tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18568055889657774402024-02-19T16:11:29.922-06:00Angst & AgonyAudacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-73552517362104816802013-10-31T11:03:00.000-06:002013-10-31T11:54:18.931-06:00Remember how we forgot?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/NBVJuA0jr6Y?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Poetry should please by a fine excess and not by singularity. It should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost as a remembrance. -John Keats</span></div>
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So I was up late the other night, like 1 or 2 in the morning or so. Even though I knew that I should be sleeping already I just enjoy staying up late. I like finding new stuff like the video above for instance. I was browsing facebook, seeing if there was anything interesting someone had posted. Not just "had a great turkey sandwich for lunch" or "fml" but something to slightly enrich my existence. So I saw a post by a friend that I know through my cousin, and who also volunteers at a summer camp with me. She said "This is true poetry." And just like that my curiosity was piqued. I read on, she said considering all the crap you're scrolling through on facebook it's worth it, take a few minutes and watch it.<br />
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I can't tell you how glad I am that I clicked it. I feel as if that video has shifted my path in life. Not necessarily externally (although I hope it does), but internally this video as well as his other work is inspiring me in ways I haven't felt in quite some time, since I actually believed in God and would get similar feelings in church.<br />
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After watching the video, once the goosebumps subsided, I began searching ravenously for all I could find that this man, Shane Koyczan had ever done. Minutes into my search I purchased an ebook of his poems. As cheap as I am, if I buy something rather than trying to find a free copy somewhere it is something very special to me. I felt the 8 bucks or so was well worth the impact that he had had on me already. I just wished I could throw more money at him. Eventually I know I will buy more of his stuff.<br />
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What I think affects me so much, besides of course his immense talent at the use of words to make you feel things, was that he reminded me what I loved so much about the time when I was writing poetry. The raw passion that can be put into a poem, once you stop caring so much about formalities and just make something that comes from deep inside you, something you have to say even if no one ever truly hears it. He made me remember that trying is what's important, and not just that wimpy "trying" where you say oh well I tried in order to excuse yourself for giving up. Trying in the sense of pursuing your dreams in a relentless pursuit where the only way your giving up is when they stick you in the ground or burn your remains to spread in the ocean. Waking up every damn day and saying, "Today I will do better than yesterday." I will never be perfect, I will never have it all figured out, but I'm not sitting around waiting just because I don't have all the answers. I'm going to shine, to do what I am passionate about. To chase the dreams that make my heart race when I think of them. My only hope is that watching the video can have at least a fraction of the impact it has had on me. Because I feel different. I feel more hopeful, I feel less afraid.<br />
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I am passionate about sharing ideas, and sharing them in such a way that no one has quite heard before. Each moment of our seemingly ordinary existence is filled with such weight, if only because it is transient and will never come back around again. Each moment is a beat in a giant symphony composed by the universe that it plays for itself.<br />
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Today, find your "instrument" and join in the chorus.<br />
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<br />Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-68678307586460008462013-10-28T22:35:00.001-06:002013-10-28T22:38:52.774-06:00I Need to Start Drawing Again...So, Ender's Game comes out this Friday. I am so excited to go see it. I usually don't go to the movies if I can help it. I'd rather just wait for the movie to come out on DVD. But with this one, since I have waited so long for it I am going to make an exception.<br />
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This Friday also marks the first day of NaNoWriMo. I am hopeful that I will be able to stick with it this year. It doesn't matter to me if I get to the end and the novel is really rough or even total crap. To me, if I can set the goal of 50,000 words in one month, and follow through with it, it will be a huge deal to me regardless of the quality of my first draft.<br />
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I don't have a lot of content for this post, but I did want to share some pictures. Another of my hobbies that I really enjoy is drawing. Unfortunately, as with writing I have been out of the habit for quite some time. It really bugs me because I look back at these drawings and remember how much I loved it, and how much progress I made in a short time. Then I start thinking that like muscles that atrophy without exercise, my drawing "muscle" may be pretty weak at this point. My hope is that sharing these, and possibly getting some feedback may give me a push to start drawing again.<br />
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<br />Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-66664708307465783252013-10-17T19:36:00.001-05:002013-11-01T20:13:05.699-06:0016 Days Without a Government<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">“Yeah It’s gonna be a sunny day today” dad said as he walked out of the living room.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">It’s morning, 9:35 am on Thursday. I work at the library today. It’s that wonderful time of year when it’s cool out and stays that way most of the day. I am excited about the changes I am making. Despite the fact that I have tried before I am not going to give up despite failing. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The government apparently made a deal to reopen today, big whoop. Forgive me if I just don’t care about the government. It hurts my brain to think of how incompetent and corrupt they are. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Woke up yesterday to hearing my uncle Robby in the house talking to my dad. Apparently he had gotten a cab to our house, not knowing the situation at his house. We had been worried about him for a couple days after finding he went to jail. Erika, his girlfriend, apparently called the police after he choked her and threw her against the wall. He was then awoken from sleep to cops in his house, pointing tasers at him and yelling at him not to move. He shared a lot of stories with us about his time in jail. He said that what happened was his fault. She had tried to get him to stop drinking, saying that he’d had enough. But he wouldn’t listen and got very angry. He was remorseful, but in a way seemed grateful for the wake-up call. He is 50 years old and has kept living like he’s in his 20′s. He spent most nights/weekends in bars, and drank entirely too much for one person. He will be on probation for 4 years, since what he was charged with was a third degree felony. I feel bad for him. I wish he could have had an epiphany about changing his lifestyle without having to go to jail and go through all the stuff that comes with that. Robin and Rachel, my cousins, showed up with his truck and hung out for awhile.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">My legs are extremely sore, I can only assume from being on my feet more at the new job. Speaking of the new job, I am loving it so far. It’s exciting to be doing new things. I am excited to see the store grow and to be a part of it as it grows. Plus it’s cool to have access to stuff that conveniently and I get a great discount.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">I feel hopeful. I want to shift my focus, shift my thinking. I want to choose to do things, rather than succumb to inertia to guide my day. It is going to be a process, but I am committed to it. It will involve me actively being aware each moment of my motivation for what I’m doing. Am I doing it just to do it, or because it’s what I usually do? Or am I doing it because I truly want to do it?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Tim can’t sweat out of one armpit because of the radiation he had for his cancer, how weird is that. I will miss hanging out with him and talking with him at work. We are both at the point where we want to move on. Maybe I can make a point to get together with him from time to time.</span></span></div>
</div>
Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-70875283471175529232013-10-10T19:57:00.001-05:002013-10-10T19:57:55.051-05:00A New Beginning...You know what one of the most glorious things about life is?<br />
<br />
It's the fact that as long as you are still alive, you always have the option of a new beginning. This can be in regards to anything. It could be your career, your hobbies, your "style", or even your dormant blog that is gathering dust. Each and every day you have the opportunity to begin again. In a world where the majority of us are unhappy with some aspect of our lives, this is great news. We can be actively involved in reshaping our future. But we must make the choice, and to choose, we must first believe that we have some influence over how our lives turn out.<br />
<br />
I have been in quite the rut these days, for several years it seems. Working the same part-time job, the same drive to and from said job, the same daily routine of lounging around doing random things until it's time to go into work, then lounging around after work doing random things. I have lacked a clear and defined purpose for quite some time. Before it was finish my degree in math, and then go from there. But when I changed my mind and took some time off from school, I fell into the trap of being comfortable. And over time it has gotten more and more difficult to think about overcoming my fear of change. But the good news is I am taking steps. This post is one of those steps. I have been putting off my first new post for too long, thinking I needed to have some kind of epic post to make a comeback with. But I realized that this is one of those faulty ways of thinking that has destroyed my creative process for too long. The idea that before putting anything on paper or writing anything I need to have a clearly defined image or plan of what I want to write and then I can start.<br />
<br />
I've learned by reading the advice of a bunch of other writers that the only way to make something better is to get the crappy version down on paper first. Commit it to ink or pixels on a screen. At least then it is something physical that can be revised and perfected. An idea cannot truly be reworked until it is written, as much as you think you can do it all in your head. There is a power in getting everything about an idea out, and then tweaking what you have, removing unnecessary things, and revising for clarity.<br />
<br />
My new beginning started last week. I set a very modest goal for myself of committing to writing 500 words a day. I set it low at first to encourage me to do it, since 500 words can be pounded out very quickly. I won't say I haven't missed a day or two since I started but I don't sweat it. I just try again the next day. I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed those little sessions, usually in the morning with coffee. It reminds me of the joy I used to find in writing. It reminds me of the passion I used to feel. I want to recapture that passion and watch it grow.<br />
<br />
That is why I have also committed to doing NaNoWriMo this year, aka National Novel Writing Month. This is an event where writers from all over come together during November and share the journey of writing a novel in 30 days. 50,000 words in 30 days, or roughly 1667 words a day. Only about 3 times what I initially set for myself, which I feel is totally doable if I work up to it. I have also been following through a 30 day preparation challenge that goes throughout October in order to be better prepared than I was the last two years.<br />
<br />
I also started another new beginning recently. I got a second part time job that I start on Saturday, and I'm really excited. I'm hoping to gain some experience, get a little extra cash, and overall just try something totally different to get out of my comfort zone. It's a job working in a retail e-cigarette location. I am really excited about it because it is something I know a lot about since I've been using an e-cigarette for about 4 months now.<br />
<br />
So new beginnings all around for me, new blog post after a few years, new commitment to honing my writing talent, and a new job. I am ready to challenge myself, and force myself to grow as a person. It's been far too long that I have been stagnant and resistant to change. I'm ready for something new. Drop me a comment to keep me motivated to stay active here. Honestly, my favorite part of blogging was always reading the comments from you guys/gals out there. Until next time, what new beginning are you going to embark on today? <br />
<br />
<br />Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-15126400128414461932010-09-23T18:50:00.001-05:002010-09-24T13:18:01.070-05:00Boredom on Paper<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6P0oJRHSUZJw8lPDjbpprMJPEPZk2q0yBoz8mlr64GGonMCCawcVd8E-yEDM_GValUxSjAwQAfhqqsgeOUZsm2kRDTSLmBvD8TkwkU9DpvXsUN8hiP5lrkt9HtgBA6i-kIoH2_c-3Gp6/s1600/ScannedImage-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6P0oJRHSUZJw8lPDjbpprMJPEPZk2q0yBoz8mlr64GGonMCCawcVd8E-yEDM_GValUxSjAwQAfhqqsgeOUZsm2kRDTSLmBvD8TkwkU9DpvXsUN8hiP5lrkt9HtgBA6i-kIoH2_c-3Gp6/s320/ScannedImage-2.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC6dvXi9aaEXYXxS9lbi7k3iiDcGSQn58_2Lr2lHdecBHse-6qbvVqgo_ED5-fJS8Uu6dey37ZASKh7I8TyY5UeHoWE7eyfMcmBk-lckdNXpE8lPSgRDx9b2_OHbS4IS7iE-Wurk1S0fQy/s1600/ScannedImage-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC6dvXi9aaEXYXxS9lbi7k3iiDcGSQn58_2Lr2lHdecBHse-6qbvVqgo_ED5-fJS8Uu6dey37ZASKh7I8TyY5UeHoWE7eyfMcmBk-lckdNXpE8lPSgRDx9b2_OHbS4IS7iE-Wurk1S0fQy/s320/ScannedImage-3.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOHkPAmA9sBM-Ji5oV2Lbq1rHTdh_LHGyj2cq0k8FEKYfSXKiveGSxnD8BZMw21NK0_iQ4s29jz8RiyPqm5S9NTd2f9WCUQtXzvw4N4vtnMfbFJ2aXYrnRfAXwuIZvbvx1-du99dxPDb2P/s1600/ScannedImage-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOHkPAmA9sBM-Ji5oV2Lbq1rHTdh_LHGyj2cq0k8FEKYfSXKiveGSxnD8BZMw21NK0_iQ4s29jz8RiyPqm5S9NTd2f9WCUQtXzvw4N4vtnMfbFJ2aXYrnRfAXwuIZvbvx1-du99dxPDb2P/s320/ScannedImage-4.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i2JH5iCk6t1RzskyCZMstbcnZogKoboP9EY5S0SbrBOe8NW3fjiDOAo0TCDS0iWjnTecT2_ZZjJQK9zH0dur9iCzKQXrNXQ03DNN1OnPEGy52tmtmgRF9kcgMFVZQky4T4QS8PqqMRbd/s1600/ScannedImage-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i2JH5iCk6t1RzskyCZMstbcnZogKoboP9EY5S0SbrBOe8NW3fjiDOAo0TCDS0iWjnTecT2_ZZjJQK9zH0dur9iCzKQXrNXQ03DNN1OnPEGy52tmtmgRF9kcgMFVZQky4T4QS8PqqMRbd/s320/ScannedImage-5.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvdaj3RWZyeEIZcQ-uIYE8tkJ6O1UsHYEK-QbWan_KOk7duJsEvFENEaCELHXVc2ox-631RKhSvILgaGAoToEe0FDczF2tfXe8g8aZzRitlgHLBi6Jrg5V1SLyLYvO7hZ9tdutDOgN3_eh/s1600/ScannedImage-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvdaj3RWZyeEIZcQ-uIYE8tkJ6O1UsHYEK-QbWan_KOk7duJsEvFENEaCELHXVc2ox-631RKhSvILgaGAoToEe0FDczF2tfXe8g8aZzRitlgHLBi6Jrg5V1SLyLYvO7hZ9tdutDOgN3_eh/s320/ScannedImage-6.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UTr15YlREHc8-OEOzKW6yfx8qtdeoFMTCk3z_FmF4eHaHKvyhHLZgOn0szalbBk67x8-nCCxLzQCgU-OuIzQc3E9QgctdYzz0Unaeix_5cZYGSvTeXwH58PAWGPuODw69ZzvWi6idpsc/s1600/ScannedImage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UTr15YlREHc8-OEOzKW6yfx8qtdeoFMTCk3z_FmF4eHaHKvyhHLZgOn0szalbBk67x8-nCCxLzQCgU-OuIzQc3E9QgctdYzz0Unaeix_5cZYGSvTeXwH58PAWGPuODw69ZzvWi6idpsc/s320/ScannedImage.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIbfXNqzH51Y7qITlh85J-jfkq56LtiWDR7u-j5TWg7JDw9WayD0j7auYK1AVMC6CCEglLO50c58PC6TcMds90ReiiAfER1nP9bzjKV4tv4wKmrzrg2I6IJX8eZ2mevRR11oGg02r3RPU/s1600/ScannedImage-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIbfXNqzH51Y7qITlh85J-jfkq56LtiWDR7u-j5TWg7JDw9WayD0j7auYK1AVMC6CCEglLO50c58PC6TcMds90ReiiAfER1nP9bzjKV4tv4wKmrzrg2I6IJX8eZ2mevRR11oGg02r3RPU/s320/ScannedImage-12.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCeBYyyfMC7e9RVMBZQY96qLl8gMG0e7xbLvR7k9Tz6G_viWO69Euw5f0_kx3D7Rb1mms3MCaRcXxRiMm_m_X89TvkyACKxfmzLaEAfrae2S07mTcC_9_vZkygXXdONcXkGA-XJy5G6Gdp/s1600/ScannedImage-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCeBYyyfMC7e9RVMBZQY96qLl8gMG0e7xbLvR7k9Tz6G_viWO69Euw5f0_kx3D7Rb1mms3MCaRcXxRiMm_m_X89TvkyACKxfmzLaEAfrae2S07mTcC_9_vZkygXXdONcXkGA-XJy5G6Gdp/s320/ScannedImage-10.jpg" /></a>Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-88589146600194110772010-09-19T13:28:00.004-05:002013-11-01T20:17:56.585-06:00The Root of 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://warrensburg.k12.mo.us/math/euclid/jacobwebEuclid.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="388" src="http://warrensburg.k12.mo.us/math/euclid/jacobwebEuclid.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
Can you drain the poison from the these veins before injecting more?<br />
I just want to own you, make you mine forever more.<br />
And through it all I should have learned, and through it all I should be stronger.<br />
But all I know is I got burned, and I can't take the questions any longer.<br />
<br />
Love is equal to the square root of two, irrational, never ending,<br />
and contrary to every proven theory past or pending.<br />
How do we make sense of senseless things?<br />
How do we soothe these scrapes and stings?<br />
<br />
So afraid, and too tired for another stab at love.<br />
I am eternally waiting, for that fateful shove,<br />
bringing the questionably existent Ms. Right,<br />
before my eyes, but what if it happened last night?<br />
<br />
Is the one I want the one I really need?<br />
I give myself too much advice I never heed.<br />
Should we just listen to these baser desires?<br />
Even though they burn us up like blazing fires.<br />
<br />
All that's certain is the night is coming to an end.<br />
All eyes in this dusty bar search the room for a friend.<br />
Into the room, kill the lights, and lock the door.<br />
For one last time, let's settle the score.Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-53725015939405139432010-08-26T13:07:00.002-05:002010-08-26T13:15:32.408-05:00Scars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ayannanahmias.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/woman-with-gun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="http://ayannanahmias.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/woman-with-gun.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In your face, the scars of men reside<br />
Souls are bartered for and hearts shoplifted,<br />
a tiny green chunk of malachite<br />
took its place, a tinge of hope<br />
in the polish that reflects white streaks<br />
like memories, like tiny piercing darts<br />
Of light, what brought it on that frigid night?<br />
<br />
The weight you carried became too much<br />
I was the song you’d never hear again<br />
the one you’d heard too much,<br />
the reliable breakdown<br />
which soon led to ours,<br />
you need novel melodies and new bars, <br />
to scratch the itch you can't find. <br />
<br />
<br />
And now your face pivots,<br />
I see the scars of women,<br />
Makeup covering the blush<br />
Of their cheeks, their scent a vicious trap<br />
That slays the weak beneath their feet<br />
They take their father’s knife <br />
silently in their back. It makes<br />
them sorry for holding the clock’s hand still.Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-89763785996383911512010-08-25T15:19:00.001-05:002010-08-26T13:20:18.172-05:00The Solution<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ma.utexas.edu/mathclub/flatland-poster.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.ma.utexas.edu/mathclub/flatland-poster.png" width="247" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times,'Times New Roman',serif;"><i>this isnt really poetry, I started trying to write it in that form but it took on its own. This came pouring out of me today all in one sitting, I edited VERY little. I am taking three upper level math courses this semester, can you tell? This idea came to me in my Discrete math class monday, the analogy of moments to points on a graph and I ran with it from there. </i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My life is a math equation I haven’t found a solution for<br />
I plot points, high school graduation, plotted<br />
First major heartbreak, plotted, disillusionment<br />
With the standard order of things, plotted<br />
But like the graph of any function, even a simple line<br />
The number of points becomes limitless, reaching off into infinity<br />
And only by the proximity of those points does the graph begin<br />
To appear, and only when enough are plotted.<br />
<br />
So I have all these points, sex in Amanda’s room, but not with Amanda,<br />
Being run over by my brother in our go-kart, and shot in the arm with a bb gun,<br />
Driving a go-kart through a barb wire fence and coming out unscathed,<br />
And then there is this point here, sitting in the reading room at UHD,<br />
Curled up with my netbook, trying to convey some information to you.<br />
<br />
But the key, and the hardest part, is synthesizing these points into some<br />
Form of equivalent of a graph, a visual representation, that gives a consistent form<br />
To the seemingly inconsistent randomness that is my existence.<br />
Of course graphing my life isn’t the only way to solve it, just the first you learn.<br />
<br />
There is also the method of recombining terms and manipulation them into a form that<br />
We are familiar with. This is like having a role model or an archetype of which you are a variation, a manipulation. But this isn’t satisfying. It’s not objective enough, and I love objectivity.<br />
<br />
And on the subject of objectivity let me subjectively say that objectively I don’t matter.<br />
I know this, but I cannot stop acting as if I do. What is interesting though, is that objectively, there are a multitude of subjectivities, that is us, all simultaneously striving<br />
To find the solution at the bottom of the page upon which we have done our work so far….what does it all add up to? Where are we going? Where did we come from? Why?<br />
<br />
So it goes that at birth we are a point, solitary, connected to nothing really. Then when we first crawl we grow to a slightly bigger point in space. We are no longer confined to a single location.<br />
<br />
Then when we learn to walk we become a line, simple still but able to reach out in front and behind to the ends of the earth.<br />
<br />
Then somewhere along the way, we become capable of metacognition, and know what we know and what we don’t, this signifies the line being extended in a third direction, and consequently becoming a plane.<br />
<br />
The next phase is one I think I am on the brink of, and it scares me at the same time that it thrills me. The phase consists of a plane being extended in a fourth direction, becoming a cubic space, but extending into infinity in all four directions. This phase is objectivity.<br />
<div><br />
</div>Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-65124686682329399672010-08-11T20:15:00.002-05:002013-11-01T20:24:23.594-06:00It BurnsBoldness burns like molten metal<br />
against the sides of timid souls.<br />
If I dare say that there is no sure thing,<br />
I'll be damned by all I know.<br />
Still, I proclaim the truths I've shed blood for.<br />
<br />
A crimson phoenix with feathers aflame<br />
circles above those who speak of<br />
ecstasy springing from agony,<br />
and it protects them from blindness,<br />
and it protects them from defeat.<br />
<br />
But for those who pretend<br />
that only ecstasy is needed,<br />
the blackest of birds awaits,<br />
and they find feces in their<br />
eyes, and their lies don't stop<br />
the agony from coming.<br />
<br />
Know that they'll throw stones and try to tarnish<br />
Your name, hang you, give you hemlock,<br />
they'll break bones for your trouble, and<br />
when you die, they’ll garnish your face with lye<br />
to hurry you off into anonymity.<br />
<br />
But give them all the poison from your lips first,<br />
make them look, hold their eyes open till they bleed<br />
as the world collapses in on itself, as we stain<br />
The fabric of this world with our hate,<br />
Manufacturing consent, killing in the name<br />
Of freedom, funding wars with our children’s future,<br />
Children are abandoned to television, familes<br />
don’t know how to love, people without a chance<br />
All hurtling toward some distant nothingness<br />
a planet of people who are destroying<br />
The womb from which they came,<br />
we rape our world out of greed, and we make<br />
Excuses for it all, saying, “It’s the way it’s always been,<br />
And it’s the way it will always be.”<br />
<br />
If only they could hear us crying<br />
If only they’d see, if only they could.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://hornconcerto.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/phoenix_rising.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://hornconcerto.net/wp-content/uploads/2009/07/phoenix_rising.jpg" width="346" /></a></div>
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Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-35694798961235381562010-07-26T12:58:00.000-05:002013-11-01T20:19:41.077-06:00nice guys aren't finished yet...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">A quiet desperation has taken hold of me lately. A questioning disposition sits perched on my shoulder. Why? WHY? Tonight is going to be hard on my dad, I already know. I have to go to work soon, and he will be home around 5:30, only to be greeted by an empty house, well except for the dog. Change is one of those things that's constantly bombarding me, but that I never seem to get used to. Will my dad and I, belonging to the group of men commonly referred to as “nice guys,” really finish last? Are we destined to be used by women because we don't feel the need to abuse them? Because relatively we could be seen as predictable? Because deep down we have so much genuine love to give? We have trouble expressing it in words, but we are good at doing our best to show it. She came from the lowest rung, and my father saved her from that. He gave her all she could ever want, and most importantly, he gave himself to her. And what does he get in return? He gets deceived and manipulated. He wakes up one night to find half the cash in his safe gone, along with a gun, and his wife. Why should I believe in romantic love? I've never seen it work in the long term. I've seen the aftermath of my parents divorce, and now my dad's getting ready to go through it again. It's all fluffy kisses and butterflies at first. Then one day you wake up and you don't feel like getting out of bed, because the person you thought loved you, who would accompany you into old age and the darkness beyond, left you behind like so much hot garbage. “The afternoons are the hardest,” he keeps telling me. And I know what he means. The approaching darkness, the long shadows, indicative of that unknown night that comes to take us all away. It's what makes us want someone to love, someone to hold our hand and walk with us into that darkness. I know my dad will be okay eventually, just like I was, well maybe okay's not the right word, but I know he will survive like I did. And it will make him stronger. I just hope he finds someone who genuinely loves him, flaws and all, and who can appreciate him, and give him what he needs. Until then, I will be here, offering the best I have. I will strive to keep us both afloat. I want to give up, stop looking for love, because it seems like a fools errand, a sure way to heartache, and a sea of trouble, but I can't bring myself to do it, and I can't let him. </span>Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-30572426958149739032010-07-16T13:13:00.004-05:002010-07-17T09:52:05.396-05:00Beef Flavored Ramen NoodlesSo I wish I could tell it all, but neither of us have time for that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The smell of ramen noodles cooking in a styrofoam cup in the microwave<br />
<br />
takes him back to his grandfathers house many years ago.<br />
<br />
At the time he thought he was his uncle, and he thought<br />
<br />
that because that's what he was told by his mom.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But his mom finally told him one day that he was her dad,<br />
<br />
and consequently not his uncle but his grandfather.<br />
<br />
I don't know if I discovered my parents lying to me before,<br />
<br />
but this is one of the first times I can remember.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So why'd she tell us we were visiting Uncle Ronnie<br />
<br />
instead of saying Grandpa Ronnie? Well as you may<br />
<br />
have guessed it had something to do with them not having<br />
<br />
a very close relationship. Her mom, my grandma, divorced Ronnie<br />
<br />
when my mom was very young, and remarried.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So why'd they divorce? Well because he was in prison I think.<br />
<br />
He robbed a bank, probably to satisfy my grandmother's love of money.<br />
<br />
Then he goes away for it, and I assume they divorced sometime after that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So my grandma got remarried to a really great guy, who I sometimes feel sorry for.<br />
<br />
My mom knew him as Dad all her life. So maybe now you see why I knew<br />
<br />
my mom's biological father as Uncle, and my "step"grandpa as Grandpa.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Just to make things weirder, my mom got divorced when I was pretty young,<br />
<br />
and she remarried a few years later. Fortunately, she didn't tell me my dad <br />
<br />
was my uncle, of course I wouldn't have believed her if she had, but still.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
there is so much complexity regarding human relations, because they aren't<br />
<br />
always, in fact, they rarely are grounded in rational thinking or logical explanation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So many lies are told, often with good intentions, but regardless they are told<br />
<br />
and trust is lost, and trust is one of those things thats really hard to find once<br />
<br />
it's lost, kind of like faith.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">So this was my first post in what seems like a millenia, I have been wanting to post for so long but have just not been able to find the time. I will try to catch up with your blogs, at least the newest stuff. Shoot me a comment to keep me motivated plz :)</span>Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-69686086412222624392010-05-31T20:58:00.000-05:002010-05-31T20:58:23.971-05:00Pretzels Make Me Thirsty<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" style=" background-color: #FFFFFF ;border-color: #cccccc; color:#FF8000 ; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px; padding:0px; border-width:1px; border-style:solid"><tr><td align="center"><embed quality="high" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" width="200" height="140" src="http://www.esnips.com//escentral/images/widgets/flash/note_player.swf" flashvars="autoPlay=no&theFile=http://www.esnips.com//nsdoc/4c9968a0-761d-4612-9ee6-a4821bd99aae&theName=Pretzels&thePlayerURL=http://www.esnips.com//escentral/images/widgets/flash/mp3WidgetPlayer.swf"></embed></td></tr><tr><td style="font-size:11px" valign="bottom" align="center"><a style="color: #FF8000" href="http://www.esnips.com/doc/4c9968a0-761d-4612-9ee6-a4821bd99aae/Pretzels/?widget=flash_player_note">Pretzels.mp3</a></td></tr></table>Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-53958159925351197122010-05-12T12:10:00.000-05:002010-05-12T12:10:05.559-05:00Ruminations on Immortality<img src="http://magdalicious00.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/immortality.jpg"><br />
<br />
The illusion of infinity trickles past me in the street<br />
While dwarves and fairies gently tickle at my feet<br />
<br />
They tell me of eternity, immortality and all the glorifications of the self<br />
And when their done, I playfully run and take Kundera from the shelf<br />
<br />
I show them annihilation and the frustration of all their hopes<br />
And I give them pointers that, over the years, have helped me cope<br />
<br />
It pains me to remove the scales from their eyes<br />
But I must, so they don’t cling desperately to lies<br />
<br />
For only when eternity dissolves like a misty morning fog<br />
Can we see the true beauty of being just another bump on the log<br />
<br />
Of time, for it gives meaning to even the mundane<br />
As if each morning coffee is a splendid refrain<br />
<br />
In a greater song, of which we are a part<br />
But from which one day, we must depart<br />
<br />
But don’t despair, for death is not a thing to fear<br />
It is a release, a gentle escape from the troubles here<br />
<br />
Therefore, enjoy what moments of fleeting joy and ecstasy your given<br />
And while there is still time, stop reading this poem and start livin’Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-12894920005940089292010-05-03T20:09:00.001-05:002010-05-03T20:16:06.339-05:00A Plea to MyselfTake the time to talk with them today,<br />
those you love, and can’t replace, <br />
for all of us are on our way.<br />
<br />
If they hurt you, as they may, <br />
be forgiving and full of grace. <br />
Take the time to talk with them today.<br />
<br />
When tension rises, and moods sway, <br />
defuse it with a kiss well placed, <br />
for all of us are on our way.<br />
<br />
Often they won’t fully grasp what you say, <br />
don’t be troubled, or hide away someplace.<br />
Take the time to talk with them today.<br />
<br />
For soon you will be old and grey, <br />
with scars and wrinkles on your face.<br />
For all of us are on our way.<br />
<br />
And the day is coming, may be this day,<br />
when you will forever leave this place,<br />
so take the time to talk with them today,<br />
for all of us are on our way.<br />
<br />
<br />
<img src="http://englishinguiabasico.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/conversation1.jpg">Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-79961898436741723302010-03-31T14:40:00.002-06:002010-03-31T15:01:51.904-06:00Strange & Unusual--Branching Out from Words to SoundsOkay I'm trying something new. We'll see how it goes. I have always been fanatically, semi-spiritually tied to music. My tastes cross genres and labels and all that, I just like stuff that sounds interesting. Stuff that makes me feel things I can't explain. I can't get enough organized noise. Lately I've really been into what people call electronic music and dubstep, things like Dj Shadow, Skream, and the like. I have tried my hand at putting together some beats. So I had the idea to share some with you other music lovers out there. After MUCH toil I believe I have successfully found a way to embed the player here to avoid having you go to another site or download the file. Im thinking of you guys,I know your time is valuable. So without any further ado, here is my song entitled Strange & Unusual...enjoy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" style=" background-color: #FFFFFF ;border-color: #cccccc; color:#CC33FF ; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px; padding:0px; border-width:1px; border-style:solid"><tr><td align="center"><embed quality="high" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" width="372" height="169" src="http://www.esnips.com//escentral/images/widgets/flash/player_dj.swf" flashvars="autoPlay=no&theFile=http://www.esnips.com//nsdoc/c2dce80b-98aa-4fb0-962c-0b50c3c94cde&theName=strange and unusual&thePlayerURL=http://www.esnips.com//escentral/images/widgets/flash/mp3WidgetPlayer.swf"></embed></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-size:11px" valign="bottom" align="center"><a style="color: #CC33FF" href="http://www.esnips.com/doc/c2dce80b-98aa-4fb0-962c-0b50c3c94cde/strange-and-unusual/?widget=flash_player_dj_comm">strange and unusua...</a></td></tr>
</table>Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-28604176982769832952010-03-17T13:19:00.004-06:002012-12-11T17:53:50.640-06:00Fifty Pound Funk<img src="http://www.spraygraphic.com/storage/member_files/2480/picture/600_e3ce4838821747a43b27a38c4255825b.jpg" /><br />
From bad to worse, the day moved<br />
unchecked, then in a moment,<br />
I found the self respect I’d lost<br />
and got smart, and tossed this<br />
fifty pound funk.<br />
<br />
It had made its home on my shoulder,<br />
and made every day colder, suffocating<br />
me with fears, till all I was aware of,<br />
was that I was getting older,<br />
and I was still just sitting here.<br />
<br />
But that rapturous instant came,<br />
brought on by polyphonic rhythms<br />
and rain, by hues of purple against<br />
asphalt black, and sharing stories<br />
over the remains of a six pack.<br />
<br />
O my! how these moments capture us,<br />
and leave us floating in the ether<br />
above, the portal lies concealed<br />
from selective eyes, tucked beneath<br />
our choice of fear or love.<br />
<br />
Between being safe from harm<br />
and strife, and risking it for the charm of life.<br />
<br />
<img src="http://api.ning.com/files/viexYJgtBqAzq3vKwVl-NeFOOkCbTmF2LjjLQbD0TDhUhOpdpRqa0GQtzAfeLihRD1luvPwy384dYkTY0zLieiY-rvYUv8Ws/manFlyingMan.jpg" />Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-44112220829062303182010-03-09T11:28:00.001-06:002010-03-09T11:33:19.735-06:00O NO! I'VE BEEN TAGGED!Sarah over at Writer in the Making tagged me, so I am supposed to say where I'd like to be in 10 years. This is really tough for me, but here goes.<br />
<br />
In ten years I would like to be a debt free college graduate, teaching students to love math. On tuesday's I'd go to a writing club and mostly sit and listen to people's stuff, and try to help them make it just right. Then one day if I had the courage, maybe read something of mine. In ten years, I hope to have read many more books(especially Sarah's latest), learned many new ideas, but most importantly to have become more honest with myself and others.<br />
<br />
TAG MARK, EVA, MS. FIN, RACHEL REPROPATE, YOUR IT!!!<br />
<br />
I think it is very important to do this sort of thing often, and especially the way Sarah said she had,<br />
<br />
"Fun fact: I actually wrote the 3 objectives of( being a nurse, publishing a book, and moving somewhere else) on a piece of paper that I keep in my wallet, to remind me of my dreams...always."<br />
<br />
I read a book recently called Psycho-Cybernetics by Maxwell Maltz<br />
<br />
check it out. I really enjoyed it. It was written in like 1960 or so. Maltz was a plastic surgeon, so it's easy to discount what he says, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. <br />
<br />
His book is ultimately about reaching goals, and that alot of times what inhibits our reaching our goals is not our lack of ability, but the self-imposed restrictions of a poor self image.<br />
<br />
<br />
So I guess that's it, I'm done for now folks. FYI: I finally had time to post this because I am stuck at home with a semi-bad foot sprain. hoping it will be okay tomorrow with the RICE method.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I leave you with a quote from Sartre<br />
<br />
"Everything has been figured out, except how to live." <br />
Jean-Paul SartreAudacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-8861674335587128552010-03-03T17:27:00.003-06:002010-03-03T18:26:24.570-06:00Part 2<a href="http://angstandagony.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-first-stab-at-fiction.html">Part 1</a><br />
<br />
He stood motionless, glass chips at his feet, the cork laying at the foot of the fridge with the corkscrew still threaded in it, and all around his feet a translucent puddle that he thought would be his company for the evening. But the night had quickly become more interesting. Suddenly, he knew he had only one option, to fight. He knew they wouldn’t fire on him inside the apartment, that the guns they wielded were just for show. He didn't know what exactly they wanted to do with him, but somehow he got the feeling that if he went with them....well he wasn't going, that's all.<br />
<br />
They faced each other, them shuffling quickly through the doorway separating the living room and the kitchen and assembling opposite him across the little island-style counter which he stood behind. They held their aim on him, and the one in front broke the silence.<br />
<br />
“Don’t move Jarnell, there’s nowhere to go. We don’t want to hurt you, just detain you for questioning. Mr. M is very interested in you, in the knowledge you posses.”<br />
<br />
His eyes shot to the corkscrew, then back to the men. “Okay, guys, you’ve got me. I’ll come quietly.”<br />
<br />
He raised his hands to ease their minds and slowly stepped sideways out from behind the counter and stood directly over the corkscrew. He counted the men, only eight? They had no idea who they were dealing with.<br />
<br />
In a blur of motion, Jarnell brought his feet together around the tool he’d used so many times--though never in the way he intended to now--and jumped flinging it with his feet up into the air directly into the path of his hand, which snatched it from mid-air. In a fluid motion, he spun the cork off, and twisted the tool so that the screw was sticking out from between his fingers, while the handle was held within his fist, and assumed a defensive stance.<br />
<br />
The men laughed.<br />
<br />
Their laughter was interrupted by Jarnell jumping toward the counter that divided them, putting one hand down and pushing off into a front-flip, landing directly in front of the man who stood ahead of the rest, the one who had spoken. <br />
<br />
The man let his gun, which was strapped to him, fall to his side and came at Jarnell while the rest of the men sat stunned at the sheer agility of this simple looking man. Jarnell caught the man’s arm as he attempted to bring it across his face, skillfully twisted him around, pinning his arm behind his back. He jabbed the corkscrew into the man’s carotid artery, then twisted as if he were opening a cheap bottle of merlot. His neck was gushing thick red life in pulses. Jarnell threw him aside, and again assumed a stance that said, “Come get some.” The crowd rushed him, and he caught the first one by the neck, twisted and heard the bones snap, and the man exhaled his last breath. He turned and brought the corkscrew hard into the chest of the next, just under the armpit where there was no body armor, finding the heart like a surgeon. The other four tried to seize him all at once, but he nimbly flipped backwards, reached down and procured a large piece of what was left of his wine bottle, dropping the corkscrew.<br />
<br />
He sliced the throats of the would-be captors one by one while fending off the others with quick jabs to the face, and then stood for a second catching his breath. He surveyed his apartment which, only five minutes ago, had been quite normal, peaceful even. But now it resembled a battlefield, riddled with corpses and destruction. What could he do now? Where would he go? And who in the hell is Mr. M?<br />
<br />
He ran out of the room and didn’t stop running until he reached the street, and realized how suspicious he looked. He slowed to a leisurely pace, and turned south into an alley that led to Boone Street, where the only man he ever trusted lived. Maybe he would know what to do. At least he could stay there until he figured it out.Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-54896545388321899382010-03-02T14:47:00.005-06:002010-03-03T18:17:47.292-06:00Part 1<img src="http://cache3.asset-cache.net/xc/sb10062613c-001.jpg?v=1&c=IWSAsset&k=2&d=91F5CCEF208281FDE94B3192B270E34B58F9412BEA0E800918526AAB0CE74CA56529E79887609E4F"><br />
He scanned the street from his first story window, and couldn’t help but wonder what all the people were in such a hurry for. He shouted at no one in particular, “Wake up people! The American dream is consuming you!” <br />
<br />
“Go to hell!” someone shouted back at him.<br />
<br />
“If you only knew,” he said to himself.<br />
<br />
This was his hell. This place where he didn’t belong. Where people all around him were busy zipping around like little choreographed robots, all the while shining fake smiles. They traveled in herds, all thinking alike, afraid to question the norm. Of course, he was often hustling around trying to make ends meet, and to an observer he may seem like one of these robots at times. But, and this is an important distinction, the scales have been lifted from his eyes, and he is now aware. He had stumbled upon something, and he didn't exactly know what the repercussions would be. But despite his disillusionment with the system, he couldn't bring himself to jump off the hamster-wheel. That is until he had no choice.<br />
<br />
The air was getting chilly, and a breeze picked up. He pulled the window closed, flipped the latch, and drew the curtains. He went to his laptop and put on some ambient music, to fill the silence. He couldn’t stand there not being music playing when he did anything. He went to the kitchen, slid open the junk drawer, and pulled out his corkscrew. Opening the fridge, he saw his perfectly chilled bottle of Alice White, grabbed it and began cutting the foil.<br />
<br />
He had the corkscrew halfway in the cork when a loud crash made him knock the bottle onto the floor where it smashed into pieces. His door lay in his living room floor in splinters, hinges dangling from the frame. Men in black tactical suits came rushing in. He knew they’d come for him. It had begun.<br />
<br />
…..Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-72637268315986936702010-02-18T13:21:00.002-06:002010-02-18T13:23:30.471-06:00Life Lessons are Hard to LearnI came as close as I ever have<br />
to seeing my father cry tonight<br />
My sisters don’t respect him<br />
And in discussing this<br />
And how it wasn’t right,<br />
I was reminded,<br />
And I reminded him, that<br />
In a seemingly distant past,<br />
I had acted an ass<br />
That fateful day, when I,<br />
<br />
Struck by lover’s lunacy<br />
And clouded eyes, did rise <br />
and take my leave of him,<br />
And cursed his name<br />
For I was young, you see,<br />
And I had no shame.<br />
<br />
I thought I could make it,<br />
In fact I gave little thought <br />
To making it.<br />
All I knew was <br />
Happiness for some time<br />
was to be found <br />
In her alone.<br />
And I found no harm<br />
In taking it.<br />
<br />
My naivety hadn’t fully<br />
Been challenged yet,<br />
So I was still <br />
A little boy inside.<br />
My self security <br />
Hadn’t developed yet,<br />
So I became<br />
Her little toy to ride.<br />
<br />
My family, <br />
And loyalty,<br />
And all the virtues<br />
I once held strong,<br />
Were given a backseat,<br />
And I switched the dial<br />
In search of our song.<br />
<br />
My father looked at me,<br />
His eyes quickly got misty red<br />
The whiskey eased his mind,<br />
And this is what he said:<br />
<br />
“That day you left…<br />
It tore me up inside<br />
I called your mother<br />
And asked<br />
What should I do?<br />
And I sat here and I cried.<br />
I just want you to know, son,<br />
I was only, as I always do,<br />
Trying my very best to guide you.”<br />
<br />
I can never take away <br />
The pain I caused, <br />
Just as I can’t erase<br />
The pain I’ve been through,<br />
But often, I think, pain<br />
Serves as the best teacher,<br />
So you, who I left with, <br />
Who hurt me so,<br />
I want to sincerely say<br />
Thank you,<br />
I am finally letting you go.<br />
<img src="http://affirmativethinking.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/freedom1.jpg" height="450" width="450">Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-30855641930973638772010-02-12T14:25:00.011-06:002010-02-12T15:34:53.750-06:00Whale Dreams (or To the Surface)<img src="http://www.bunshine.com/images/Whales_t.jpg"><br />
" The quest is to be liberated from the negative, which is really our own will to nothingness. And, once having said yes to the instant, the affirmation is contagious. It bursts into a chain of affirmations that knows no limit. To say yes to one instant, is to say yes to all of existence."<br />
--Waking Life<br />
<br />
I awoke and was pissed, another day of monotony. Another day of coffee binges, and dumbass drivers. Of costly car repairs, and feelings of going nowhere. I‘d been dreaming so vividly through the night. I was swimming with my sister in the ocean. Suddenly all around us were these beautiful whales. It felt so real, and I loved it when they snuck up and surfaced inches from me. I could reach out and touch their blubbery skin. Every once in a while they’d playfully spray water up in the air like kids with a water hose will do in the summer. As always though, reality broke in and fucked it up. I sighed a deep existential sigh, and vigorously rubbed my eyes to get the crust out of the corners. They always say life is but a dream, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Life is only memories of dreams. Life is the interruption of a dream. I felt as if I could just lay there forever, that it didn’t really matter if I got up and did it all over again. I looked up the whale as a dream symbol, and it was commonly associated with deep emotions surfacing, and getting more in touch with one’s intuition. Interesting, and incredibly appropriate.<br />
<br />
I had to get up, I told myself. I was being childish. Life isn’t that bad.<br />
<br />
But she left you, she betrayed you, I retorted. The two people you were closest to, betrayed you together. She threw you out after taking everything, after you had given up everything to make her happy. Even after forgiving her for fucking your best “friend.” She took your heart and pureed it, then handed you the blender and took off, in search of another conquest. You were left with a mushy heart smoothie. Left to find a way to put it back together. For weeks afterwards you didn’t really have an appetite, eating only because you knew your body needed it. You couldn’t sleep well. <br />
<br />
The only thing that saved you for a while, that gave you hope was church, was God. But after awhile you became disillusioned, and realized it was a joke. These people faithfully attended each week, thinking they were scoring some heavenly brownie points. They’d walk in the doors smiling, saying “God is good, all the time,” or “Bless you, brother.” They believed what they wanted to believe, what made them feel good. They hated gay people, then told people not to hate. They judged, then said “Don’t judge.” You got so tired of saying you believed, trying to convince yourself more than anyone. The feeling of belonging and purpose it gave at first eventually wore off, and you realized you were just trying to cover the pain, but the pain remained. <br />
<br />
That one day, that moment is what haunted you, when she said with such anger, “I don’t love you anymore.” What a terrible feeling it is to give yourself completely to one person, thinking they are doing the same, only to find out they never meant a word. They were simply biding her time, hedging her bets. You were a bridge from the last guy to the next guy. Used like a second-hand bike, a temporary fill-in, until they could get a better one. Yes you may have been a little overbearing at times, and in your naivety often got jealous. But this was your first real relationship, didn’t she understand that?<br />
<br />
You gave her the power to validate your existence, and she denied it. Now you’re finally beginning to heal, to see the folly of your ways. You got a taste of her body and were insatiably hooked. You deceived yourself into thinking you couldn’t live without her, so when you were forced to, you just stopped living as much as you could. You stopped pursuing anything but strict survival. “What was the use?” you asked yourself. <br />
<br />
Sometimes, what you thought was the worst thing possible, turns out to be the best. I am who I am now because I have had my heart broken, and put it back together. I am grateful to her in a way. I also learned things about myself, that I was far too needy. I am taking control of my life again. I am developing my own individuality. I am working toward the point where I don’t need someone, so that I can choose to be with someone, rather than them becoming an addiction. An extension of my ego that exists to boost my self-esteem. I am who I am, and I won’t hide behind the scenes anymore. Yeah, the world isn’t fair all the time. Sometimes, the nice guys get taken for a ride. Sometimes justice doesn’t prevail, and sometimes your hopes are dashed. But giving up isn’t the answer. It’s going on, it’s taking the cards you’re dealt and playing them. I’m ready to play the next hand.<br />
<br />
I groggily flop my feet off the side of the bed. When my feet hit the floor, and I stand up, I notice suddenly my body feels considerably lighter. The oppressive feeling I had every day prior wasn’t there. I felt free to love again. The mushy heart smoothie had finally hardened into a solid organ again. For so long I told myself I wouldn't be hurt again, but strange as it may sound love is worth being hurt. Worth risking being hurt, because it's the only way to truly find it.<br />
<br />
Happy V-Day all you couples.<br />
<br />
***all you readers out there(all four of you :) ) who may be thinking, man this guys so cynical and whiny , I just wanna say I know. This post was my attempt to release that cynicism and negativity. I've realized that it's so oppressive and just kills all joy you may have, not to mention being childish. Bear with me and please don't stop reading. Look forward to more positive posts, or at least less negative ones. :)Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-30816647040066205422010-02-11T14:27:00.002-06:002010-02-11T14:27:33.908-06:00What's In a Name?<img src="http://www.calstatela.edu/library/mmc/100/shane.jpg"><br />
I had to watch the movie Shane for American Lit, and I don’t really know why but I was under the impression that I had been named after him. I seemed to have a distinct memory of being told this, but didn't recall who told me or when, so I questioned it's veracity. I happened to mention it to my professor at the end of class the other day when he reminded us about watching the movie. So today we discussed the movie, and at the end of the class he asked me to come talk to him. He was curious to know if I had indeed been named after the character. So I decided I'd check with my mom, and see if it was true. I was so curious I wanted to call her right after class but she works in the bus barn of a high school, and it was like 2:30 so I knew she'd be busy. So just a few minutes ago, I called her while I was on break. I asked her, "What made you name me Shane?" So I was thinking she was gonna say the movie right, confirm that I wasn’t crazy. But she was like, “well you probably won’t like this….but..” (immediately I knew it was a guy she actually knew) “there was this really hot guy in high school, who died in an accident senior year. I just always liked the name because he was such a sweet guy, everyone liked him.” Then I proceeded to tell her how I had somehow gotten the idea that it was because of the movie Shane, and she told me that she wasn't even sure she'd seen the movie. <br />
<br />
So, I am still curious as to how I got this idea in my head that she named me after the movie, but I am somewhat grateful that it found its way in there, because it was an interesting moment with my mom where I learned something about her I never knew. I could also detect a hint of sadness in her voice when she mentioned him dying. These are the moments I enjoy, moments where truth is shared between souls. It's so strange how the weirdest things can bring about moments like this.<br />
<br />
We only talked for like 11 minutes, but it was one of the most intimate conversations we've had in awhile. I told her how I felt like I seriously needed psychiatric help because of my problems with worry and anxiety. She was frank with me and said she didn't think so, she said she thought that's just the way I am. My brother is the complete opposite, completely carefree for the most part. She reminded me of something I learned awhile back. Things can be positive or negative, depending on how you look at them. She said "It is a good thing because you think things through." This is so true, I often think them through too much, but that doesn't mean I should throw the baby out with the bathwater, I should embrace the gift I have of foresight, and try instead to harness it, to focus it if you will. To get back to the movie Shane, after trying to give up being a cowboy and a gunslinger, at the end, after once again putting on his six shooter and killing the bad guys to save his new friends, he says "A man's got to be what he is, you can't break the mold." Words of wisdom, Shane.<br />
<br />
Now I am curious about this guy I was actually named after, what was he like. What did he look like. I mean apparently he was attractive, what color were his eyes? His hair? What kind of accident was it? Was it his fault, was he a victim of a tragedy? When she saw me as a kid did she think of him. Is that why she called me by my middle name? Interesting how new info can alter the way you see the past.Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-29512674178878737192010-02-07T12:03:00.001-06:002010-02-07T12:05:06.231-06:00The Splendor of Simplicity<img src="http://crazykindalife.files.wordpress.com/2009/08/wet-city-street.jpg"><br />
<br />
He always loved driving down the highway on his way home from work after it had rained. The streets became magical, the shiny blackness reflecting another world, a world of bright oblong road signs, of green, and white, and yellow, inverted and stretched downward as if gravity was pulling them within the earth. Lights flashed on the overpass up ahead, and made long skinny lines of orange that would appear and disappear just as quickly. The asphalt had a slick sheen like the skin of a seal. He loved the minimalist beauty involved, and the fact that it all hung on that simplest of substances, but the most profound, water. He imagined a parallel world, reflected by ours into another dimension below us, that only the thin sheet of water mixed with oils allowed us to see. A world skewed to our eyes because of our position.<br />
<br />
Of course the reality was it was just the properties of reflected light being refracted by the droplets of water that stretched the images, having to do with it being a wave and all, or a particle and a wave, or whatever. But he couldn’t shake the mystical feeling he got, a feeling that something more was there. Something that caused a feeling of transcendence within his gut. He savored the beauty of the wet streets, the way that a plain old street sign was transformed by the road into what looked like a white brushstroke painted onto the canvas against the blackness of the unknowable.<br />
<br />
He just wanted to stay in this moment, sucking the beauty into his eyes. Shut out the troubles and concerns he couldn’t get out of his mind. For a moment the mist cleared and he could see clearly that all his worries and concerns, about the future, and about how it would come out, were so self-centered and stemmed from an abundance of fear. This, this feeling, it was a turning point. The vastness of it all hit him, and it made the tension in his neck release. This drama called life, it wasn’t about him. It was about this beauty, these fleeting instances of grasping something bigger than the “I” produced by our frontal lobe. He need not worry, he need not even be. He was okay with the fact that were he to suddenly stop existing, the world and all that made it beautiful and terrible would continue, off into eternity.Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-87534588908200968552010-02-02T11:40:00.002-06:002010-02-02T23:00:17.819-06:00To Be MeHis indignity is masked by silence,<br />
He gave up trying long ago.<br />
He expended tremendous effort<br />
To expose the depths of his soul.<br />
but none understood, instead<br />
They tried to assign him a role<br />
In their drama, selfish<br />
Inclination toward complete<br />
And utter domination<br />
They seek control<br />
Of all in their tiny sphere<br />
But they will not succeed here<br />
They’re blind and cannot see<br />
that all I long for, all I need<br />
is the freedom to be me.<br />
<br />
Every moment botched by transience.<br />
Why not wander without aim<br />
In this sick and twisted game?<br />
If he places his hope in a far off star,<br />
It burns out years before he’s begun.<br />
If he puts it in this planet,<br />
It’s scorched and dried up by the sun.<br />
Six billion people praying<br />
To different gods they can’t see,<br />
Six billion people saying<br />
There’s no such thing as me.<br />
<img src="http://videomedeja.org/files/img/gerard_freixes_ribera_isolated.jpg" width="300" height="250">Audacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1856805588965777440.post-85832835905282216962009-12-23T12:35:00.000-06:002010-02-02T23:00:17.819-06:00Morning Depressioncoldness fills the floor space<br />
as I lift my heavy eyes<br />
I quickly wash my face<br />
and put on today's disguise<br />
<br />
Outside await choices<br />
of which I live in fear<br />
inside my head so many voices<br />
so many voices I can't hearAudacity of Sagacityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03907766564701828457noreply@blogger.com3