"In a far and distant galaxy
Inside my telescope I see
A pair of eyes look back at me
He walks and talks and looks like me
Sits around inside his house
From room to room he moves about
Fills his life with pointless things
and wonders how it all turns out.

Do do do do do
Do do do do do
Safe to say that

I don't think you understand!
There's nowhere left to turn
Walls keep breaking

Time is like a leaf in the wind
Either it's time worth spent
or time I've wasted.
Don't waste it.

Afraid of what the truth might bring
He locks his doors and never leaves
Desperately searching for signs
to terrify, to find a thing
He battens all the hatches down
and wonders why he hears no sound
Frantically searching his dreams
he wonders what it's all about

Do do do do do
Do do do do do
Safe to say that

I don't think you understand!
There's nowhere left to turn
Walls keep breaking

Time is like a leaf in the wind
Either it's time worth spent
or time I've wasted...

Clearing my mind,
losing my friends
Follow my fears
do it again.
You say how, do, you do.
Man, how 'bout you?
Man, how 'bout you?
To be free
To be son
To be killed
To be saved
In my head, I'm alone
I'm un-dead, I'm ashamed
Just like you, I've been tryin'
To be scared
In my bones, I feel cold.
I give this to the lord in the sea
In this street
Let me go
Let me be, I don't need
To be here, I'm alone
Can't you see? Can't you see?

I don't think you understand!
There's nowhere left to turn
These walls keep breaking

Time is like a leaf in the wind
Either it's time worth spent
or time I've wasted...
Don't waste it."

-"Telescope" by Cage the Elephant

So, here's a long one (to make up for not writing in a few months maybe). It's a bit disjointed, but c'est la vie...

(The Burdens of Triumph painted by Noah Bradley
http://www.noahbradley.com/)

We are all part of one being. I am that being. I do not proclaim to be God, nor do I deny the idea that I could possibly be of that nature. And if I am, so are you and so is everyone else, because we are all one (or of one). So, what is this “one”? It could be the universe; it could be the mind; it could be the spirit. It could be all of these, or it could be none of these. I cannot say for sure.

Maybe time is not concrete. Maybe all that has ever happened and all that will ever happen is occurring at this moment.

If we are all of one mind (potentially just me), then I don’t know whether or not other people are actually real. My only reason for believing that others exist is that I see, hear, and interact with them. I can’t know for sure that these other beings (you and everyone else) are real, because I do not see what they are doing when I am not around (think: “If a tree falls in the forest…”). I only know what I can see, and even then I can’t be too sure. It might just so happen that people are doing nothing without me, and they only appear to be alive because of my interactions with them. Or, it could be that people are doing things while I’m not there, because if you put a bunch of living organisms together then they’re bound to react with each other and the “things” around them. Think of it this way: people are complex organisms created by some greater force (whatever force you want to believe, i.e. big bang theory, God, or what have you). When you put these organisms together, they interact with each other and they react to the things and situations surrounding them in specific ways due to their biology and their chemistry.

But we are more than just complex organisms, right? Or, at least I am.

I can’t even prove that the physical world is real. Maybe it’s like all those movies portray, where I’m just in a dream. Maybe everything that surrounds me (us) is just what I have constructed with my mind. If so, will I ever wake up? Is death when I “wake up” from life?

I’ve had this feeling for a very long time…as long as I can remember, really. When I was little I used to think that I had magical powers or that I was some sort of all-knowing god (or both). Now I can say it’s more likely the fact that I understand people well. I’m a thinker and a feeler. I perceive others’ feelings well, and I internalize them, and I know how to conceptualize them. With this “power” I can easily relate to others. I used to believe that I could read minds, now I know it’s that I’m perceptive (and introverted in the way that I perceive information).

Sometimes I feel so manipulative, though. It’s as if I want certain things for others so badly (things that are often actually good) that I manipulate people into doing things so that these certain things will happen. It’s as if I want these good things to happen for them so badly that I trick them into wanting these good things to happen for themselves. I’m not sure if that’s really manipulative or really kind?

If you look at it one way, I am egotistical; if you look at it another, I am the complete opposite.

Everything we know and understand was constructed by humans. All of the ideas and concepts we’ve ever heard, and that have ever existed (or will ever exist), were created by humans.

It’s all so complex, and, yet, it’s so simple. My mind is all (the only thing) that I can prove is real.

This is all we know. Maybe our knowledge is more extensive than we believe it to be. Maybe not. We can’t ever know whether or not we can be totally sure.

But this all makes me afraid.

I’m afraid that it is just me and the universe; that the people who I love are just projections of myself; that I am alone.

And even if others are real, what if I have, and will only ever love myself? And what if I can’t even do that?

What if I am all there is, and after me there is nothing at all?

I’m afraid that life on Earth is all there is. I believe in more than just this, but that sliver of doubt that constantly sits at the back of my mind leaves me fearful of a place that is nothing—a place that is not.

While I may believe in some sort of predetermination, I do not believe that my actions on Earth should reflect this idea of solipsism…in fact, quite the opposite. For our time here as physical beings, we must stand for our rights, for what is relevant to our impermanent situation (here, on Earth, as physical and emotional beings). And, most importantly, we must be good people (without need for motive) to ourselves and to others.

Some thoughts that have crossed my mind more than a few times...

Is it possible that, like light, our actions have already occurred and we are only perceiving them now because of time? Is it possible that we are already dead?

Maybe death is when it all comes together, where time has no relevance but also where time means everything. So without life, death means nothing. And without death, we cannot see everything come together. 

Is death one instance, or does it expand? Is there life in death?

Maybe in life the universe is us; in death, we become the universe.

And what if we are all one being? What if it is just me? Who is "me"? Who are you? Are you me? Am I you? Maybe we are all part of one being, but we stop at different points. Maybe some people have stopped at similar points; some are behind; some are ahead. 

I want to believe that it all comes together in the end, if there is an end. Maybe time itself doesn't exist. Maybe it moves and moves but goes nowhere. Maybe we have already unknowingly, blindly found what we keep trying to look for. Maybe we have arrived.

Maybe it's all so simple.

The only thing that I can prove is that my mind is real.

It's strange, I'm here again, in another place that only feels temporary. I've been stuck in a place lately where I am unattached to most things around me. In the past few months I've found a lot of places to call home. Or, maybe, it hasn't been so much as the places, but more so the people--I've found home within a lot of people. And I'd give the world to be with them all at once.

"And oh, the wretch is gone
And oh, the sorries begin
And oh, the drinking has thinned
Oh, still I wrestle
I wrestle within

And then to you
I don't look so good
Like I did what I felt like
Like I did what I would

But I don't have my dog
And I don't make a sound
I live on an island
In the middle of town

So if you've got a thing
With me or my friend
Remember what we've been through
Remember where we've been

We don't have our dogs
And we don't make a sound
We live on an island
In the middle of town

And oh, the wretch is gone
And oh, the sorries begin
And oh, the drinking has thinned
Oh, still I wrestle
I wrestle within

And then to you
I don't look so good
Like I did what I felt like
Like I did what I would

But I don't have my dog
And I don't make a sound
I live on an island
In the middle of town."

-"The Island Song" by Chris Garneau

Somewhere between something and nothing lies the heart of my existence, beating slowly, steadily, monotonously. I don't know where my feet are going, or if they're going at all. My head is light and thoughtless; my body is pulled to nothing, and I am stuck. I don't know where to go or even how to move. And I thought that maybe this had all been over, that things were bright again, but that passed, and now I'm here wondering why I cannot move and hoping that someday I'll be able to go again.

I'm not sure yet if it's finished (I guess all that I write never really is). I've been needing to write lately, and this became my outlet. So, bare with me...

Teddy

    Teddy’s hands became weak and his eyes grew tired. There wasn’t much left for him to do here. His mind was exhausted. His head was heavy, his thoughts were swollen. He thought of the people in the park playing chess. He had never been very good at chess, but he loved watching it. Sometimes he made himself believe that if he watched for long enough he could learn to be very good. He knew this would never happen though. He wasn’t an undetermined man, just tired. The tiredness had begun in his chest, and had now spread to his muscles and bones.

Sometimes he imagined that he wouldn’t awake in the morning. The thought didn’t make him sad, just content, at ease.

He had never really lost himself, but he liked the thought of it. He liked the thought that maybe somewhere he could let go. Somewhere he could sink into the soil and grow with the plants and rise with the trees. Maybe somewhere he could fall into nothingness, and, all at once, feel the weight pull him down while the air would lift him up. And he would pull with his strength and be pushed by the Earth, and he would fall and rise. Somewhere he could be everything and nothing, and everything was important but nothing mattered. And the sirens would cry out and sounds would blare, but everything would be silent and free.

His mind carried him through, moving him away from the wiry couch where his body laid, his face upon the rough pillow. His eyes were cloudy and his skin was dry.

He looked down at Earth, the tiny planet that had turned to swirls of green and blue, and he smiled and closed his eyes.

Listening to "Intro" by The xx

Balance

There’s a need for finding a balance between the physical and the conceptual, the visual and the metaphysical, the perceived and the actual.

The drum of life and living beats at changing paces, and everyone experiences it (even if they’re not in tune to it). Because we are all connected, we are affected by one another. Although we don’t necessarily see it or understand it directly, the connection is still there. We’re constantly playing a game of dominos—when one is pushed, the others are at risk of falling. If we’re not close enough, we stay erect…at least for the time being. But the pieces will be rearranged, and there are more in the box that can take the place of those that have fallen.

Can we be completely replaced? And if we are replaced, how does that affect the other side?

Is balance achievable? If one side is balanced, is the other?

Maybe balance is achievable, but not everyone is a part of it—maybe you are not a part of it. But if not every one is a part of it…is that really balance?

It's a somber day.
Earlier I remembered a small, sort of irrelevant scene. I was pretty young, and I was at a park with my parents and two family friends. We were sitting in the grass, and the man, Tom, was showing me how to make a whistling noise with a blade of grass. His wife tried too, but she and I weren't very good at it. I don't even remember the rest of the day, just us sitting in the grass, laughing and brushing the dirt off of our pants.
It's strange how I'd forgotten about this memory for so long. My family and I used to spend a lot of time with them--they lived just down the street from us. My dad and Tom were very close, until things began to fall apart. Tom died about six years ago in a motorcycle accident. A lot of things were left unsaid and undone, things that will probably never be mended. Thinking about it now, I wish some things could've turned out differently, but that's the way it all works and we can't change that.

I’ve had an incessant need for balance lately. I’m not sure I can describe it exactly. Everything that I know or question has been leading me in circles. I keep coming back to the phrase “everything is relative”. And it’s true, everything is relative. Nothing isn’t connected, but many things have no connections.

I’ve been running around in my head a lot. And I can’t sleep. Sometimes I think I could, but it’s as though I don’t want to. But I don’t want to stay awake either, because it’s too quiet and I get easily stuck in my head. (Is it possible to think too much?)

I want so many things in life—many of them that I have no control over. I want to see people as people, and I want to live with them. I distance myself a lot though…although I’m not sure that’s entirely bad. Hopefully that’s just me looking at and observing the bigger picture. But I really need to come back down to Earth, and I need to sit with someone and talk with someone about little, menial things and big and abstract world issues.

A day once dawned
And it was beautiful
A day once dawned from the ground
Then the night she fell
And the air was beautiful
The night she fell all around

So look see the days
The endless coloured ways
And go play the game that you learnt
From the morning

And now we rise
And we are everywhere
And now we rise from the ground
And see she flies
And she is everywhere
See she flies all around

So look see the sights
The endless summer nights
And go play the game that you learnt
From the morning.

-"From the Morning" by Nick Drake 

So, I'm starting a "diary" of food. This isn't going to become a food blog, but I'm going to track what I've been learning/will learn about nutrition--at least for a little while. There's no particular reason for starting this documentation, just that I've become interested in nutrition and I've been "sick" lately (something about my digestive system). I've decided to start a vegan/raw diet, more so a choosy vegan diet (meaning the only breads I can have are sprouted or gluten-free). I'm trying to seriously cut down on processed foods--at least the really unhealthy ones. Hopefully all this healthy nonsense (I don't plan on being this persnickety for too long) will kick-start my organs into working correctly (and maybe help me begin a healthier lifestyle).

Today, Larabar vs. Kind Fruit & Nut bar
 Larabar (Cashew Cookie): 230 calories, mashed up, two ingredients (cashews and dates), gluten and dairy free, mushy, tastes like old cashew butter, $1.49

Kind bar (Fruit & Nut Delight): 180 calories, whole nuts bound together by fruits, more ingredients (including soy lecithin), gluten and dairy free, crunchy and soft, sweet, $1.69

The winner? Kind bar


(By the way, I'm at work and I feel like a total health-nut. You know, one of those whack-jobs who has nothing better to do with her time...)

There’s something about dreams that, for whatever reason, I base some of my core emotions. I guess it’s because they come from me, and they are a part of me. I don’t think they tell anything that you don’t already know, but I believe they often confirm feelings that are rooted in the pit of your stomach that you’re sometimes unwilling to admit. It’s as if dreams are projections of yourself that you have to face to come to some sort of truth about your self. Of course they’re not always deep or meaningful, but rather random, and often current thoughts that float together. Sometimes they come from thoughts that spark from other thoughts or things that you’ve seen recently. Sometimes they’re reflections of concerns that you’ve been having.

No matter the real reason they come about, they are part of your consciousness and your unconsciousness. I find they’re sometimes therapeutic, even despite their terrifying approaches. 

"...As the truth hits your ears begin to cry
"Why is it like this!" Why the fuck do I care?
I don't have the answers, or at least the ones you want to hear...
Don't get worried now (We've been in a cold world!)
We just getting flurries now?..."
"Bent Life" by Aesop Rock

The other night I remembered a thought that I had a few years ago. It was an image of a man who digs a hole in his living room. And he digs more and more every day. Then one day he shoots his dog, because he doesn't want his dog to fall in and die. And he just keeps on digging.
It's not much of a story, but I've thought about it over and over, and I still can't figure out how to present it. Maybe as a poem? Or maybe as a short-story, or a one-act? I'm not sure.

(I don't know who this image is by or where it came from, but it emotes what I've been feeling lately.)

Do we want to help, or are we just voyeurs? When the excitement of happiness is muted to a quiet lull, how do we mask the often undeniable truth of getting joy from pain? While all humanity is not lost, and while there is still hope for sanity, it’s hard to really know whether all help is good help.

Seaside

The sky was closing,

the clouds lining the falling sun’s path,

leaving scattered traces of light among the bank.

The wet air filled his lungs with salt and grit,

but he paid no mind to its barrenness.

He thought of the way her fingers curled around his,

and the way her hair fell in his mouth when her head lay on his chest—

the way it stuck to his dry lips and parched tongue.

He could see her and feel her.

He could touch her skin and smooth the hair from her cheek,

and he could feel the weight of her leg pressed against his waist.

And he knew that it wasn’t all gone.

He knew that she probably thought of him, too.

A breeze rolled in,

sweeping open his worn coat,

exposing him to the frozen wind.

And he sat and waited

for nothing and for everything.

(Andrew Wyeth's painting Baleen)

It's been stuck in my head all day...well, I've been listening to it all day...

"I know what you're thinking
But I'm not your property
No matter what you say
No matter what you say

Move along, there's nothing left to see
Just a body, nothing left to see

A couple more for breakfast
A little more for tea
Just to take the edge off
Just to take the edge off

Move along, there's nothing left to see
Just a body, pouring down the street

Move along, there's nothing left to see
Just a body, nothing left to see

Move along"

-"Gagging Order" by Radiohead

It's hard to conceive time sometimes. I know it's there, and I know it's passing, but I can't always get a good hold of it. Sometimes it seems that it loops back around or that it overlaps itself. After a while everything becomes constant--even the things that should shake me become so normal, so ordinary, that I'm hardly moved by even the hardest push. And then things come flooding back, and I lose myself, once again, in the rush of all the things that once were gone.

What makes a person human?
No one person is any more or less of a person than any other. Sure, we can measure one's "greatness" or humility, but when it comes down to it we are all people--physically, mentally, and emotionally. There is nothing that can stop a person from being...well, a person. There is not one instance that can change a person into something else. Not even death. Although one may (and will) die, he or she is still a person...just a dead person. Like the worms on the sidewalk in the rain--we're just trying to make it to the grass so we don't drown. And some of us do drown, and some of us dry up in the sun. Then there are those of us who make it to the grass until the next rain. Of course, we're not worms.

 

 

 

(please excuse the terrible colors)