Hmmm...

Short Story

2010-05-31T05:02:00.000-07:00

The notice, pinned timidly to the billboard outside of the auditorium, informed them of their fate. The phrase Final Cuts had been printed in bold oppressive letters across the top of the notice in a pseudo-sadistic attempt to emphasize the finality of this thing, this little thing. Adam scanned the names. A...no. A...no. A...yes...no. ADAM! His name, emblazoned in fantastically uninteresting and uneventful lettering on the second to last line. A feeling stirred deem in his gullet that could only be described as fantastically overinteresting and overeventful. Across the pileup she stared at the board, those bold oppressive letters hurt her eyes; she could feel the ever so inevitable tears building up behind her eyes. She could feel the deluge of her soul pushing viciously up against the back of her eyes, a madman slamming at the bars of his cage, a baby pressing up against the glass. Andrea scanned the names. A...no. A...no. A...yes...no. nothing. On the second to last line lay, in fantastically uneventful and uninteresting lettering, someone else's name. She could not help, but feel that he probably did not deserve it as much as her, but than again...nobody ever did. She was the center of the universe after-all, one of 6 billion centers of the universe.

Their eyes met across the pileup, stunning blue and subtle hazel; shock of blonde and unshock of black; and, other forms of completely incompatible compatibility. The connection began and ended in a moment, the masses obscured them from each other and life moved on...as do all things.

The spotlights, boldly protruding from the ceiling from the ceiling of the auditorium, provided appropriate, damn near perfect, lighting for his damn near perfect failure. The lyrics slipped out of his grasp and off into the audience. The ushers probably forced them to be seating near the back. Adam froze. I...no. You and I...no. Everybody...no....chirp...chirp. His name, once illuminated in bright neon cliches, fell too fast into the volumes of lost souls, failed actors. A feeling stirred deep in his soul that could only be described as terribly uncontrollable and debilitating. In the audience she stared at the perfect failure, the bright lights hurt her eyes. The tears had dried a long time ago, a couple-of broken dreams ago. The mad man had died of starvation, or sleep deprivation, or strangulation; the coroner had stopped caring a long time ago. The lyrics sat right next to her. In fact, they had come to the performance together and, although she'd never admit it for fearing of being labeled promiscuous, she'd been planning on putting out for them that night. no...no...no...The three of us, thats me, myself, and I! Everything that should have been lay right in-front of her. He had never deserved it, nobody but her ever did. Remember, she was the center of the universe after-all, one of 6 billion centers of the universe.

Their eyes met across the third wall, dull blue and seething hazel; pallid pallet of blonde and a shock of raven black; and every form of completely incompatible compatibility. The connection began and ended in a moment, but God that moment lasted forever.

A Foot Race

2010-04-12T08:29:00.000-07:00

He stumbles across the finish line, a haggard semblance of his former self. The summer sun fiercely beats against his skin, his perspiration covered back glimmers and vibrates. Glimmers and vibrates, alive and beautiful in that life, reminiscent of the sea on a crisp June day along the Carolina coast. A beach chair and an umbrella planted resolutely in the sand, daring the ever-changing sea to consume them. A boy and a girl strolling along the beach, planted resolutely in the moment, daring their ever-changing lives to consume them. to consume Them and everything that They could be in that instant and every instant thereafter. A couple-of friends confiding in each other as the sun sets, reveling in the glory of the impermanence of it all. Sometimes the beauty of a thing is its impermanence.

Engorged June Bugs hover inches above the grass, as if to tease things that could never fully perceive them, could never understand them. But they land and marinate in the hot summer sun, as the grass glistens and hums. The grass dances as a gentle summer breeze, a refreshing puff from the coast, meanders through the moment. Touching the grass gently. Gently as a tender kiss. A kiss from one to another, a boy to a girl, a girl to a boy, a lover to a lover, immediately succeeded by an incredible absence and an irreconcilable desire for more. The breeze passes as does every other kiss. But he could not help but hope for more. such is life. such is the human condition.

He thinks back on the race. He could not temper his pace or lose sight of the finish line, had he done so he may never have reached the finish. He may never have felt the breeze and every breeze thereafter. But in finishing the race so quickly, in running for the fastest finish, he may have missed something infinitely more meaningful than a breeze from the coast. Thousands of June bugs, thousands upon thousands of lives and experiences never touched upon, yet he remains inextricably attached and affectionate to everything missed. The race, he steadily came to realize, is never truly finished. The race had never been and will never be a race. to think so is a tremendous mistake.

The Modern Conservative

2010-03-19T22:56:00.000-07:00

James Madison once claimed that American government is based upon the principles "compromise, compromise, compromise" to ensure the continued existence of the American people. The modern conservative has aligned himself in diametric opposition to the modern liberal, undercutting reforms that had once been passionately supported by the conservative base. For example: 20 years ago Ronald Reagan suggested similar regulation of insurance companies in the interest of economic expansion. He suggested that gross mismanagement of health care premiums limited the spending capacity of middle class americans. Today conservatives appose a program of the same nature, aimed at economic development, underneath the auspices that such a program is socialist and therefor anti-democratic. Beyond that modern congressional Republicans have outlined provisions that they feel are necessary for a healthy american future; these provisions include: premium decreases over the long-term, insurance coverage for high risk patients, cross-state operation and regulatory commissions, TORT reform, and malpractice reform. These provisions and more, verbally supported by congressional Republicans are provided for in the house healthcare legislation. Attached is a comprehensive outline of conservative demands and legislative compliance thereafter...

1. REPUBLICANS ASKED FOR – DEFICIT NEUTRAL BILL: “Do the American people believe that this almost 2,000 page bill won’t add to the deficit?” [Rep. Eric Cantor, 10/29/2009]

HOUSE BILL – DEFICIT NEUTRAL BILL: According to the Congressional Budget Office, the House bill costs $894 billion over 10 years and actually reduces the deficit by $30 billion and continues to reduce the deficit over the second 10 years.

2. REPUBLICANS ASKED FOR – REDUCE COSTS OVER LONG TERM: “Nevertheless, House Republicans recognize the need to lower health care costs.” [Rep. Mike Pence (R-IN), 9/9/09]

HOUSE BILL – REDUCES COSTS OVER LONG TERM: Encourages payment reforms that can help lower costs. Requires the Department of Health and Human Services to establish specific benchmarks for expansion of the Accountable Care Organization, Payment Bundling, and Medical Home pilot programs. The bill will also slow the rate of growth of the Medicare program from 6.6% annually to 5.3%.

3. REPUBLICANS ASKED FOR – POLICIES ACROSS STATE LINES: “Interstate competition allowing people to buy insurance across state lines.” [Sen. John Thune (R-SD), 9/8/2009]

HOUSE BILL – POLICIES ACROSS STATE LINES: Allows for the creation of State Health Insurance Compacts – permits states to enter into agreements to allow for the sale of insurance across state lines.

4. REPUBLICANS ASKED FOR – MEDICAL MALPRACTICE REFORM: “Why not bring about reasonable restrictions and limits on medical malpractice claims to end the era of defensive medicine?” [Rep. Mike Pence (R-IA), 9/9/2009]

HOUSE BILL – ENCOURAGES MALPRACTICE REFORM: The bill establishes a voluntary state incentives grant program to encourage states to implement “certificate of merit” and “early offer” alternatives to traditional medical malpractice litigation.

5. REPUBLICANS ASKED FOR – HIGH RISK POOLS: “Senator McCain has a proposal sometimes called high-risk pools at the state level…These are efforts I think we can have bipartisan agreement on and deal with the question of pre-existing conditions.” [Rep. Eric Cantor (R-VA), 9/10/2009]

HOUSE BILL – HIGH RISK POOLS: To fill the gap before the Exchange becomes available in 2013, the bill creates an insurance program with financial assistance for those uninsured for several months or denied policy due to preexisting conditions.

6. REPUBLICANS ASKED FOR – ALLOW YOUNG PEOPLE TO STAY ON PARENTS’ POLICIES:“Recognizes that not all high school and college graduates are able to find a job that offers health care coverage after graduation. By allowing dependents to remain on their parents’ health policies up to the age of 25, the number of uninsured Americans could be reduced by up to 7 million.” [Republican Health Solutions Group]

HOUSE BILL – ALLOW YOUNG PEOPLE TO STAY ON PARENTS’ POLICIES: The bill requires health plans to allow young people to remain on their parents’ insurance policy until they turn 27.

7. REPUBLICANS ASKED FOR – NO PUBLIC MONEY FOR ABORTION: “The American people will not stand for government-run insurance that uses taxpayer money to fund abortions in this country.” [Rep. Mike Pence (R-IN), 10/16/2009]

HOUSE BILL – NO PUBLIC MONEY FOR ABORTION: The bill prohibits abortion services from being made part of essential benefits package and prohibits federal funds from being used to pay for abortion (except in cases of rape, incest, and to save life of the woman).

8. REPUBLICANS ASKED FOR – PROTECT SMALL BUSINESSES: “Helps employers offer health care coverage to their workers by reducing their administrative costs through a new small business tax credit.” [Republican Health Solutions Group]

HOUSE BILL – PROTECTS SMALL BUSINESSES: The bill exempts 86% of businesses from the requirement to provide coverage. Businesses with payrolls below $500,000 are exempt while firms with payrolls between $500,000 and $750,000 would pay a graduated penalty. Small businesses would also receive a tax credit that helps cover 50% of their health care expenses.

9. REPUBLICANS ASKED FOR – PROMOTE JOB WELLNESS PROGRAMS: “Promotes prevention and wellness by giving employers and insurers greater flexibility to financially reward employees who seek to achieve or maintain a healthy weight, quit smoking, and manage chronic illnesses like diabetes.” [Republican Health Solutions Group]

HOUSE BILL – PROMOTE JOB WELLNESS PROGRAMS: The bill establishes a grant program to help small employers create or strengthen workplace wellness programs.

10. REPUBLICANS ASKED FOR – DELIVERY SYSTEM REFORM: “Uses new and innovative treatment programs to better coordinate care between health
care providers, ensuring that those with chronic disease receive the care they need and do not continue to fall through the cracks.” [Republican Health Solutions Group]

The modern conservative coalition has adopted a paradigm of opposition, opposition to change and progressive thought, that undermines the effectiveness of the American government. This unreasonable party polarization is a political ploy to undermine the current administration and decrease the democratic majority in the legislature, but politics and the pursuit of superficial authority should never come at the cost of American prosperity. Our future and the future of democratic government relies on congressional cooperation and administrative effectiveness in confronting the "big picture" issues. A recent study by Freedom House, an organization dedicated to the proliferation of democracy and freedom throughout developing society, indicates that the number of transitional democracies has dramatically decreased over the last year. Expert analysts contribute this decrease in the proliferation of democracy to the multidimensional failure of the American system of government. Not only has our government failed to resolve domestic tribulations, but because of dramatic cleavages amongst government officials has also failed to effectively engage the international community on the issues of the day. Despite an impressive demonstration of diplomatic skill and social attentiveness at the Copenhagen conference late last year, President Obama failed to make exemplary commitments due to the legislatures failure to take comprehensive action on Alternative energy incentives in the United States. Instead developing nations had a close-minded, but diplomatically efficacious China to look up to. As the United States has struggled to remain afloat during the last year, China has excelled, spurring other countries to adopt authoritarian systems of government, governments not encumbered by due process.

It is time for the modern conservatives to stop screaming liberal as if its some venomous insult, and get to the business of compromise. Compromise on both sides of the aisle is the only sure fire means of achieving success not only here, but abroad. If America truly is the global hegemony, it is time to catalyze positive progressive change through that position.

The Journey-Episode 2

2010-03-18T23:19:00.001-07:00

(coming soon)

Mongolia

2010-03-18T23:07:00.000-07:00

There are experiences in life that could never be explained to someone that did not share that, or some derivative therein, of that experience. At the beginning of the month, each-and-every HKIS student began an epic journey. For some, this journey led to an increased understanding of not only those around them (the interim group as it stands) but a deeper understanding of themselves and the role they could play in the HKIS community. For several people, their journey spurred the development of cross clique friendship, or the consolidation of an old connection. For a couple-of lucky dogs, it provided the opportunity for romance and seduction. Unfortunately, for several close-minded people, the experience rendered little more than a break from the endless march that is school. For me, interim meant a complete rediscovery of all those things that once defined me, all those things that I had lost sight of amidst the hell of culture shock and depression.

I miss so many elements of the interim experience, but I miss most the openness that our group elected to embrace from the first five minutes in Hong Kong Airports to the potential end of our closeness. The pervasive close-minded troubles of a high school so consumed by gossip and bullshit, melted on the freezing mongolian tundra as the group huddled together for heat. That togetherness transcended every clique, from the "drama geeks" to the popular jocks, as everyone realized that any difference amongst us could never over come the mutual experience of being human. The human condition is such that unity is inevitable in the absence of negative, pervasive, social influences. Our shared humanity brought us closer-and-closer as the days moved into infinity.

I ran into someone from my interim today. In fact, I have spent the last 2 saturdays hanging around my interim and have planned to spend the coming Saturday maintaining that trend, but I cannot help but perceive even the slightest of changes in our dynamic. Underneath the judgmental eyes of a student body that did not share those moments amongst the orphans of the VCC, that did not come to the same realization of mutual experience and understanding that Mongolia 2010 did, I can feel society pulling us apart as the behemoth that is social acceptance pulls us back to our predesignated social groups. A group that, honestly, I could not feel much less comfortable as a part of. I cling onto those cold moments, hoping to huddle for some protection from the ice-cold social scene.

Sometimes I cannot help but feel a little hopeless.

Stupid Baby

2010-03-18T23:05:00.000-07:00

The door of the old blue house creaked open-and-closed as I strolled outside. I stared around me, taking in my surroundings, appreciating the beauty of a hot Connecticut summer day. A breeze descended upon the trees, ruffling the branches and tossing about the dead leaves that formed a distinct barrier around the green, healthy, grass of our backyard. I found myself trapped in the eye of the storm, trapped in that summer day. Excitement coursed through every tiny vein in my body as I anticipated the arrival of my best friend Michael. *vroom, vroom*

My small, damn-near emaciated, form exploded into activity and I sprinted to the gate, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jane (his older sister) before she drove-off, but instead I met crippling disappointment. “Just the mail lady” I thought. I smiled and took the mail. “Thank you see you soon”. Politeness and etiquette run deep in my family.

I collapsed in the middle-of the yard and looked up at the clouds, counting them, shaping them, remaking them, for a moment the sky became my canvas to paint upon. My eyes fell from the endless blue and landed upon a single clover, nothing special, no extra leaf to base my hopes and dreams upon, but, suddenly, the thought ran through my curious little head. “Do clovers smell? I should smell it and see.” I jumped up and balanced myself on the balls of my feet. The unimaginably green grass poked through the gaps in my toes. They tickled. I reached deep into the grass and violently yanked at the clover, ripping it from its base and roots and lifting it to eye level. Suddenly, I felt something smash into the side of my head. Hard and fast, my baby brother had come screaming and tumbling out of the house, emboldened by the driver clasped firmly in his pudgy fists, and smacked me right in the head. I tumbled to the ground and gasped for air, tears came cascading from my eyes as I began to scream. “Mommy! Mommy! Peter hit me with the antique golf club! Mommy!” I screamed, as I bolted up the stairs and into the house. I could feel a bruise already forming as my eyes continued to sting. Stars floated in front of my eyes, floated just beyond my reach, elusive and beautiful, but I ignored them in my quest for justice. Peter had to be punished, justice had to be served. I could not find my mom on the main level, so I continued my search upstairs, but I could not find her. She had disappeared completely! I needed my mommy badly and she had disappeared! “Mooooooom!!!” I screamed. No response. “Mooooooooooooooooom!!!” My high pitched 7 year-old squeal reverberated throughout the old house. “Yes Jack!?!” came the muffled reply. I ran to find her sitting in the sunroom relaxed and sipping her daily Sauvignon. “Mom! Peter took that driver from the umbrella stand and hit me right in the head!” I moaned. “I’m sure Peter did not mean to hit you in the head honey. Michael is going to be here soon for you sleepover. Go outside and play.” She replied smiling calmly.

I could not stand this incredible injustice. That stupid, pudgy, baby had beat me and I intended to receive reparations for my suffering, but my mom could not easily be convinced that Peter had meant to hit me, I accepted that truth and resolved to punish him myself. I marched outside and tackled Peter, forcing him to the ground and pushing leaves and dirt into his pudgy little face. I made sure he cried. I did not feel bad, because I perceived it as justice, due punishment for suffering imposed on others. Suddenly, I heard a car-door slam behind me and felt the strong hands of my dad pulling me off of Peter, kicking and screaming. He sat Peter and I in the sunroom, in front of omnipotent mommy, and made us talk through the incident. The result angers me to this very moment.

Peter had seen me pulling out the clover and moving it up to my face. He had, allegedly, immediately assumed that I planned on eating the clover, something he simply could not let happen. “If he eated the clover he could have dieded mommy” he claimed. He believed me to be in immediate and mortal danger so he acted, bravely, to save me from my theoretical incompetence. Thus, as is true in many criminal trials, the accused escaped from justice because of a technicality, a shoddy defence bred in the fires of stupidity.

Kids do the darndest things!

The Ocean of Diarrhea

2010-02-05T01:39:00.000-08:00

What assumptions can be made about existence? This question, the question regarding the essence of life, the veritable meaning of life, has been the center of philosophy since the advent of complex logical thought. For if a man could understand the essence of existence than he could, theoretically, better understand all components of that mentioned existence. There have been a plethora of theories. Aristotle once proposed that the essence of existence is intellectual discussion. The theory is simple enough, and is based in his struggles to categorize forms. He claimed that forms can never be properly perceived by humans, that the actual form of an object can only be observed by supernatural entities, but that one can begin to understand that form through discussion and thought. Therefor, he claimed, that the essence of existence is thought.

Even through defining it, attempting to perceive its existence, a human, let alone a teenager, could never truly understand existence. Beyond that a human could never truly apply a fundamental understanding of existence to all its components. The idea that a micro-understanding of life could be accomplished through a macro-understanding of existence, is fundamentally untenable, as even that understanding could not aid the human in progressing through everyone of life's infinite experience. Furthermore, the aforementioned theory fails to acknowledge the distinction between life and existence. Life refers to the metaphorical ocean of experiences, each rooted in one moment amongst millions, that each of us must face. Existence refers to the meta-paradigm for life as an explanation of our role in the universe. This distinction brings to light the logical failures of a theory that proposes that an understanding of either could foster a complete, applicable and functioning understanding of its counterpart.

Beyond these heavy questions, exists the individual. The person that each of us perceives as "me". Each "me" independently orienting itself to move along a mentally prescribed path through life, strives to connect to a number of other me's. Each of these connections changes both of the involved me's in a manner that cannot truly be understood by either me. The effects of these connections are often based in the nature of the connection, each sub-catergory of connections having a list of potential intangible effects on the me's involved. Furthermore, each moment of the meta-connection is subject to hundreds of potential connections, coalescing to form the entire. The question than becomes: Are these effects positive or negative? An optimist could claim that every connection, even if its immediate effect is perceived as negative can be categorized as a positive experience for both me's. A pessimist could claim that every connection is negative due to it insubstantiality and impermanence. I believe that it is impossible for anyone to understand the effects of any connection. Therein, connections simply become an abstract manifestation of the human potential and the possibility of all things, a means of effecting, being effected and understanding your surroundings. My grand-da once said "A man can never truly understand the value of his life, until he can perceive the ripples that his existence has caused in the lives of those he knows and those that he shall never meet". Those ripples give meaning, value, and purpose to every life.

Imagination

2010-01-30T04:28:00.000-08:00

Do you have an over-active imagination?

I mean I suppose that I could be said to have an overactive imagination. Things, sounds, emotions sort-of trigger this strange stream of sub-conciousness. I mean one time, after checking out some American Idol, I'd been listening to some Los Campesinos and began to imagine legitimizing the American Idol competition by singing sick music from "unconventional" bands and genres. This of-course lead to me dominating the polls and getting the top prize. That in turn lead to being questioned by People (The Magazine). During the course of the questioning, I made a comment about the damage that malpractice litigators have had on the medical litigators. This of-course lead to my being sued by a coalition of malpractice representatives (here is the point that the sequence becomes strange). I immediately defended myself through several public speeches regarding the deconstruction of the American legal system and the violation of my first amendment rights. This cascaded into my becoming the most politically influential teenager...ever. I eventually received the opportunity to debate Sarah Palin, embarrassing her in-front of the American political community and delegitimizing her potential administration. She gave a speech several moments later, as a concession of defeat. During the speech, I appeared on a large projection screen behind the platform and proceeded to make vulgar motions for the remainder of her speech. Than this other time!

Yes I understand. Does this imagination occasionally have negative effects?

I guess. I mean certain images get supercharged in my head, perhaps in some sub-concious attempt to justify my feelings regarding the aforementioned image. For example: if I hear that 2 people danced in my absence, I automatically assume that the dancing "must" have been of the most vulgar nature...damn near sex. Beyond that, the dancing in my head "must" automatically lead to a relationship. That relationship "must" lead to sex. That sex "must" be better than anything I could ever offer. You get the idea. Imagination tends to get the best of me.

Do you see positive effects to your overactive imagination?

Yes. I mean the more realistic images in my head could be considered goals; goals that I immediately pursuit. I may be a dreamer but I also try to be a doer. Dreams are real only if you strive to achieve them...right? That, and I have this strange feeling that my imagination makes me better in bed. Does that make sense?

*laugh* I suppose those are positive benefits, and I guess that sort-of makes sense.

Good session doc, I'll see you this time next month. Thanks.

...hey Jack.

Yes doc.

You really do have an overactive imagination.

Yea definitely...we haven't had an actual session in months.

Chapter 1

2010-01-11T23:00:00.000-08:00

*screach* complete and total silence, the gravity of the moment steadily sinking in.

"...I cannot believe that he just did that. Four lanes of traffic! Four fucking lanes of chicago traffic?! He just ripped through a steady stream of cars completely untouched."

"Just turn around at the next street."

"Yea not a problem"...good one.

Five minutes later...

"no dice bro"

The next street headed south for several miles, completely straight. It continued as one street, stretching into the oblivion of the night, darkness on both sides. The houses submerged in the night, all lights doused by that veritable specter, along the entire stretch of road. The three of us heard the occasional domestic argument, the tears of unrequited love, the screams of sleepless children, the shattering of breaking and entering, and all other sounds that could possibly be considered terrifying. Noah reveled in the experience, babbling on-and-on about adventures and road-trips, and commenced to sing road trip tunes at the top of his lungs. As the miles rolled by, Garrett's voice steadily jumped from octave to octave to octave to octave until dogs began to cringe at the passing of our car. Suddenly...a grumble. Garrett jumped and screamed.

"Sorry dude, I haven't eaten since this morning" Noah mumbled.

"Yea bro, I got the grumbles. I gotta get my hands on some grub. There's a T-Bell a-couple blocks back."

"Aight!? Food break coming up."

*kkknk "Welcome to Taco Bell. Can I take your order" kkknk*

"I'll have one lava taco. What you feeling dude? and a quesadilla, extra-special sauce and a salad. Noah? Whats the heftiest thing you got?"

*kkknk "'Hefty' sir?" kkknk*

"Yea 'hefty'. You know massive, filling, scrumptious, man food. That sort-of jazz!"

*kkknk "I gotta man meat special sir" kkknk*

I could not help, but chuckle at the unintentional innuendo. Garrett punched me in the arm and told me to shut up.

"Sound good? Yea that sounds good. Thanks"

Ten Minutes...

"Damn thats good!?"

"Nectar of the gods, straight up" I guess the gods eat at Taco Bell?

*grumble...grumble...squelch*

"Dude not feeling so good"

Vomit suddenly covered the front of the car, Garret heaved all over the steering apparatus. I rolled down the window and heaved all over the unsuspecting car behind, vomit cascaded all over the front of his car. I tossed again, Garrett and Noah continuously puking on themselves. Garrett's hands began to slip off of the apparatus as vomited caked it. The car continued for several miles the floors and roof coated in vomit, until it crashed...complete and total silence, the gravity of the moment setting in, as our stomachs finally lay completely empty.

Hope

2009-12-10T17:37:00.001-08:00

Its sad to consider the possibility of life devoid of "Hope". Hope is the exercise of positive thought, affirming the goodness of reality, and embracing the intrinsic possibility of all things.

It has become increasingly difficulty for the modern-teenager to feel "hopeful", as our generation has been exposed to the suffering of the human condition early-on in the time-line of life. People claim to be realists, pragmatists, and naturalist. The reality is that existence is consumed by the darkness of suffering, but every moment of suffering is nothing more than a block, a block in the construction of a comprehensive frame of reference. A reference for the in-depth analysis and enjoyment of happiness. This can be explained in simple analogous terms: if one year a boy is given a small-amount of Christmas presents, due to his families relative poverty, and the next year the boy is given a significantly larger amount of presents, due to his father's promotion, then he is infinitely more appreciative of those presents than a boy that consistently receives a huge-amount of presents. The man that has suffered is infinitely more appreciative of comfort and happiness than the man that has never experience true sadness. A teenager cannot healthily proceed through this fortuitous existence devoid of hope. Hope in the goodness of reality and the relative just of all things gives meaning to life, meaning to being. People need to be able to hope for something more, something better, than the status quo. Hope, and its many states are irreplaceable and paramountly important.

抑鬱症 The Ghilen

2009-12-10T17:36:00.000-08:00

There is a monster brooding in the darkness. She commenced as nothing more than a fleeting thought, an unrealistic, melodramatic, notion founded-upon the over sensitivity of the teenage psyche. I ignored her, I scorned her, I opposed the possibility of her existence, yet she remained hidden in the shade of the undeveloped psyche, retreating into the caverns of my ever expanding reality. Pushed further-and-further into the darkness by love, brotherhood, connection, but I heard her the other night, as I attempted to sleep. I heard her scraping her long, mucronate, nails on the underpinnings of my mattress last night. Her voice drifted through the corridors of my mind, giggling, screaming, crying out for compassion. I hear her moans-and-groans every night, in some regards, I have become accustomed to her presence, even finding comfort in the company. Her once shrill, corrosive, voice becomes a source of relaxation a calming song, yet I can never close my eyes. As I tremble in my bed, eyelids clutching to my cheeks, teeth grinding against my mouth, she slinks out from underneath the bed. Her icy fingers massage my temples, filling my mind to the veritable brim. Memories cascading from corridor to corridor, faces, sensations, desires, and experiences. I hear footsteps echoing behind me in the school-halls, a fleeting giggle. Is it the gaggle of giggling girls staring at me, or something else? I feel her breath on my neck, as the smile fades from my lips. Her hands cup my hears, as the laughter dissipates. She calls me back to bed, back to another night clinging onto consciousness, trapped by that beautiful monster.

An Epic Journey...if thats the proper title

2009-12-10T17:35:00.000-08:00

"Shit, he's getting out of the car?!!? Drive! Drive! DRIVE!"

"Thats the fourth fucking time I've driven through that ghetto. Shit Jack call your mom. FUCK YOU BILL!?!"

Earlier that night

The team strolled out of the school, smiles spread across every face. Bill beamed from rosy cheek to rosy cheeck, panting for the next breath of air has he hauled the heavy tub across the parking lot. The lights in the school shut off abruptly, for several moments the team strolled in the darkness, lost. The street-lights flickered on as night consumed the little city of Evanston. Garrett, Noah, and I jogged over to the car, laughing at some obscene joke, reveling in our youth and freedom...the glory of a car.

"Garrett!" Bill shouted across the parking long, begging for attention.

"Yea Bill!" Garrett replied, breaking from the revelry to handle logistics...the glory of adulthood.

"The hotel is only a couple of minutes from here sooo Charlie and Butters thought it might be fun to check out the IHOP a couple blocks from here, grab some hefty food for 'the fatty'".

"Sounds good fatty *chuckle*" Famous last words...

The city of Evanston is most famously recognized as the host-city for the Northwestern campus. The campus encompasses approximately three-fourths of the city. The team had been there for a local school tournament, hosted by the Illinois League as a intensive practice before the State Tournament several days later, but it remains true to this day, that the most memorable moment from that tournament is not the unconventional round, but the journey home. Several blocks later, Bill turned through a red light, from the center lane, into oncoming traffic, managing to completely avoid harm but severe Garrett, Noah, and I from the rest of the group. An odyssey of epic proportion began from that small, nigh suicidal, act.

The story is gonna be presented in installments, episodes of a series, chapters of a novel. Goodnight and Good Luck.

A Heavy Dose of Atmosphere

2009-12-01T07:22:00.000-08:00

Final Memories

A place, an atmosphere, the luminous night seeps into my face, numbness spreads across my limb as the inebriation sets in. Darkness flirts at the edges-of my perception, as the numbness trickles along the contours of my face, chest, stomach, legs...nothing. I reach out, flourishing my hands in-front of my face in an attempt to recapture my bearings, but my eyes cannot focus, cannot see. I attempt to speak, verbally calling for assistance Jai has gotta be close, but I hear nothing in return, as the darkness consumes me.

"Get up boy, its getting late!?!"

OUCH!!? Pain cascades into the void. Prior-to this experience I had never experienced the excruciating pain of a hang-over, I honestly could not think of anything else to do, except stroll around my front-yard spitting and hand a couple-of beautiful young ladies some concert tickets. I could not stand, the pain made it impossible to move. Despite my obvious suffering and immobility, my father, constantly the disciplinarian, the stoic man, the forceful hand, strolled into my cavernous, dank, room and aroused me from my slumber. He then proceeded to systematically destroy my body, forcing me to complete everyone's chores, coddle the dogs, run, lift, study, practice, play, all before I had breakfast. The boys on the court or at the gym gave me no respite, making sure that every conceivable ounce of alcohol drained from my body. Staring across the isle, I glared at Jai as if to scream "Fuck you" across the expanse of existential space. I collapsed after practice, permitted several moments of rest before given a heavy-handed lecture by my father. The complex, eloquent, rhetoric of a man renowned and promoted for his charism echoed in the black-buzzing expanse that pervaded my skull. Each syllable slamming into the corridors of my minds, and quickly exiting out the back door, ear. Grounded...Fucked.

I lay in bed, regretting every moment spent in Hong Kong. Thousands of moments, thousands of opportunities, thousands of kisses and hugs, lost through the selfishness of 2 people. 2 people too self-absorbed to realize that they are destroying their child, sapping his former strength through constant struggles, emotional traumas, and loss. The atmosphere around me pressed in, harder-and-harder, choking the air out of me. I closed my eyes and hoped, prayed to some unforeseen deity, that the nightmare could be gone as soon as they opened again. I opened my eyes, ceiling, floor, door...nightmare.

Taj

2009-11-17T00:23:00.000-08:00

The smoke snaked through his teeth as his eyes dimmed, the light that once pervaded them consumed by the smoke. I could feel the sensation of freedom, "chillness", creeping along the landscapes of my flesh, the sensation gently trickling along the contours of my face. Thought became a dim potential in an expansive universe. A failing star in the darkness. She giggled as the sensation tickled her, reminiscent of flirtatious suitors that never could keep their hands off of her. Blankness. The engaged expression faded into a non-emotive stare, boring into a point someplace beneath my heart. The question came gently, as if from the depths of the smoke, "Dude?"

"Yea?"

"I've been contemplating some deep shit lately, I'm yammering about existential crap. "

"Hmmm...thats never good. I prefer to keep my thoughts thin and ethereal these days, any deeper and I'm probably gonna end up depressed *chuckle*. Fuck me."

"Yea? I mean you gotta engage that deeper level dude, or shit becomes meaningless."

"I suppose."

"But fuck you, I gotta toss these thoughts out there. I suppose that my thought process could be summarized in one question: If you found out that you had only a couple-of days to live...could you say you'd lived a good life?"

The question drifted up-and-out of the chimney and snaked up into space, leaving Lang-Quai miles behind, as our minds soared beyond the confines of our current space, violating not only space, but time. Every decision, relationship, and consequence annexed and analyzed under some self-imposed paradigm of "good". That time I golf-clubber my little brother across the face, tears, blood, pain-imposed, pain experienced, happiness taken, happiness given, good, bad, the tribulations of a thus-far incomplete human experience. The gruff chastising voice of Ram ended my thought process, but the question remains: If you found out you only had a couple-of days to live...could you say you'd lived a good life?"

Questions to consider if your planning to respond:

What defines good in the context of life?

Have you accomplished several, if not all, of the goals you have laid before yourself?

Have you positively affected others?

Have you had fun?

Would you last thought be a happy one?

I am gonna stop before I become preachy, but if you respond to the question please give other's the sight name so they may respond to.

E-Mail

2009-11-09T05:12:00.000-08:00

Our culture is subject to plethora internet-based medians of communication. The most prominent of these communication devices is the e-mail. It had once been a marvel bred-from the genius of several creative minds designed to speed up human interaction, and facilitate the expansion of a burgeoning population, but it has been surpassed in this modern super technological era by "skype" and "facebook" devices that enable humans to interact if not face to face, quickly and informatively. Despite all of these advancement in the communication mechanics of the computer, I continue to find that email is the most consistent means of keeping in touch to close friends, or, if nothing else, establishing a reasonable time for both parties to more directly communication. It also continues to surprise me that despite blatant pot-shots at MY emailing proficiency and consistency, Alex Beck continues to fail at responding to my emails in a timely manner.

In the end, I suppose the message is "check your email dude!?!?"

Goodnight and Goodluck

Therapy

2009-11-05T00:08:00.001-08:00

The door opened and a diminutive older lady strolled out of her office, face beaming has her client meandered out of the office, smiling from ear-to-ear. It seemed to support some time honored cliche regarding therapy as the instant fix. The doctor turned to me after a couple-of minutes signing papers, presented to her by her extremely attractive young secretary, smiled, and escorted me into the office. This space seemed to demonstrate every facet of her being. Pictures of her aged children adorned her desk. A tattered old couch lay next to a equally dilapidated recliner, both seemed to beckon the sitter into complacency and openness. Along the left portion of the office, stood an aged, mahogany bookshelf. Its age had been accentuated by the torn novels that lined its shelf, forming the smile of haggard old man that had indulged his vices far too much in his youth. Attached to the paneling, lay a signed manifesto of the Apollo 11, names of an age gone by, names that represented mans search for truth and deeper understanding, beckoned me to discover some internal, spacial,"truth". I let myself be engulfed by the leathery comfort of the sofa; its black fabric completely contrasting the paleness of my skin. The doctor fumbled around some papers on her desk. She then began to detail my psychological profile to me. "You have experienced severe trauma John. I have encountered this scenario countless times and every-time *pause* the same result. Things are gonna improve of that I am positive. I have convinced your parents that return at the end of second semester is necessary, as I have convinced the parents of every child that experiences this, but in the interim you must attempt to make the best of the circumstances". She beamed as she ended this dialogue and pressed her back into the leather of the recliner, and let her mind settle. "I assume there are some issues you desire to discuss Jack?!" She inquired, breaking the serenity of the space, as a means of discovering truth. "Yea" I tersely responded. I sighed and began my lonesome narration. I spoke of an experience several nights-ago that had been troubling me for the past couple-of days, and the sense of loneliness that it created. I spoke of bitterness. I spoke of my struggle regarding self-image, for the first time in my brief existence I have felt completely unattractive, as a result of a racial barrier that I had encountered. I spoke of prejudice, that strange sensation of hatred that truncates the peace of every minority. I continued on for hours as she attempted to maneuver through the mine field of my sub-concious.

The serenity of space shattered as the session bell tolled. I returned to my veritable shell, my shuttle through the abyss, and let myself feel comfortable again, comfortable in the shelter of stagnation. I left the office and strolled the Lang-Quai Fung. People adorned in their clubbing uniforms cantered past, eager to achieve complete inebriation as fast as possible. I paused and took in the scene, felt Lang-Quai Fung pulsing through my veins. I felt the pain drift off for a couple-of moments, as the numbing alcohol poured into the stomachs of the people around me. Lang-Quai, a different sort-of therapy.

Ode to Cameron Graff: A Tale of "David"

2009-10-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

David pressed his back roughly into the back of the seat, attempting to straighten up, in the process making himself look, or so he assumed, more muscular, but every attempt at pressing himself further into the seat served only to bring his vanity and self-loathing into focus. Fuck-off dude nobodies looking at you for christ sake, your speeding along the interstate at 1 o'clock in the morning. He could never understand the reason he pressed the peddle so hard, motivating the tank that his mother had bought him for a first car to move even faster in the direction of the last place he desired to be. In the end home-is-home, the ultimate arbiter, that serene song that soothes the journeyman's soul, the envy of half-of the destitute masses of this hell-ish earth. He could still smell her perfume on his clothes. The subtle scent of Abercrombie perfume sprayed in ernest by a self-concious teenage girl. She is an absolute babe dude, probably one of the best you have ever gotten. He glanced into the back of the car and chuckled as he noticed her pan-tees tucked underneath the reclining seats. Dude!? Do not forget to trash the condom before tossing your shorts in the laundry basket!?

He paused in his thought process, the soothing melodies of The National began to pervade the atmosphere, as he realized that he could not stop contemplating that face, that beautiful face. Bro!? Are you in love? David had never felt love. In fact, he had often dumped gals if a relationship reached the point that love became a "problem", but this felt different. It felt right, Ada felt right, everything felt right.

David loves Ada, but life is not fair. David does not love life.

Masochism

2009-10-25T01:17:00.000-07:00

"Crack!" The agony rippled through my stomach and chest. As my arm violently convulsed, the barbell smashed against my stomach. I rolled off-of the bench onto the ground clutching my chest. I attempted to move, but every moment of the struggle tore at my brain, begging me to stop, to remain complacent. I lay their curled into the fetal position, pathetic and vulnerable, as the lamentations of a sixteen year old gal cascaded along the contours of my conscious psyche. "Please stop!!!" A lamentation that deserved a proper response, yet I elected to make an ill conceived joke about synonyms bred-from the mind of some half-ass director, of a half-ass move, composed of half-ass stereotypical performances. Half-ass perhaps this phrase reveals something about my general approach to the human experience. I am half-assed and I have constantly been told that my efforts are half-assed, perhaps this is the reason that I have embraced this masochism, this complete deconstruction of the self. It must be an attempt to better myself, or perhaps at its root, its an attempt to destroy myself. Am I attempting to better myself, or destroy myself?

They are not mutually exclusive, in attempting to "better myself" I am destroying myself. I subject myself to self-imposed torture in an attempt to deconstruct my former self and create a superior me. The act of training is an act of self-depreciation. A hatred of the self. My pain is a manifestation of my internal struggle for self-determination. A struggle that I am obviously losing.

A Conversation

2009-10-25T00:52:00.000-07:00

I cannot conceive something interesting to put in this blog at the moment, so I have decided to compose to stories bred-from moments of depression in the lives of those people I loath. I hope that in presenting these stories to you, I may gain some perspective in regards to the universal suffering of the human condition. I hope that I may develop compassion for those that have harmed me, more than I thought possible...

Dad-

There have been rather scant consistencies throughout my life, but one of those things that seems to hold true no matter my location or state of mind, is the stoic expression and attitude of my father. I have recently began to suffer a crippling depression as a result of my move to Hong Kong; this depression came to a head at the American Club last Thursday. I suddenly became so consumed by the hopelessness that pervaded my spirit that I had to quit the squash rally and cry on the bleachers outside of the court. After defeating my brother Peter in another match, my dad exited the court and sat beside me.

He asked, “What’s the matter son? I have never seen you flustered enough to quit a sport in the middle of the match.” I explained the internal turmoil that ravaged me and he responded by relaying his personal experience. His eyes fluttered as he prepared to divulge some monumental secret. I perceived a tear, as it steadily trickled along the contours of his nose. He opened his mouth and his voice seemed to erratically quiver as it replaced the oppressive silence. “Every man experiences a period of great loss in his life Jack, and sometimes these losses manifest themselves in the loss of one person or the loss of something much more significant.” He paused. “Have you ever seen me cry boy?”

I thought long-and-hard, pondering this question, attempting to remember even one moment that I had seen my dad cry, either in happiness or in sadness. I could not remember having ever seen my father cry; this realization astonished me, it seemed inconceivable that through my 16 years of life, I had never seen my father cry. I responded, “no”. He smiled and chuckled, apparently pleased by his external non-emotiveness. “I have only cried three times in my adult life Jack. I cried once the day that your mother agreed to marry me.” He smiled as the memory of that day filled his mind. “ I cried once on the day that I eulogized at your grandfather’s funeral” The mood seemed to devolve into its former oppressive self. “And I cried the first day that I left home to attend college” This last admission surprised me, dad obviously picked up on the subtle jump in my features. “ Yup, I absolutely balled. BALLED!!! I’d been sitting on my bunk alone in my dorm room, I had just met the 2 blokes that I’d be spending the next year sleeping alongside, and suddenly this feeling of hopelessness came over me. In that moment I realized that life, as I had perceived it, was over. Nothing could ever be the same, I could never return to those football fields beneath the Glenn and kick around with my pals, I’d never be able to stroll over to Gavin’s place and pull him off to the Pub for a pint and some attractive female company. I had lost everything that I believed to define me.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Those tears Jack, the tears still running along your cheeks, they mean that you had something special, something worth holding on to and cherishing for the rest of your life. Your friends shall never leave you as long as you put out the effort to stay close. That home, that place you feel you belong can never truly be gone, as long as you invest yourself in them and in your actions.” He stood up and yanked me to my feet, the match resumed as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.

Mom-

The tide lapped against the shore creating a strange sense of serenity. It seemed to pervade my soul and massage the tension out of my aching muscles. The quite lapping of the South China Sea suddenly became corrupted by the shrill voice of my mother, but her voice seemed different, as if some monumental truth tittered on the tip-of her tongue. I sat expecting to hear a long deserved apology, but instead came a profound understanding and sense of mutual suffering. My mother’s voice seemed to emanate in unsteady spurts as if she struggled to force every phrase out of her mouth. A metaphorical damn about to burst, releasing a deluge of compassion. I noticed that her hands shook and I began to understand that for some inconceivable reason my mother was nervous. “Jack I cannot imagine the pain that you are experiencing at the moment, but I can relate to the feeling of loss and bitterness that you constantly express. I have told you about Tommy Thomas before haven’t I?” I perceived a brief glimmer pass through her eyes, as she remembered those precious moments in the arms of a High School lover. “Yea” I responded tersely. After my first “real” kiss in 6^th grade my mom could not stop talking about Tommy, the cute little things that Tommy had done often inspired me. “I thought him to be the love of my life, I had never felt such strong feelings for another person before Tommy, and I convinced myself that no matter the circumstances, love could keep us together” She laughed as the innocence of youth seemed to amuse her, “but it could not” a tear rolled along the side-of her face seeming to punctuate the suffering in her voice. “Tommy had to leave for college after my sophomore year of High School, I thought that our love could handle the distance.” Unexpectedly her expression changed to a bitter scowl. “I thought that the 2 of us could be sustained by ‘love’. I assumed that he’d remain loyal after he left, but often our expectations exceed those that could be considered reasonable”. The voice that for moments had sounds emotive and melancholy, devolved into a monotone, expressionless, shell of its former self. “He had sex with 2 different girls in his first couple-of days at University of North Carolina and I faded into a distant memory ‘just another girl’”. She paused and attempted to collect herself. She dried her tears, and attempted to re-establish some semblance of stability, although I could see her eyes quiver as if the damn, carefully constructed by 30 years of bitterness, could shatter at any moment. “This destroyed my confidence, and I descended into a crippling depression. I could no longer accept the concept of love. It had become a fairy-tale, a fallacy meant to manufacture physical desire. I had other boyfriends, but I could never connect to any of them, I could never truly return their feelings.” She abruptly stopped her monotone recitation as my father strolled into the restaurant, his distinctive Scottish grin spread across his fading visage. The years had been tough on both of them, but in that moment I knew that he had saved her.

Grades

2009-10-12T05:51:00.000-07:00

What are "grades"? The conventional response is "grades are an objective means of evaluating a students abilities based-on a series of scores", but can this conventional definition of "grades" truly explain the role or purpose of grades in life? Can a dictionary isolate the true meaning of a grade? What does an F mean? The average teenager is so consumed by the pursuit of grades that he/she is bound to sacrifice social opportunities to ensure that he can receive exemplary marks on his Functions and Trigonometry Test. Grades have become more than a means of evaluate academic proficiency. They have become an essential element in determining our identity. Its astonishing the degree of importance that teenagers tend to vest in these inevitably trivial letters. The Grade has become no longer a solely academic reference point, it has become a social reference point meant to suggest a certain set of underlying values and aspirations that may or may not meet those of the individual in question. An A student is assumed to be of exemplary character. A B student is assumed to harbor typical teenage apathy and is often codified as "average". A C student although "average" in regards to the academic scale is assumed to be of unimpressive intelligence, but their are no assumptions as to his character. He is assumed "tabula rasa". D and F students are not only assumed to be unintelligent, but are often labeled as being deviant. These classifications have served to ossify social groups and prevent human interaction based-on the true merits of each person. A person may be ostracized from a social circle for having grades that do not meet the standards, positive or negative, of the group that he/she aspires to be a part of.

Can grades effectively predict success? It is a commonly accepted belief that those that obtain the highest grades are ensured a comparatively larger amount-of success, than those that have received lesser grades, but in a modern complex capitalist system, the dynamics of success are not dictated solely by intelligence. The tenants of success exist in three parts. First, it holds true that throughout human history success presents itself to those most capable of channeling the passions of the generality. In Machiavelli's The Prince he suggests that successful leadership is determined by the sovereigns capacity t0 amiably manipulate the passions of those above and beneath him. In terms of personality traits, this tends to manifest itself in charisma. The modern corporal hierarchy is not founded-on the omnipotence of intelligence. The modern corporal hierarchy is comprised of a series of complex interpersonal interactions, the capacity to manipulate these reactions through charismatic behavior and interpersonal politick is essential to self-futherance. Second, specialization has developed as the primary means of self-furtherance in liberal economies since the genesis of the bourgeoisie in mid-evil europe. The theory of the case is that an individual can exploit the aforementioned specialization to manipulate the market. The robber barons of the 19th century used this concept of specialization, manifested in the production of a specific "essential" good, to corner every major market in the United States. It is the cross-application of one's talents, not the nature or intrinsic efficaciousness of the talent that enables self furtherance. Third, it is an overspoken cliche that capitalism offers opportunity to anyone driven enough to harness it. This cliche holds true as the modern economic landscape provides equal, plentiful, opportunity to those that have the drive and clairvoyance to struggle through.

I feel it is time to re-establish the former relevance of the grade as a, solely, academic frame of reference and reject its current role as a means of determining our identity.

Babysitting

2009-10-09T07:03:00.000-07:00

I have never understood the term "babysit". It seems counterintuitive to name something that demands compassion and empathy, after an act most commonly attributed to post-partum syndrome. Its not so much that I have never understood the importance of care-taking, but moreover, I have never understood why I must be the one to do it. I cannot even claim to be compassionate and caring in regards to my youngest brother. He seems to exemplify everything that I hate most about myself, thus I am cursed, forced to a night of "external self-depreciation" as the city comes to life. As the strobe lights begin to flash, I turn on the Lion King, forced to admire another man's dementia instead of basking in my self-imposed inebriation. As shots are poured, I pour a glass of hot milk. As the music blares, I close my ears to block out the incessant shrieking. As the dance floor begins to shake as if in rapture, the stairs begin to shake as I pull him kicking-and-screaming to his bedroom. As he escapes into the solace of his dreams, I sit and brood over every moment that has been taken from me, moments lost all for the sake of family. The night passes and another day arrives, I cannot help but regret the loss.

Stolen Clothes and Nostalgia

2009-10-08T06:52:00.000-07:00

This is the 3rd move that I have experienced in my adult life, and it holds true that there comes a point proceeding each-and-every one of these moves that I am forced to rummage through my dresser and "chuck" clothes that do not fit anymore or that have fallen out of style. As I dug through the mountain of clothing that my ama (maid) had dropped at my feet several moment prior I realized that I have stolen a shit ton of clothing from people. I tugged at each and every piece of clothing, extended my arms, and stared at it from a far as if a gorgeous painting covered every inch of the material. My memories laid bare...in a pile of stolen clothing. I decided to make a list of the clothes and the memories that go alongside.

Garret Field's Boxers

The Marquette "broskies" that may end up subscribing to this blog have probably heard legends of young master fields, but that of course is a completely different tale, a tale that, honestly deserves a separate blog to do it justice. These boxers do more than conjure images of fun times spent along the bro that helped me through a tough freshman year at Marquette; these boxers conjure up images of sexual escapades, byproducts of my raging teenage libido, perhaps the reason that my mind immediately travels to these risque moments is the presence of four massive holes in the boxers. In fact, the "flap" and entire groin have been completely torn off. As are the memories they conjure, these holes are the byproduct of my raging teenage libido and other's over excitement *chuckle*. I suppose that the majority of you are eagerly anticipating further explanation, but the role of this blog is self-expression, not self-pleasure.

Alex Beck's Boxers

These boxers are covered in artistic depictions of tropical beverages and flora, perhaps they had been given to me as a gift, but my memory cannot seem to recall and in the end that distinction is completely irrelevant. These boxers conjure up memories of times spent alongside my bestfriend, my brother, the person that has been most instrumental in pulling me through these first couple-of months in Hong Kong. I am sure that there have been far more interesting memories in these boxers. In fact, I am almost positive that I lost my virginity in these boxers, but I cannot help but remember moments spent on long strolls through Foxpoint chatting about problems that, in retrospective, seem so trivial, yet so significant. I remember one particular stroll late at night, my 2 best friends on either side of me, I imagine the three of looked a strange sight. What reason do 2 teenage boys and a 6'2 man have strolling about the neighborhood at 2 o'clock in the fucking morning?! Turn off the damn flashlight!! I assume the three of us had been chatting about our girlfriends or lack there of, yet all I can remember is an all engulfing happiness as the cold pressed against us. A happiness bred of the belief that nothing could go aery, that life couldn't be more perfect. I suppose its strange that a pair of boxers could create such nostalgia.

Daniel McConeghy's Favorite T-Shirt

I do have memories in this T-Shirt, but not the strength to put them on paper. In the end, I suppose its more intelligent to thank this boy for attempting to pull me, kicking-and-screaming, through these first couple-of months and apologize for not only stealing his favorite t-shirt, but moreover, for scorning his attempts at helping me and demonizing him for his honesty. I am sorry, I truly am.

Cameron Graff's Volcom Athletic Shorts

I stole these shorts approximately 5 months ago as I attempted to scrape together an outfit for my 4th straight day in Cedarburg. I could barely think because of the crippling exhaustion and my stomach ached as I heard Mrs.Graff screaming "Pancakes!" I couldn't take another moment of anticipation. She made the best pancakes. I'd been 2 seconds from dropping the towel and running through the house. Not my house, but the house of one of my dearest friends, butt naked just to get my hands on a couple-of pancakes. Suddenly I snapped back to reality and realized that to be an atrocious idea. I grabbed the shorts out of the closet, tossed on a shirt and careened down the stairs. I don't remember the rest of the day, but it probably progressed along the lines-of most days in Cedarburg. Thats not to say that days in Cedarburg remained the same every moment of every day, but each day seemed to move along in a certain blissful pattern. The 2 of us sat around for a couple-of hours as Cameron begged for me to leave because he had an "insanely busy day" but more often than not, he'd spend the day around me. Then, someone tended to come and pick me up, and thus be forced to entertain me for a couple-of hours, but I'd like to believe that that one special person that picked me up EVERYTIME loved to be around me, as I loved to be around her. The day passed and as the sun fell beneath the tree-line I'd struggle to find a place to stay. Heaven. Home. The one-place I can be me.

There are more stolen articles of clothing and many more memories to tell and perhaps another installment may come along, but at the moment I feel sleep closing in, as I remember those days of happiness, those days I miss so dearly.

Introduction

2009-10-08T06:21:00.000-07:00

This series of "essays" probably isn't gonna be as creative or entertaining as the essays of other bloggers, I mean the compositions of CGraff and Alex I3eck are a tough act, but I feel as if this blog could offer an interesting means of sharing experiences in this strange place that I find myself in and conveying the emotions that I feel as a result. I have also found that putting phrases and sentences on paper offers a positive means of relaxation for me, as I attempt to control the stress and frustration I feel as the days go by, so I suppose that at the moment this blog is an open-ended means of self-expression, as is all writing.