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Everything started after a semester at school. Well… before that. It’s always before, isn’t it? But that semester set it off. I was wound up tight. Restless, without peace. I felt okay when I left that town, never in it. Too much baggage.
I went to Mexico to clear my head. To relax. I packed my car, stopped before leaving town to fill up. I hung up the pump with an air of finality, electricity in my blood. Bid that town fucking adieu.
Now just the road. I had enough pot for the first part of the trip, and my cousin had some waiting down in Texas. Perfection. I stopped to see him graduate highschool, and then he came with me. He’d grown up quick and tall.
Excitement! The road! Mexico! I left the tension, the restlessness, and I drove. Got high and drove. Tell me I was immature, reckless. I didn’t care. I don’t care.
Me. On the road.

I’m bored. I’m anxious. Because nothing belongs to me.
Because I owe.
I fight to be something I’m not.
I am weary. Weary of trying to think new thoughts. How do I think new thoughts? It feels so new it’s not me. It’s fake. It’s tiring.
But there are glimpses of hope, like today. Then I immediately fear my hope because it crumbles, always. Falls away.
I yearn to express myself poetically and I fail because I try. Too hard? Yes. Too hard. And what am I trying for? Newness. The newness I fear and is elusive.

Avoiding. Avoiding me. I’m avoiding me. I come to the brink and retreat back. Because it’s unknown? Kind of. Not really.
Because it doesn’t work.
Not the way I want it to. And I fear it never will. That is my fear. Mediocrity. I fear being one of the crowd. Indistinguishable. Because I hate the masses? Yes. The masses, not individual people. The stupid masses, I hate. And I am lost in them. I cannot escape. I can. But I won’t because I choose not to. I choose to stand and fight, not escape. Overcome, not escape.

I want reality to feel better. Peace. I am not at peace because I don’t live now. I live then, or before. To live now, see the trees, smell autumn, do, finish. To lift my arms, to raise them and shake fists! To seek truth, to say truth, to live it. To believe it. Mostly to believe it.

Droll argument.

Rather droll, once it hits there. Belief. Life. Do they cross? Droll. Why? No progress. No moving forward. Just idle arguments. Idle words. Words make me feel like I’m doing something when I’m not. Words rarely satisfy. Do I not believe in them? Less and less. Words are folly. No one hears them. It matters not what I say, but how I say it. I hate this. No one listens. I don’t listen.

We are preoccupied. The present is vulnerable and painful, yes? Living now, this is painful. And boring. Why do I feel pain in boredom? I feel pain everywhere. I cannot escape it.
I can!
I don’t.
I will.
I won’t, needs facing. Process. This is what I’m told. Process. Think.
I don’t want to. It’s the same every time.
But it’s not, if I try. Not try – if I stop escaping. Emotions are in control. I am not my master. Emotions run free. And drag.

And now I am tired. I am broken, feel empty. Drained of useless thoughts, the goal. But never drained, really. They sit and they wait, the follies. They claim me at my best and desert me. Flee. Like rational thought.
Too intellectual. Too.. bleh.. abstract. I hate that word and what it means. Pseudo-intellectual. That’s what comes to mind when I hear or say or write the word abstract. Overused. Overadmired. Now scorned.

There’s a good one. Scorned. Word.

I’m trying to drain it all. Trying to sleep. Trying to remember myself. Trying to keep it together.
(Partial bile upheaval.)

Scream. Scream again. From the guts, now! From the belly, tearing through the throat, the body resonating like a beat drum, bare teeth SCREAM!

Imagine there’s a Heaven. And imagine it’s where you’re made to be.

I hate. Odd place to turn, I know. But there are some things I hate. People acting, for one. Acting different from because they’re embarrassed of.

Speaking things into being. Interesting concept. God’s vehicle in creation, our best way toward healing. Yes. Dark thoughts need to be spoken. Loudly. Not without propriety. Not to just anyone. Not at dinner. No, no, NO.
Keep your head on.
Don’t mess up.
Be a jackass. They love it.

After lunch today, I went to Caribou Coffee. I sought to begin writing about a recent six-month period of my life. In thinking about the project beforehand, I’d had many ideas for subject material. When I sat to write them, I blanked

I thought hard for five minutes, strenuously wrote one to two sentences, and collapsed back into my chair. I then grabbed my coat and took out my cigarettes, put my coat back on the chair, put a cigarette in my mouth, and walked out the door. In front, the store blocked the sun. So I walked to the side. I paced back and forth, attempting to gather my thoughts. I had two or three brilliant thoughts, two or three directions in which to move. I finished my cigarette and walked back inside. Sat down,

looked at the words in my journal

Nothing. I’ve decided to try using a voice recorder.

I have sat down to write a million times. I have three drafts stored away. But there comes a time when people like me just have to sit down and power through it. I have nothing to write about.

First things first: if you don’t already, listen to Rufus Wainwright. You won’t get it at first. But try listening to “Pretty Things” from the album Want One when it’s cold outside and you are inside sitting on a couch reading Eggers while sipping hot chocolate. And the Christmas decorations are out, if not necessarily hung up yet.
On a somewhat related note, if you ever have the chance to watch Ellen Degeneres do stand up, take that chance.

I’m thinking about moving to Chicago. I like it up there. It’s cold, and there’s nothing like the cold to let you know you’re alive. There’s nothing worse than room temperature. Extremes – that’s what I need. And I met a group of people who inspire me up there. Missouri, I’ll be frank with you: I’m no good for you, and you’re no good for me. I love you, Missouri. I do. But just as I must power through to write this, so I must power through to a new place. And Missouri, you need some work. You’ve grown tired, lost sight. I’m leaving so that we can grow in our separate ways. I’ll be back to visit, but only now and then. Not often. Because it’s just ruined.

I’d like to go back to school. I really love school, in theory. I also really love people, in theory. When it comes down to it, though, to that place where everyone is gross but some people hide it better – when it comes down to that, it’s very hard for me to love people. I get hung up on theory a lot.

I wonder if we talk about the sin of sloth enough. I don’t treat it as seriously as I should.

Alright I think that’s plenty of random thoughts for the night. Feel free to comment. I like bouncing around ideas.

My brother and his wife are visiting from San Francisco presently. They do inner-city missions there. It is very comforting to have them around.

On to tonight’s topic: Darkness. The word itself is loaded with associations. For me, at least. I was sitting on the front porch smoking as the sun was setting tonight and I was watching the trees. When light fades, everything loses definition. The leaves of the trees lost their depth. The trunks and the land below them began to bleed into one solid.

It is here, figuratively, that I sometimes wish to be. To have no distinction. To simply become

Darkness is stillness. Stillness is serene. To be hidden, to be anonymous, to give and take nothing.

There is always hope; and this word, this idea I scream over and over again because this – this is how I stay here. This is the straw I cling to amidst the raging rivers of insanity. Those who gave in to the river, who stopped clutching the straw and sank, they stand on the shore opposite me and they beckon.

I spent some time in jail this past semester. I don’t want to go back, really.

Remember that unpaid ticket I wrote about? I never paid it. A warrant was issued and then I got pulled over because one of my breaklights was shining white. (It was broken. Still is, but red duct tape does wonders.) So I’m sitting there in the car and the cop walks up to my window and says, “License and registration, please.”
“Why was I pulled over,” I asked. He told me. “Well, man, I’m gonna be honest: Even if I had my license and registration on me, it wouldn’t do a lot of good.”
And he said, “License suspended or something?”
“Something like that.”
Then he finds out via radio that there’s a warrant out, so he cautiously steps back and asks me to get out of the car. I comply and he cuffs me and searches the car.
Long story short, I spent that night in jail. My sister bailed me out the following morning.

It was an intense experience. No one was roughing me up or any weird shit like that – they were all asleep by the time I got in – but you never know how wonderful the freedom of simply going into another room is until that’s taken away and you’re in a cell with six other guys and nothing to do. About thirty minutes in, I was ready for it to be over. Very surreal. I mean, it was a pretty trivial situation, and anyone who’s done any amount of time would laugh at this, but it sucked really bad. If you can avoid jail, do so.

I hate having nothing to do. Well, I suppose there are always things to do, but I hate having nothing to do that makes me feel productive. I only spent one night in jail physically, but my mind has been keeping me captive for years.

Bleh. Words are folly.

I spend a good portion of my day thinking about what I’m going to tell my son and how. Yesterday, as I was driving to dinner, I thought of something else.

I want to tell him to go through life slowly.

Why? Because I admire those people, the people who take their time as they walk through life.
And when I tell him, I’m going to show the severity of my conviction on my face and my son will turn his head up toward me and listen in tranquil silence. And he will respect and listen to me because I’m going to – I must – be the man I want to be when I have him.

And this is how I spend my days.

As my dad and I were shoveling mulch around the trees a couple of days ago, my imagination started running away. At the base of the maple trees, there are little baby trees that you must cut away before they start stealing a lot of energy from the one you care about. In reality, these saplings die anyway – but what if they didn’t? What if maple trees had a constant war with these offspring and what if these offspring kept coming back bigger and stronger and they started growing faster than their parents and it became a king of a mountain struggle into the highest of heights, by which time there are at least thirty trees growing in one spot?

And what kind of scene would that be? Imagine a tree fifty yards in diameter at its base, which is twisted and gnarled. Had a community of strange creatures evolved up there?

What sustains God from eon to eon? He is completely shrouded in mystery to me.

Yes, this is how I spend my days.

You know, I tend to start blog pages with the premise “This is going to be an attempt to (insert what the attempt is),” or something to that effect. I’ve started journals this way, too. Thing is, it don’t work. I never end up doing said thing. So, just as an introductory note to this blog, I’m not going to set standards for myself any more. With anything.
Just kidding.

Dana had a good point when she commented on my blog. It’s been a hell of a long time, folks, and a hell of a long semester.

That being said, I don’t feel like writing.
But somethin’s a’welling up.

I can feel it.

“I went to the woods to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” -Thoreau

“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.” -London

I am in California presently, visiting friends, laughing loudly, relaxing, smoking, talking about wonderful things with wonderful people. I come here for the people, for the conversation. Take John, for instance. He is smarter than I am, and I am content to simply follow him around his labyrinthine mind. I find myself more alive here, more real, more free – which is entirely my fault, I know. If I was “better” at life, I would feel just as alive in Missouri. But I’m not very good at life. I need these people here, and I know that now more than ever.

Ah! the sun!
The bright, brilliant sun!
And the faces –
brighter still.

I don’t know why and I don’t know how, but a part of me has recently turned in its resignation and gotten the hell out of Dodge. I think it’s good but I can’t be sure.

Blessings.

I found this when I was looking for a friend’s blog.

Somethin’ to think about…

Free Hugs
http://youtube.com/v/vr3x_RRJdd4

A (doctored) word from the producers of the video:

“Sometimes, a hug is just what we need. Free Hugs is a true, controversial story of Juan Mann, a man whose sole mission was to reach out and hug a stranger to brighten their lives.

The Free Hugs campaign became a phenomenon. After all, we are social beings living in an age of disconnectivity and lack of human contact.

As this symbol of hope spread accross the city, police and officials ordered the Free Hugs campaign banned. What we then witnessed is the true spirit of humanity come together in what can only be described as awe inspiring.”

Also, it is vitally important that anyone reading this who hasn’t already go here and download Webb’s newest album. Free.
Yes.
Free.
He’s fantastic, and so is the album.

Blessings.