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I'm not here to inspire doubt, only to provoke thought.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Home for the Holidays.

               It was a different feeling this year for the holidays. They felt pleasant and warm. Everyone seemed light-hearted despite the lack of money from the previous years recession. The all to familiar feelings of obligation and guilt was seemingly lifted. There was something different this year, she was happy.
               Emma wasn't exactly a Scrooge. For the longest time she had wanted to love Christmas. The soft warm white lights and deep red poinsettia's with the glitter on top of the leaves. The smiling faces on the little figures of Santa and his elves. Even the nativity scenes that righteous people put up in their yards, seemed less abrasive and beautiful in there own right. It was what Christmas had brought her all these years, that made it much less then a sparkle. The family coming into town, gift giving and "quality-time." It felt like the awkward charade it always felt like. A week before Christmas Emma would tense up and feel more alone then ever. Then the big day. Eating, drinking and forcing small simplicity out of her mouth and racking her brain for any sincere conversation pieces that might be available to her. Then finding solitude in the family she spoke to on a regular bases. Then being shamed for having such a strong relationship with these people. The food would come to save the day, and then the conversations could be turned to chewing and all was well for a short period of time. Until the strange friends of her grandparents came up to make even more meaning less and awkward conversation. It was at this point the self hatred began for somehow creating the social-butterfly reputation for herself.She spied her father from across the room sitting in his chair of solitude and wished once again to be small enough to sit on his lap and crawl into a ball. Be protected by his nature that was pleasant, but direct.
              This year was different. Emma had her own. He was strong enough she felt to handle the strange side show that the holidays had been for her all these years. And he made her feel safe. His family's Christmas seemed to run much smother then the one's she had come to know. They were so loving and inviting without the feeling of being stuck in an episode of the Brady Bunch. Emma and Tom had made the decision to split the Christmas Day between the two families. She had not had the pleasure yet of having someone over for this once a year extravaganza, however she decided to role the dice. The day with his family went well, everything feeling so rushed. It's hard to find a sincere moment, when you can't stop looking at the clock. Then they made the trek up to Emma's parents house.
       There they all were waiting. There they were all together, eating, drinking and laughing. It was nice. Tom had created this buffer that had taken the edge off conversations that would normally end Emma's letter to Santa asking for a gun with one round. She was smiling really and everything she said wasn't exuded with sarcasm. It didn't really fell like the holidays at all. On the car ride home that night, who knows it could have been the three whiskey sodas, the perfectly placed Christmas lights or even possibly real feelings. Emma lend over and looked at Tom and said, "I love you" for the first time.
Tom paused for a moment, then quickly reassured her that she had maybe a couple more then she thought and continued to drive. It took her a moment to realize what had happened. Then the all to familiar feelings of forced sentiment, guilt and most of all shame ran though her entire body. Maybe she had had to much to drink, because all of a sudden she thought she might be sick. There was a loose belt shrieking in Tom's truck, but Emma couldn't tell if it was coming for the truck or inside her own head. They made it down the hill and too their driveway.
She was right back to were she started, she was home for the holidays.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

This is A Not Participation Award...

It takes strange things for for some of us to become motivated. Sometimes they are good, sometimes others need to watch someone fall off their bike to feel better about the current situation. For the most part I can honestly say that I am partial to both. Sometimes I need to see the victories of other comrades, sometimes I need to witness the failure to assure myself I will not let my fate be the same.
With that being said, I have been in a weird place myself. Not sure if anything seems motivating these days. Today is a different day however. Today I want to see the victories of all my fellow soldiers. I want more then ever to be pushed in a direction of challenge. By this I mean I want to go to the Olympics of passions. Each one of us bringing the best of what we possess. I no longer want to see the tired faces of those who have failed before. I want to be among those who want it more then I do. Test me. I am just as curious as you. Let the best man win. Not everyone can have the blue ribbon. And if it is not mine, I am dying to know who can beat me to it.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011


... you just have to be yourself, even if that means your grandmother can't look you in the eyes anymore. Be proud of yourself, when you didn't do your best. Pretend you had an orgasm to feed someones ego. Bite your tongue, when you boss is talking to you about how important it is that you work on Christmas. Say I love you, when you both know you don't mean it. Rage quit a job, even though you have absolutely no money. Apologize, when you think you did nothing wrong. Say a static that you made up on the spot to prove a point. Lie to you boyfriend, about loving trash t.v..

And sometimes you have to tell yourself that you have got it all figured out. Even though you have no clue what is coming next or where your life is headed.

Rule of thumb. If you believe it, they will too.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Communication Is Key.

What sounds crazier... Telling someone rationally in a calm voice the things that are bothering you. Keeping clear, calm and collected thoughts and points, making it perfectly clear what you upset about. All the while seeing it in whomsoever eyes that have no fucking clue why you would be upset about such things. Or ...should you wait, let the anger out in one large spout of a emotional blowhole, where things you start talking about have been already long forgotten and the anger comes out of every orifice of your body that could have held it. Leaving you to clean up the emotional wreckage of what you can't fully explain at this point because you waited to long. You couldn't come up the courage at the time to say anything about what was bothering you at the time. And now it's that day, they didn't make the bed when you asked them to. It's a bed, but is it? Or are messy, discombobulated bed sheets the metaphor that has become your relationship? Comfortable and familiar, however disorderly and never put together.

I am going on assumption here when I say that the large majority of you might have said that the calm collected version of communication is were things are sure to succeed. However have you ever looked at someone and in a very serious and collected manner said " I hate the way you do _____." or how about, " Babe I don't think we have enough sex." and " Angel I want to throw you x-box out of the window."
No, when these subjects are brought up you are angry, hurt and at the point of a total meltdown. But I bet you have said " I fucking hate you and everything you do." and " Why don't go watch more porn, you asshole." And I bet you might have at one point actually thrown a x box out of a damn window.

Not speaking of my personal proudest moments, but I can honestly say that I have always felt more uncomfortable and "psycho" addressing the problem calming. I feel naggy and annoying. I hear myself saying things like, " you hurt my feelings" or "can't you just do this for me." And to be honest it makes me feel insecure and stupid. But when I am raging there is no second guessing myself, when I get to the point on dragging you computer into the street and backing my car over it. I feel a strange sense of justice and security that can't be broken down. There are severe consequences however for those who enjoy a good rage quit every now and again. Honesty is the key, but it is up to how you choose to get your point across. Either way the truth shall set you free...or put you in small claims court. But let them know what going on in that dome of yours or you are sure to lose out on one thing or the other.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Version One vs. Version Two.

I've been having trouble writing lately. I've also been a jealous wreck lately. These two things go hand in hand I am sure. I believed jealously is for those of the weaker mind. I've been weak in the past and have promised myself that was the last time I would become captive underneath jealousy's tyranny. But today a mentor of mine showed me how to except this feeling, without living underneath it. Jealousy is a gift. It shows you what you want, and how much you can actually yearn for it. I have been jealous of everything lately. People's jobs, families, financial situations, name it, I want it. I was jealous in my relationship with things that would usually never bother me. Then anger came. I wanted to be bigger then my jealously. Then today I finally understood why a small piece of myself was broken. I have been looking at this the wrong way, jealousy can be a burden, or a driving force. I can't just make this envy go away. I want the good things. I want it all. I want my cake. And I am going to eat it all too.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

It Takes A Thief To Know One.

The hardest part of a relationship isn't you and the other person involved. It's the other people. Traditionally a relationship consists of two people, these two people who have decided for whatever reasons to come in a committed monogamous "situation". But for some reason other people don't appreciate you and your partners happiness. I'm a cynic. I hate watching happy couples post about each other on Facebook or seeing couple shots lining that entry hall of their shitty apartment. I get it, overly happy people are obnoxious and must die.
         However what about the normal people. You know "us".  The people who hate their jobs, and usually their families. The ones who just want to come home and watch a Netflix documentary while working on what gives their lives the little bit of sparkle like writing, painting, fucking or reading. Then just being able to be next to someone who makes the world and the people in a little bit more tolerable until the next day when it all begins again.
        These are the people that suffer. We are the people that suffer. No one ever fucks with stupid happy couples. It's either out of shear in intimidation or laziness (you know that it would take maximum effort infiltrate those forces). What is it though? I can not help but wonder. Why steal someone else's silver lining?
It's the guy who is trying his best to be a good man, hard worker and a supportive partner that gets beat out by the new douche bag trainer at the gym. Or it's the girl who is trying to find time for everything, look decent and maintain a fun personality that gets over passed by the girl who can't figure anything out, but has the manipulation factor that sends other signals. 
       There must be a chemical that is released through our skin when we are happy. It must radiate to such a level that people want to harvest this feeling from the very body from which it is seeping from. And like all good things that are "off the market", people will go to great lengths to obtain thee unobtainable.  We will plunder and steal. Ambush when people least expect it. And leave nothing but ashes when we are done. It's a sad truth that many people have faced before and will face again. But a word to my fellow normal couple's who don't insist on trying to prove how lucky you are to have each other via the internet or through sickening displays of P.D.A.. You are lucky to have found one another, don't take it for granted. Don't lose yourselves in each other, be individuals that better one another and support each other, that is worth a million stupid kissing on the pier pictures. And if someone wants to come in on your situation, let them. If your doing your job right, you shouldn't be worried. Let them come in and test the waters, maybe stir somethings up. And in the midst someone from this happy party walks away, don't fight. Not for that. It's one thing to lose someone and it's another for them to be taken from you. Unfortunately for the majority of us we know when something is being stolen from us, because we ourselves have taken from other people. It takes one to know one.
        There is a small chance though that you won't have anything or any one taken from you either from now on or ever again. Hold on to this idea normal people, it helps. It's never to late to be a better person. 


Tuesday, August 9, 2011

530 April St. Sparks, NV 12345

        "You'll never do better." She thought as she stood at the sink washing the dishes with a calm circular motion rinsing the grease off of the pans from this mornings breakfast. The breakfast she had made for him, was his favorite. Eggs with bacon.
         It was Saturday morning, but this meant no difference to her husband, he was up with the sun, getting dressed and making use of himself.  He ate her breakfast, kissed her on the cheek patted her butt with a affectionate hand. He was a man of average build and was handsome. Charming to a fault.
       She was a pretty women, people would agree. She had a certain edge about her, witty and observant. However she was kind to most, regardless of the end rells of what she wanted to say that played endlessly inside her head.
        They complemented each other nicely, they were happy. For the most part. From 10:00 p.m when they went to bed, till 9:30 a.m. when he was finished with the breakfast she had made him, he was her husband. Hers alone. Their conversations where vibrant and compelling. The sex was still good. And he still made her smile when he kissed her and left for the day. But when he walked out the door, he wasn't hers anymore. She knew it, he knew. Was that why everything had stayed to pleasant for all this time?
    Most women would have been outraged with what she knew. Most women would leave. But she couldn't find a real reason to. He provided for her, loved her, and came home to her every night.
     For it wasn't out of fear of being alone or with out. She was a smart women, she would make it. But she couldn't bare the thought of leaving him with nothing. He would never find another women like her again.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Fight Like A Girl.

Sometimes you just want to get through to someone. You need to know that they have full comprehension of your feelings as an individual. I know I am a lady, but the only thing that comes to my mind when I feel that someone needs to truly understand where I am coming from is to hit them right in the face. I feel extremely confident that a very direct message is sent when you strike someone right in the mouth. In all honestly I fancy myself a very level headed person. However once I feel the line has been crossed to the point where strong social cues are not being acknowledged and words from ones mouth might as well be spoken to a brick wall, action is necessary. This is not everyone's cup of tea however, in fact I actually know people would rather be harmed in a physical manner then harm another person. Its funny, however I believe it is a breed of person. I'm aggressive. I like hard things. I make things hard. Sometimes it is embedded in you from the time you were born, other times you are are the black sheep. You will stand alone in you headstrong perspective of the world and what you deem is wrong or right. I like to believe I  have a strong sense of justice. That's the thing that has me itching tonight though. In my world, things are for the most part black and white. For instance, you don't kill people, you are nice to dogs and you don't sleep with someone's husband. Other people do not have this look on the world. It's kind of like ....I didn't me to kill that guy.... the dog doesn't need to come inside when it's freezing...well she doesn't love him like I do. All of these type of people need to be hit repeatedly. Physical pain. All of them. Lots of it. You can't talk someone out of how they view the world. You can't. On the bright side though, you can remind someone how you feel about their perspective with a swift kick in the ass. It's amazing how some will respond to you when physicality comes into the mix. I hate it when things get that point. I really do however, this is how I am wired. It's what I know. If someone won't listen. Make'em.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Toy's R'Us Kids.

Remember when you were a child, and your parents or favorite grandparent took you to the toy store. You had been thinking about this toy for weeks now, whenever you were sad you would remind yourself that Grandma was coming into town and soon victory would be your, soon that particular toy would be yours. Then the day came, your ran into the store. At first you barely acknowledged the other toys that you flew by in search for what was soon to be your prized procession. Then your turned the corner and there it waited, you then skipped to the register eagerly waiting for the transaction to be complete, to see the little piece of receipt paper that lets you know this was yours and yours alone. Then it happens, much like everything, you stop for a second. As you are walking out of the store there is a small twinge in your stomach as you pass all the other toys...oh  god did I make the right choice? I have even thought about playing with the other toys? Will this toy last me?

Then you grow up. And these are the exact same questions you will ask yourselves. Except now it's not Barbie and Ken's dream house, its you and John Smith's shitty apartment. Instead of being worried about sharing the Ken doll with Suzie, your wondering were the fuck John has been going after work for the past week and a half. However nothing beats when you got home as a kid and opened your special toy and being completely satisfied with your purchase. That kids can still happen, even in adult land occasionally you open the cracker jack box and pull out exactly what you wanted. You'll get the job you wanted or the super hott make out secession you needed after a horrible break up. Sometimes you'll even give into someone without knowing where things could end up. Sometimes you'll leave for the better when your whole body screams to stay.

I have to say though, even through the doubts I sometimes had walking out of the toy store I never went home disappointed. Happiness lies in the ability to make a choice. any choice.

Monday, June 27, 2011

It's All Hard.

Writing. Life. Love. Fitness. Sex. Drugs. Rock n 'Roll.

Writing because it's all you have sometimes, sure it can be influenced by other things, giving you something to work off of, however for the most part it is raw. When you write it is literally yourself vs. yourself, trying at maximum effort to pull ideas that could possibly go anywhere from your brain.  Life because finding that sense of security is the driving force in all the small actions we as humans beings do, and the rug is constantly being pulled out from underneath us. Love, because it requires the trust, the trust, that requires that stupid ass rug, the same rug, that with its flawless timing is ripped out from under you. Fitness, because you need the sexy body to find the love that requires the trust, that requires the fucking rug. And exercise makes eating bullets look fun. Sex, because you have to maintain the fitness to "make the love" both physically and emotionally I myself would assume. Drugs, because they are to expensive to really be enjoyed when it's appropriate. And rock n' roll, because it starts the cycle of writing about life and the things in it, like love, sex, rugs and drugs.

Happy Monday.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

To Kill A Spider.

Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practice to deceive!
Sir Walter Scott
So true good sir, oh so true. My mind runs rampant tonight. It must be the rain. Or the wine. I am not sure. We are deceivers by nature I believe. Telling lies as though it was the new language of a new era. Why? We comfort ourselves by telling ourselves that it is to protect others feelings. Ha! We even lie to ourselves. But it is it for selfish reasons we bend the truth. Weaving it around until it is so tightly spun we can't tell where it started. Maybe this is the sociopath in me that sees the beauty in what it is we are trying to accomplish. each silk strand is placed in  particular place to make the line connecting dots A and B. We truly do through our own deception try and make other happy. We are a cowardly generation full of "yes-men". I have not met anyone recently who can tell me no, or at least no with some conviction. It is crime to be selfish, so instead of excepting this, we twist our needs and others into something entirely different until we ourselves come out on top. It's how celebrities come back from scandalous sex tapes and the Mafia still lives and breaths. its how something small turns into something uncontrollable. And we wonder why we are scared of spiders.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

"I'll feed you baby bird."

I receive a phone call at 2:23 a.m. last Friday morning. He demands that we hangout immediately. He is intoxicated. I am not. I respectfully decline the offer. A pity, he is extremely good looking. However I have just gotten off work and my bed is tempting me with it usual seduction. I fall for it again.

But before we get off the phone in his inebriated words he mentions my writing.

My interests peaks..."and.." I replied.

"I have read all your pieces, looking for myself or maybe even a small acknowledgment to when we might have been seeing each other, and I am no were to be found."
"No I suppose you weren't written about...does that bother you?"
"Yes, I don't want to read anymore."

This is absolutely fascinating and I love it. It proves my theory that ego's are our driving factor and I will need to "you" (those who read my writing to refer to my piece...Should I not be thankful for...) My theory being that if you are not noted in something that you discard it as a waste of time, basically. This oddly is great for me to hear, he was obviously upset, that's not what pleases me, the feelings that were risen in him is what peaked my interests. It put a smile on my face for the rest of the night. So with that being said I admire your arrogance, I too feel the same way more often then do we all. We just want a little shout out even if its negative, we are all like children with A.D.D. searching for attention...good or bad. It's why girls who are over- weight sleep around or why teenage boys get tattoos they will regret before they are twenty-five. We are attentions whores. And I love it.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Going to the Circus

There is almost nothing that does not scare me. The idea of settling down with someone I love and who loves me, or beginning a free spirit that has no attachment or obligation to anything or anyone else. I have always prided myself on being the best at something, but the joke is on me. I can't commit to something let alone someone. One of my biggest fears in life has been the thought of being trapped in a suburban hell with a cookie cutter home, mediocre sex life and a couple of kids who could potentially grow up and face the same destiny and not having a place in the world or not being a part of something that ultimately gives me peace. In writing those are my greatest fears.

Then there are times when I forget those fears. For instance sharing glass of wine with a friend who talks about being able in a way to relate to the writings. Someone who without saying, just gets it. The need to be apart of something more. And no it wasn't the wine that lets my mind at ease, if anything the alcohol heightens my awareness of where I am in life making me anxious and uncomfortable. It is the comfort of knowing that other people understand and want to find similar things in life, such as a passions and purpose. I know a man and he loves clowns. When he expressed an interest in actually dressing up like a clown and entertaining children's birthday parties, my face (by his response) said it all. He then replies with "well it was only going to be my hobby". After making the child molester joke that was basically set up for me, I actually found respect for him. For his strange interest in clowns, he finds peace in the silly circus music and a mask of confidence behind his face paint. Then I smile at the idea of a clown making me forget my worries. In the end maybe we do all have a purpose.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Every Morning.

The idea of working out and maintaining a healthy life style is more of a joke to me at this point. There is almost virtually no way of making a completely sincere life change. I recently lost a bit of weight. And by a bit I mean a small toddler, was I ever obese... no.... was I the thicker girl with the personality to make her attractive enough to still hit on...yes. Now with that being said I have began to maintain this new life style between a series of a very well balanced diet and exercise five days a week. But the part that truly humors I do it all out of spite. There is not a single part of me ever, that wakes up in the morning craving a egg white spinach omelet. Will I eat it? Yes. Enjoy it? Well its food. At this point I find the way people looking at me demonstrating self control more satisfying. The way your friends and family blink once or even two times to make sure they are seeing you correctly. And men... oh men. That is something a cheeseburger can never satisfy. I know when I grow older I will be grateful for maintaining a healthy lifestyle, my body will thank me in ways that will become far less shallow, but for now its about clothes and sex. I want to be put up against a wall in a size 4 dress. And with that being said I'm going to finish my omelet and black coffee and cry my way through a 3 mile run.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

My kinds your kind.

I am of a dying breed. I am twenty years old and hate cell phones. I am computer literate enough to write and press the button that release my recent thoughts out unto the universe. iPads, laptops, televisions inside vehicles. I do not understand any of this. If you go out to lunch with a friend I dare you to count how many times the look, touch, text on their cell phone. This honestly doesn't bother almost anyone. It bothers me, visiting with people used to be enough, thoughtful conversation and a good meal used to be enough for people. Now while we talk to each other we have to browse through a new app or be having a entirely different conversation with someone else with another mode of technology. I wish it would go away. I love the idea of solitude and entertaining myself with actually actives. It might be my my love for reading and writing, but it seems that almost all of my peers have forgotten about the pleasure of actually knowing and spending time interacting with people.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Lights Sometimes Go On

It's not having the sex that make you a whore. It's who you sleep with.

I Know What You're Saying

This day in age things are truly strange. You can actually have emotional reactions to things that are posted on the Internet. The same reaction that say you would have if someone wrote you a passionate love letter using say their own blood for ink. A bit melodramatic yes but right! Social networking sites literally run our lives. We check up, catch up, and keep up with those closest and farthest away from us. The new drop by is the like bottom on one of our mindless status updates. But is it that simple, I think not. Though it seems crude and distant it is not, its letting you know "hey, hey you...I'm here don't forget I exist and played a semi-important role in your life." Example if I may...A nice boy you went on a date with the night before, posts a sweet comment referencing your fantastic night before implying that it should happen again. Your ex-boyfriend "likes" this comment. Now call me a realist but I highly doubt that the ex is doing this because he is sincerely happy for you and your potential new fling. No, he is saying hey glad to see your moving on nicely...don't forget about me...hoping your feeling on and so forth. At least in the 90's you had to page someone to call you so he could call you a whore blatantly on the pay-phone outside the mini-mart you two went together.

I don't know if I am a true masochist but I do know that I prefer that passion of honest words made from ones mouth. I want to literally feel your venom. If you hate me, call me, use your voice. Tell me. If you love me, stand outside my house with a shitty boom-box that only plays cassette tapes. Hit me, kick me, kiss me. Do somethings. But the next time I post something about having the most amazing night of my life. If you want me to know that you still exist and know what I up me a favor and set my car on fire. I can respect that.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Sunday Afternoon.

I have been in the process of a 3 week total body cleanse. I have seen absolutely amazing results. I feel awesome, look better, wake up earlier with more energy. I have had to make serious sacrifices, such as all food except lean proteins, vegetables and fruit. Absolutely no sugars or alcohol.

My roommate looks at me the other day and tells me I have inspired him to go buy health food at the grocery store. And also compliments me on the lack of hangover on a Sunday. It does feel nice admittedly. However, call me shallow but I would probably give all of this up, this new life style for one of "those" Sunday afternoons.

You know the one. The one where you and your partner have a epic Saturday night, you spent so much time dancing that really sex isn't necessary when you get home, which is anywhere between 3:30-5:30 a.m. and you throw yourselves into bed partially dressed. Then you wake up around noon you don't even role over, but everybody remembers what was skipped last night. We don't even talk, we make love and it's lazy and warm and great. We don't kiss, we don't even look at each other. Then you might go back to sleep...or get something to eat...or both. If we are feeling crazy we watch a few episodes of Weeds. Eat lunch. Go back to sleep. Wake up, and its your second wind, a little more energy this time. We go at it for an hour. Finish. I'm hungry again. We great crazy and go out, nothing fancy. Jack In the Box will suffice for our day of afternoon delight we have earned it. Then we pick up a Red Box. Go home eat, watch movie, make out. Then your ready for bed around 8:30 and it is humanly impossible to be more satisfied.

So yeah...I guess its nice not having a hangover on Sunday.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Red Riding Shit.

With the classic fairytale story of the young red riding hood on her way to her grandmothers house as the big bad wolf follows her to enjoy a savory meal, there is so much ground to make this seemingly native childhood story into a captivating. sexy, thriller that young and old adults can both enjoy. Personally having a obsession with these classic fairytale turned around with a grotesque light shedding down on it, I truly believe the level of new and refreshing creativity that can be put into these films is limitless. So with that being said, Red Riding Hood was a absolute let down. The film was predictable, and for lack of any better way of expressing the dialogue, and relationships between the characters, it was lazy. The director and screen writer obviously decided to rely on the classic story itself with no new spin on it at all. I'm not a fucking child. If I wanted to spend 10.50$ to not see someone more attractive then me naked then I would go to the library. Turns out a decent soundtrack and slightly interesting cinematography does not create a good movie. It was a mixer of Twilight going down on Robin Hood without the orgasm. Thanks for coming out Catherine Hardwicke.


Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Love of The Craft.

I l.o.v.e comedy. I would eat it for breakfast everyday of my life if it were a tangible item.
The art of it, the way it smells is a smoky bar when people have had a few drinks and laugh at the realness of situations that a comic brings up. I love listening to the voices of fellow comedians when they are speaking the sets, the way there voices are like paint brushes on a canvasa, flowing effortlessly. I love hearing people laugh. Laughter is amazing. It is the tap to the keg of glory.
I want this in my life, forever. That is why I pursue this craft. Out of love. Nothing else.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Let's Fight

It is a intense feeling wanting to hurt someone else. It is the human part of ourselves. It lets you know that at the end of the day we are all they same, we all eat, drink, breathe and yearn to get our points across one way or the other. When I say hurt I literally mean phyiscally hurt you. If I don't like you, I want to hit you in the face. I want to see you in pain. Then I will feel like you understand me.

So I am going into boxing. I want to hurt people. Or get knocked down to size myself. Lets see how well this goes.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Stolen Lines. Part Two.

Its funny to me the subtle things that change your outlook on everything. One days pain is another days revelation. You go from wanting things to work out, to understanding why you never had a chance to begin with. You know what you want to say.

Fuck you. It's OK. I understand.

Things really do happen for a reason. They really do.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Stolen Lines.

There is the part where you are strong, the part where you are weak and then the part when you can't feel anything at all. You have a ended something important to you in your life and you are feeling the effects weigh down on you like soaking wet clothing. Nothing you can do to feel a little more comfortable you simply have to wait for the clothes to dry in the sun.

The urge you fight to fix is the most painful stomach knot in emotional existence. You know what you want to do.

Come back. Change your mind. Love me. Please.

Sadly enough, these words are to often spoken to a deaf back side of the person who is walking away. Was it out of fear? Was it out of kindness of my livelihood not to waste my time?
We will never truly know. And that is the part that hurts so bad.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Clicking Hard

Its starts as a spark. A unknown interest in someone for little or no reason at all. All you know is that you need more of them for whatever reason. You need to see them, hear them, feel them. You don't know them from Eve, but you DO know you want to. Animal instinct comes over you and you do everything in your power to do whatever it takes to make them a part of your small life. Its that connection, that euphoric feeling that has you waking up in the morning wondering what their day is like, and what kind of music they listen to.

What is this feeling?

Where does it come from?

It's passed physical attraction. Its passed the simple idea of common interests. Its a feeling that cannot not be duplicated or compared to anything else. Sometimes its there immediately other times it starts to grow. The pain of this feeling not being reciprocated is almost unbareble so we choose to not even think about that as a possibility up until the point of the trail itself.
It's wonderful. Is it all made up? Is this science? The chemicals in your body connecting with theirs therefore revealing a passage into there soul? Maybe, maybe not.

As people a little passed the point of adolescence we find that we don't want to be alone. We want love. we want to share our experiences with someone that we get along with, we "click" with. Usually we go about this looking for common goals and interests. Such as music and religious points of view. We seek out those we find attractive and have good "breeding" stock for the crude way of putting it. I can wrap my head around this idea, I really can. However what about that feeling. That feeling of no matter what this person looks like, believes in or strange circumstance they might be in, you have to have them. You want to know them, be apart of them. It might be naive, but this is what life with someone should be like. Those are the ones you should fight to love. The common interest of just wanting them and what they bring to the world. The more I live the more I think that we come into this world, broken. We want to be fixed. You want to fix someone else. Not out of pity, but love. We hold love on a pedestal. Making people jump through hoops to obtain it. But what if we gave it free without fear that we get it back. What is the worst thing that can happen? You have given someone love regardless. The selfish part of ourselves say that its unfair, but really it is just selfless. And that is the part we cant deal with. Giving without receiving.