"Spill this dark ink"

It's always hard to say what makes us feel the way we do. What puts us in these "fuck yourself" moods.

But I'm just impatient lately. And any number of other things that either do or don't stem from my frustration with this two-dimensional conversation. Practice for whatever it is I'm waiting for. I don't even know what it is I miss about the way things were. It's possible that they never actually were, in reality. I have a bad habit of romanticizing things.

And I can't decide if it's more or less mature to tell myself that things'll change. Because they never really seem to for any significant length of time.

And I also can't decide if it's more or less mature for me to try so hard to believe in Shane Koyczan lyrics. Or, I don't know, John Cusack movies.

"Gotta cash in my reality checks."

And maybe stop living between one-liners.

I do apologize for the ambiguity. But I guess when I'm this burnt out trying to articulate lonliness without using the word comes out a little less clear that I'd have liked. And maybe vagueness is just our way of not saying what we mean. And I'm just to exhausted with... with everything to hide it effectively.

And I hate using words like "empty" or "hollow" when I'm trying to describe how I feel. It's more like being a big bowl of chicken caesar salad without the dressing. You don't really need it. But everything just isn't right without it. Yeah. Exactly like that.

And I really do believe that independance is an impossibility. That we are only the sum of our relationships and interactions. And that whatever it is we're trying to achieve, happiness or whatever else, is attainable only through that moment of silent belonging. I think that's love.

I need someone willing to lend me her maddness.

Bomb the Blogosphere,
Mike

"Through candy-coated eyes"

People say that Jersey is a dive.

But, really, livin' ain't that hard if you know you're alive.

It's the day to day life for forgetting what it is to worry, right? Dad always said, in a given situation, it's always too early or too late to worry. But that doesn't stop either of us. The future is scary. Big and scary and dreadfully obscure. So I guess it's nice to come home from work too tired to do anything beyond collapsing into bed. It brings out the subtleties. Smooths the redundant and highlights the extraordinary. Makes every misplaced moment significant. There's a beauty in that akin to novelty. And probably as fleeting. But for now I'm okay operating on the small scale. For now I'm okay just living until my bones ache with restlessness.

But I'm as historically restless as I am historically ideological. But I sometimes wonder if I'm too busy watching falling stars to chase them. Or if I'm too busy chasing them to catch one.

I got my Manzar letters the other day. Letters written to me two years ago by myself and some of my friends. It's funny how at the same time things change and others stay exactly the same. I don't think anyone can write a letter to himself and not come across as dumb two year later. I think parts of us grow at different speeds. I don't know for sure though.

Bomb the Blogosphere,
Mike

Tonight's for fighting

I need new soundtracks for these whiskey nights. But that's for another day.

I've finished my first year of college. But somehow I'm not yet prepared to write about it. It just hasn't sunk in yet. It isn't real. Not tonight.

Tonight's for summer mixdiscs and open windows. For working it out. For trying to be panoptic.

Tonight is for one liners.

Shifting my biological clock should be a gradual process, I understand, but I'm finding it dangerously difficult to get up before noon and go to bed before 3. And living the next four months without Late-Night Dining to tide me over is going to be a trip and a half. The intelligent person would start eating breakfast but I say "Nay! Breakfast foods are for in Diners at 4am." See the problem? I need to reset my life for summer-rules.

I need to set goals for the next several months. Because if I don't, I'll get nothing done and I'll feel like a giant failure. So please accept the following as my "SuMmA lOvIN' tO-do LIsT!"

1. Weekly Ultimate Pick-up Games
Status: Begun
I need to stay in/get in better shape for next year's Ultimate season. To do this, I gotta keep playing. Good thing for me there are plenty of willing and talented disc-tossers around here. The only wrinkle will be finding a day that's good for everyone. It'll get even trickier when I start working. I have no idea what that'll do to my calendar.

2. Survive Empoyment at Six-Flags, Make Mad Dough
Status: Begun
I have department orientation on Sunday, which essentially means that I'll be starting next week. This is either wonderful or terrible news.

3. Make Rock in a REAL Musical Project/Band
Status: Pending
Dan and I have been talking about this forever and I know we both really want it to happen. And honestly, there's no group of guys I'd rather work with than the ones he's assembled. He's probably the most rock-dedicated dude I know, Matt's amazingly talented, and Tom has the Dan-stamp of approval. And that's good enough for me. I picked up the Strat today and didn't sound so hot. I need to get my electric chops back in shape. That, or turn it up. Volume and quality are so totally correlated. But seriously. I want to write sweet songs and play shows. Like... now, damn it.

4. Have a Summer Fling
Status: None
Seriously, is there any better a topic to write about? I could get some quality pop-punk out of it. I'll just overuse the words "heart" and "boardwalk"and somehow incorporate driving abandoned highways with the windows down. In every song. But there's some appealing novelty in it... in falling in and out and never forgetting. In that "what if's" and coulda-beens. We'll see about this one though. The opposite sex is historically uninterested in its resolution.

5. Write my fucking Musical
Status: Put-off for like 2 years
Not much to say. I just need to fuckin' do it.

6. Spend as much time as POSSIBLE with my Boys and Girls
Status: Pending
I love my Monmouth County crew. I really really do. There are no times like those shared with them. I need to make personally sure that Applebee's nights and WaWa runs and drunken antics and bad movies and late nights and hysterics and honest conversation and man-hugs and blown kisses and four/four handshakes and Socratic singalongs and drama gossip and Surf Taco evenings and political Starbucks humor and lasting memories are maximized. That's all there is to it.

And no, I haven't yet decided myself if number four is a joke.

But I'm no longer a college freshman. And that's enough to tickle the corners of my lips upward.


Next time: A lengthy reflection on this past semester and musings on my disdain for bullshitters.

Bomb the Blogosphere,
Mike