from my means, I'm going to write. Write and think. Think about people--the human mind. How it works, why it works.

I've never believed in fate, and I don't know if I believe in God. Additionally, I'm not going to let myself become subject to my own negligence. To create meaning, I must grab the reigns. My control will be the stylus with which I'll write my life. And right my life. And right my wrongs.

I think I might be crazy.
I'm fourteen-million miles away from sane. Drop - Blue October.
____________________________________________________________________
Soundtrack
All Along the Watchtower - Jimi Hendrix - Electricladyland (1968)
Poem - Taproot - Welcome (2002)
No Cigar - Millencolin - Pennybridge Pioneers (2000)
Everything to Everyone - Everclear - So Much for the Afterglow (1997)
Climbing to the Moon - Eels - Electro-Shock Blues (1998)

Until I decide to drop again

Ever notice how it's nearly impossible to study for a literature course? I've read the material. I've written about it. How can I be expected to do any more than that? All I can really do is know the characters and their tendencies. To know people that never actually existed anywhere but between thin pages and the mind of the reader, now that's some heady stuff.

That last post? A reaction to dissatisfaction. Catharsis where the heart is. A way to allay the pain from my brain. Ache in the wake of a breakdown. I write the tide of my mind.

Was that too much? I never know.

In any case, I'm just biding my time. I'm gonna feel like that again. It's gotten to the point that I've essentially stopped expecting anything but the worst. I need a break from all that optimism. Hope is a killer. Even if things begin going relatively well, I can expect it to be fucked up before it gets too far along. Why deal with the misery of disappointment? I'll appreciate happiness when it comes to me. It's not a frequent thing, and I certainly can't say that I deserve it, so I'm not going to count on it.

Not giving a shit anymore is better than despairing, right?

I've been challenged in that viewpoint. Why not kill myself if I have nothing to live for? Thought about it. Got over it. Dying young is far too boring these days. If I can't live for the betterment of mankind, I might as well serve as a warning.

Mothers, keep your daughters away from me. That is, until I decide to drop again.
____________________________________________________________________
Soundtrack:
Drop - Blue October - Consent to Treatment
Kiss the Girl - Get Set Go - So You've Ruined Your Life
Mr. E's Beautiful Blues - Eels - Daisies of the Galaxy
Kicking the Heart Out - Rogue Wave - Out of the Shadow
So Long - Willy Mason - Where the Humans Eat

May the Living Be Dead in My Wake

A real blog? I think I can manage.

This has been building. And this time it probably won't go away for a while. I kinda mentioned it to Lyn once, but no one else has heard of it as far as I know. I can't say I'm depressed, nor can I say I'm victim to any sort of anxiety disorder. I don't have any sudden bouts of sadness or fear. I get angry for no reason I can imagine. I immediately pin it on one of the several things I've endured and failed to put behind me.

How does it feel? Like being punched in the back of the head, and when you whip around to see who it was, no one's there. Then, as you're lividly bewildered, they do it again, this time with laughter.

I'm supposed to write a paper on love for my lit class. All about "amor vincit omnia" and "caritas" and the rest of that bullshit. The only thing that means anything to me is unrelated; it's from King Lear, a line from Gloucester: "As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods;/ They kill us for their sport" (4.1.37-38).

I feel like I'm being toyed with. It's frustrating. Mind you, these aren't just random feelings. I just don't like talking directly about the people in my life in the internet. This blog exists for other reasons. I have this blog to spit out venom, spite, and bitterness. Emotions. Silly, facetious, petty feelings that I'm not allowed to have in my real life, because I'm a guy, and I like to seem level-headed.

Music's losing it's touch on me. It used to be the only beautiful thing I would encounter; the acts of listening to music and playing my own were like taking communion with something as wonderful as and less judgmental than God. The lyrics seem trite; the melodies, tumultuous; the instruments, off-key.

I've tried outlets. I worked out. It did wonders on my body. I'm getting definition on my abs, my arms look toned, I'm 25 pounds lighter, and I can run a mile in 6 minutes. But I'm still mad. I tried smoking, but that just made people worried and made it hurt to breathe. I tried drinking, but that just got me hooked on alcohol and it makes me look like an idiot. I tried pot, but it just made me sick. I tried losing myself in books, but they ended too soon. I tried friends and girls, but they just let me down (the friends that you rely on are the train tracks that you lie on. 22 Hours of Darkness, Ike Riley Assassination). I tried sleep, but it only comes with weariness.

I tried complaining on the internet, but it's not working.

Fuck you guys. I'm going for a walk.
____________________________________________________________________
Soundtrack:
Too Many Puppies - Primus - Frizzle Fry
Fuck It - Seether - Karma and Effect
Pearls Before Swine - Corrosion of Conformity - Deliverance
I Hate Everyone - Get Set Go - Ordinary World
Bury Your Dead - Saosin - Saosin

Just so I don't get left out

Everyone and their mom's writing poetry now. I'll be damned before I'm left out of that. Here's my shot.
____________________________________________________________________

A Sonnet for Business

Take your flippancies, your contraries, inconsistencies and sex,
Your Crest-white smiles, your Girls Gone Wild, and made-up product tests.
Shove your pop-up ads, your fashion fads, your launching pads for profit.
We think Black Friday sales should cure what ails; those "deals" will line your pockets.

Buildings' sides are everywhere espied that cannot hide your labels.
Every flat surface demands a purchase and keeps us flocking to your stables.
You're glad to sell us what'll kill us and we'll take it till we're lame.
Have you no decency, or dignity, or capacity for shame?

Don't send your men to Congress, then, to change their minds with bribes.
Or we'll oust your lobbyists with angry fists; Quit trying to buy our rights.
____________________________________________________________________

You read it here first. An Andy Bodine original. Unfortunately, the formatting is not what I intended since Blogger fails miserably at tabbing. Happy holidays, bitches.

P.S: I'm not a communist.

Dumped on more than a birdhouse shingle

Fuck it. Just fuck it. I can only take so many of these up-and-downs. This semester needs to end now. I want to go home and sleep for a week.

Speak the truth, or make your peace some other way

So, I'm not depressed. I'm mad and a little bit wary.

I'm supposed to talk to the ex. Why? Because people keep telling me I should. A lousy reason, indeed, but whatever. Maybe a nail in the coffin can be a good thing once in a while. Here's the deal:

I emailed her, suggesting that we talk. To be completely honest, I didn't expect a response. She's mad at me--which is odd, seeing as how I was the wronged--so I thought that she'd just delete it and we'd keep holding each other in casual contempt.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I get a response. She wants to talk. Probably because we're both on Dulcimer staff and we're sharing Dr. Stege's Lit class next semester. I guess that if she can't avoid me, she feels like she has to tolerate me. It's not exactly my idea of patching things up, which is what I had in mind.

She also says she feels like she owes me an explanation. I think I've heard enough, and any more is just going to rekindle my anger. Please, spare me the details.

As far as I can tell there's 3 likely outcomes:

1.) The worst - She'll try do defend what she did. I swear I'll leave the goddamn minute she tries to justify herself. Either that or we'll argue and one of us will storm off. Have you ever seen a pool of stagnant water, poked it with a stick, and something really fucking nasty floated to the surface? That's kinda what I'm expecting.

2.) Still bad - Nothing will be resolved. We'll sit there awkwardly for a while, try to convince ourselves that we're making some sort of headway, leave, and relapse. This is what happened last time we "made up." This is the most likely outcome.

3.) The best - We actually manage to chat a little, and manage to crack some of the ice that's formed over the past 5 months. We manage some sort of consensus where we try being friends (we've never really been friends, just lovers and enemies) or, failing that, cordial acquaintances. Oh, and I can finally hang out with my friends again.

For better or for worse, I guess I'll see this thing through. Thank you, Andrew, for encouraging me when I considered backing out. You're right. The only reason I feel like I'm hurting myself is because I'm letting down my walls to someone who took advantage of that openness before. Let's hope it doesn't happen again.

Soundtrack:
Sugarcoat - Breaking Benjamin - Saturate
Victim - Eighteen Visions - Eighteen Visions
The Beautiful People - Marilyn Manson - Antichrist Superstar
Kill Yourself - Mindless Self Indulgence - FGWSSS
Pull Harder on the Strings of Your Martyr - Trivium - Ascendency

Thoughts from this week

Ever wonder what goes on in my depraved little mind? Read and educate yourself. These are all thoughts that I've had this week.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What exactly is pepperoni?

Holy crap! Buses should use turn signals!

Shutupshutupshutupshutup. Quit arguing.

I really hope I didn't burn that.

Damn. I burnt it.

I wonder if something semi-autobiographical would be okay.

I really don't like that song. I could shout earnestly over tumultuous guitar riffs, too, but that doesn't mean anyone cares.

The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire. We don't need no water, let the motherfucker burn. Seven dead in house fire. http://www.explosm.net/comics/718/

My mom sent me coupons, but I don't have money to buy food. I hate irony.

Gross. So that's what pepperoni is.

I think that shirt should have a weight limit.

HEADSHOT!

Is there any justice, or is it all just fortune?

I can't feel my arms.

Or my legs.

Shit. This must be what a quadriplegic feels like.

B B C# F# F# F# B A A B E F# G# A.

I don't like where you're going with that, but I can recommend a book that agrees with your point.

Angry music = catharsis.

They don't make games like this anymore.

How do you let someone know you care without annoying them or making them think you have ulterior motives?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That is all. See? I'm a simple person. Now you know.

I don't wanna come back down from this cloud

I'm so close I can practically taste it.

That's right. If you haven't read my previous post, do yourself a favor and glance a little lower and enlighten yourself.

I've found my niche. I've found a state of mind that's easy to drift into, even when I'm mad, that I'm comfortable in. What's even more exciting is that I didn't have to search for this mindset; it just happened one morning.

Is everything perfect? No. Hell no. I still like the light on. I've got several responsibilities, needs, and obligations. They aren't weighting me down, though. There's just a few things I need to get off my chest before I'm fully at peace. No point about writing it down here. I'm saving those for an in-person setting.

My muse is back in full force. I can hardly take a shower without having a great thought. My current short story project is in full force. I'm already six pages in, and it's going to be good. And I hate my own work. Bass is coming on really well. The fast Pantera stuff I'm trying to learn is clicking, and the slower classic rock is turning out well too. I don't like using a pick while playing bass, but some of the greats do, and it just doesn't sound right if I don't. I'm better at it now, though. I'm still having a little trouble with palm-muting, but that'll come with practice.

Oh, and thanks for the advice, my friend. Smiling at pretty girls is good for the soul. Especially if they smile back. Even more so if they wave.

Soundtrack:
Comedown - Bush - Sixteen Stone
Plymouth Rock - Lifter Puller - Soft Rock
Calm Like a Bomb - Rage Against the Machine - The Battle for Los Angeles
Not the Concept - Supersystem - A Million Microphones
Pledge of Allegiance - Louis XIV - The Best Little Secrets Are Kept

Peace or something similar

I feel weird. That's really all I can say.

I don't feel like the same person I went to bed as last night. Maybe it's the weather. I feel like someone's taken a graph of my emotional distribution and cut off the tail parts. Things that normally excite me elicited nothing more than mild elation. Things that used to make me angry couldn't make my gut burn.

I wouldn't say my head was in the clouds; despite the rain, there wasn't enough gray area up there to define how I feel.

The more I think the less I care. Love? It can wait. Loneliness? It's a fact of life. Want? Everyone does. All those used to bother me. For some reason, none of them have affected me today. I even tried to upset myself. I looked at some old pictures, read some old e-mails, and tried to think of parts of my past I'd rather forget. And I wasn't moved.

Regardless of this, I walked around with a sort of smile on my face all day. It was mostly absent-minded, and when I realized it, I was neither ashamed nor amused at myself. Maybe this is the state my mind belongs in. Perhaps there's a reason gray is my favorite color and the color of my eyes. I could be coming into my own.

Soundtrack for this update:
Are You With Me? - Vaux - Beyond Virtue, Beyond Vice
A To B - The Futureheads - The Futureheads
Rental Car - Beck - Guero
Pattern Skies - The Greenhornes - Sewed Soles
Blankest Year - Nada Surf - The Weight Is a Gift

Ode to silliness

Here's what I did:

I went to my Blogger profile and continually requested new random questions. These are the fruits of my labor.

1. If you were a wrestler, what would be your finishing move?

“The Septuple Ninnyhammer Suplex Supreme”

2. What's the most amount of sand you've ever had in your swimming trunks?

That’s a tough question, but I’d estimate a good quarter-cup or so.

3. Never mind the turtle. Don't you think you're sure to win?

Sure. I’m not a rabbit.

4. What would you wear for camouflage if you were hiding in a gingerbread house?

I’d cover myself with icing, roll in graham cracker crumbs, and then put sprinkles on my hands and feet.

5. You've successfully slain the dragon! How will you toast your marshmallows?

Alas! I no longer have a source of fire to roast my sugary goodness! Good thing I brought matches.

6. What would you name your ballet inspired by the sight of children leaping through a garden sprinkler?

“The Aria of Perpluit Ambulations”

7. Your people want to make a statue in your honor. What will it be made out of and what victory will it commemorate?

It will be made entirely out of obsidian gilded with platinum, and it will commemorate my victory over the Capri Sun pouch. Why are they so damn hard to drink?

8. You're trapped in a well with a goat and a slinky. Describe how you will escape.

I will befriend the goat with the gift of a slinky. When he jumps out of the well in search of stairs, I will grab his tail.

9. Do you believe that forks are evolved from spoons?

It’s likely, and we have the spork as evidence of the evolutionary process.

10. You've been entered in a shadow puppet contest. What's your best pose?

My remarkable rendition of Karl Marx.

11. What kind of tape is best for creating a sculpture?

While I’d normally be inclined to say that duct tape is the superior sculpture-making adhesive, I’ll give the nod to electrical tape since it comes in pretty colors.

12. If you drive on a parkway why don't they make the whole plane out of that?

Because of the traffic signals. What an obvious question.

13. Whoops! Your tongue is now a magnet. Whatever will you use for silverware?

Painted and laminated plasticware.

14. Please describe how you could take the peel off an apple all in one go:

Circular motion with a knife. Be careful not to cut your thumb.

15. You've written a hit musical! How will you avoid having fame go to your head?

I’ll wear a hat. And then immediately retire with my bags of money.

16. Chicken monkey shoes?

I made them myself, and I would market them, but PETA is protesting outside.

17. What's the earliest you've gotten up to watch cartoons and what did you see?

It must have been about 6:00AM, and it was an episode of Looney Tunes where Elmer Fudd shoots Daffy Ducks beak around. Classic child-friendly violence.

18. When you spilled the milk, did it look like the moon?

Unfortunately, no. It looked like I made a mess. And it had a bubble in it. I’m no astronomer, but I’m pretty sure the moon lacks bubbles.

19. Unlike a dog, how can a turtle ever be naked?

Such is the fate of the turtle. They’ll never know the joys of streaking and exhibitionism.

20. You've been invited to a fancy ball but the only thing you have to wear is an orange wooly jumper. What shoes do you wear?

Black pumps.

That was fun. I'm going to do it again sometime.

See what stands long ending fast

Time to think about something. Let's look at one of my favorite poems:

I Saw in Louisiana a Live Oak Growing
by Walt Whitman

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it, and the moss hung down from the branches;
Without any companion it grew there, uttering joyous leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself;
But I wonder'd how it could utter joyous leaves, standing alone there, without its friend, its lover
near--for I know I could not;
And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss,
And brought it away--and I have placed it in sight in my room;
It is not needed to remind to remind me as of my own dear friends,
(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them;)
Yet it remains to me a curious token--it makes me think of love;
For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana, solitary, in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life, without a friend, a lover, near,
I know very well I could not.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And I know that I can't either, Mr. Whitman

Time to re-enter the world. I've been too introverted lately, and now I'm ready to "let love in," as the cliche goes. Not just seek new friendships with new people, but forgive and appreciate family and religion too.

If there's anything that Walt Whitman wanted to teach, it was that if we will ever learn anything about ourselves, we must realize that we are transcendently part of something greater, bigger, and more amazing than ourselves. If I'm going to be happy like I used to, I must return my mind and my attention to the community around me.

"It's way too late to be this locked inside ourselves" ~C'mere - Interpol - Antics Album

And so the walls will come down. I'm going to open the doors, and, when dissatisfied with that, rip the doors off their hinges. Life's too short to hide away. The isolated self is a recipe for disaster.

Maybe I'll go back to church...

Soundtrack:
C'mere - Interpol - Antics
Under the Gun - The Killers - Hot Fuss, special edition
Eyes - Rogue Wave - Eyes EP
Fire It Up - Black Label Society - Mafia
Just - Radiohead - The Bends

The times, they are a'changing

A conversation I had with my mother today:

Me: Hello?
Mom: Hello, honey.
Me: Hey, mom.
Mom: I have a question, but try not to get mad.
Me: Go for it, but no promises.
Mom: Please?
Me: I'll try.
Mom: Do you have a girlfriend?
Me: Long pause. (tersely) No, Mother. I don't
Mom: You said you wouldn't get angry
Me: (annoyed) I said I'd try not to.
Mom: (angrily) Maybe you wouldn't have trouble finding one if you didn't have such a bad attitude.
Me: I don't need this right now. I'm going to go.
*hang up*

This brings several questions to my mind. Why, exactly, does my mom care whether or not I have a girlfriend? Really, what's it matter to her? I'm having a hard enough time trying to find one as it is without her lighting a fire under me. I've just gotten over one of the biggest disappointments of my life, and now I'm working on the self-confidence issues left behind by it. Being reminded of the fact that, for the first time in my life, I'm having trouble with girls doesn't boost my morale much. It's kinda funny. They used to come to me. I guess I've got some work to do.

Good. I'm done venting now, so now I'm going to take a walk and think. At least I'm not angry anymore.

Uninhibited in a good way

Well, not everything is right, but at least it isn't wrong anymore.

What I mean is, I've decided to turn things around a bit. I look back on last week and wonder how it happened. I wonder and reflect and come up with nothing. There are people to thank and hugs to give. If I had the means and the participation needed, I'd throw a party. I've picked up the gauntlet and cast it aside. My sword is sheathed, the destruction has stopped, and it's time to rebuild.

I've learned to forgive.

I find myself in the same life I was in four years ago. I was a sophomore then and I'm a sophomore still. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Just as then, I am single, I have only a few close friends, I'm achieving high grades, and I finally am breaking out of a shell of bitterness.

Please don't misinterpret me, though; I'm not a good person. If God exists, and he wants to forgive my sins during the past four years, then maybe I stand a fleeting chance. As I say in my personal aphorism, "I've long since given up on perfection, so creativity is the closest thing to godliness I'll ever achieve."

There's a number of things on my mind, but for now, I'll appreciate the fact that I've been given a chance at a new beginning. So many people have been locked into their current situation (be it social, work related, etc.), and exiting said situation is a painful task. At one point, I thought to myself: "The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,/ The devil will come, and Andy will be damned (Dr. Faustus by Christopher Marlowe. 13.67-68, Text A, minor editing)." Sorry, Mephastophilis. I won't be joining you.

Three roads converge in a yellow wood/and I've made another complicated and unoriginal metaphor

I don't know what it is. When it rains, it pours, and when it stops raining, the sun shines bright. But that's all I have to say about last week.

But now it's this week. I feel playful and facetious. I was in a poetry-writing mood earlier this evening, and I'm pleased with what I've written so far. It's a work in progress that's a combination of my midnight ambulations and my desire to tell someone something. It's called "Love at Halloween," and it's the most light-hearted poem I've written in a while.

I'm not completely happiness-and-rainbows; don't get me wrong. I more brashness-and-swaggers. Feeling a little devious, a little playful. Don't be surprised if you catch me with an absent-minded smirk on my face.

I'm probably going to regret this, but I'm going to do a little musing. In metaphor of course: this is something that I need to put out there but don't necessarily want to say explicitly. I'll probably end up talking to someone about it this week, and volunteers are welcome. But now, the metaphor.

I'm at a crossroads with three paths. One's a straight and narrow road, but I'm a nonconformist and therefore don't like it. Besides, even though it's wide, it's barren and empty. It looks like several have gone down that path, but there's no one in sight down it.

The second and third paths both look familiar. Despite the canopy of luscious hardwoods that loom over them, the light shines through. Both are bordered with aromatic flowering bushes that almost beg attention with their vibrant hues. At the mouth of the second, however, there a few bees buzzing. If you know me well enough, I'm a huge sissy when situations involve stinging insects. Given my situation, I decide to try the third path.

I walk a few feet in, and all seems well. Starry-eyed with the splendor around me, I fail to see an impediment in the path. I fall flat on my face, swear, and turn to see what I've stumbled over; it's a fallen sign post that states, "no trespassing." Seeing this, I turn back to where the paths meet.

Currently, I'm sitting cross-legged and considering my options. I could easily and safely proceed down the wide one, but it looks too lonely and empty. The second path is inviting, but entering it might be difficult because of the bees, and, besides there could be a "no trespassing" sign there, too. If I choose the third path again, I risk angering it's owner. So what do I do?

Well, the situation isn't pressing right now, so I can conisder carefully. Perhaps I'll find coucil.

That's all for tonight. I'm anticipating a better tomorrow. That'd be lovely.

Soundtrack:
Keepaway - Self - Porno, Mint, and Grime
Broken Glass - Buckcherry - Fifteen
The Blood Is Love - Queens of the Stone Age - Lullabies to Paralyze
Ride Out Bitch - Vaux - There Must Be Some Way To Stop Them
Gotta Have You - The Weepies - Say I Am You

Something on.

I can't really say that I'm pressing on, because that would assume I'm making an effort, nor am I floating on, because that implies a sense of joviality. I guess that moving on would be the best description I can think of. I really don't like to be nondescriptive with action verbs, but I'm going to admit I'm stumped with this one.

It all boils down to social dynamics. I know that my last post was vindictive and probably inappropriate, but I stand by what I felt at the time. What I didn't realize, however, was the inevitability of this sort of thing happening.

After I had gotten over the initial shock of the events that transpired this summer, I began to feel a bit better. I was so sure that everyone would be appalled with her actions, so that I'd still have a chance of frequent friendship with you guys. That was not to be; I didn't realize you were so close with her so that what she did wouldn't matter. Does that sound sarcastic? I'm trying to decide whether it should or not.

I just had an amusing though about the word "better," in that it's so similar to the word "bitter." Also note that "i" is the next vowel following "e" in the alphabet.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

I refuse to further blame you guys for what happened. That would be offensive, nonconstructive, and simply wrong. You are all part of a large group of good friends, something which is both healthy and fun. It would be wrong to begrudge you of that, and to expect you to choose me over them would be a miserable act on my part. What I really want is for you three--you know who you are--to be happy.

I expect that I'll be going through some transition for the next few months, as I'd like to find a group like your own. I'm sorry that I wasn't a better friend while it lasted.

My apoligies,
Andy Bodine

Liberation: My Heart On the Table

A moment of your time, if you will. Imagine me, Andy Bodine, sitting at a table across from you.

Got it? Good. It's not hard so far. This next part might prove to be a little difficult for you, but I have faith in your imaginations.

Now picture me lifting up my skeletony hand and placing the fingers spread out just to the left of my sternum. Next imagine the knuckles starting to bend and the sound of fabric ripping. Visualize a gush of red, hear the tearing of flesh and the cracking of bone. Watch me grab my heart, rip it from its cavity, and slam it on the table still beating in a pool arterial blood on the table between us.

That's the impression I want this post to have, though if you've seen the Indina Jones and the Temple of Doom, you've already had the image somewhat ruined. George Lucas and Harrison Ford apologize.

That aside, I really feel as if I'm lying to everyone. I am a tremendous fake. After a profoundly confusing weekend, I've decided that keeping things bottled up doesn't help. Which brings me to my confessions: hard, sharp, biting truths.

1. People often tell me that I can "talk to them about anything." First off, most of you guys are full pretty words and hot air. In most cases, it's people who don't assure me of that fact that are best to talk to. Props to you, Amber, Ashley, Chris, and Julie. There's only one person that's really proven to me that I can talk to him about anything. God bless you, Andrew.
2. With the exception of precisely 7 people, everyone I've met at Mercer is full of shit.
3. If you've seen me in a good mood in the past two months, it's because of nicotine. I would stop, but I don't have the motivation yet.
   
4. If one more person tells me they're smarter than someone, I'm going to punch them in the teeth.
5. I would probably stop hating BFMcTC if I started dating again, as I wouldn't think about her anymore.
   
6. Item number five is extremely difficult, as I'm not actively pursuing anyone, and no one is actively pursuing me as far as I can tell.
   
7. I'm a hopeless romantic full of ideals, and I detest myself for it.
8. I'm only saying these things because Andrew doesn't deserve to hear me bitch an moan exclusively to him, and he's had a really rough weekend because he cares about his friends. I don't have anyone to talk to, really, so it ends up on the internet.
9. I'm. Sick. Of. Excuses. If you're busy studying or something, I completely understand. On the other hand, if you're going to blow me off, do it blatantly. Tell me, "Andy. I don't want to hang out with you today/I actually don't like you that much, let's stop hanging out." It'll make things a lot easier.

That was incredibly refreshing. I guess I don't need to smoke if I can actually talk about what ails me, even if it's on a computer and no one gives a shit. I would consider praying about it, but God isn't much for company. He's probably busy with someone with real issues.

P.S. If you tell me it's okay to come to you with my problems, you'd better mean it.

This post's soundtrack:
Beautiful Like Me - Joydrop - Metasexual
Backdrifts - Radiohead - Hail To the Thief
Rapture - Hurt - Vol. 1
Hands Away - Interpol - Turn On the Bright Lights
Paper Thin Hymn - Anberlin - Never Take Friendship Personal

Yes, another one.

Ad stylum, ad armum.

Okay. So, perhaps not arms. We’ll try this again.

Ad stylum, ad Hadem cum omne.

That’ll do. There’s time for writing and there’s time for fighting, and sometimes, there’s enough time for both. Take that, Mr. Berra.

Let’s take a little logical jaunt here. Let us consider the facts.

• Not many people read this blog.
• Fewer people will remember a post that I wrote and deleted a while back.
• Even fewer have connected that post with my Myself, Inc. ad.
• Fewer still will be happy with me by the time this is over.

We now have something to start with. It’s now appropriate to observe some evidence. I present to you, Exhibits A, B, and C.

A: Easy to derive, but hard to integrate.
A = (Misdirected Spite + Self Deprecation + Quirkiness)/Number of shots

B(F McTC): Easy to integrate, often affected by extraneous variables.
B = (Shamelessness + Moodiness + Cup Size)/Number of simultaneous romantic interests

C: Collective of mutual integers shared by A and B.

There are the exhibits. How are they connected?

• A = B, but A and B are not compatible integers.
• A and B are irrational numbers, therefore they will be referred to as A_i and B_i.
• C is compatible with both A_i and B_i, but not concurrently.
• Unless C = 1, C is not compatible with A_i. If C ≥ 1, C is compatible with B_i.
• A_i really really freaking misses C, but is both too unsure and cynical to bother asking anything of C. A_i has fond memories of C, but wonders of C is really worthwhile.
• 
  

Please pardon that last one. It got away from me. Really, though. C’mon, C. It’s been way too long. Some of your components try, but only one without some prodding, and even then, that’s infrequent. Is it time to pack it in and move on? A_i really wants to know.

I really hate being dramatic like this. I really do. It pisses me off, and it pisses everyone else off. You know I want to ignore what’s going on. But I need to know what’s up.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Or, if your not a smoker, crumble it over your oatmeal. Whatever works.

Myself, Inc.

Copied from my Facebook:

Company:	Myself, Inc.
Position:	Freelance Charlatan
Time Period:	March 1987 – Present
Location:	Various
Description:	It doesn't pay well, but the benefits are incredible. The work includes: Playing music, writing bad poetry, drinking occasionally, reading old books, running a lot, frequenting coffee shops, cracking jokes, taking naps, walking at night, watching movies, and being thankful. I'm currently looking for associates, both part and full time positions available.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes I like to imagine I'm clever. I like to sieze the conventions of the everyday and make them my own. The English language, for example. Wordplay. I love that stuff. Grasping something everyone has access to, changing it in some small way, and thereby making it my own. And so: "I tell myself, 'I'm so cool and clever.' I'm such a liar."
(Flip-Top Box by Self. Good stuff. Listen to it sometime)

There's a bevy of things on my mind, but I don't really feel like going into detail. I'm a little conflicted about a few items. Thinking about a few people. Trying to get a little more information before I try something.

All in all, it's been a good break. I saw "The Departed." I recommend it to anyone and everyone. Mark Wahlberg doesn't really get enough screen time, but with Damon, DiCaprio, Baldwin, Sheen, and Nicholson, it's understandable. Disappointing ending, but I still kinda wanna see it again.

That's about all for now. There'll be a better update when I finally get in a bad mood. I hope I don't have a good update for a while.

This update's soundtrack:
Flip-Top Box by Self
Sweet Li'l Thing by Eels
Red House by Jimi Hendrix
Straight to Hell by Gisli
Surrender by Billy Talent
Secret Santa Cruz by Lifter Puller
I Love My Computer by Bad Religion
Distance by Editors
Missing by Beck
The Green Fields of France by Dropkick Murphys

An Amusing (fake) News Article

Oh, how I love The Onion

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/53278

I'll probably feel that way until I start dating again. You have to admit, though, the article is pretty funny.

Mad student manifesto

Goddamn, it was beautiful today.

How beautiful indeed. All that I saw, heard, tasted, smelled, felt, did, and thought seemed to have some sort of underlying splendor. The magnificence around me was intangible but definately present. It was both a pleasant and bewildering suspicion that teased my subconscious all day.

Why? I know how I'm going to die. Confused? Good. Talk to me about it sometime.

Something else has been on my mind lately. What joy is there in treating people like shit? Or even just being a little mean? Elevate yourself by doing good. Give hugs. Pick up a hitchhiker. Smile at someone you don't like. Give others the benefit of the doubt. Plant a flower. Hang out with a lonely person. Help the struggling. Love your neighbor. Volunteer. Lay on your back, look at the sky, and be grateful. Turn the other cheek. Give a compliment. Exist for a greater good that will probably never exist itself.

I can't figure out what it is that's come over me for the past 4 or 5 days. It's kinda like being in love, but not really loving anyone. I've been feeling a strange sort of feeling of universal good will. Maybe I'll find someone to share it with soon.

Maybe I'll turn this into a poem, too.

Flying Chaucers

Let's revisit a common question.

What do people want? Both guys and girls? This question surfaced during my early British lit class after reading the Wife of Bath's tale. I've been ignoring it since my sophomore year of high school, and I guess it's appropriate that the text once again begs the question. I'm finally going to confront this thing, and I shall begin at the beginning.

It seems necessary to give some context to the question. In the Wife of Bath's tale, a knight errant sees a pretty maiden and rapes her. Unfortunately for our stupid protagonist, the penalty for rape in King Arthur's court is death. The knight is brought before the king, and, luckily for him, the queen intercedes. She tells him that he has a year and a day to figure what it is that women want most. Long story short, he finds an old hag that tells him the answer--women want dominion over their husbands, gets his life saved, is forced to marry the hag, then pisses an moans about having an ugly old wife. When he submits to her will, she becomes young and beautiful and faithful and all that idealistic stuff. Thus, the question is asked: What do women want?

Well, Dr. Stege turned it around when no one had an answer. What do men want?

What do I want?

Fucked if I know, I thought to myself initially, but I resolved to think about it. I've been holding the question in my pocket throughout this afternoon and I think I have a rough idea.

I have an inner need to rebel. Not just typical young adult rebellion; the concept permeates me. I enjoy confrontation. I like angry, politically charged lyrics in my music. I reject the status quo. I hate authority. I suck at keeping schedules. I love philosophical, political, and religious debates.

As such, I find myself romantically attracted to strong-willed women. If you know me well, look at the people I've dated. Love or hate? Maybe I just like to argue. Hell, if you're familiar with the Wife of Bath's prologue, I'm pretty sure you'll notice some similarities between my former interests and that character. Unfortunately, due to this fact, barring a change in attitude, I will likely never cohabitate peacefully with another human being.

That is, if I don't try to find beauty elsewhere. Sure, there's beauty in strength of will, but there seems to be a division amongst strong-willed women. Some of them are, frankly, bitches. I hate using the word, so you'll have to forgive my bitterness. Luckily, there's another group of these women that are ambitious, yet kind. They don't let their ambition interfere with their decency.

I think it's time to switch tracks before I derail.

Love is a dunghill... and I am but a cock that climbs upon it to crow

Ah, amour.

Hackneyed, overwrought, typical love. I think Hemingway may have been right about it from the quote in the title.

People "love" everything. I'm sick of hearing the word used over and over again to connote trivial matters.

"Oh, I love that show!"
"Don't you love that song?"

Kindly go fuck yourselves.

Don't mistake my spite as hatred of love--the modern, consumerist "love" raises my bile by blinding the eyes of the unaware. It hides behind Hallmark cards and candy hearts and dozens upon dozens of red roses. Three cheers for the iGeneration.

"I love you."

There's some thin ice. People pass those words around like a lit joint. The problem is, they don't know if a hit will make the next person high.

"Let's make love."

There's an interesting phrase. It's glaringly obvious that sex is not the same as love, but love without sex is inconsummate and sex without love will make a shell of you.

"What is love?"

If you said "Baby, don't hurt me no more," you should stop listening to one-hit wonders. What is the unpackaged form of love? The cynic in me says it's nothing but two animals with their fangs in eachother's throats--too afraid to let go for fear that the other will bleed to death. The optimist in me says I'll know it when it hits me. The realist has trouble finding gray areas.

And so, I am brought back to Hemingway. Approaching love, like the dunghill, is dirty business. The best I can do is make some use of it; I'll climb atop it to make myself known and heard to the one that hears me best.

How do you know how do use something if you don't know what it is? I'm not entirely sure, but I think it's the same reason we don't let toddlers handle firearms.

Quiet, please

I've been told that all men live lives of quiet desparation. I can see that. I've also noticed that the ones that live in open desparation are pathetic.

I've been rolling some recent decisions over in my head lately. The majority of the ones I've made have stood up pretty well, I'm happy or at least neutral about them. These would include joining clubs, quitting smoking, and not doing something stupid and vengeful.

There's one decision, though, that I'm willing to admit was a poor one: deciding to deny myself from looking for a girl. Just because one made me miserable doesn't mean I should roll over and play dead. Though cynical, I'm willing to admit that not everyone is that terrible. It's about time I stopped second-guessing myself and others and put myself back out there. I was going to take the semester off, but I rejected two girls this summer. Enough is enough; if something manages to float by and it seems right, I'll probably consider it. Why deny myself affection? I don't want sex, I don't want heavy petting, I don't even want to make out with anyone. I just want someone to put my arm behind and talk to. Intelligently.

When my hair gets long enough, I think I'm going to grow a beard. My parents are complaining about my wanting to get my ears pierced. They're probably afraid I'll look too feminine with the long hair and earrings. The beard will help offset that. Nothing too lumberjack--just a closely-trimmed connector from my sideburns to goatee. Kinda like Tom Cruise a while ago, just without the insufferable and ridiculous religious convictions. Or the multi-million dollar net worth. Or Katie Holmes. Goddamnit.

I'm looking forward to getting my bass soon. I think I'm going to go ahead and dole out the extra cash for the Thunderbird Goth. I play sitting anyways, so the weight of the neck shouldn't be an issue. I'm a little worried about the tb pickups, but replacing a 9-volt every now and then shouldn't be so bad. After getting an amp, tuner, case, etc, I'm looking at about $600-$700. I'll have to work this winter, but I need the cash anyways. Something to look forward too is always nice.

Back to the subject of women. I like to look at women from a semi-Platonic perspective. I'm beginning to think that I've been concentrating too hard on the shadows on the cave wall. Somewhere outside the cave is the one I'm looking for. I've found some girls who've made it out there, but there's a number of them.

She's out there. I want to grab her hand, look her in they eyes and tell her, "I want you to know, with all sincerity and no hope of reciprocation, that you're a beautiful person, and I love you." Maybe it's the way she's beautiful without trying. Maybe it's the way she puts her mind, body, and soul to everything. Maybe it's the way her eyes look when she's lost in thought, staring away into the sky at something I could never see or comprehend.

Oh, that I could find her.

I'm told that all men live lives of quiet desparation. I'll try to keep it down.

Nothing much to say, really

Man. I miss Jonathan. I haven't seen him in a few months, and even then only briefly. Apparently, this is what he's been up to:

Macho Man Jonathan

Enjoy.

Now I'm Writing Poety in a Studio Apartment

Another blog post, another obscure song reference for a title. In any case, here's some pics of my apartment so some people will quit bugging me. Click for larger images.

Don't wait for a knight in shining armor/Your savior's reflected in the mirror

I spoke briefly about investing in one's self a little in my last post, and I think that I should expound on that a bit.

I find that both myself and my generation as a whole are far too concerned with the opinions and approval of others. I was contemplating my current college social situation last evening, and I realized something. We reach out to others for approval, pleasure and, above all, acceptance. We crave it, as it reinforces our sense of self. What I mean is, we look to others for confirmation of our worth. We use others as a guage of our competency when, indeed, we should be realizing and appreciating our value on a personal, subjective level.

I digress, though; all this philosophy lacks application without an example. What brought me around to the above conclusion was the realization that I only have three, maybe four friends. You guys know who you are. If you know you are not one of those people, don't refer to me in conversation as "my friend Andy." Please use "this guy I know" or "an acquaitance of mine." I would also appreciate it if you limited uses of the phrases "douchebag," "asshole," or "dickweed" when referring to me.

So, what do all these gratuitous obscenities have to do with self-investment? Admittedly not much. In any case, in order to maintain some dignity, I've had to take some pride in who I am. I would also take time to mention that pride is like fire; lack of caution will result in getting burned. I never really used to realize why pride has classically been referred to as one of the notorious seven deadly sins until I looked at the proud people I know. I began realizing that it was self-destructive and, frankly, fucking annoying as hell.

In essense, what am I saying? Only that you're as good as you make yourself, not as good as others make you out to be. Be proud, but avoid hubris. Overly-proud people are detestible at best, damnable at worst.

On a briefer, more amusing note, I've found how my emotions cycle. Observe:

Don't gain the world and lose your soul, wisdom is better than silver or gold

Who knew I'd be titling a blog post with lyrics from a Bob Marley song? The closest to reggae I get is "Temperature" by Sean Paul.

In any case, it's good advise for any ambitious colliegate such as myself. I've spoken about slowing down and taking things as they come. I've looked at and reflected upon what I had planned for myself this semester:
20 Hours/week at Starbucks
18 Hours of classes
Young Democrats
Learning guitar
Getting a short story published
Working on the Dulcimer staff
Getting a six-pack

I've since realized that doing all that would drive me batshit insane. Here's what I've changed:
No job
15 Hours of classes
Young Democrats
Guitar
Write for the hell of it
Dulcimer staff
Better overall fitness, but a six-pack would still be nice

I begun to understand the value of investing in myself. I have no need to prove anything to anyone, I just need to make myself into what I want to be. I'm a self-proclaimed disbeliever in things like "fate," and I'm going to live in a manner that I find pleasing and beneficial to myself. I'm not going to make myself stagnant waiting for "the real me" to "emerge." The "real me" is the person I dictate to others via my actions, and my actions are genuine since I have nothing to hide. I'm not looking to gain anything besides happiness, wisdom, and a few good friends.

To all my friends that are living life tentatively and that concern themselves deeply with the "proper" way to conduct themselves: quit worrying and live. There's not a "right" way to do it. Look out for yourself and do good unto others; the rest is how you want it.

Fuck destiny.

Minimalism and Trimming the Hedges

Let's just assume I'm in a bad mood. You don't want to read through 2 paragraphs of bitching, right? So just remember that. Foul temper.

Anyways, I've begun to notice that I'm carrying a bit of excess around in this life. A little too much here and there really starts to add up and weigh you down. Why not get rid of it? You know, perhaps a little separation of chaff and wheat? Sounds logical, right?

It is. Plain and simple. Accordingly, I'm ridding myself of these things. There are some ambitions, possessions, ideas, and, sadly, people that are just not worth the cost.

I'm really hoping that someone comes along and proves me wrong on this. I have a sneaking suspicion that there is a better way. I'm open to suggestions.

In other, semi-related news, I've reached my target weight for the summer. I've trimmed off 25 lbs. Next goal? Six-pack by Christmas. ;)

Sing for absolution

Man. I've been in some pretty weird states lately. My moods have ebbed and flowed, but, for now, at least, I'm cautiously in a good mood. I guess that two days of only really talking with Lyn and Andrew will do that to me, as they've helped me realize a major flaw in the way I'm conducting myself.

In essense, they've both told me both directly and indirectly that I've been heading in the wrong direction. I've been looking for a relationship when I should just be dating. Trying new things and meeting new people. Lyn said it best when she told me, "You're looking for someone to call a girlfriend." She's right, though. What I need now is to explore my tastes in women. Different races, religions, creeds, etc. I've not even been around for two decades. Why the hell have I been looking for a relationship?

I want, more than anything else, to learn something about myself through the people I date. I don't want to wind up thinking I have the woman I want when, in actuality, I'm heading for a nasty break-up/divorce.

I'm also looking at how I conduct and maintain my frienships. My best friends, I've noticed, all have something in common. When they ask how I am, and I tell them that I'm honestly in a bad mood, they ask why. They don't give me that "Oh, I'm sorry" bullshit. They listen and offer advice, not just consolation. It's come to the point that I don't want a bunch of fringe friends that require me to parade around in masks. I'm going to stick with an intimate few that care about me and like me for who I am.

On a completely different note (pun intended), I've discovered a desire to create music. I've found my singing voice, which isn't half bad--just an octave or so higher than I would like. I guess that's what happens when your father and grandfather were tenors as well. I've gotten into writing lyrics, which has proven to be a bit of fun ever since my muse got revived. I'm thinking about talking to Dr. Cass about learning guitar, as he's pretty good. As I said in an essay last year, "I've long since given up on perfection, so creativity is as close to godliness as I'll ever get."

What? No lyrics this post? Nah.

Standing in the rain (milk carton mugshot, baby!)

Ah, the wonder that is unrequited love. Person A may love Person B, but Person B is in love with Person C, C in love with D. Maybe it’s just a crush, maybe it’s an unappreciated devotion, or maybe it’s two people embarrassed to admit their feelings. Perhaps Persons A, B, C, and D are individually suffering from one of those situations. Maybe C knows that B likes them, but they like D even though D treats C like shit. Just one of the interesting observations I’ve had recently. It’s a chain of misery, yet we will all inevitably subject ourselves to it in some point in our lives.

I’m also reminded of my recent interests, two of whom have offhandedly told me off and a third that doesn’t know I like her. They all have something in common: they’re all hopelessly devoted to someone who does and will not appreciate them. That brings me to another interesting observation.

All these people are the same person. They embody the same sets of beliefs and have the same attitude towards the ones who are devoted to them. They have paper-thin coats of kindness that hide their true colors. They’re like monsters hiding behind mirrors; unexpected lovers think they see themselves in the jerk/bitch, but it just belies the horrible truth.

I’ve thought about this, and I’ve begun seeing myself drift towards that attitude. I could do it; I have the money, and the looks are almost in place. I have friends that have gone for that ideology, and they aren’t necessarily all guys. They’ve had mixed success, but it’s more success than I.

You know what, though, I don’t really give a crap if what I’m doing isn’t really working out too well. I’m not going to compromise my character for the graces of others. I’m a hopeless nice guy, and I’m probably going to finish last. I’ve got all those losing qualities: I’m a good listener, I care about people, I like knowing how your day went, I like knowing how you feel, I value your opinion, I like knowing what you think, I can compromise, I think talking’s fun, and I’m loyal. So, yeah. I’m going to be shit out of luck in my love life for a while because girls don’t want that. They want pretentious pricks who have nice things.

I won’t sacrifice my dignity to be like them, even though I could be just like them.

“I will treat you well,
My sweet angel.
So help me, Jesus.”
(Possum Kingdom – The Toadies)

Step up, get shot down. Get up again. Repeat ad infinitum et nauseum.

Well. Things were good for a bit. About 2 days to be exact. I had worked things out a little, and things looked up. I'd dusted off my clothes, wiped the sweat from my brow and the blood from my nose, and then I get a call at work today; an emergency, I was told. My bird was bleeding badly and we had to rush to the vet.

Long story short, she had difficulty laying an egg that essentially tore up her reproductive tract. The vet gave us an estimate: $630 - $1080 for surgery that might and, indeed, probably would not even work.

Let it be known that I hate suffering, especially in animals, especially in birds. Over the course of six years, this bird only ever came to me. Only let me hold her. She was mine and wanted to be. I feel I made the best choice; I would never watch her suffer. Now, there's an empty corner in my living room. A little piece of me is buried in the back yard.

This summer has fucked with my head. There aren't too many words to describe it. "Roller coaster" doesn't quite convey what it's been like. If what doesn't kill you truly makes you stronger, I should be a beast by now.

You know what though? This summer may have disgraced, ruined, and nearly killed me, but I'm not going to be kept down. I'm going to take every ounce of learning and wisdom from this bitch of a season and put it to use. Even if it somehow gets worse, I'll know that I hit the floor swinging and get up again.

"Up against the wall
Snipers on the roof
Thought I was a gonner, baby.
I'm bulletproof"
(Bulletproof - A3)

I wish it weren't so late. I could use a good run right now.

That's it! We've had enough, please turn the fuckin' EMO off

That's right, guys. I'm back to myself. I'm over and done with the crap I've been going through, and I feel great. Once again, I'd like to thank the people in my previous post.

I've finally hammered things out with myself, and I'm going to go on living like I used to; free-spirited and rebellious. I'm happy again, goddammit. It was a little shaky last week, but the clouds have disappated and the sun shines through.

This absolution is terrific. The euphoria I'm feeling is especially timely, considering I work the next 6 days and close 4 of them. Tuesday at Starbucks, Wednesday and Thursday cashiering, then Friday through Sunday at Starbucks. Luckily, it's my second to last week, I get paid on Friday, and I'm finally, yes finally, upgrading my freakin' iPod. The Mini just isn't cutting it anymore. If any of you guys come to visit me, I'll love you forever*.

Well, that's about it. I'm back.

*No promises. =p

Je ne te connais pas

Literally translated, the title means, "I do not know you." It's a song I heard recently, and it--as well as several of my friends and family memebers--has me thinking about myself in relation to other people.

If I've learned anything from Seneca, it's that nothing in life is guraunteed or promised. Sadly, this is the truth, and our clinging hands sometimes slip. The sweat from stress and other people's influential pullings can tear apart even the most kindred of souls.

As always, I wonder what I have done in past situations, and try to think of a better way to carry about my life. In retrospect, I notice that I usually take one of two courses of action:

1.) This method is more avoidant and distant: hold people at arm's length so it's easier when you have to let go. I usually use this method at first, and keep it for people like classmates and acquaintances.

2.) I use this method for close friends and loved ones: I don't let go till it bleeds. I can be a very loyal friend, and I know I have a hard time letting go.

The first method is a logical and admittedly germane approach to friendship. Is it really better to avoid pain, though? Sure, there's more distance, but what joy is there in constantly anticipating that everyone close to you will slip like sand through your fingers? This will inevitably lead to either constant worrying or loss of friends.

I, for one, say hold on and look for good friends that'll squeeze harder when you begin to drift away. Look for friends that will let you seek their sympathy. Let them be a lifeline and a light. Fight for your friendships, and do these things for others. Never settle for someone who won't do these things for you. If they don't want to hear your misfortunes, they probably aren't your friend; however, hold on to hope and keep your faith in friends who give you these courtesies. They will be the most valuable part of your life.

Andrew, Chris, Lyn, and Alice: if I had a glass, I'd be raising it to you guys right now. You've brought me through the roughest November seas of my life and I've come out okay because of you guys.

Alice: You told me to look to God when I lost hope. Your faith has been an inspiration to me, and I would like to get to know you much better this year. I know you're going through some tough times right now, but I will always do for you what you did for me: offer hope.

Lyn: You saved my life and kept me from making a terrible mistake. You've been there to talk about my troubles and keep me in check throughout this difficult summer. If I ever plan on doing something reckless or stupid, I can count on you to keep me under control.

Chris: You consoled me at one of the worst points of my life, and stayed on the phone with me when I could only be described as pathetic. Your empathy and support kept me going even when I was no longer coherent.

Andrew: I don't think I could ask for a better friend. In the seven years I've known you, I've always, always been able to talk to you. No matter how weird or troubling my problems were, you listened and offered advice and consolation. Thanks for being there in all my times of need.

This also is from a song I've heard recently:
"When your faith in life is gone
Come and speak to me
When you’re down and all messed up
Seek my sympathy

When your face is caked with mud
Come and speak to me
When the chill creeps in your blood
Seek my sympathy"
(Your Misfortune by Mike Doughty)

Take those two stanzas as an offer and a promise. I usually never promise anything, but for you guys, I can. Thanks, guys. Thanks for everything.

Novicaine for the soul

I once read a quote from a bitter Frenchman: "The world as it is, one can only think of revenge."

It makes a bit of sense. Here we are, fickle and powerless, being given life without really asking for it. We bumble about this world, slowly being crushed by our own ignorance yet remaining either unaware or avoidant of that fact.

That's all beside the point, really. What are we to do about it? Revenge would be wonderful, but on whom are we wishing it. God? That's an inane and pointless endeavor. In my experience, God could care less of what you think of him. I guess that, when omnipotent, you don't have to worry too much about your reputation.

That's the end of that mystery, and I find that irksome. The majority of the world will turn their heads away and enjoy their ignorance. Whether it's a chip on my shoulder or a star on my collar, I find in myself to be a more belligerent spirit. I don't want to sit around felling foolish for the rest of my existance.

I know it's a pointless endeavor. It's like counting the stars. The methods are primitive, the answer is incomplete and based only on our own perception, and the end result is ultimately pointless. On the other hand, I'll be distracted from the fact that I'm a fool. Whatever numbs the pain.

My kingdom for an ounce of inspiration

I used to take great pride in my imagination. I rarely had problems coming up with new ideas for my writing, but now, I feel as if someone's killed my muse with a claw hammer. Twelve pages into a short story, and my urge to create is miserably let down by a lack of inspiration.

Sadly, this malaise is spreading to other parts of my life. I can't for the life of me finish Les Miserables, something I swore I'd do before summer ended. When my cousin Josiah, a film student in Los Angeles, visited, I saw how far behind I was creatively. He showed me a few of his short films, all very good. I'm a little concerned that I'll have to drop my creative writing major for a regular lit major; I don't think that I could meet deadlines or write creatively for a grade.

Instead of bitching and moaning, I should probably get out there and actually do something. I abandoned a plan to hitch-hike a little bit this summer--nothing huge, just up to Chattanooga or something. If I'm lucky, I might still get the chance. We'll see.

At least the future holds some hope. Next summer, my parents are planning another cruise on which Josiah and I would be given free roam of things. In addition. We're planning on backpacking Ireland as well. It would be great. Bringing nothing of value and being in an unfamiliar place. Just some disposable cameras, a little cash, clothes, and a credit card or two. We'd visit the pubs, see the cathedrals, and perhaps even sail over to to Scotland. That's something I'd like to write about.

Steady as she goes

I have a confession to make, and since no one actually reads this, it won't actually hurt me to make it. It's a little odd, but here it is: I like looking like a tragic character. Tragic heroes, seemingly as a rule, seem to garner an amalgamation of pity and respect. On this stage of a world, I'm playing the role of a degenerate sort of Macbeth, messing about and passively wishing revenge on those who've wronged me. That's where the analogy ends, however; I have a different sort of tragic flaw.

It is a common mistake of several forward-looking people; I'm going to fast for my own good. I'm running blindly through a forest of uncertainty and luckily not knocking down any trees with my face. All I can see is what I want at the end: recognition. After some introspection, I've noticed that my ambitious intentions have escaped my subconscious in myriad ways. For instance, my music preferences (lyrically at least) have become more aggressive, and even pertain to my ambitions. Take the chorus of one of my famous songs for example:

"Into the river below
I'm running from the inferno
They'll think I'm insane
But you'll all know my name
Into the river below
I'm running from the inferno
I'll take all the blame
The front page and the fame"

That's what I want. I demand recognition and respect. I crave it. I've been doing all I can to achieve it. There's a sort of genuine independence to be found when you're admired. I'm not saying I want a chorus of screaming fans, I just want to be noticed. I don't know who these people are, but I want them to look at me with raised eyebrows and genuine interest. Forget Macbeth. I'm a regular Willy Loman. Grab a pen and label me an archetype.

Like I said, that's what I want. If ambition is a sin, I'm among the worst. I'm feeling like I should slow down. I've saddened someone important to me by planning to leave Mercer, a place that I've grown to love for some inexplicable reason. The barest, simplest truth is this: I'm fine graduating from either UGA or Mercer. The degrees mean the same.

Conclusions? There is only this, and this should be my new creed:

"I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
And learn by going where I have to go."

God bless you, Roethke.

Tattoo time

Well, I've finally decided on a design for the tattoo I'm planning on. I'm still working on a good quote to go between the wings. Probably something describing the human condition. Here it is: It has a lot of things going for it. Namely, it's nothing tribal and it's not a naked woman. As for dimentions, it's going to be about the size of my shoulder blade, one wing on each side of my spine. Ideally, it would not be visible above the collar of a normal t-shirt. The quote will be inbetween the bottom of the wingtips. Finding good quotes about the human condition is surprisingly harder than I thought. Perhaps the struggle between good and evil? I dunno. We'll see. I've essentially decided that I don't care what my parents think. My body. I'm 19. They'll get over it.

Resolutions for next year

Because of the events this summer--being dumped by Kristin and not being able to hang out with certain people as a result of things connected with that situation--next year at Mercer is going to be a little tough socially. I know I can still count on Lyn and Alice, as they are great friends who have promised not to abandon me, but I still feel the need to hang out with people not so connected with Kristin. Even if none of that crap happened, it was about time for me to expand my horizons anyways. I have a few ideas to help remedy my issue.

Firstly, I'm going to much more involved on campus. I'm going to join several organizations (The Dulcimer, Young Democrats, event planning things, maybe even the school paper) and perhaps start a study group or two (Behavioral Statistics, anyone?). I need to be a little more friendly, too. That shouldn't be too hard since I've discarded a good deal of my pride.

Social issues aren't the only things I need resolved. I think I'm overloading myself and taking on too many hours. My history minor seems pretty unnecessary, and that means I'll be dropping Ancient Eastern History. Sorry, Dr. K. That brings me down to a much more manageable 15 hours.

Because of this drop in scholastic responsibility, there's a good chance I'll try to get a job either on campus or at Starbucks. The manager seemed pretty nice, and being barista trained pretty much gurauntees me a position, but I'd have to have fewer than 20 hours in order to manage my school schedule. That's life, I guess. If not, I'm just going to join more crap that sounds like fun.

I also want to help out in theater. I really miss working with my hands and making things. Some part of me likes the physical labor, and seeing my work onstage gives me a unique sort of pleasure.

For better or for worse, I'm ready for the coming school year.

Confessions...

I am too easily frustrated with other people.

I only think clearly at night.

I drive too fast.

I have a hopeless crush on someone.

I’m going to try to ignore the hopeless part and try anyways.

I wish there was a less juvenile term for “crush.”

I used to think blogging was a stupid idea.

I’m completely oblivious in a lot of situations.

I hate it when people keep things from me.

I hate kids.

I feel like all my vices are becoming passé.

I still like my vices.

I’ll often openly dislike something only to end up liking it.

I take things for granted.

I constantly struggle between hubris and humility.

I have a hard time differentiating between humility and self-deprecation.

I’ve given up on being angry.

I’m still an inherently fiery person.

I try to be Christian, but I’m a terrible person.

I have a poor self-image.

I try to be funny because it makes other people happy.

I constantly fall victim to the fallacy of misplaced concreteness.

I stay up too late.

I do things even though I know they’re bad ideas.

I don’t know whether I try too hard or not hard enough.

I rely on other people too often.

I dislike proud people.

I still have too many inhibitions.

An open letter to Starbucks patrons

Dear Starbucks patrons,

After working at Starbucks for several weeks, it seems that some clarification of the menu is in order. You seem to not be able to grasp a few simple concepts, and its about time to dispell your ignorance. Instead of going down our very lengthy menu and describing each drink, I'm going to select some of the things you guys have said and point out the problems.

Instance 1: "Why is my cappuccino so light?"

Answer: It's because you ordered a fucking cappuccino. It's literally half foam, half steamed milk and espresso. You probably wanted a latte, which only has a thin layer of foam on top, and is mostly steamed milk with a little espresso.

Instance 2: "Can I have a frappaccina?"

You mean, "May I have a frappuccino?" The answer is no, because you're stupid. I know that Starbucks likes to make up a bunch of fake Italian words, and even though watching you guys fumble through the syllables gives me the same sick joy as watching the Special Olympics, you should be able to differentiate between "a" and "o". Or perhaps I have too much misplaced faith in mankind.

Instance 3: "Add an extra shot of 'expresso'."

Once again, look carefully at the word "espresso." Do you see a "k"? A "c", perhaps? An "x"? No, you don't. That's an "s" followed by a "p". The next time one of you people asks for "expresso," I'm just going to say no.

Instance 4: "Do you guys serve plain coffee?"

I can't believe how often I hear this question. It's a coffee shop. You are surrounded by no fewer than 20 different types of beans. There are carafes behind me, as well as a coffee machine. A sign that says "now brewing" with a list of the bold, mild, and decaffienated coffees we are serving hangs on the wall behind me. There's a menu item called "coffee of the day." Your answer? No. We don't. It's all a ruse to deliberately waste your time. Good day.

Instance 5: "I want a decaf Americano."

You're completely defeating the purpose of an Americano, which is a stupid drink anyways. For those of you unfamiliar with the drink, it's espresso and water. That's it. It's meant to give you lots of caffeine. The crema is gone, and you're drinking pure bitterness. Congratulations, you've wasted three dollars.

Instance 6: "I would like an iced cappuccino."

Too bad. It's not possible. Once you figure out how to make edible, milk flavored, icy foam, please contact the bigwigs in Seattle. You're going to be very rich.

Instance 7: "You're prices are expensive"

Cry about it.

Instance 8: Aside to friend, "The stawberry frappuccino is healthier because it's got fruit in it."

You wish. It's the single most unhealthy thing on the menu. A venti stawberries and cream frappuccino with whipped cream has over 20 grams of fat and nearly 700 calories.

Instance 9: "I would like a quattro con panna and I'm going to explain to you what it is because I'm a coffee snob and you're a teenager and I automatically assume that you know nothing. Man, will this impress the girl I'm with!"

Thank you for assuming I don't know what the hell I'm doing. You're girlfriend's not impressed. You ordered 4 shots of espresso with whipped cream on it. You, sir, are an idiot. Have fun with your inch of milkfat on pure bitterness.

To be fair to those of you that honestly don't know, espresso is naturally sweet because of what's called "crema." When a shot is pulled, it looks like it's swirling and carmelly. The light bit is the crema. If a shot sits too long before it is consumed, the crema oxidizes, leaving a very bitter shot. Ordering more than two shots at a time almost ensures that the crema will oxidize. The whipped cream on top doesn't help; the milkfat stays on top and doesn't actually sweeten the espresso. The douchebag who ordered it payed nearly 4 dollars per ounce for a drink that's nearly unenjoyable. It was funny watching him try not to cringe as he drank it in front of the girl he was with.

Instance 10: "I would like an item not offered here, but I would like to sit here, make a line, irrate everyone, and do a terrible job of describing the drink."

Go to hell and die painfully. You should have gone to the other place to begin with.


That concludes this open letter. I hope that you will be marginally less ignorant next time you feel the urge to consume a Starbucks product.

Sincerely, a barista.