LOGOS::GOD

I've been dwelling on this passage from John lately, it's the very very very beginning, 1:1 status. It's this:

1In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2He was with God in the beginning.

3Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. 4In him was life, and that life was the light of men. 5The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.

6There came a man who was sent from God; his name was John. 7He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all men might believe. 8He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light. 9The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world.

10He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. 11He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. 12Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— 13children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband's will, but born of God.

14The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

15John testifies concerning him. He cries out, saying, "This was he of whom I said, 'He who comes after me has surpassed me because he was before me.' " 16From the fullness of his grace we have all received one blessing after another. 17For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 18No one has ever seen God, but God the One and Only,who is at the Father's side, has made him known.

Okay, let's start at the beginning. This is the part that tripped me out the most. "In the beginning was the Word." Okay, Word=Jesus=Light. Got it. I understand that. But the crazy thing is that the Greek word for "Word" used is logos--that is, "logic." So, Jesus is the Word is Logic. Therefore, God is logic. All things logical come from him. This is why nature abhors a vacuum. Because it's illogical. Useless things are illogical. All things made have made sense and had a purpose.

Do you see where it is going? The simple fact that John used the word logos to describe Christ set up the entire theology that we have a purpose. Whoa. We are logical creatures because the Word is God and was with God.

Before we go on, I wanted to mention the seeming oddity it is that the Word was God but also was with God. I have yet to make the clearest sense of this (I doubt the human mind is actually capable of comprehending fully any part of God), but it seems to be that since God is the Light within everything, and he is with us, but He is also in us as the Holy Ghost, then the Word is the same way. The Word is God. The Word is With God. It's the same problem people have that Jesus was God and also was a begotten from God. It's unfathomable, but only if you try and box God and all His divinity into human words as I am failing to do.

We press on.

From this logic, the light which shines in man comes--life. God is life is the Word is Logic is Christ. It goes deeper. This light is eternal, unending. God is within us as the light, or as our souls. Our souls are unending. They are what leave this grave of a body upon our deaths to be returned to the light. It is like when you shine a flashlight into a mirror: it goes out towards the mirror and then returns again. But the metaphor breaks down in that the light goes everywhere else in the room when it is refracted. Our souls only return to one place. Heaven. God's realm. The realm of the eternal.

And John the Baptist had the task of trying to explain all of this to people while denying that he was the Christ. He had the task of explaining to the blind that Christ was coming as a man to repent our sins so get in this river and let me get you all wet in his name. This is a problem considering that Jesus wasn't being recognized because we the people are blinded by sin.

Another aside, concerning the nature of Jesus creating the world and being in the world. That's like you being able to, while still functioning, go into your brain and tell it to shape up. Then dying and returning to your life here. Jesus, from the beginning of beginnings knew what he had to do. Go into his own world so corrupted by free will and make it a little bit better. He knew, too, that not everyone would believe, even 2000 years later.

I will end it here for now because it feels like I've done a terrible job of explaining it thus far. But, instead of deleting, retracting, and denying this piece, I leave it in the hopes that someone gets something started in their minds. Let the logic flow.

It breaks my heart.

The problem I feared is the problem that's occurring.

I can't meet people, I haven't met people. It's only been a week and a half. Give it time. That's rational, right? But right now all I want to do is go home and see my parents and my girlfriend and my dogs and everything that's familiar to me. Everything I disliked about Rancho Cucamonga I long for now. The traffic, the people, the everything. At least it's familiar.

And everything I loved about home is spinning around into a giant knot of longing. I want Kelley. I want her so bad that it hurts me inside to only be able to text and to talk with her over the air. So much air separating us and all I want to do is breathe next to her. To go home to her, to feel her warmth and her smell. I miss her so much.

I miss the way my dog Annie would harass you until she could lick your face. The way Alvie would growl at everything and it'd just sound like he had something stuck in his throat. The way my dad laughs. The way my mom eats popcorn with a glass of milk. The TV. I miss the Game Show Network and, soon, I'm going to miss the baseball games.

So I'll chunk it out and deal with it piecemeal. First, and foremost: Kelley. I'll get to see her and all of this in a month. But it'll never be enough. I know that the summers and the spring breaks and the winter breaks and the weekends will never be enough.

But I enjoy my classes so goddam much that I'm now stuck in this paradox of wanting to go home but also wanting for monday when classes rotate around and begin again. My professors are so interesting and it's all so awesome... But once class ends, I am stuck again with no friends for now.

It'll all come to pass... Except probably the missing Kelley bit. I couldn't get enough of her when I was home. And now I have to get all it and more in a single once-a-month swoop.

Person: Who are you?

Wildlife. Let's start there. It's something that, admitted, is a pivotal study for sure. With no ecosystem, we have no humans. Without people studying the effects of humans on the ecosytem, we may have no ecosystem and the Ice Age would surely come.

But I've got to hand it to the people who are into that. Studying an animal that doesn't know who you are or how to contact with you and probably pissed that there's a microphone following it around.

That's how it seems to be with Marine Biology. You can't just pull a Free Willy or a Flipper, latch on and ride these motherfuckers straight to Alaska to observe their eating and their mating and their migrations. They don't come to the surface enough. You'd run out of air.

And You probably wouldn't learn anything, either, because they'd probably be scared as to why this thing in a wet suit and face mask is riding me like a Prison bitch. Or they'd feel like a potential rape victim with a dark submarine lurking behind them and watching them mate. They may not be able to perform under that kind of pressure. You may even get skewed data that says they shit an enormous amount and not realize it may be because they're nervous creatures feeling like a rape victim or a prison bitch...

But they definitely would not feel like a vessel for learning about science. They don't even know what the fuck science is for that matter. They just want to get to Baja from Alaska for a little Slap and Tickle. Lay the seed. Then go home and beat their wives and mutter under their breath (in sonar, of course) "Why didn't I stay with the nice Mexican Gray Back I met down there who gives way better oral."

If I were going to do a science, I'd do something tangible. However, I can't even think of a science I'd want to be involved with because of one reason: 1) I have no fucking desire to ever fucking be a scientist. Find a picture of me. Do I look like the science type? No.

And if I do, then fuck you. I'm an artist (allegedly). I create (supposedly). The scientists do the work and I sit around and wonder why they do it.

But all the world needs all the people to form a society and keep us running. This ties back into the idea of Spiritual Gifts and the Body of Christ I learned about in Church. We are all one Person, broken into little people. And the things we enjoy and the things we undertake all benefit all the other little people and, somehow, the Person, in some way.

That's why we need the homeless. To drink all the alcohol and remind us why we're shooting up methadone now. (That could also be why we need the people who spend their lives performing urinalyses)

That's why we need the mediocre. To remind us that there's a bottom and that they've reached it and Damned if I'll ever work as a Wal-Mart greeter for all my life.

That's why we need marine biologists. To remind us that we want tangibles. Or maybe I just do.

It goes on. It's beautiful. It's essential. It's urinalyses.

Rightness. wrongness. above it all. We are slaves to morality yet he is above all of that--the creator of all that. I am in awe of that idea. Of the idea of a God.

Even at my lowest, most denying-ist point, I knew there was a God. Maybe because I had nowhere else to turn and old habits die hard. But, c'mon, the human body itself is a great example of how there has to be something greater turning the cogs. The fact that an entire person runs on atoms to click into cells to click into organs to click into fullness in just the right way? That's not the work of chance.

We have free will. The only reason God knows what we're going to do is because he's above time. CS Lewis wrote about how everything to him is the present. And I find that a fascinating insight. The whole idea that the realm of God can seperate moments that run continuous in our lives so he can listen to all our prayers. Address all our problems. That's how he's able to be a personal God. Not by superspeed or anything, but by being removed from the things that restrain us as humans.

Christ was the way that God became human. And boy would I hate to be him... All the temptation and the pressure to do what you know is already going to happeN? Whew. Fuck that, count me out, I'm gonna go get drunk and weep. I'm not that strong. But, then again, I'm also not fully God and fully man. I'm only fully man and fully meat.

If Assholes could fly, this place would be busier than O'Hare

Well, I'm here.

How do I like it? I think it'll get better once classes start, once my room mate comes back, when things are actually moving, open, and not stagnant. When I have people to talk to.

But it's really pretty, I have to admit that much. I've never lived anywhere but Rancho Cucamonga, and, damn, was I missing out on the esthetics checkmark.

But, still, there were people to talk to in Rancho, usually. Even my mom if I ever got lordy-lord-desperate.

The food is good, my bed is comfortable and warm, the coffee is good, the campus is clean, the people are nice once i get the courage to talk to them. Some are just a little crazy about weed. Others are just crazy. Though they all seem to be from Sacramento. The crazy about weed ones are the expected parts.

I've decided to double major because I'm crazy. I've decided to better myself in any way I can. It's hard being away from the person I love. I lost one of my books already. Have you seen my copy of Mere Christianity? I'd like it back. I haven't finished it yet.

On the note of that book, I feel better about God after reading most of it. It's re-beginning to make sense.

I'll probably go down to the bottom of the "j" and watch whatever movie they're showing at six. Dinner at 530 or so. Now, what to do for an hour...?

Pleas

I hate that the iPod has become the best mp3 player available. They shut down Rio, essentially. That makes me sad. I hate that the word iPod has become synonymous with "mp3 player" and, when you have something that has no affiliation with the iPod, no affilitiation with Apple--it's a fucking Creative Zen, let's say--it's still a goddam iPod.

It's sickening.

--

I don't think that the Bends is Radiohead's best album. It has too much of that mid-90's guitar feel to it. I can't describe it, but I know it involves acoustic strumming, quick hits toward minor chords, and a holisitically big, big sound.

They began to hit timeless when they released OK Computer. From then on, it hasn't felt time-weathered, even though it's been ten years or so.

--

When people tell you that There will be Blood is too long, and is boring, don't listen to them. It's a long, thick movie filled to the brims of character study and confrontations. One of my favorite reviewers online, by the name of Vern (website here) said that it flirts with greatness, and even get lucky with it later in the night. I think that's a fair assumption because it feels like a really great movie but only time will tell whether it can stand up to its own test--for time is what destroys all, rebuilds all, and creates all.

--
Thingswill probably get weirdfromhere

G;asses pff. lights off, radio off. Something amiss. Yelled at my dog. Afraid to gosleep. Getting antsy. I punched myself in the head last night. Had a dream about something and wound up punching myself twice in the temple. I'm afraid it's going to happen again to night. I almost got a black eye from it. And I'm probably going to say something outlandish tonight, too.

I think it's because I'm leaving in a week and I'm scared of it. I hae to finally admit it: I'm scared of leaving. I'm scared of leaving my family and my friends and my lover and my dogs and my town and my house and my familiar things and my comfort and everything I've ever known. I've only ever lived in one house with blood relations. And now I'm forcing myself to move to another place where the weather kind of sucks and whereI don't know anyone. If this winds up being a horible experience, I have no one to blame but myself.

And the whole idea of blame brings me to my next point. I realized that I've believed in God for so long because i have no faith in humanity. I really don't. And the iea of God being there takes everything out of human hands and puts it in his. I'm much more willing to trust a god than I am to trust a human. Even if that God is a jealous, angry, punishing, atavisticGod with no real sense of anything he's ever done, has fucked up multiple times--he chose the wrong fucking tribe in israel, let's face facts. And he even tried to repair it by sending a part of himself to get crucified. He's a little crazy.

He probably drinks too much. God is probably an alcoholic. maybe everything we are at one time came from sometthing else. And when we die, we just go to the great drunk in the sky and complain about how shitty our years on Earth were. Then we reconcile, and agree to do it again.

I think it's strange when I se people that look like other people. A lot like other people. It's as if our genetics are so interlaced that others and strangers and people we think are funny are all interrelated. We probably are if you believe the great Drunk in the sky.

If you couldn't tell, I'm actually a little mad at God right now because I'm a little confused over his entire existence. I don't even know anymore. I've fallen that far, it's true. What was once strong and solid as rock is now as shifty and foamy as the waves. I can't seem to fathom anything but enough to be enough. It seems that he's not enough. He's the creator and the cause and I want to ust blame him for everything. All I've ever done is use him as a crutch,,, I remember admitting this during some crazy-ass fucking exercise at a summer camp three years ago. I admitted that God's a crutch and not much else. i thought it was interesting but I didn't think of it much until now.

God was never anything more than a way to be cynical about humanity. Sure it makes me sad, but it's the honest to god how I feel right now. He exists, he's out there. He has to be.

He's just nowhere near to me.

EVERYTHING | am.

A little over a week and not much has changed. I think it's all a little hazy. Can't seem to get a grasp on anything that is or isn't new.

I completed Donkey Kong Country for the Super Nintendo. It may be the most socially relevant, allegorical game I've ever played. I may expound on that later. But I've been really lazy with keeping up with this thing, as with keeping up with some old friends, so I'll try my best. I'm leaving and shit. Distance. Scared of leaving Her. That's the main thing I'm afraid of. Not the room mate or the living away from everything. But the being away from my love for a month at a time. I can't comprehend it. I don't know if I'll be able to handle it without going crazy. I know I won't be getting drunk because I'd probably just start crying about how much I miss her.

And she's what God walked me into before He walked away.That final thing to keep me alive. You don't need Me anymore. All of that.

A little hazy, a little dirty. Still a little sleepy from standing for 13 hours. Not much else to say.

It's hard writing these blogs because I feel like, at times, that everything I say on here has to have some sort of crazy insane meaning. And this doesn't. This is just honesty and pity-me-ity.

Ridonkulous.

Wilted Faith and other Hits

After a meal at In N Out, we went to church. The two things we do every Christmas Eve since I can't remember.

The church we go to is one that I've gone to since I was three years old, one that I've endured through societal hardships and piety and prevalence. Through High School years that were up and down and very black and white.

But I hadn't gone in a few months because of work and a lacking faith in the religious establishment. And sometimes I was just plain tired.

So this outreach-fest of Christmas Eve service was to be the first service I'd attended in a few months, and I was hoping that the apologetics and the "Jesus died for your sins, but was born today." message would be what I needed to reignite my faith.

What I got was the opposite.

What I ascertained was a wanton desire to get up and walk the fuck out.

Arriving early, we sat and read through the Pastor's written message to the congregation which was filled with seeming theological holes. It all felt a bit off. Too shallow, too easily related to Santa Claus.

And as the message moved through moving clips of the church's mission trips in Central America--things that, actually, were quite inspiring (they were able to get a paraplegic Honduran boy a wheelchair for free from a Mexican wheelchair builder)--and then clips of the Polar Express to explain how we should just believe (in Christ, not Santa) and we could hear the bell ringing. Or the cross burning. Or something like that.

And I realized that my problem with Christianity, my tie into why my faith is struggling, is the same reason why I've never been able to feel out extended metaphors in literature.

When they call us to keep our eyes on God and listen to our Hearts I can't feel or see anything. All these apostrophic callings and creeds seem to be lost in me, lost in my cynicism. I've tried to push it away, tried to erase all this doubt and fear in my heart--tried to keep my eyes on God--but all I've found is more and more layers of doubt and cynicism.

And this is nothing against my church. The Pastor is great, the congregation is unified, everything with it is wonderful.

Just not for me.

Christianity isn't working anymore. I'm walking away for a little while though I'll never be able to completely walk away because I obviously still believe there's a God and I've been taught that once you're a Christian, you're forever a Christian. I still pray when things are real ultra fucked up. And when people need me to. And I fall asleep. I still have my faith.

But my criticisms far outweigh anything I've ever encountered.

And maybe one day a return will come and I will be the zealot I once was.

For now, though? I am stagnant.

God is. I am not.

You're in the Jungle Baby. You're gonna die!

lFuck.

A lot to write about but nothing to write about.

All of it is only half-congealed thoughts--embryos not quite fetuses not quite babies not quite dissenting teens or twenty-somethings. Yes, I know I left out infancy, but fuck you and whatever.

I guess I'll just sinkk--

Words spilling like boiling mold wine out of a pot to stain your floors since you never seem to clean anything up. You should work on that. Work on being independent but not work on being any different of a person. Fine enough as it goes how it goes how do you do that thing with you tongue that coincides with your hands? I think it was when you stabbed me and told me nothings and then sweetly grabbed my hair and drove the shiv into my lower stomach, releasing at once all the urine I contained because I hadn't pissed. I'd rather be with you than relieve myself.

I have no idea what I'm speaking of. I've never been stabbed and no one has metaphorically stabbed me lately. This is ridiculous. My mind is ridiculous. Isn't that ever enough--to be a little crazy? I can't find it but I know it's there. Like my early modern TB case of carpal tunneling down into the bottomless sea o abysmal masochism like that shit we once knew once made once procured and contemplated if only to throw it back into the ocean to make it late late late for a very important date date date .I know your allusions too well because they're all trite and imperfect and overused.

That's why I'm mad at the Apatow produced comedies and all this YouTube bullshit. I realized this wile watching Juno tonight. It's become way too cool to mention esoteric, bad, shit that came out twenty years ago and only dorks dweebs and nerds understand it. Apatow did it when he called someone Dave Caruso in Jade or Serpico from Knocked Up. Come on, it can only go so far before it feels pretentious. I love Knocked up and superbad and the 40 Year Old Virgin. But they've started something horrible. Mentioning horrible things. Suddenly it's cool to toss out names of characters and actors that were in second rate shit twenty years ago. It's fucking sickening that that trend has caught on. I guess Apatow took the GNR album "Use your Illusion" to mean allusion and then ran away with it.

But I guess that's what happens when you create mega-grossing comedies that can compete with other summer blockbusters. You create funny for everyone else. Because if you make money, then you're "money." And you're funny. and all the girls will love you. We both know it's true that bitches love money and hoes love laughter. Or maybe not. We know something's true though. There's always truth. It's obvious to all of mankind We suffer and that's true. There is no such thing as no death. And if there was, there could still only be one Highlander. And that'd be a lonely existence.

With that Highlander reference I just realized that maybe what became popular of Apatow comedies was what simply came natural to him. Referencing esoteric shit has always been fun. Maybe i'm just bitter because I don't understand some or all of the references even though I watch a lot of movies and know of a lot of movies I should see. Maybe it just incites a small flame of rage at myself and that's why I hate it.

that'ss probably what it was.

And when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair and stole me a dog eared map.

Thinking. Thought. Breaking down the barriers and constantly thinking about breaking things down. Crazy Socialist bitch. I'm among the masses yet alone no more.

I can't seem to bring myself to write about loneliness anymore. I wonder why. Probably because I'm no longer lonely. Things have been brought and I am satisfied. I am the King. She is my Queen. Maybe I'm begun to say too much. Maybe I should let things flow out so easily among the plastic tapping rush of keys. that once was the metal pounding of keys that was once the feather scratching the parchment. I blame Gutenberg for the computer. He started with the bible, then probably moved on to printing erotica. Pornography is the mover of the world. It's why the internet was invented. Why the photograph was invented.

That's maybe a bit cynical. I'd say so. No faith in man. Maybe they just wanted to do something good. But that's something I doubt. Sex sells and technology is no different.

Belief. Believe. Believability. I'm one among the masses. But at least I have the queen and at least I have the white space to keep me company in this my small little tiny fucking universe so grandiose yet so minute because I always consistently have trouble meeting people though that may be hypochondria. Move into the words one at a time until they're blindingly fastly comingly out of the words of plastic sheets qwerty keyboard aren't we all out among the masses where the silence is reckoning and beckoning and crying out for shame amongst our ancestor's names and thoughts and plastic toys and action figurines and paratroopers there was no end to the start I know this to be true and I know you're listening to me maybe I should spell check because I know how much you like perfect grammar but don't ever listen to me because your eyes are always closed because you're afraid of the blindly comingly light.

Rain cometh and I am the bringer A little bit of fog that sinks and sinks and sits and sits and pees. As if we're the water cycle's toilet. The clouds squat low and we get drenched. Then we collect it to use in our bathrooms. Brilliant. Cyclical. I love that idea. Of cycles and the beginning being nothing but another end and so on and so forth won't someone stop the madness and monsters of the second timely coming? I think I know what you mean when you say what you meant. I know that everything is a relative aspect of blinding petrification. Bring the bodies to me and I will have them examined for portals and plastics and benign tumors. I know that's what you want.

And all I want is to caress your skin, run my fingers down you back and across your face and tell you that I love with all my heart and mind and mouth and soul and ears and toes and eyes and nose and cheeks (all four). Yep.

Hold me Now.

Breaking broken bronzed and beleaguered. I am awakening to the cold spot where you used to lay.
Where is the story.

Watch George Romero's "Dead" trilogy. There's a reason it's part of the cinematic canon: it kicks ass. Zombies are scary. But these are an impending doom type of scary.

Everything will fall into place and we'll beaway some day.

I only work at Quiznos for nine more days. I'm excited. There's something about that job I don't like. I think it's the lack of creativity. Whatevs.

Conversations with Whitespace

I love music that has a conversation within it. Between the instruments and out into the ears. From the accents and drive of the drums to the melody and push and emotion of the guitar or the drive and rumble of the bassline there should be a conversation going on that accents the lyrics.

I'll give you an example. In the song "On Your Wings" by Iron and Wine, we have the consistent refrain of "God..." lines and in the background we hear a growing instrumentation, starting simply with a palm-muted guitar line and a slide-guitar. Then voice. Then maracas. Then the muted, ill-sounding tones of the Children's Xylophone and then, finally, the thunder of the storm (i'll get to the explanation) comes with two bass drum hits, two bass drum hits--beat beat beat driving towards the end of the song. And underneath it all, you hear the faint, slow, creak of an old chair as someone shuffles into it.

It all adds up to something that talks within itself--the xylophone telling the maracas that there's gold hidden deep in the ground. The guitar calling them out from the underground just as the narrator is calling out fragments of prayers he's uttered after he's creaked and shuffled into the old chair.

The thunder and the lines not starting with "God..." are His responses, His omnipresence. I can imagine a man sitting in his chair, uttering prayers about the futility of life and how's there's gold hidden in the ground but nothing seems to bring up and how we're all withering in the shade because of it. Things are withering, the crops aren't growing. Then the storm comes with the booming bass of the thunder. The flood gates open and there's a new guitar melody, a full drum beat and the listless palm-mutes are drowned into the background until they re-emerge from beneath, singing a different, more hopeful tune because the rain has come.

And, the most telling part of this song is that, after the storm, there are no more lyrics. This narrator has no reason to call upon God anymore. He's gotten what he wants and the ennui has subsided. The main crux of Christianity is that we only call upon God when we need him.

And God gives and gives and gives then takes and takes and takes to remind us that we fucking need Him--we must fucking call upon Him.

Sam Beam's an agnostic but I see so much of God in his songs that it's completely unfathomable for him not to be leaning towards the "God Exists" side of the spectrum.

--

I think that this is why I don't enjoy minimalist music. I think this is why I don't like Joy Division. All of their music feels like a single voice-wall yelling out one track underneath Curtis' voice. There's nothing beneath to compliment the above. The capstone is larger than the cornerstone. It's top heavy. Like having 20 clarinets and 1 tuba.

And this is also, I think, why I'm drawn to duos like the Black Keys and Lightning Bolt and the White Stripes--their conversations are so immediate and so intimate because we've only got one or three voices speaking their tune.

Lightning Bolt, especially. The drums and the bass are constantly warring with each other. And every song tells of how their marriage is ready to completely fall apart at any moment--the drums are tearing their hair out because the bass can't stop masturbating. And the voice is so muted and screamed that it transcends all of that into simple accoutrement to the cacophony. It's beautiful in the most ugly way.

--

This whole conversation is seen most in poetry. It's the marriage of words and white space--of light allowing words. What the poem cannot say, the whitespace woven throughout says instead. Silence can be the most powerful weapon for any artist. Invisible castles. Broken dreams. Boweries of divinity.

Talk to me, artists. Tell me what you mean to say.

I'm listening to every part of you. Feet, hands, toes, mouth, white and black and gray and back.

All cheap and debonnaire

So over the past seven days I've been doing two things: losing sleep and gorging out on movies. Not really, but it seems like it because I can't seem to start one until 11 PM or later.

Movies I've seen, and a scale rating 1-10 after them:

The 40-Year-Old-Virgin (9--the unrated scenes actually add something, unlike many movies where it's just a fucking ploy)

Dazed and Confused (4--fuck you Richard Linklater. Your high school experience was like this? Well, then, you're an asshole.)

Wild at Heart (8--Fuck you David Lynch. You scare me. You're the Freddy Kreuger of directors. I can't sleep after watching ANY of your films.)

Animal House (5--John Belushi. That's the only reason it got a five.)

The Squid and the Whale (8--the most depressing fucking movie you will ever watch. Yes, even more depressing than Requiem for a Dream and American History X. And no one even fucking dies in this movie. Or loses an arm. Nothing like that. But goddam. I just finished it and I am so damned depressed.)

Bottle Rocket (6--Wes Anderson's start. It's only okay and a mere shadow of his better later films. As an aside: fuck you critics who think that the Darjeeling Limited was a self-parodying mess.)

Yea, see? Not too many movies in reflection. Finals fucking suck. My job fucking sucks. I don't wanna fucking leave my girlfriend. But apparently Humboldt will be the best thing for me.

My psych book told me I'm having a major life crisis. Maybe I should do something about it. Oh, right, I brought it upon myself. Okay.

This rain is windier than last time. All the douche-asses on the Weather Channel were talking about how great all the fresh powder was so that they could ride their 4,000 dollar skiis down a fucking slope only to ride back up again and do it all over again. I hope they Sonny Bono.

Fuck the rich. Fuck politics. Fuck fuck fuck. I'm so pissed off right now at Jeff Daniels' character in the Squid and the Whale. He's a pretentious-ass-fucking cunt who says shit that doesn't even mean anything. And his sons take after him. That's when a movie's good: when it's resounding so hard in your mind that you're straight-up-fucking-pissed-the-hell-off.

I have my last final at CSUSB in seven hours. I should've gotten drunk tonight so I could sleep through it.


I hate myself.

It's just got to be

I think I realized why I'm so scared of going away to HSU. And it's a sissy-ass-fucking-queer-bait-fucking reason:

I've never been that far away from my parents. I mean, the farthest I've ever been away from them was either summer camp up at Hume Lake or visiting JP earlier this month in SLO. Fuckin' a. Something to cope with, I guess. My faggoty ass can handle it, I think. Getting away from them will be a good experience.

--

What if we were all away in the meanest sense? I wish to want to know your touch. We can become alone and one. My feet are cold. Take me home. I don't want to be here. Why are we here? this is the ghetto. This food tastes funny. Everything seems to be in slower slowing swallowing my motion. We're driving on glass. Slow down it's raining. When the day is grey and the road is wet, it looks like you're driving in the clouds--except for the bright fucking yellow line of the carpool lane that you can't enter. That dotted yellow double fucking line that reminds you that your companion and your friends and your lovers are elsewhere not with you left needing them. How beautiful and irrational. I want to be where you are cuddling and falling asleep with my head on your back with your arms around me and us under a blanket dreaming about each other caught in still life. I am yours for the taking.

A knife and a hard-on, I'm not expecting him to be asking for donations to the Red Cross.

Blah blah blah it's all been said before. I know you believe in me. I want you too. Take me in your arms. I'm in love with you.

Come away and search the scene fro something more than what's been said or evidenced or witnessed or seen touched felt. I am yours for all taking and all time. Yes. Believability is in question. But so are you. We will be together. I know it to be true. We catwalk and skirt around the issue. But it's meant to be. I've never felt so whole. The scariest things are usually the rightest things. And distance is as scary as height. We know too much before the sound has begun .
irte
Carry away the body. I'm listeing to your footsteps coming down the hallway. You are barefoot you look like a model all downdressed and sweatshirted beautiful. You're beautiful. I know you are. You know you are and it's just a matter of time until we're official and we're perfect--we're already perfect. It'll just be a little bit longer until the ahh and the realization set in and the sea is ours and we will be married.

Marriage. There's a lonely beautiful concept. What must be done. We must meet the killer. We love you and we love each other.

Gates like Titans

Reticence. Afraid of losing it all. Broken blistered and tired. She. The all. Break this bread in remembrance of me. I feel like a liar. Disrespectful. I told her and then ran the table the other way. Reticence. I'm so sorry. Apologies going towards echoes. Trying to be sensical. Be sensical. We're one. And I need to respect my desires. Because they're her desires. It's that simple. Cuddle. Not Kiss. Kill yourself. Amazed and awake and Reticent.

Tired. Broken. Apologetic.

Walk into the jaws of hell

I can't seem to think of much anymore. It was so cold this weekend, I think my mind was flawed into submission.

I'm not much of a drinker at all. Vein and Channel and varicose Kurt Vonnegut. I believe in humanity, but hell certainly is other people when they act as if they know what want even when they really know that it contradicts all within them.

I think I'm ready to be outta here. I think I'm prepared to face the cold and the darkness and the clouds that seem to hang over Arcata on a daily basis. Apparently, it's one of the most remote locations on the West Coast. Yea, you try getting there. Damn.

I start my final photo project tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes. Maybe.

I think it's interesting how much alike fire and ice are. Consider this: they're polar opposites of temperature and yet they can both burn you, turning your limbs black and hard and unusable; they can both keep you temperate--if you are cold, you can heat yourself up by the fire, if you are hot, you can find the ice and love it to death. It's almost as if the hotter something gets, the colder it really gets--and when something gets colder, it's really getting warmer.

Maybe temperature isn't as linear as we'd like it to be. Maybe temperature is cyclical.

Makes me think of politics and how that's less a spectrum and more a circle. You've got the fire of Hitler and the Ice of Stalin--two opposite ends--and yet they're synonymous with the same brand of fascism. Strange, eh?

Maybe 3rd degree burns are really frostbite?

And don't let time slow you down--don't let clocks and calendars run your life. This could be three days ago, but it's today for the simple reason that we think we can control nature and we need to break it up piecemeal so that we can create a control in our lives. But the control never comes. That's why calendars and due dates and everything is bullshit.

Because it's yesterday. And tomorrow.

Today never was.

Daddy's ghost behind you, sleeping dog beside you....

I think you're crazy. About me? Yea, I'm crazy too. I can still taste your smell against tobacco. I love the way you taste and the way you feel and the way I hold you with outstretched arms.

What? That's silly. We both know that's silly.

We've gone deeper than this, but our dirigible must stay afloat and we've only got so much rope. I apologize. we can't go much farther.

I'll even let you hold the remote control. I told you I love the Wedding Singer.

My dogs are better than your dogs. And Alvie could definitely kick some ass in a drained pool Amores Perros style. I ain't getting stabbed and he ain't getting shot though.

Why did you get involved with these people?

We think a lot about nothing. Happiness can only be real if it is shared with another person. Don't go Into the Wild. I promise that you'll regret it. Though i do want to take a road trip cross-countr. I think about it a lot. Driving to NYC then leaving my car on the outer city limits and meandering around there for a few days, trying to find places to sleep--like the subway. That'll get you mugged.

I'll miss you, kiss you, give you my coat when you are cold.

Terror and nightly envisionment of all the greatest things imaginable. God EXISTS.

I realized that the toughest part of writing is the beginning. You can tell when it's supposed to end because the energy runs out, so you start over and add during the editing process....

But I always seem to want to start in the middle, with everything already structured. I hate it.

I'm watching the wedding Singer. I love this fucking movie.

Then the Oak Tree and its Resurrection Fern

We are caught in a still life. This our life. I have no faith in this country or human kind that we'll ever get this planet back to normal. It's already trying to kill us. That's how AIDS came. Evolution fucked up and it's trying to repair itself. It was like, "Damn, we shouldn't have created a being with a free will and then allowed it to speak, discover, and torture."

We're fucked. Let's fuck.

Something with a short edge--mildly conniving--it digs deep. Gets at that greater meaning of everything we once knew before operations had us maimed for good and scarred for life. Close your fly were you born in a barn of animals we are animals caught like sheep in the rose bush should have been sheared days ago because the summer months are so goddam hot like a skillet after you've fried pork belly. If only the rains would come and wash away our sorrow. I want you to come over. I'm addressing this to you. I'm crazy about you but it seems that love doesn't spurn in a drought--it flounders and hopes and hopes and hopes and waits and waits and waits and hopefully finally the precipitation will fall and everything will be okay and the weather will be cool and it'll pat our windows like a coach patting our asses for a job well done. And we'll be together. And we'll be in control. And you'll be wearing your bathrobe with the hole in it where your dogs found something good and I'll be under the covers in my underoos, we'll be watching CourtTv. and we'll argue whether or not we should go to bed or switch over to the Game Show Network or watch the news. And then I'll turn off the TV and there will be the great silence that explains our relationship. And i'll hold you hand across your body as we lay side by side by side by side by side and our dog will be content at our feet, so beautiful and small and budding. We sit in the silence and the rain is obviously telling us that we did a good job for turning the TV off. Its rhythms put you to sleep and I hear your breathing go shallow and follow along with the slaps on the window pane. I could never sleep before I slept with you. And now I can. Now I don't spend hours upon hours awake, thinking, wondering, worrying. I've got everything I need right here next to me with wet hair and beautiful tinges of darkness. We work, we play, we come back around together at the end of the day. I love you sweetheart, and I'm glad that we ended up in the future.