Always Dying

There was once a time

There was once a time,

 I thought I knew for certain

The signs of living

Etched in a chest beating

Carved in lungs breathing

Pain, feeling

It was the feeling I thought

I knew

The key to unlock the door

Of one room containing

The notion that this feeling

Of death remaining

May itself transcend feeling

That is to say I’m dead

Is feeling what keeps us alive?

Is to grow numb to die?

Life walks before the weary eye

If I feel dead, but am still alive

What is death but another chance

To perceive what lies nigh?

Surely there was a time

There must have been a time

When every moment I had

I knew I was living

Everything was worth giving

My time

But this feeling I have

This feeling whose truth

May transcend feeling

Tells me I am dying

Death lingers on each breath

Perceptiveness evades with death

And every single moment

Is just another way to die.

On Love

1 John 4:8-10 (NKJ) He who does not love does not know God, for God is love. In this the love of God was manifested toward us, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through Him. In this is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. 


I still have a lot to learn about love. My tendencies towards actions and attitudes relating to the subject hold true. True in the sense that despite recent experiences and losses, I remain confident my perception is not only correct, but it will also sustain me more than alternative notions. 


How do we define the world around us? - Physically and mentally. Through perceptions. Through perspectives of others- taught and invented. With language. Verbally and nonverbally. Using imagination, memory, and other cognitive functions of the brain. Perhaps even spiritually…? I have come to realize "definitions" are as alive as the trees that grow, they are creatures of the most powerful nature- incorporating everything in the human experience of the world. A word, an image, a life means a lot. 


So- defining love. As a word- love has different meanings depending on its function (noun or verb), also depending on content, and on language. I'm curious as to how it's been linguistically defined, because written definitions come from human experiences. Love, as we have come to define it emerged from how people lived it. It was probably translated from languages based on societal and individual interpretations of its usage and meaning. It could be even that whoever began using the word in literature wanted heavier meaning in it than was socially observed. One man could have altered the definition dramatically. As social creatures, did we exhibit  actions that demanded the word? Did the word demand an action?


It is one of the most malleable words in the English language. It carries idiosyncratic definitions- where it means something different to almost everyone. The definitions can be mutual or exclusive. And, our definitions of the word seem to be best translated by how we exhibit "love" in our own lives. We at least try to practice what we preach. People who are confused about its definition seem to be confused about how to practically apply knowledge of it. There's just a lot going on- and all of this chaotic interpretation and application seems as difficult, even more difficult at times, than the philosophical grapplings of science and religion. 


Even still, that is no excuse for frustration and hopelessness. Personally, I believe the best way to go about this is to learn all definitions of the word- every form of definition. The broader my understanding of love, the broader my practical application of the word will be. I could therefore communicate and express love to anyone and everyone. The more I live out the definition, the more my life is redefined! One of the cornerstones of Christ's message is to share His love. If His definition of love is true, and He can love infinitely, then we must must carry the capacity for infinite love- holding our "definition" of a relationship with God to be true. This is amazing! Not only do I have an infinitely expanding definition of love, I also have an infinite potential for love! With infinite potential capacity and definition found in love, my life can have infinite meaning! This is paradoxical, because definition itself implies finite, but it is encouraging still- because God gifted us language for this very reason. Meditation and investigation of verbal and written language reveal the astounding hope and joy within Christ. We are meant to live and to love! 


I am satiated in the pursuit of those meanings. <3 Cheers


OH AND THIS

to feel you are dying reveals you are still alive. feeling denotes perception- even so- check again. because you may not like what lies behind what you find.

Nightime

Freedom comes by night

In my bedroom prison

Candles lit and shoes hidden

By the window I wait for fright

Cheeks pressed against my window

I wait for fright

The cold chilling down to my chest

I slowly undressed

Beckoning the light

Come, come down into my room

In my bedroom prison

I promise to keep you hidden

From the monsters who consume

Feet follow out the window

We crawl towards the sea

Cold chilling on my chest

Freedom tells me I'm blessed

Stay with me

love is cast in the ocean when the tides reflect the moon

Swimmingly

wade above with me

painted yellow

soft yellow sweet

take a splosh with me

lets dabble

any solid color

soft and sweet

lets paddle

slog around with me

painted are we

soft flushed sweet
lets splash

In my line of sight

For sometime now, I've had this image playing in my head.
 If our bodies exist in spacetime as mass pulling its fabric, where do our thoughts exist and what do they do? - digression
Anyways. I keep imagining this husband and wife taking a walk- something they seem to do often. They're pretty young too, and very in love. As they're holding hands, walking and talking in the company misty pink sunset sky, time freezes for one second. It completely stops. The context of the scene totally changes. One of the neighbors, two blocks down, is standing at the front of his lawn. He aggressively walks toward them, from the opposite direction obstructing their path. Before they even notice what's happening, he grabbs her from behind around the waist- picking her up and whistfully carrying her away. Terror gripps her face. She claws at the air, back towards her lover. She begins screaming. screaming. calling her husbands name. All the while her neighbor is stone cold. He shoots the husband as he's running to her. She can't stop screaming and crying and he starts bleeding on the pavement. The neighbor drops her. She runs to her husband and keeps picking up the blood. Crying, screaming, moaning, salyva oozing from her swollen face. Only a few seconds pass. She's covered in blood. She didn't say goodbye. She refuses to say goodbye. Her neighbor then grabbs her by the neck of her shirt and draggs her away. They didn't notice him sitting on the porch of his house watching them walk by, for months now. They literally had no idea. They never would have imagined something like that happening in actual life where the world makes sense. Why would he do it?- he's never met them, he's obvioulsy going to get convicted, and he seemed so harmless.
Was I trying to tell you guys about some profound truth of human nature and society? No- I just can't get this picture out of my head.

Replacement

falling back

plummet
with the intention of abyss
the abscess oscelates
and moments of great pain
are perhaps the times to take

me along side
i want to
feel
raw icy claws
in the folds of my spine
vertebrae

articulation and muscle atachment
are tools to recollect
the throbbings of the past
take a look
back

Matematiques

MATH
so lets get some things straight about the malignant spread of stupidity in relation to the educational structure of mathematics in the States.
Guys, we 'Mericans be so ignant! Seriously dog. Can i tell you how overwhelmingly depressed i am by the fact that millions of college students struggle to excel beyond math121 ? College Algebra is not only the biggest joke of a class i've seen, it exponentially wastes time, money, and effort of all its participants. Not only the stupid kids who failed the class three times, but the smart kid getting A's, and the teacher instructing them.
People say that they don't use over half the math they learned in school.

MATH is a discipline. Disciplines exercise and expand the mind. And if everyone continues to give up on discipline, how are we ever going to excel and achieve past our perception of comfort? Our minds are going to atrophically rot to the state of stagnant retarded goo.

Is it all our faults that we be so dumbly? No. This discipline needs to be heavily imparted on the malleable and absorbent minds of adolescents. So you think teaching a 6th grader calculus is unethical. They do that in Russia. Look how smart kids are in Russia. Why was my Calculus teacher in college in her masters program only three years older than me? Because she learned calculus in 6th grade.

Seriously though. I quit learning math in junior year of high school. My potential growth rate implied I could achieve farther, but why bother? In college, all my math classes have been a sorry excuse for a brief review of everything I learned in high school. The other sad thing is, the kids who didn't get it in high school, still don't get it here. So, what's the point of trying to teach college students the fundamentals of basic Calculus when they didn't exercise the DISCIPLINE in grade school?

IN college, teachers don't care babe. Therefore, they don't push students, they don't encourage them, and they certainly won't take the time to impart any knowledge they achieved in grade school on your sorry soul. They know you won't study. And if your studying, chances are you're a lost cause. You should have been studying years ago. But no one is going to tell you that.

Oh and if you're in like Calculus 3 or something, good for you. Honestly, you're better off than most of us. And you're more diligent and more disciplined and more perceptive of the language. But you're still suffering from the tragic throws of a noncompetitive, politically correct and otherwise lazy country.
 US mericans keep being dumber and more stupidest den all dem other countries. All day err day err day.

What what the point of this rant? IDK but MATH sux bro.

concerning i

The English language is constantly changing, morphing, contradicting itself, getting trapped in its own regulations, evolving, and offending. i believe it to be a useful tool, and is beautiful at times, but it must be stopped. Why? It has taught us self-worship. There is a lot we teach our children about priorities in language. My frusturations lie in the pronoun i. 

That's right. i'm consciously not capitalizing it. You've noticed it for a while now, and if you're a gramatical tightwad like myself then its been irking you for sometime now. You probably have already assessed that i am ignorant, lazy, or annoying- simply from the lack of grammatical conformity. But why must we capitalize i ? Why is the self so important? Why must our rank in sentences be elevated to the status of countries, days of the week... you know God is capitalized, right? 

In Russia they capitalize pronouns You, Your, You're and so on. The other is elevated above the self. That should put our cultural catastrophe  into perspective. i am the most important thing in the English language. i need attention in a sentence structure. i mean, how sad is it that children don't capitilize themselves in a sentence and then get chastized by their teacher and ridiculed by fellow students, but never understand why its so important in the first place?

But can this battle be won in the classroom? Can i really pick and choose my grammar obedience and expect others to understand that a consicous decision is being made? Unfortunately, rather than me demonstrating my opinion of social prioritization being viewed, only the error will be seen. People can't help but notice the problem with i. More attention is drawn to the self than before, only its a flawed self. 

There is still hope though. There is one place that can't be tainted by the socially enforced regulatory fist of standard English grammar- that is, poetry. i will not capitalize i in poetry, and the truly inspired, devoted, analytical reader will understand and hopefully, follow suit. 

 THERE ARE LEGITIMATE REASONS FOR FRUSTURATION, CONCERN, AND ULTIMATE DESIRE TO ABANDON WRITTEN LANGUAGE. 

Penchant

Because you are my penchant
I want to make you a believer
I have a bag of magic
And you see its a secret

But sometimes I'm a heathen
And with my hair let down
I dance around the fire
Spread the magic on the ground where my feet stomp
Didnt I tell you

I told you I'd show you
And make you a believer
Because you are my penchant
And I am a dreamer

I can dream big and I can
Dream super tiny little silly little things
Like matches under covers
Lighting your brilliant face
And somehow or somewhere

That thought threw me to the ground
Softly
That you are my penchant
One I couldn't even dream of
But you made me a believer

A believer a believer
Oh I am a believer
So please believe in me

CONCERT SWAG

Where to begin? I'll get to the fun stuff in a second, right now, I wanna talk about Beirut. Oh. my. goodness. Zach Condon is a genius. The acoustics, rythym, pitch, vocal strains, clarity, harmonies were all flawless. Their stage presence was intoxicatingly effortless. Clothing style and set design was minimalist and artfully conceptual. Lighting was romantic, and let me tell you, I was so in love. So so so so so so so in love with the music, with Zach Condon, with the horns, the accordion, all of it. Magnifique. <3


But. Concerting involves people. Interesting people. Sometimes not a lot, but in this case, a lot of people. And people are well, people are funny.

I got my swag on faw shough dawg, but lemme tell you some things. Sometimes, its not ok to swag. Like, ok indie crazy boy swag is usually permissible, but concerning the 5'11" boy with fedora on puffy curly hair, cut-off jean-tee-shirt, and akward muscles, lets talk. YOU WERE STANDING LESS THAN TWO INCHES DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF MY BODY. you were grinding on me. You'd consistently glance back at me to check if I liked it. Isn't grinding supposed to work the other way around? And isn't that supposed to be done back at dat club? Not at BEIRUT?  Dewd, don't lift your arms up- now I definately can't see, and now I have to SMELL YO SWAG. that should definately never happen.

Sorry to offend but my disclaimer is that PDA is not alright for any couple. Holding hands- fine. Occasional kiss- cute. But DONT GET DAT LESBO SWAG ON right next to me. Its cool if Beirut turns you on or whatever, but why does everyone at the concert have to know that? The holdin yo babyghurl's waist while you whisper sweet nothings in her ear CONSISTENTLY, stroking her arm gently, swingin they hips back and fourth through the ENTIRE concert- is not ok. UN UH. I wouldn't be havin it with any other type of couple either, but the fact that you're a women dressed like da hood broz definately doesn't make me feel any more comfortable.

Oh my goodness and when I saw deze cats swaggin all over they place I was bout ready to pull out my glock, or fist, go rambo, and hit em' where it hurts know what I'm sayin? SWAG OFF. Hippies are kewl, but don't force your religion on me bruh. In fact, wanna fight? COME AT ME BRO. These kids were gettin they SWEATY RUDE BOY ON DRUGS HIPPY SWAG. no no no no no no no I don't wanna dance with you. Yes thats distracting and yes I feel the music but no I don't wanna smoke a joint with you and I normally don't mind you dancing but GET outta ma face boye. You dance gross. This concert is not about you. How come you're fun stresses others out? Don't go gettin yo nasty swag on cuz den  I can't get ma swag on and I'm made of muscles. I aint afraid to make a bigger scene and beat sum sense into yo. Mostly cuz if others don't wanna dance, let them be. And from what I learned that ain't dancing.

Thats all I'm going to complain about. Magician swag was fine. Bored girl too cool for school was fine. Couple holding hands, gorsh you guys were adorable. Old people pushing your way to the front- get you swag on. Me, I like standing starry eyed, occasionally crying or singing along, and looking around for mutual ressonance. Das ma swag boyeee ya herd!!!!
<3 Cheers.

Finished

My first book of poems is finally finished.
I started it the summer before my senior year of high school.
It's a small, cheesy notebook with a green, flower-patterned, leather exterior.
There are flowers on every page.


Here's the count:
8 poems by other authors
1 quote
8 songs
90 of my own poems

I wrote 90 poems in a span of a little over two years
They have taken me so far
This poetry journal is worth more to me than anything I own
Ive captured my purest thoughts and true identity in these flows
in these pages
Im the same person I was two years ago
But I've grown
And when I'm scared or afraid or lonely
I just talk to myself from two years ago, or two days ago
And not only does she understand,
She knows what to do.

I would like very much to get published.
I like sharing my poems with you all.
But for now I'll give it a rest and put it on a shelf.


Cheers <3

Pain

Sometimes
Sometimes love can make your stomach really sick
And it hurts and it doesn't feel good
But I tell you we're human
They are animals and the tell you that
You're just like them and that you're an animal
And you're to act like an animal
But you're not
You're human
Raw and pained and passionate
Never a God
Just a man I love

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night- Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Burning

I lit the candle and turned off the lights
I held it in my hand
Warm cinnamon smell

The flame never wavered
The long yellow pillar consuming
consuming consuming
And I held it in my hand

Hot wax dripped on my hand
it dripped on my hand
Hot wax burned my skin
Flame yet to waver

The beautiful cinnomon smell
filled my room
Dimly lit by that candle
And I wept
and thrashed and shook

My candle stood still
Flame all stone
I prayed for a glimer a blink
Praying please please
Just a tremble

I melted like wax
Hot vulnerable wax
Wax surrounding a candle
Just a candle
But a candle still

I dissolved into a pool
of vascillation
Burning as I went
Until its dark light went out

Stuck Asleep

I have temporary sleep paralysis.
Sleeping has always been an interesting process for me, and this is one of the more physically frightening components to its cycle. Here's what it is. Basically your body releases chemicals that temporarily paralyze it in order for all the muscles n stuff to rest, as well as to  keep you from physically harming yourself in the unconscious state. For whatever reason, some people will wake up before the natural chemicals have had time to wear off. Your brain anticipates how long you're going to sleep, and as soon as you hit the REM cycle, it kind of kicks in the heavy stuff to keep you safe while your out. It doesn't plan on you waking up... so you're mind jolts wide awake, unexpected, and your body is still. You can't move, you panic.
I guess their are different categories of sleep paralysis aswell, depending on how your mind interprets the situation. Basically one type of mental interpretation is worse than the other. I'm a little unclear as to the exact distinctions, but I think I have the worse one.

Pause. I'm no expert, so I'm explaining this biological stuff to the best of my understanding.

I'm doing a little backtracking.
 I have always been a very active and heavy dreamer. I have morbid and frightening dreams on a regular basis. As a kid, I was terrified of unconsciousness. I entered a new dark world of utter vulnerability, nightmares not my own, and monsters that became real. Sleeping always involved dreaming, dreams involved terror, therefore I avoided sleep.
Simultaneously, I had the problem of sleep walking. It basically was like looking and functioning in our tangible world through the dream lense. Everything is wrong, even basic physics, but you're able to talk coherantly to the conscious, and waking up involves your mind closing one window to make the other clearer.
So, I've always had problems with sleep. Over time, I grew accustomed to my nightmares, recognized it as part of my sleep process and completely detached from reality. And apart from occasional sick fevers, I didn't sleep walk.
But in highschool I started taking naps to cope with my new social and academic environment that required less sleep. It doesn't always happen with naps, but usually it does. Or, if I would wake up and go back to sleep in more. I got that deep REM sleep my body longed for, but at the wrong time. I would be carrying on some unhappy dream, and it wasn't that I wanted out, someone in my dream always told me that I was dreaming. Some evil creature would mock me, tell me that I was dreaming. It would be making fun of the fact that I was unconscious and helpless and it or my mind would find me back in my room. Often, I found my brain struggling back into my room, climbing through my sheets, yelling for my mom to wake me up, her coming over to wake me up but I'm not awake, me turning off my alarm but I'm not awake, me reading a text message after I just woke up but I'm not awake, me struggling out of the grips of someones hands pulling me back into unconscious. It is a huge struggle, and rather than lying dormant, waiting for the lights to turn on while I'm motionless, my brain pretends to solve the problem while dreaming until I'm awake, even though I'm aware I'm dreaming. That's really really bad and pretty scarry. But the thing is, even though these are dreamlike thoughts, I'm fighting to wake my body up the whole time, but it won't.
This is exhausting. I often feel that I get so deep in sleep that I won't wake back up. If I don't fight hard enough to wake up, who knows how long I'll be out. It's astounding how long, elaborate, imagined and physical my dreams are when I enter into proper REM. Sometimes I wonder, when I feel myself, after already being very asleep, being pulled "deeper into the dream" what would happen if I rode it rather than fought it. These are the abstract fears and questions I ponder about my sleep disorder.
In the mean time. I don't take naps. I sleep at regular hours, for a proper length. I try to be less stressed. I pray and ask God to clear my mind before I go to bed. You're not supposed to lie supine in bed either, which I can definately try to avoid.
The mind is a powerful thing nontheless. Especially in the unconscious state.

1000 Reasons You Should Start Listening to Dirty Projectors

Take Away Show #55 _ Dirty Projectors (full version) from Vincent Moon / Petites Planètes on Vimeo.


This band is beyond the brink of influential. They are taking music and doing something brand new. Seriously, they are extremely creative, dynamic, inspired, practiced... dare I say it? - Genius. It took getting signed by Domino Records for this band to get even moderately recognized, but Dirty Projectors have been around for the better part of the turn of the century. What makes them so, different, so unique? There are several factors that play into their idiosyncratic sound. I'm not well versed in the science of describing musical/stylistic elements, however, I will try to use what vocabulary and knowledge I have to do so.

First off, and this is difficult to achieve, let alone master (granted, not all bands need to do this, either)- they are tenured in the skill of making vocals an additional instrument. That is to say, the instrumental part of the music is not a backdrop for vocals, the two are seamlessly intertwined to where voices are meticulously calculated and planned just as you string chords toghether, or synthesize a beat. This attribute brings me to my next observation.

Lyrics. Most people don't really understand why one song will really resonate with them, and other songs will only resonate on one level, and then conflict on another. Something like, "Well, I really liked the music part, but I didn't really like the lyrics." Or "I loved the lyrics, but I couldn't really get into the music". This is largely due to the fact that, yes, the lyrics and music don't line up well. The music and lyrics need to be saying the same thing. They need to match (or compliment) in style, rythym, depth, complexity, and understanding. The lyrics for this band do so perfectly. They are poetic, playful, descriptive, and artistic without being cryptic. You can determine exactly what the lyrics are saying. There is no hidden meaning, or greater concept that needs to be grasped. And then the music tells you how to feel, and the feelings you're supposed to ascribe to the lyrics. They're consise, articulate, surprising, poised... need I go on? Brilliant.

Superficially, the music makes no sense, and can even stress you out. This is because of the high level of unpredictability the music has. This unpredictability stems from two things. One, is the absolutely intricate, unusual, sporatic vocal harmonies. They are so beautiful and assertive that they literally assault your brain. You don't have time to process or understand what you're hearing, its just there, and there's no way you can tune them out.

The second is momentum. The progression of a song usually follows one of these few patterns. A song can start of with a great deal of energy and noise, then trickle off into the core rythym and style of the song. It can build momentum towards the middle, climax, then go into a repitition of the chorus and some set beat. Or a song can build all the way till the end, and have an epic, loud finish. Instinctively, we will ascribe and anticipate one of these patterns. But you can tell right away the momentum will be unpredictable. You have no clue when the song will take you to states of high energy or low energy, or when to expect them. That means the listening experience is cognitive.

Many artists will try and go for an asymetric pattern of momentum, and it ends in failure. Its not catchy enough, people can't get into it. Dirty Projectors are catchy. Their beats and rythyms are primal and groovy enough to feel. While listening to them is a cognitve process, its also visceral. You feel the music. The unusual  strings of chords and layers of vocals are different to be sure, but  most people would agree the sound is collectively upbeat. The jammy factor is important because its what keeps people listening to it over and over again. You don't get bored from predictabiliy like many jammy songs, which makes the listening process very different from any music and highly pleasurable.

For most, myself included, Dirty Projectors is an aquired taste. But after you get a feel for their style, and respect them for their sheer originality, you can't help but fall in love. You can't assess their likability like you would normal music... you must approach it from a completely objective stance, and observe. It's super fun. Seriously... If any band is worth listening to right now, it's these guys! Wait and watch music change.

Playlist # 87

1. Sunburn- Muse
2. Waiting For You- Cult of Luna
3. 12:51- The Strokes
4. Turn Into- Yeah Yeah Yeahs
5. Crown of Love- Arcade Fire
6. Daughter- As Cities Burn
7. The Beast- Austra
8. Forks and Knives- Beirut
9. The Hill- Bombay Bicycle Club
10. Forced to Love- Broken Social Scene
11. Otis- Kanye West and Jay-Z
12. I’ll Take Us Home- Matt and Kim
13. VCR- The XX
14. Baby Say Goodbye- Wavves
15. South Carolina- Tennis
16. Chicago At Night- Spoon
17. Grass- Animal Collective
18. Vintage Books- Cloud Control
19. Swamp- Colour Revolt
20. Don’t Cry- Deerhunter
21. Temacula Sunrise- Dirty Projectors
22. Laura- Girls
23. Always Malaise- Interpol
24. Mary- Yellow Ostrich
25. These Young Hearts- Patch William
26. Take Off Your Sunglasses- Ezra Furman and the Harpoons
27. I’ll Believe in Anything- Wolf Parade

Basically, this is a good range of the type of stuff I listen to everyday. You have some super jammy stuff like Muse, Beirut, Dirty Projectors, Kanye/Jay-Z, Wolf Parade, and Wavves. I know, who knew I would get in a Muse mood today? They're pretty LOL. Then, a whole but of indie angsty stuff like Colour Revolt, Interpol, Patch William, Spoon, and Arcade Fire. 

The other stuff is just very trendy. Trendy music guys. That's a new genre I think we should coin. It makes sense- it's like indie, but carries specific connotations like current and artistic. Its brand new sounds done by people who fit the current trend of aesthetics, fashion, lyrics, and so on. Trendy.... or trendie if its cute. idk... try it out!?! It doesn't mean you're trying to follow the croud or be hipster or anything by listening to it, It can still be good. :)

Nonetheless, I encourage you to check out the bands you've never heard of! These are ALL AWESOME ARTISTS with amazing music. If it's not for you, fine, but you should get exposed to music you've never heard of or don't necessarily understand. It's good for you. 

SEE if you can identify which songs fit into the following genres:

RAP

SLUDGE METAL

INDIE

HIPSTER

ROCK

BRITTISH ROCK

SURF ROCK

FOLK

POST ROCK

(some of them can fit into multiple categories, or overlap)

<3 you !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! cheers

Shallow Heart

Cold tears rip violently at the throat

Of those who cry

And pray for rain.

You've cried,

With jealousy towards those

Who have blurred sight

The pangs in their chest…

Your shallow thought can’t attain.

Sure you’ve cried.

You were so mad you didn't

Get what you wanted

Your cat died once and you cried…

But never cold tears that

Freeze and crack the heart.

I die inside

A thousand rivers pummeling my chest

Because of deep affection

Never.

No not ever like you.

That's why you hate me and I

Can’t console you…

When you pretend to cry.

Broken Hearts

Somewhere in Texas I broke my heart. The beautiful endless sea of burnt gold land and way too much time to drown in my thoughts was the perfect combination to transport my little soul to a very vulnerable place. I am so raw, and everything I experience has a hightened intensity. I was going to visit my dying grandma. I was going to support my family, going to learn about grief and death, two things I had no understanding of. I had a lot to think of as I gazed at that window towards an envoloping scenery, not only about these things, but about love, and sin, and committment, and innocence.
Here's what I learned.
People are meant to be beautiful, and you can age gracefully, and you can die and be  dying gracefully. This doesn't make it smooth. The body fights with itself, and the mind slowly leaves the body. Your humanity fades out, and become like an infant again, closer to your death, closer to God's loving arms than any other point in your life. But my grandma, she was the sweetest woman I ever knew. She gave so much love and strength to her family, and the astounding example of Christ she exibited influenced all my relatives. They were united by this beautiful woman, and shared in her loving personality, and strength. None of them feared death, they were happy to see this sweet woman reunited with her husband, free of pain.
People are meant to be beautiful, beautiful to eachother. It was a complete epiphany to me. Thats all the realization was. That we are meant to be overflowing with love and beauty.
The best visualization I have for the discovery of this profound truth is what all my relatives would say to my grandma, with their charming Texan accents, as they clasped her veiny feeble hands, "Granny, you always had the softest skin, did you know that?"
I'm completely broken.

Dampened Spirits

He does not hold my hand when I walk through the snow
Nor stand by my side in church
He cannot meet my parents
But they hear him outside my window
Sometimes

Maybe you'll see him around
He doesn't stay far behind
The first time I saw his face
I cried
He always waits for me

Someone once said
You cannot escape love
And believe me. I've tried
to run.
He has this hold over me

In my dreams
In my darkest paths
In my most silent thoughts
Comes my slender man
Stretching his spider arms around my waist

Taking me away
To a place
Where you don't need a soul
Maybe one day you'll understand
Why I pray
For Nightmares.

81

I've written 81 poems in the past two years. I have a green leather bound notebook with a girly, childish flower design on it where I keep these thoughts. My handwriting has changed over the years. I've explored different writing styles, subjects, and ink colors. I've had different muses. And now, I'm almost done. I've shared a few of these poems on this blog, but they are much more dear to my heart than they will ever be to anyone who finds inspiration within them. Writing is an exploration of the soul. Probably one of the lesser mediums of self-expression. I find music, though similar, to be much deeper, and more complete.

Anyways, when I write, it is never contrived. Though I am adamantly against feminist, persuasive essay writers, one mentioned how when she writes, she feels an overwhelming pressure building inside her, and when she wrote, the cathartic release alleviated that pressure, until she needed to write again. That is sort of how writing is for me. My thoughts will be consumed with one idea, and until one day I sit down in front of a computer or with paper and I write until that idea has taken complete form. The cadence and style, the length and symmetry, the language, vocabulary, subject, allusions, everything is my way of verbally depicting that idea that is stuck in my brain.

Writing also comes in spells. I would describe myself as a generally upbeat, friendly, easy-going person, but I will not ignore the deep streak of melancholy that runs in my veins. I am definitely not depressed, but I do enjoy being sad and somber from time to time. I like being able to feel, and every so often I'll be rapt with something sobering, and therefore overcome with emotion and deep thought. It is much easier for me to write when I'm in that mood.

What am I getting at? I don't really know, I just felt like explaining what goes on, and why I've written so many poems. They're really good, to be completely honest. And writing for me, is wildly cathartic. Everyone needs time to themselves, time to reflect, and a way to release what burdens their heart. It doesn't have to be deep, just whatever gives you that cathartic release.

This song is creepy and beautiful, maybe it could put you in that mood. (Thanks Olie, I love the Hush Sounds!!!!) <3

Fake

I sorta really like fake specimen and stuff like that. Nature, when its caged, very still, and within my grasp. Dead nature. But so far, I don't have a lot to my collection. And, I have a new piece of "art".

Bunnies

poor kids. anything can be creepy. and some parents are just sick. 

Refusing Fatality

Fate would have me to believe
It was chance
Pretty lucky I guess
We made it when everyone else
Was dealt a fatal card
I look at the past
How we barely made it out alive
And by clutching onto freedom
Learned to breathe underwater

But listen.

Fate has not won us
We don't await that fatal blow
Because beyond the conviction
Of imminence
Is love.
The marked road we tread
Is completely metaphoric
And I am so convinced
I know not even fate could invervene
You and I were ment to be
Past what fate could percieve.

Fashion

Sorry I never post about clothes.
Here are my trend tips for now.

Scrunchies.

Transparent socks.

Short shorts.

loose fitted shirts.

monocromatic.

high buns.

pale.

texture.

messy, unkept hair.

idkbro.

oh. and I rearranged my room....

Drowning

I am actually quite fond of drowning. It sounds morbid, I know. However, it is not because I look to end my life, cry out for attention, or gain satisfaction from self punishment. The truth is, its very scary. There's so much going on in your body that most people can't make sense of what is going on, and they interpret lack of air as pain and the rush of senses and emotion as terror. Maybe their supposed to. Here's where people are wrong though.

People, myself included, imagine drowning to be like suffocation. Someone puts a sock in your mouth, tape over your face, and a pillow around your head and you can't breathe. You're trying every escape route physically possible, while struggling to alleviate your stressed, feeble lungs. You throw your arms out in front of you, as if to grab some air you could throw down your peppered throat. You convulse. Gaze wild, you go insane. Sounds awful right? Well, it's not like drowning.

First time I drowned, I was ten years old. I had been playing with my younger siblings near a river. My parents were close by, keeping watch making sure none of us fell in. Even still, the river was more like a stream, it didn't seem very deep or fast, and probably didn't put us in too much danger. I remember grabbing a bunch of rocks and we were seeing who could throw farthest. It was my game I proposed, and I obviously won considering I'm the oldest. Then, we just started throwing rocks in the water. I remember my sister squealing "Look! I think I hit a fishie!" And so I stopped and stared into the water until the ripples had cleared, and a reflection of myself had formed. I waved hi to myself and jumped. The reflection kindly waved back, but looking deeper was a very large fish. It floated to the surface. It seemed dead. Then, one viscious jerk sent it underwater. It vanished as quickly as the ripples obstructed my perfect reflection.

I bent down to look for my curious friend. Did I slip and fall? Did someone push me in? Maybe. However, how I recall, I grew so intrigued of the underwater world. I turned back to look at my parents, and my brother and sister, and casually hopped into the water. What was I expecting to find? I don't really know, but my jump was less successful than I anticipated. Instead of floating around in a playhouse filled with friendly fish, I hit the bottom of the river quickly with my feet. Before I could struggle to the surface, a strong current propelled my downstream, deeper into the water. While I was tumbled around I bumped my head on a sharp rock, and got my legs cut up kinda bad. I wasn't necessarily frightened yet, just very confused, and wondering when this part would stop.

After half a minute or so, I was thrust into a bank or something. Just a deep pool of quiet water. I'm not sure why, but something was telling me not to struggle. It said the water had fought with me so hard, and I needed to enjoy my time under there for a little bit. I thought this to be wrong, and when I tried to fight to the surface, I realized my foot was caught in a tree root or something. My lungs were pretty bummed. I really needed air. It felt like someone was pinching my chest, and I couldn't loosen their grip on me. So I said fine. I breathed deeply into the water.

At this point you're expecting me to say I discovered I could breathe underwater, and it was crazy and awesome and my whole life changed for the better. No. The muted silence surrounding me, the dark quiet of the pooled water, fell into me. It was like someone made everything about my insides, cold, dark, and silent. My eyes widened, and my head began to spin, and somehow each little bubble underwater lit up with intense light, like they were turning into stars, or lighting on fire, or something. I began breathing faster and faster, to no aleviation or furthered discomfort.

That's when the adrenaline kicked in and my insides grew numb. It was as if someone gave me a big glass of cold water to drink and sit in. Something weird happened. I could smell the water. It smelled like fish, and rocks, and trees, and mud. I could feel each hair on my body sway in unison with the gentle breezes of water. I could see hundreds of fish, and my vision was so sharp, I could see through the muddied lense of the water. I could see outside too. The sun wasn't shining, it was getting ready to rain out there. Bugs were landing on the surface of the water, animals came by to get a drink, and I was there to observe it all. And my head was racing so fast, I can't even articulate all the thoughts that rushed through my brain. I felt my heart beat so loud that i was sure it pulsed ripples into the water.

I wanted to stay there forever. I really couldn't explain enough how it felt. Then it started to feel wrong. Then I felt insurmountable pain clawing in and out of my chest. My vision started to blacken, and I groped at the acid water. Unknowingly yanking at my tangled foot, I was visciously struggling. It was as if someone had turned on another switch, where all my senses were equally hightened as my vision diminished. Somehow, I reached the surface, and found the side of the bank to hold onto. I passed out there.

Someone pulled me out. I literally don't remember who, how, or when. All I remembered was waking up in the hospital on a stiff, sterile bed. But I did remember drowning, and not being on the threshold of death, not wishing I lived my life different, not wanting to say goodbye, but knowing, somehow, it would happen again.

Passion Tea

There is almost nothing I enjoy more than getting to see someone get lit up. I don't know if that statement had drug refrences, if it did and it offended you, I'm sorry. If it did and you thought it was funny, cool. If it didn't, sorry for the dumb random tangent. oopsies. Anyways, what I mean is, there is nothing more interesting and rewarding to see someone get electrified by something, and whatever it may be.
We walk around dead all the time. Waiting for something to kiss us with life, love, and purpose. But we're so dead that we're not even looking for it, we're not trying stuff out, and we're not letting life show us stuff in a kilidescope way (you know, crazy trippy rainbow junk). Myself included man. You know what I'm talking about right?

Wake up.
Eat.
Do nothing sept dumb stuff you otherwise wouldn't call productivity besides its simple ability to pass time.
Work.
Tell people "I'm good how are you?"
Sleep.

And here's the thing... We're waking up to a new bright shining glorious day without even musing on the fact that this new beautiful day is filled with endless potential to create purpose. We're eating without thinking or caring what is going into our bodies, where it came from, what its doing, how to make it better or enjoy what we already have. We work completely numb. I'm a emotional stone when I work, there to complete a task with as little mental involvement as possible. We don't think about how we are. We lie and say we're doing good when we're not. We lie when we ask people how they're doing when we actually don't care how they are. We lie when we're not doing well, and settle for good when we have the power to make our lives great. We sleep. Man, I don't even dream anymore. We sleep without finding rest. We escape to a void, and once we wake up, we find the succumbed numbness of reality is a bigger vacancy than the one we dwell in sleep.

Do you want to cry? (get prepared for a quote, right now...) What happened to love, in its first stage?- We left that when we wanted more. (end quote)

Here's whats cool though, and what you need to search for when you get this way, because we all get this way. When you're feeling like a grey wall (no feeling), you need to look out for those people who are stoked. enlivened. To me, it doesn't matter so much what they're pumped about so much as their passion. We have to be reminded to be alive sometimes, and its not that whatever it is that makes someone tick is going to make you tick, its that we all need something to keep us ticking.

Passionate people don't make a whole lot of sense. They're fervish with an idea, one that insatiably consumes their thoughts, and can't keep quiet. They're infectious. They won't settle until they have everyone convinced of the same truth they have discovered. And they're happy. Not perpetually, like contentment, but they're confident and intoxicated with the life they've been given. They want to share with you, and are endlessly thankful just for the oppertunity to show you a world through their eyes. Its pure, vulnerable, enlightening and rewarding.

Now you have this mental picture of some crazy person you've met before, who was completely out of touch with reality, who wierded you out and made you thankful that you're normal, huh... Well, that is kind of what I'm talking about, but this concept of passion doesn't have to be so drastic. Let me tell you a story...
I have a friend who sees music differently than any perspective I've ever been exposed to. I asked him to make me a mix of his favorite music one time, and the second part to my request was that he'd explain they dynamics of each song, as well as background info on the musicians, and perspectives he had on each song in general, also why he likes them. Not only did he offer such a beautiful perspective on music, he also lit up. His eyes were glowing with fervency. He couldn't get his words out fast enough. Something clicked and the zelous fire burning within him, the stuff that made him tick had him ticking ferociously, and it was lovely. Not only did it show me the life within my dear friend, it reminded something in me of my desire to be filled with desire. To kindle that spark of excitement within people and fuel my own fire.

So that's basically what I felt compelled to post about. We have to find that stuff that makes us tick. We're complex, and its different for each person, but we need it. God designed us to be enthralled, and truly living- to explore our talents, our fascinations, and convictions and share them with others. Not only is it important to be enraptured with God and our relationships with Him, its important to be intoxicated with our whole life He's given us. Every part is worth living, worth understanding through ardent sight. That is how we are to live if we want to feel alive.

Never lose sight of those with passion in their hearts.