a journal entry I wrote today at the an elementary school playground
with my friends on a lovely day:
I was soaking up the vitamin D and I was watching the light hitting the mens' faces and teeth, writing blurbs about what I observed. Just blurbs, silly statements to remember what it was I was witnessing today as I wrote for the thoughts of yesterday.
There is no time, no time to miss up the chance of expressing my appreciation for today-- only time to appreciate. There is always time to appreciate. Always things to appreciate.
Swing sets, only dread being that of a sunset, the patting noise the edge of their sneakers make on the soccer ball. Glistening strands of hair falling into the view of my small journal, Shadows like claws on your face, eyes rich with color in the peaks of these shadows. Look at what I'm sitting on, I'm sitting on earth. Not noticing the grass as green, but the ability to soak in so many gorgeous shades of green. Sun rays making it stand out from other days.
Oh and the teeth, I mentioned the light on the teeth. Have you wondered about the smiles? 'Cause I have. So much joy from each one of them, happiness leaking through the spaces imbetween each individual tooth. And the laughter, I can hear the laughter louder than the birds joyous songs-- I know now a grown man can have more fun at a child's playground than a bird can have flying above us all in a seemingly endless sky.
Above us, the birds are above us... but never have we felt so high. Enriched, Enriched in an experience that was waiting to happen. We are feeling the breeze, we are feeling the breeze more than you, birds... And we are feeling it down here, against our warm smile-stained faces.
A beautiful day, a miraculous day...
friendship should be considered a drug on such a day,
a day who's beauty is already so enthralling.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
my clay bowl.
Perfection is a lie!
I made a clay bowl out of scraps. I was only supposed to use the scrap clay for practice on the pottery wheel, but when I looked down on what was my very first bowl I thought it to be the most magnificent little clay bowl ever. Until it turned out that the amount of clay I was given wasn't enough to make a decently width-sized standard bowl.
While attempting to make the foot of my bowl, it came to my attention just how thin the clay was and that it wouldn't be able to be a proper and usable bowl. My art teacher looked over at my discontent position when coming to this realization, and then recited to me, "You shouldn't get so attached to your piece, there is always time to try and reach your goal again!"
You are probably wondering what relevance all of this may serve?
How can this be related to something of any sort of significance?
I took my teachers advice towards creating a bowl as advice to a higher extent and I believe that our outlook on things should be that equal to my teachers outlook on creating art. There is no use in stressing over something that isn't useful to us, There is always time to work towards something/try and create something that appeals to us again-- something that is more useful, more practical, and has more purpose to OUR OWN life.
There is no use in wasting our time on someone something that only makes our own life harder. There is no use in making that someone something out to be something that is perfect, because you may find it never was. Maybe you just over-looked the imperfections. Sometimes the smallest little factor can lead to you having unnecessary displeasure. Sometimes... it's best to just move on and find someone something more helpful.
I made a bowl, I worked hard, I thought it was magnificent
but that bowl couldn't hold what I needed it to,
and I shouldn't have gotten so attached
to something that can't help me.
I made a clay bowl out of scraps. I was only supposed to use the scrap clay for practice on the pottery wheel, but when I looked down on what was my very first bowl I thought it to be the most magnificent little clay bowl ever. Until it turned out that the amount of clay I was given wasn't enough to make a decently width-sized standard bowl.
While attempting to make the foot of my bowl, it came to my attention just how thin the clay was and that it wouldn't be able to be a proper and usable bowl. My art teacher looked over at my discontent position when coming to this realization, and then recited to me, "You shouldn't get so attached to your piece, there is always time to try and reach your goal again!"
You are probably wondering what relevance all of this may serve?
How can this be related to something of any sort of significance?
I took my teachers advice towards creating a bowl as advice to a higher extent and I believe that our outlook on things should be that equal to my teachers outlook on creating art. There is no use in stressing over something that isn't useful to us, There is always time to work towards something/try and create something that appeals to us again-- something that is more useful, more practical, and has more purpose to OUR OWN life.
There is no use in wasting our time on someone something that only makes our own life harder. There is no use in making that someone something out to be something that is perfect, because you may find it never was. Maybe you just over-looked the imperfections. Sometimes the smallest little factor can lead to you having unnecessary displeasure. Sometimes... it's best to just move on and find someone something more helpful.
I made a bowl, I worked hard, I thought it was magnificent
but that bowl couldn't hold what I needed it to,
and I shouldn't have gotten so attached
to something that can't help me.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
destination: art.
For as long as I can remember, I've been coming home from school feeling as though no matter how much information I've absorbed in all of my classes it is slowly shifting to the back of my mind, hiding there, eventually to be forgotten with no real satisfaction of accomplishment behind it. It wasn't until this year that I realized the change in tone I had towards telling someone about my school day. Much enthusiasm is expressed whilst describing the conclusion of my school day-- my art class. There is always a lengthy conversation about my art class.
It's amazing the acknowledgment I gained of one of the most indescribable feelings in the world-- Having a destination and actually, whole-heartily, enjoying the progression leading towards that destination. Everything in my life that I have been through always started off with me imagining the best possible outcome-- Whether it be with my social life, or things I was trying to accomplish for myself. But never, and I mean never, in my life have I felt as if I'd be content with any outcome I was working towards.
If you were wondering; No... I'm not saying I always take pride in the finished product of everything I create. A lot of the times I feel what I have created was nothing close to the imagery I created in my mind-- The fact is that I DID create something, I DID reach a conclusion, and with minimum stress possible; and these are the facts that make the piece I created appear to be the outcome I wanted from the beginning.
Instead of feeling emotionally drained from my efforts and the process to get something accomplished in a way that suits me, I feel as though my emotion and motive has multiplied and is being portrayed in WHATEVER it is I made. My artwork is the child of my ambitious need to create and complete, and my ambition is always a proud parent.
Art is the only destination I feel I can reach,
the only destination I'm completely focused on reaching,
the only destination I'm always happy to reach.
It's amazing the acknowledgment I gained of one of the most indescribable feelings in the world-- Having a destination and actually, whole-heartily, enjoying the progression leading towards that destination. Everything in my life that I have been through always started off with me imagining the best possible outcome-- Whether it be with my social life, or things I was trying to accomplish for myself. But never, and I mean never, in my life have I felt as if I'd be content with any outcome I was working towards.
If you were wondering; No... I'm not saying I always take pride in the finished product of everything I create. A lot of the times I feel what I have created was nothing close to the imagery I created in my mind-- The fact is that I DID create something, I DID reach a conclusion, and with minimum stress possible; and these are the facts that make the piece I created appear to be the outcome I wanted from the beginning.
Instead of feeling emotionally drained from my efforts and the process to get something accomplished in a way that suits me, I feel as though my emotion and motive has multiplied and is being portrayed in WHATEVER it is I made. My artwork is the child of my ambitious need to create and complete, and my ambition is always a proud parent.
Art is the only destination I feel I can reach,
the only destination I'm completely focused on reaching,
the only destination I'm always happy to reach.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sonnet : Love Attire Worn at The Heart
In school I was assigned to write a love sonnet.
[sonnet; 14 lines, 4 quatrains and a conclusion couplet,
rhyme scheme abab cdcd efef gg ]
When writing poetry, guidelines are always a hassle to follow,
but I personally found writing about love most complicated
when I don't feel a positive romantic attachment to anyone presently.
All I feel I have been left with is a memory of an attachment
that has been torn from me. However, the love in my sonnet is stale,
but the sonnet itself is freshly derived from pure genuine emotion;
stripped from my mind and now being put on display.
Cheers to my weak heart!; thrown on a piece of paper for you to observe!
Here's to the readers!; for whatever purpose cliche expression may serve!
Love Attire Worn at The Heart
There was once a time I wore his love as my most attractive attire.
It gave me the security in my step, It brought out the color in my confidence.
Surely enough, I showed off how how he eased my sorrows and made me feel entire.
I wore the admiration well, and my happiness appealed to a large audience!
Over time, this evolved; I dragged my feet and my color miserably faded.
He began to disregard me, tug at the stitches that held us together.
He stripped me of my beauty, my glow, and left me bitter and jaded.
The audience whom adored what I wore on my soul noticed it altogether!
I loved a man who clothed me in what only I could wear best,
The appreciation and comfort I felt in his arms.
But now the apparel of his affections is no more appealing than the rest,
All of whoever-he-is-now can do for me is cover me in dishonest charms.
I loved a man, and thoughts of who he once was gets a discrete smile to start.
But that man is gone, and the love attire I once wore... It's worn at the heart.
[sonnet; 14 lines, 4 quatrains and a conclusion couplet,
rhyme scheme abab cdcd efef gg ]
When writing poetry, guidelines are always a hassle to follow,
but I personally found writing about love most complicated
when I don't feel a positive romantic attachment to anyone presently.
All I feel I have been left with is a memory of an attachment
that has been torn from me. However, the love in my sonnet is stale,
but the sonnet itself is freshly derived from pure genuine emotion;
stripped from my mind and now being put on display.
Cheers to my weak heart!; thrown on a piece of paper for you to observe!
Here's to the readers!; for whatever purpose cliche expression may serve!
Love Attire Worn at The Heart
There was once a time I wore his love as my most attractive attire.
It gave me the security in my step, It brought out the color in my confidence.
Surely enough, I showed off how how he eased my sorrows and made me feel entire.
I wore the admiration well, and my happiness appealed to a large audience!
Over time, this evolved; I dragged my feet and my color miserably faded.
He began to disregard me, tug at the stitches that held us together.
He stripped me of my beauty, my glow, and left me bitter and jaded.
The audience whom adored what I wore on my soul noticed it altogether!
I loved a man who clothed me in what only I could wear best,
The appreciation and comfort I felt in his arms.
But now the apparel of his affections is no more appealing than the rest,
All of whoever-he-is-now can do for me is cover me in dishonest charms.
I loved a man, and thoughts of who he once was gets a discrete smile to start.
But that man is gone, and the love attire I once wore... It's worn at the heart.
Monday, February 16, 2009
valentines day.
So I originally had plans to spend my valentines day with someone I could cuddle up to, someone who could feed into my want for affection and attention. All though, those plans changed awfully quick when I realized the only person who I had genuinely wanted those intents from was paying mind to another relation. I can't say I was bothered, afterall; I told him things would be easier if he just went for someone else and left me with no more hope to salvage from. It's not as if anything was going to come from the little pieces of hope I've gathered-- might aswell throw them out the window. However, I can't say I wasn't bothered either.
For the days this information has come to my gathering, that he had taken up on what my mind had dished out for him rather than what my heart was crying out for (to be with another compared to being with me), I had shut down completely. No sleep, none what-so-ever, no in-depth thought, no want. It's as if I was put back to stage one of a break up, left in a feeling of anxiety with no real motive. I felt this kind of discrete depression and disconnection before... and honestly, at this point, it just struck on my nerve. I'm tired of feeling the same emotions over different ridiculous scenarios. A mistake was made when creating our primitive mind-- it's complex enough to distort general want to feel comfort into something so much more, but the conclusions it comes to, the emotions we are left with after the fact, they are repetitive and dull. I got BORED.
I popped every pill in my cabinet that could relieve pain, looking for effects I can surface. My face became warm again, there was a feeling of cinderblocks on my pupils, my hands shook, my veins popped like the view of a ripe fruit, my throat was dry and my stomach felt as if it were about to rip through my muscle flesh and skin and scream...... I needed curly fries. I wound up at the saddle brook diner at 1:30 in the morning? This is all besides my point.
I wanted to avoid popping a pill for a head ache to receive another head ache. I wanted to avoid popping a pill to fill the empty place in the center of my stomach, to have me feel like I was about to puke whatever was left in that silly stomach. So I decided I needed a better method to distract myself from this overbearing and uncreative emotion. I told Paul about the situations I was put in recently... Having someone I care deeply about think I "hate" him and moving on without a second thought, and having someone I had growing feelings for completely disown me after a spark of getting further from where we stood, and most importantly... spending valentines day knowing that all my efforts brought me to loneliness and discontent.
We decided to get away, took a trip to Philly for Valentines day, and honestly... I completely forgot it was valentines day. And what would it matter if I did remember the symbolism of the day? Would I have really wanted someone to feel obligated to show me affections through a date on my calendar? Forget that. I had my Philly Cheese steak, Indeed I did! I had the time of my life seeing all new faces, feeling new, feeling refreshed... Even if the city didn't smell so new and refreshed. None-the-less, nothing could keep me from feeling over-powered by the rush of a spontaneous trip to a new city.
Remind me to never spend another valentines day with a lover;
take me somewhere, anywhere.
I want to see everything, I want to feel every rush,
except the rush of a heartbeat--that rush got stale long ago.
For the days this information has come to my gathering, that he had taken up on what my mind had dished out for him rather than what my heart was crying out for (to be with another compared to being with me), I had shut down completely. No sleep, none what-so-ever, no in-depth thought, no want. It's as if I was put back to stage one of a break up, left in a feeling of anxiety with no real motive. I felt this kind of discrete depression and disconnection before... and honestly, at this point, it just struck on my nerve. I'm tired of feeling the same emotions over different ridiculous scenarios. A mistake was made when creating our primitive mind-- it's complex enough to distort general want to feel comfort into something so much more, but the conclusions it comes to, the emotions we are left with after the fact, they are repetitive and dull. I got BORED.
I popped every pill in my cabinet that could relieve pain, looking for effects I can surface. My face became warm again, there was a feeling of cinderblocks on my pupils, my hands shook, my veins popped like the view of a ripe fruit, my throat was dry and my stomach felt as if it were about to rip through my muscle flesh and skin and scream...... I needed curly fries. I wound up at the saddle brook diner at 1:30 in the morning? This is all besides my point.
I wanted to avoid popping a pill for a head ache to receive another head ache. I wanted to avoid popping a pill to fill the empty place in the center of my stomach, to have me feel like I was about to puke whatever was left in that silly stomach. So I decided I needed a better method to distract myself from this overbearing and uncreative emotion. I told Paul about the situations I was put in recently... Having someone I care deeply about think I "hate" him and moving on without a second thought, and having someone I had growing feelings for completely disown me after a spark of getting further from where we stood, and most importantly... spending valentines day knowing that all my efforts brought me to loneliness and discontent.
We decided to get away, took a trip to Philly for Valentines day, and honestly... I completely forgot it was valentines day. And what would it matter if I did remember the symbolism of the day? Would I have really wanted someone to feel obligated to show me affections through a date on my calendar? Forget that. I had my Philly Cheese steak, Indeed I did! I had the time of my life seeing all new faces, feeling new, feeling refreshed... Even if the city didn't smell so new and refreshed. None-the-less, nothing could keep me from feeling over-powered by the rush of a spontaneous trip to a new city.
Remind me to never spend another valentines day with a lover;
take me somewhere, anywhere.
I want to see everything, I want to feel every rush,
except the rush of a heartbeat--that rush got stale long ago.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
dream faces.
So I had a dream, whilst passing out on my couch after school, of a man I never have met before. Atleast, I don't believe I have met him; however, I must have atleast saw his face once before. It has been said that our minds are only strong enough to be capable of bringing things we've seen before up in our dreams. Our subconscious mind does not have the ability to create a face. Therefore, faces of people in our dreams (even if not recognized in said dream) in all actuality, belong to someone... someone we have witnessed.
In this dream, the man was my boyfriend. (Lately I've been lonely, so I suppose this would make sense.) He was attractive, but an odd kind of attractive I would have never picked up on unless infatuated with him, as I was in the dream. I did not and could not recognize him upon waking up, but in the dream I was strangely attached to him. He went to college, somewhere distant but not too distant, and I was upset because we had some sort of plans. The dream was vague and portrayed a false reality, as they usually do, so it had some how multiplied minutes and jumped to him coming in the early night and setting up some picnic-like scene at the park to make it up to me for a missed out date. This probably sounds disgustingly cliche, but it really was quite the sight, romantic in the LEAST. I woke up feeling lonelier than before, and I wondered...
I wondered if the faces of the people in our dreams are faces of people we were supposed to meet. I don't know about you readers, but there are certain people I see in a crowd and wonder about. I don't necessarily find them appealing, they don't always look friendly, but for whatever reason they are quickly observed and questions are asked within the boundaries of my mind. When I have dreams such as these (of a stranger that my mind some how convinced me I had some deep connection with) it makes me consider that these may be the faces of people I once rudely interrogated in my thoughts.
Sitting in my mom's car, waiting for her to hurry and get some things from the super market, I may glance at a man coming out of his car and wonder what he's thinking or feeling, give him a less-than-vague background story, assume certain things about him... but only for that moment and that moment only. None-the-less, that moment-- even though forgotten the the next hour, maybe only a few moments after-- some how it is still imprinted and forever saved in the back of my mind, a part of my mind that I won't be able to access.... except in dreams. Any face I've ever wondered about, for a fraction of a fraction of a second even, can show up in my dreams... Why is that?
Is there some significance to the people these faces belong to?
Maybe they were someone who could have been part of my life
but because my mind had only recognized their presence for such a short extent
I missed out on this unknown chance to change destiny.
Maybe not, but it's something to think about, right?? =]
In this dream, the man was my boyfriend. (Lately I've been lonely, so I suppose this would make sense.) He was attractive, but an odd kind of attractive I would have never picked up on unless infatuated with him, as I was in the dream. I did not and could not recognize him upon waking up, but in the dream I was strangely attached to him. He went to college, somewhere distant but not too distant, and I was upset because we had some sort of plans. The dream was vague and portrayed a false reality, as they usually do, so it had some how multiplied minutes and jumped to him coming in the early night and setting up some picnic-like scene at the park to make it up to me for a missed out date. This probably sounds disgustingly cliche, but it really was quite the sight, romantic in the LEAST. I woke up feeling lonelier than before, and I wondered...
I wondered if the faces of the people in our dreams are faces of people we were supposed to meet. I don't know about you readers, but there are certain people I see in a crowd and wonder about. I don't necessarily find them appealing, they don't always look friendly, but for whatever reason they are quickly observed and questions are asked within the boundaries of my mind. When I have dreams such as these (of a stranger that my mind some how convinced me I had some deep connection with) it makes me consider that these may be the faces of people I once rudely interrogated in my thoughts.
Sitting in my mom's car, waiting for her to hurry and get some things from the super market, I may glance at a man coming out of his car and wonder what he's thinking or feeling, give him a less-than-vague background story, assume certain things about him... but only for that moment and that moment only. None-the-less, that moment-- even though forgotten the the next hour, maybe only a few moments after-- some how it is still imprinted and forever saved in the back of my mind, a part of my mind that I won't be able to access.... except in dreams. Any face I've ever wondered about, for a fraction of a fraction of a second even, can show up in my dreams... Why is that?
Is there some significance to the people these faces belong to?
Maybe they were someone who could have been part of my life
but because my mind had only recognized their presence for such a short extent
I missed out on this unknown chance to change destiny.
Maybe not, but it's something to think about, right?? =]
Saturday, January 31, 2009
potential in a butterfly seeker?
From what I've learned, there are two types of personalities one can have when going into a relationship. One, which I believe I have had and maintained through my experiences, is the personality of a loyal individual, one who knows where he or she stands independently but can submit to their relationship enough to be comfortable in a constant effort to conserve equivalence with their significant other. I decided to title these personality types the "classic partners". Classic partners have an honest approach, a want for consistency, and a need for the person they are involved with to stay in their life despite difficulties. They rarely believe in "falling out" of love, they only believe in the evolution of love. Romance could easily be replaced by a feeling security and a deep friendship.
The second personality a partner can have is something I would like to call "A butterfly seeker", however; this type of partner can have subcategories of those with well inentions and those with ill intentions, they are still in a general category of mixed emotion and mislead motives. This may be due to not knowing what exactly they want, or it can be due to a false ideal of love always having an air of cliche romance. I call this second type a butterfly seeker because often when first infatuated with someone, there has been a common misconception that feeling like there are "butterflys in the stomach" is a feeling of "falling in love." What is failed to realize is that this isn't love, it's having attraction put a shy but giddy lingering feeling in our body, a feeling that is only temporary until those feelings are traded in for comfort and protection. Butterfly seekers are the ones who become disinterested when that tickling in the stomach and lift of the spirits is gone, knowledge of the one they were once to mesmerized by isn't reward enough, and they go seeking for that natural high of "falling in love" over again.
Personally, I believe falling in love is one of the best emotions one can feel. I too love the feeling of a jump of the heart at a smile in the distance and the admiration that rushes through my veins when recieving a first kiss. But when is it acceptable to disown this want for a deeper attachment? I mean, that feeling can't POSSIBLY get boring, correct?
This is true, but we don't go into relationships wanting to just feel good and be entertained by overwelming emotion, and those who do shouldn't go into a relationship. My theory of love and my approach on relationships is very strict and logical; however, the only issue I have-- the only thing that has me up at night pondering for hours, is the potential in a butterfly seeker. Some never grow out of their lovey-dovey quest, but is it possible for one to? Is it possible to get a butterfly seekers head out of the clouds and keep them grounded, or will that butterfly seeker try to get to the level of a butterfly, high and care-free?
Butterfly seekers are the disowners, the cheaters, the ones that just want to FEEL love and not commit to it.
But how far can I push the capabilities of a person like this, and is it my responsibility to do so?
I believe I'm in love with a butterfly seeker, and because I'm a classic partner that opinion won't change.
Why is it that us classic partners are always trying to tie-down a butterfly seeker?
Why are we trying to rip them of their wings of romance?
The second personality a partner can have is something I would like to call "A butterfly seeker", however; this type of partner can have subcategories of those with well inentions and those with ill intentions, they are still in a general category of mixed emotion and mislead motives. This may be due to not knowing what exactly they want, or it can be due to a false ideal of love always having an air of cliche romance. I call this second type a butterfly seeker because often when first infatuated with someone, there has been a common misconception that feeling like there are "butterflys in the stomach" is a feeling of "falling in love." What is failed to realize is that this isn't love, it's having attraction put a shy but giddy lingering feeling in our body, a feeling that is only temporary until those feelings are traded in for comfort and protection. Butterfly seekers are the ones who become disinterested when that tickling in the stomach and lift of the spirits is gone, knowledge of the one they were once to mesmerized by isn't reward enough, and they go seeking for that natural high of "falling in love" over again.
Personally, I believe falling in love is one of the best emotions one can feel. I too love the feeling of a jump of the heart at a smile in the distance and the admiration that rushes through my veins when recieving a first kiss. But when is it acceptable to disown this want for a deeper attachment? I mean, that feeling can't POSSIBLY get boring, correct?
This is true, but we don't go into relationships wanting to just feel good and be entertained by overwelming emotion, and those who do shouldn't go into a relationship. My theory of love and my approach on relationships is very strict and logical; however, the only issue I have-- the only thing that has me up at night pondering for hours, is the potential in a butterfly seeker. Some never grow out of their lovey-dovey quest, but is it possible for one to? Is it possible to get a butterfly seekers head out of the clouds and keep them grounded, or will that butterfly seeker try to get to the level of a butterfly, high and care-free?
Butterfly seekers are the disowners, the cheaters, the ones that just want to FEEL love and not commit to it.
But how far can I push the capabilities of a person like this, and is it my responsibility to do so?
I believe I'm in love with a butterfly seeker, and because I'm a classic partner that opinion won't change.
Why is it that us classic partners are always trying to tie-down a butterfly seeker?
Why are we trying to rip them of their wings of romance?
Is it possible for them to change for us?
Is it worth it? Will they be happy?
Will we ever be?
Is it worth it? Will they be happy?
Will we ever be?
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