You were only waiting…
Off to a Bad Start
July 22 – 25, 2001
Despite the massive amount of lotion I cake on my hands daily, they keep peeling away skin to the point where I have no feeling left in them. Yes, the water does weird things to my body here, but the people are doing weirder things to my social outlook. At first, I was delighted to be among such a diverse group of interesting people, but now I have discovered the true meaning of the theory that people change once you get to know them. It’s really not that bad, I just wish I could be more accepting of personalities possessing (what I tend to call) character flaws. Maybe I’m just too hard on the human race.
On the way home we will travel our way back down to the south in the slowest possible coast these mountains will allow.
I think I’m ugly. I think I’m boring. I think I’m too skinny. I think I don’t have much of a personality. I think I’m shallow. I think I live life in her shadow. I think I’m lazy. I think I’m an asshole. I think I want to be so much more than I am. I think I would like to disappear. I think I hate myself.
Treading Muddy Waters of the Gulf
July 25, 2001
Everybody else’s bad mood has rubbed off on me. Why is it that every time I’m having a good day, no one else is? Selfishness is growing. I am sick of other people’s problems and hearing about why their lives are so shitty. I have my own “dirty laundry” to sort through. So, I’m really getting to know that side of me, the one I’ve been trying to ignore and dismiss, the one that literally makes me want to dive into the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone.
I am an extremely jealous person even when it comes to those I love. I hate the fact that it is difficult for me to truly be happy for someone when pleasure and good luck shower their life, and I’m always in the shadows watching these condescending parades march by. My judgement of people in general is harsh yet I scold others for offering me the exact same treatment, which, in turn, gives way to my most hated pet peeve – hypocrisy. The practice of believing in myself has led to a confusing array of truths, lies, and that which cannot be labeled. Have I made any progress at all?
July 27, 2001 I don’t know who I am, but I think it’s okay for the time being. I know that I am lonely as hell and feel the need to capture the heart of the world, and I also know how desperate that must be. The time is come to look within.
Being Held Hostage
July 28, 2001
My blonde roots are beginning to show but who here would notice such an insignificant change? I am sick of being ignored when I have something to say and pissed off by the fact that the only attention I receive is when I’m “made up” like a woman should be. Egos fueled by testosterone are probably the biggest turn offs I have witnessed, but tonight I paid no mind and tried to enjoy my familiar company. If I had the courage to jump I think I would, but I’m cooped up in a rented bathroom instead turning up my nose towards happiness and looking for a corner to call my own. My soul is much too old and I can’t laugh quite as easy as before. I can’t enjoy life quite as easy as before…
If you were here today, what in the world would we be like? I have grown too cold to remain carefree, and maybe you would be just as far away as you are now. Satisfaction never visits me anymore, and as it has been a while since I have truly impressed myself, I have been trying too hard to produce what I don’t possess. The things I never tell them could fill a book, and with this benefit at hand, I can remain on top instead of fulfilling my need to jump. Oh, the things I’ll never tell you. Tonight, I have set up camp in the bathroom feeding my reluctance to leave what little time I have alone.
Where’s my Bald Eagle?
Rescue Creek Trail
July 29, 2001
Leave no trace of your existence here. My footprints will be swept clean by a strong gust of wind and my scent will be over-ridden by native animals reclaiming their land. The painted cliffs just ahead are making faces at me, and impressed by their ability to frequently change character, I return the favor with a smile. Rain clouds are gaining on me, but instead of making my way back home in a steady pace, I stay seated upon this rock watching the storm roll in.
This morning when I awoke with a mild hangover, I had no intentions to hike into the park by myself, but three hours into the day, I knew it was time to entertain my anti-social tendencies. Damn, it is really windy out here. My goal is to try and stay gone as long as possible. Just below me rushes the artist responsible for the rock sculptures I sit surrounded by. She is the strongest element in nature, never skipping a beat as she faithfully conducts her never ending symphony. I have been resting here for an hour now wondering if the white-headed and white-tailed bird I am witnessing is my much anticipated bald eagle or just another osprey. I wish I owned binoculars.
Plagioclastic Phenomenon
July 31, 2001
My mind has been clouded with insignificance. It seems that I have just recently been able to relax into my surroundings and explore my natural desires. Boundless. About a yard away from me, two elk are enjoying an evening by the river just as I am. As the outside air takes on a different scent and wind blows cooler through my skin, I can feel the ending of summer. The sun is setting leaving behind traces of pink and purple that are almost identical to the colored river rocks resting on the banks. Three more months. I am already becoming envious of my rear-view-mirror, but I will be coming back better prepared, much more aware, and as always, with a steady focus.
It astounds me how massively strong this old river is. Boulders are smoothed over and carried for miles until the river’s maximum capacity forces it to drop a couple of tons. If only I could be as brilliant, knowing when to relieve myself when weighed down, and knowing when to push it as far as possible. My “self-hate trip” is slowly giving way to practicality, but I am still saving room for exaggerated proportions – my defense technique against boredom. There still exists an emptiness in my heart and I have no clue as to why.
Vanilla Ice Cream Topped with Chocolate Syrup
August 1, 2001
Tonight I hold no grudges. I lean towards my specific side yet all the while understanding my opponent. I do not believe that “everything is beautiful” but I think I know why you say what you say. There will always be room for everyone to open their eyes a bit wider than before. Believing in a cause is nothing more than “jumping on the band wagon” if all four sides have not been explored. To put it simply, I understand where you’re coming from, but get a fucking clue. Now is the time to relocate the vanishing middle.
My summer love does not exist but desperation has not got the best of me. I am looking to fall in love with myself again. This working vacation has changed me in a way I was not anticipating. I am looking back on my adolescent roots and realizing that despite the aggressive rebellion, I was actually on to something. I am having fun letting “the bitch” in me shine through and openly becoming nauseated when dread-headed drunks hand me their programmed one-liners. I have become bored with peace, love, and happiness. We must stop believing that we have the whole world figured out in our 20s. As far as my summer love goes, maybe I will find you with winter.
Mosquito Forming Waters
August 3, 2001
When will I learn how beautiful I am? Feeling like I’m at the brink of another identity crisis, I welcome the intrusion with complete faith in my intuition. The contents of my thoughts and natural reactions are much too intense for the mellow and “laid-back” persona I have been trying to fake for the past seven years. Yet, it doesn’t seem possible for me to have been that blind to my own falsity. Where did I get off thinking and believing I actually knew who I was? Intuition silently informs my open ear that I have become stagnant, and location is trivial in the search for change because the change that is desired will follow unaltered.
Bitch Fest
August 5, 2001
I don’t feel much like smiling today. Vulnerable mountains continue being raped by fires and human efforts to extinguish the flames are proving useless. We need rain. Dishes in our sink are piling up radiating a stout odor when the breeze catches them just right, but a strike has been endorsed by two fed up tenants who are sick of the third one not doing her part. I started my period on my day off and the throbbing cramps and explosive acne are not making it easy to fight off a crappy mood. My weed supply has been sucked dry and I fear that my sanity will be disappearing as well. Late night chat sessions still engage every night, but I don’t feel like hanging out anymore. Everybody seems to be falling for everybody else, but I can’t have what I want and I am no longer interested in hearing what they have to say.
Not Yet There
August 5-6, 2001
Last night I thought I was going to bump my head on the moon. I couldn’t believe how close I was. I find it amazing that we are not floating yet.
How do I express myself these days? Words don’t flow quite as easily as before, and although I have been writing more lately than I did in the past year, I have not yet satisfied myself. I am slowly chipping away at this brick wall surrounding the creative side of my brain. One of these days I will retrieve my groove. My soul is lonely. The more people that file into this ancient dorm, the more alone I become. Yeah, nobody understands, not even a best friend, but who the fuck cares anyway? Who wants to explain? Who has the guts to listen? Who has the wisdom to help? So the moon was full and night refreshingly cool, but I guess my mood was too heavy to allow my body to float.
Memories of home persuade my weak moment to forfeit, but I am my own coach and will not allow this series of losses to completely wipe me out. Loneliness has been camped out on my doorstep since I was old enough to care and I have learned how to cope with this nuisance. Just another uninvited guest, right? Too many miles have been covered to just pull over to the shoulder and retrace my skid marks in a swift U-turn. The past is a bitter memory to me with all those faces I love contributing to the harsh remnants that will always remain fresh in my thoughts. But it is not yet time to rediscover the lucid past.
I cannot wait for the drive home, and with plans already made to come back next summer, I am not as reluctant to leave. I miss my roots. I miss the arbitrary familiarity I used to detest so much. In early November when we will be making that drive across the Lone Star State’s border, we will be unpacking ten times more than we first originally packed. Insignificant changes and differences I have made within myself will prove to be more drastic when I return to that life I rejected, protested, and abused. I will fully be able to see where I am at with myself — these things are important to me. Getting drunk at late night parties only to wake up the next morning in someone else’s room, or in someone else’s bed is not. If only I had my own place. It’s bad enough I have to work with these people, but living with them is just too much. I need privacy!
I was not expecting for there to be this much soap opera bullshit spreading around here, but good God. Everybody is fucking everybody, but I have never been one for casual sex which makes it that much easier to avoid being type-cast in this day and nighttime drama. I will be so relieved when my brother arrives in a week. Now, there’s someone who’s a lot like me, my older brother. Actually, I guess I’m more like him. My best experiences in the park will be with Kirk I’m sure. Family. I do miss my family. In the next week or so there will be a meteor storm in these mountains and it is this event that will most likely steal the number one spot in my memories here. Only a select few will be invited to experience this free showing along with me. We will camp on top of a mountain away from any imposing lights or people and take in the workings of space. We will duck when one gets too close and throw them towards the moon if they land.
Living on the Rim of a Caldera
August 7, 2001
Trying to escape the heat again, I am barely dressed and keeping myself drenched with ice cold water every fifteen minutes. The weather most definitely affects my mood and this relentless and stifling heat has turned me into an all-out bitch. I keep reminding myself that, despite the unexpected high temperatures, it is still hotter in Houston, then again, I do have an air conditioner back home. I can feel the fires closing in all around us but Mother Nature refuses relief. Insanity. If the situation keeps up like this, evacuation will be mandatory and I shall be forced to head for even hotter ground, but summer is on her last leg, and fall will supply a cure.
Letting Go of Holding Back
August 8-10, 2001
What are you going to do now that life has you cornered and bound? I confided in you all these burning details I could never put into words while face to face – in my letter I was able to enlighten you without reservations, but your response disappointed me. Maybe you’re exactly where I’m at. Swallow hard for I’ve heard it only gets more difficult and we still have a long way to go. Do you find yourself thinking about suicide at least once a day like I do? Intense words to just throw on a piece of paper, but where else could I possibly admit this? I think you are aware of that part of myself containing the deepest, sickest, most shameful secret I unwillingly, or naively, inherited as a child. Perhaps you hold the same secret. I know, I’m digging too deep.
August 10, 2001
The world left behind will continue without missing a beat but there are those of us moving a little slower these days. What about your mother and brother and sister? What about your son and your wife? What about you? What about your life? Tonight I will be staying up late consoling your ex-fiancé and my best friend after hearing about your sudden refusal to live. I think it’s safe to say that everyone is still in shock. I am in disbelief myself, but it is last night’s journal entry that has me questioning the contents of this evening’s tragedy. I was writing to a friend of mine who has become more like a stranger over the past two years, and I was wondering if maybe she is as troubled and unhappy as myself, for I too have become passively distant. Not yet finished, I intended to complete the extent of my complaints the next day, but now I am no longer composing this in her honor. I must have been writing to you, unknowingly, the whole time. I think you and I are a lot alike in a lot of ways, but your recent departure has not left me with much hope.
Suicide cannot be the only route to peace. Tying your own noose, placing it around your neck, starting the movie reel leaving yourself two hours to be undiscovered until the reel caught itself on fire is a pretty dedicated way to finalize your breath, but friends and family still speculate your desire to be found before it was too late like so many times in the past. Their wonderings are a way to deal with the pain – I don’t think you wanted to be saved.
You and me, we were a lot alike, always chasing happiness and fucking it up when found, uncontrollable mood swings, self-hate trips, jealousy, depression, drug use, character hopping, anti-social tendencies, vanity, pride, fear: we should have talked more than we did. I’m sure you can imagine the madness you left behind but perhaps you were starved for the attention. I guess that’s not the point. I am going to focus all my concentration on enjoying life again. I am going to take better care of myself. I am going to be nicer to people. How many times did you repeat those exhausted resolutions to yourself? I am having a difficult time being there for Gwen and realizing how shitty of a friend I am. I’m sure you know where I’m coming from.
This suicide thing is like a disease, and, as I was having my own thoughts about calling it quits before you even acted on yours, I am not able or qualified to console those you left behind or those who wish to follow. It takes all the energy I possess just to keep my spirit alive, and this self-centered use of time just adds to the formulated array of criticism and negativity in which I surround myself. You affected and touched more people in your life than you will ever be aware. How does your family handle something like this? How do I handle the pain of my dearest friend? We are here in Montana away from the realities of our everyday routine lives, but there are some things that even the mountains can’t cure.
About two weeks ago Gwen and I jumped out of a plane at 9,000 ft, and for about 8 minutes out of our lives, we were soaring with the eagles. She screamed your name on the way down and I have complete faith that you heard her and watched as she fell further from the sky only to feel the familiarity of earth again. I could hear you laughing, watching with disbelief as the love of your life plummeted towards the ground. You would have been so impressed. If only we could have talked sooner.
– for Lyle –
Leaving with the Rest
September 1, 2001
The final stretch lay before me and my time away from “everyday” has been spent carelessly; swiftly. I have made substantial connections that, hopefully, will broaden my window of opportunity. Scenery that steals my temporary backyard has become a familiar sight to my spoiled eyes, yet I know I will not fully appreciate the beauty of my view until I am once again among towering asphalt hidden behind smoggy air with miles ahead possessing nothing but disturbed land to entertain my eyes.
Another full moon shines bright in the small town of Gardiner, Montana. Coyotes can be heard in the distance, probably somewhere near Jardin, where Golden eagles are in abundance and gravel roads disappear into forests of trees. During the summer months in Gardiner, about 500 people are accounted for, during fall, winter and spring only about 250 people are left. Moose and elk roam freely down the “main street” and a dog can be found at any existing family-owned establishment.
Relating II
September 3, 2001
I can remember my dreams when the news was still fresh, the disturbing nightmarish distortions, the confusion between life and death, the illusion of a face whose soul no longer gives expression, or sight, or breath. I can remember these really bad days when the reality of an unexpected occurrence spoke much too loud and weighed much too heavy in my ears and on my shoulders.
– for Gwen –
Greed
September 5, 2001
Always searching. New faces transform into familiar expressions who no longer capture my interest. Long-awaited mountains put my favorite pictures to shame, but from where I am stationed, the view could be more pleasing and the elevation could be a bit higher. Never satisfied. Where would I be right now if the summer was spent in limbo and my spirit was never provided the opportunity of new challenges? Winter rolled in with the clouds today and I am cozy in my bottom bunk, tucked away in my blankets, enjoying the aroma of an incense stick. Contentment is temporary.
Bad Hair Day
September 17, 2001
“America is under attack”
I found me a little spot of sunshine to keep warm down by the river. The Bunk House is overlooking my violent mood swing and I’m making sure the coast is clear to smoke my herb. Today I felt like dying and taking the past with me as I go. Not yet ready for this life, I don’t think I will ever have what it takes to follow my breath to the natural end. What am I going to do? There is a means for escape I retreat to in my mind for every waking hour I have witnessed since childhood till now, but paranoia has grown increasingly worse through the years and I fear what will become of me in the unavoidable future I have yet to plan. My self-proclaimed talent is under attack and in danger of being raped of its authenticity. I have become my own worst enemy, and with the realization of this horrific betrayal, who is on my side?
Somewhere Among Existence
September 29, 2001
Last night I fell asleep to the cynical sound of laughing coyotes gathering somewhere near the vanishing river. Another Indian summer wreaks havoc on my want for winter, but I must be patient in these last September days. I have been thinking of home way too often. Six months stationed in Montana living with complete strangers has been a trying experience, but have I served my time well? Living up to my reclusive nature, I have made no connections or lifelong friends, these people I shall probably never see again. I did not camp out or go on as many back country hikes as I would have liked. I found out that I’m really not a big fan of the “hippie” and that maybe the city is more up my alley. I am more attached to home, aka, Houston, than I ever thought I could be. I am not as nice as I once assumed, but I actually take pride in my bitchy undertones. College is still on my mind, and this pleases me much, for, as of now, it is all that I have going for me. Houston is still public enemy number one, but I appreciate my family now more than I ever have before and that is why I miss Texas immensely. Family is what makes it so hard to leave.
Where Am I ?????
October 7, 2001
Why the fuck can’t I write? This so called “writer’s block” seems to be more like a permanent reality. I keep thinking the verses will come to me after my arrival home and I am able to reflect on my stay here, but I know it is only an excuse. I am losing sight of the capabilities and idealism that I used to hold on to so tightly. Thought provoking questions get stuck in my mind and they are all I can grasp making it difficult to function and interact with people throughout the day. I am always lost within myself wondering what will become of me and if I will be able to succeed in this world, and will I spend the rest of my life alone? How can I enjoy myself when these pestilent worries remain fixed and unanswered in my conscience? But I know that it will come, the answer will come unexplained and unaccounted for just like it always does. Maybe I am trying too hard again and placing too much importance on the future and not enough energy on the present. I can never seem to put anything into perspective until it is a thing of the past.
Keeping an Eye on the Temperature
October 9, 2001
I don’t want to be another drifter wandering aimlessly through life without a layer of security to call home. This lifestyle used to appeal to me, but I now know how quickly I would lose my sanity in this type of atmosphere. Five and a half months of my life have been spent talking, working, and living with such drifters, and I cannot begin to express how ready I am to be among familiar faces, research papers, and algebra exams…
Electric Peak is currently hidden behind a cloud of snow, and the surrounding rolling hills have been dusted for the first time this autumn, but Gardiner has yet to be christened, receiving only mud puddles and drenched asphalt to quench the thirst for winter. I am not unhappy. Rain has been a much needed presence this summer, and in its absence, dry and relentless heat has pounded on my nerves. Air pollution from the many lightning-started forest fires has been extinguished and I am thankful for my late October extension. Two more weeks and the redwoods of northern California will be in my possession.
Closing Out Location
October 22, 2001
How stupid I am. Remembering now the first days of my arrival, I have grown accustomed to fresh air, mountainous surroundings, and newfound friends I have been craving for quite some time. I remember when it was all still new, and although thoughts of home would bring tears to my eyes, I knew I was where I needed to be. One more week and I shall be taking the long way back to Houston. Already excited about visiting with family and friends but yet not fully aware of how different I have become; the moment to appreciate the seconds at hand is in this very hour, on this very night, in this very room…
I have tasted the role I might have portrayed, and mingled with those who are well on their way. While enticing it seems, I must alter my dreams and envision a different play.
“I am no longer who I once thought I was.”
One Last Look
October 29-30, 2001
This horrific putrid green carpet that turns my clean socks shit brown denies room 201 of ever looking decent even on its good days. With the summer crowd gone, the folks from up the hill (Mammoth) have moved in, and once again unfamiliar faces pass me in the hall, but they do not seem as friendly as my coworkers in the laundry. Behind our laundry building, snowplows are being prepared for winter, and the debates begin about the noise and air pollution these machines will produce in the park. The snow plows were once banned but George W. Bush vetoed that law, and so now, once again, the arguments rage on.
I was in a melancholy on the walk home from the bar tonight, and the coyotes laughing in the distance added to my “breathe it all in” moment. I think it’s the loudest they have ever been. I am going to miss this place. God, how soon it takes for me to unknowingly start taking for granted what I used to only dream about. Tomorrow is Halloween but my compadre and I will be spending our favorite “holiday” on the road. Five and a half months in this place. As much as we bitch and grown about living conditions and factory work, there are many reasons which make these irritations and annoyances irrelevant and yet all the more worthwhile.
There is an irrefutable charm in the air that has been tempting me even on the worst of my days. I should have used my time more wisely. I did good for a girl who’s never spent longer than two weeks away from home. But I still adhere to this overwhelming sense that I have only just begun to open up a section of myself I have neglected for most of my adult life. This certain “charm in the air” will only grow more potent the further away I travel and I will have no choice but to return and successfully fulfill the opportunities I shied away from this summer.
You never knew when the moment was yours or where to go when given the chance. Only now will the moment present – dead in the mourning’s of past.
Still Not Seeing It
November 26, 2001
I don’t know where I want to be or who I’d like to see. I don’t know what I want to do. In spite of all the amazing experiences I was able to claim, I was still unhappy, maybe even more so in the mountains. I was so ready to be home I surprised myself, but now, here I am, back where I started – nothing has changed. I’ve tried lying to myself about this unfortunate discovery by concentrating on all the new friends I made, the beautiful scenery I lived among, the first time I spent more than two weeks away from home, but I truly don’t feel any different. In a way, I feel as though I failed my task, my duty to myself. I got out, it had been a long time coming but I finally got out and retreated to the mountains just like I had been forever threatening to do, and then I came back almost six months later, happy to be home and not yet missing Montana.
I have been home for a week and have already been polluted by the overflowing volumes of sadness, gloom, hate, confusion, and hopelessness strangling my circle of family and friends. The paranoia is thick. Sisters refuse to speak to each other, addiction is killing its vessels, and hatred is closing in on even more death. Why do I have to be such a drama queen sometimes? Yellowstone was good to me, it was I who fed myself nonsense and desired to be alone when the crowd was all gathered. An outcast by choice, but life has become insanely lonely, and my anti-social tendencies have given way to a lack of social skills. I managed to make friends nonetheless and we are planning a reunion next summer – same place, same location – Gardiner, Montana.
Tryin’ Real Hard
December 3 – 4, 2001
Maybe we are just wasting our time and standing in lines thinking about what needs to be done by the end of the day before tomorrow arrives with another full list.
Quit your bitching and moaning and complaining. Stop the tears, you are too young to carry that much sadness, grief, and regret. No, you haven’t learned anything, and although predictions from a now seemingly better year are presently correct, at least you can say you were right.
December 12, 2001 "Okay, let's see, where do I begin? First, I guess it would be best if I fully explain who I am before I get to, well, the rest. My name is Hailey Sherbert V."
Notes: "When the world became more civilized..."
Laymen’s Terms
December 5, 2001
Once again, moving at a fast pace, I somehow manage to keep up yet I still yearn for simplicity. Below the sea remembering higher elevations, I am not quite certain whether I would rather swim or fly. Journals are piling up on my over-stocked bookshelf, and though their importance relies solely on me, I seem to have no need for them. Stuck in a season when waterfalls ice over, mountains decorate their peaks, and the skies and the earth become one single shade of white, but down here, far away from glaciers, this winter season exists only from the calendar. Simplicity.
These journals I speak of give me pleasure. They are relics of my life, brandings marking my possession of breath and space. I have not been close with my pen and paper for the past two years, and now I must train myself to be as witty as I once was. It was my misunderstanding that, without recognition and financial rewards, these writings would take me nowhere and are a waste of my time, but upon this second I have realized their importance to me nonetheless. I have realized that my journals give me a sense of pride, accomplishment, and relief, and it is this realization that renders them, this is why my diaries are needed.
As for winter, I shall have to reminisce about acres of snowy Christmas trees inhabiting mountains, the soothing smell of wood burning in fireplaces filling the air, and appreciating the feeling of walking into a warm room from the immense cold until a suitable solution has been discovered for my fickle tendencies. Still keeping up, I feel the need to pull ahead and exploit my capabilities. Obstacles have not changed their courses, and the sooner I map out my route and stick to my plan of action, the sooner I shall behold simplicity.
December 5, 2001 Driving around in San Francisco, lost for four hours straight, and spending over $10 because of toll bridges is not a good way to spend time in a new and highly anticipated city. We almost plowed into the side of a trolley due to the massive rollercoaster hills that robs the driver the ability to see oncoming traffic.
Duck, Duck, Goose
December 6, 2001
Your face will always remind me of that special place where we first met and I actually thought I might stand a chance. Six months later and still on my own, I wonder if I have ever been seen as what I really am. At this point, I am ready to take whatever comes my way, for all this waiting and analyzing has left me without a plausible significant other. I am picky and under the impression that love at first sight is not extinct. I reject anyone who does not bring me to faint. Impatience is getting the best of me, and this past year has somehow robbed me of my romanticism and dulled my ability to dream. Let us go back to the ghetto of paradise and give it another go.
Inner Workings
December 6, 2001
Among my own, or so I thought to be, but as the days went by I found a hidden side to my dimensions, a side that disagreed, and in some aspects, detested, the very people I once sought to know. They wander the world scoring job after job never staying longer than a year, never finding a place to call home. Making a career out of travelling nonstop used to be my ultimate goal, but I guess I am too much of a homebody to admit this fantasy into my reality. Too much soul searching has been administered for there to be no sign of advancement. Perhaps my focus should be placed closer to the surface and not so far in depth.
It is on nights like this, when the day has been uneventful and the week has been wasted, that I question my patterns of thought and doubt my intuition. I once believed that human beings don’t change. In the long run, despite outer appearances, likings, tastes, and careers, people remain the same as do their inner workings. An overwhelming feeling tempted me into believing that I might one day make a connection, but I will never be among my own, for no one ever is.
Stuff
December 15 – 22, 2001
It was easier to score weed in Montana than it is in Houston. It seems I had more friends in Montana as well. When I’m there I want to be here, and when I’m here I would rather be there. Never happy.
There was a time when youth prevailed and two they walked in foreign land, but relentless was age in the hour of prime and the moment had failed to endure…
“If such a creature does exist then wouldn’t we be inclined and expected to question and re-examine those confessions that we have dismissed as being folklore, fantasy, and legend?”
“He has walked this earth longer than time usually allows, he has cheated gravity and the effects of age, he has misused and dishonored his God-given gift of possessing pure genius: He is such a creature, but such a creature, in spite of obvious and significant advancements, is still human.”
Unaffected
December 24, 2001
I don’t think I fully miss it yet, but when I close my eyes to enjoy memories that come with a favorite song or awake to a cold grey day just the way I like it, I am reminded of my new found home in Montana. Nothing seems to sink in anymore, it is hard to be affected these days, but I am trying my best to rectify this apparent loss of passion and emotion. I cried the first time I witnessed the breathtaking view of the snowcapped Rocky Mountain Range, this was six months ago and since that time I have seen and experienced much more than my usual share, and perhaps this is the reason for my sudden dullness. Anticipated plans that have been discussed and re-discussed over a thousand times finally took action in a spontaneous burst, and I was caught off guard by my failure to be ready – a dreamer, yes, but I cower when abstract transforms itself into realism.
Paid Programming
December 27, 2001
Lose yourself. Too much analyzing has led to stagnant waters not worth treading. Getting younger by the close of each year, I wonder what old age will look like in the mirror when it’s staring back at me. A proud contender of my generation, but somehow along the line we forgot to consider happiness wrapped up in denouncing evils and injustices around the world as well as in our personal lives. Life is a rerun.
Pulling Teeth
December 27, 2001
And here I am listening to a modern day tribal rhythm trying to imagine myself back in big sky country. Music is becoming my religion as I sink deeper into this zombie-like state. Trying to feel, trying to care, trying to find something in the unavoidable nothing I seem to be surrounding myself in. But life is good despite concern, and youth is no longer taken for granted. “Let it go, it’s in your head for you know where you’ve been and there is nothing more to know.” Importance can be subtle and perhaps my concentration has been misfocused and in vain. I must learn to enjoy the moment and quit psycho-analyzing every aspect of my existence. When did I become so uptight?
Boredom
December 2001
John Lennon claimed to be a genius, and who are we to dispute? I could be a genius, but I’m just too lazy.
I have been questioning the possibility that perhaps my marijuana intake has been too high lately.
Contagious
January 1, 2002
Just killing time until time is no longer mine to kill. Where is the groove and the ability to know when it is found? Where is my creativity and suspended inspiration? Where is my youth and imagination? A better year shall fall upon and following after shall proceed an even greater age of resplendent happiness. My summer was productive, and this winter has been spent with loving family, and spring shall bring my last semester of a two-year college. Change disguises itself going through each day unnoticed until its presence catches up and reveals the differences brought on by change itself that has gone unnoticed.
And That’s It
January 3, 2002
I did absolutely nothing today. At 2:00 pm I finally decided to get out of bed and fixed myself a “morning” Dr. Pepper. After smoking a cigarette, I took an hour long bath and toked off my one-hitter while bathing. Breakfast was two slices of pizza dipped in ranch enjoyed on the couch in front of the T.V. This is actually a habit I broke myself of while in Yellowstone. We, of course, didn’t own a television, and after the first week or so, I didn’t really miss it. My meals were spent looking out the window at the meandering river set deep in the valley of the foothills and mountain ranges, but today I did not have such luxuries and settled for the Fox lineup featuring “The Simpsons,” “King of the Hill,” and “The Drew Carey Show.” I think I might have watched Mrs. Doubtfire as well, part of it anyway. My best friend came home today from her mother’s house which delights me for I have been lonely without her. Tomorrow my mother, Gwen, and I are attending the matinee showing of “Vanilla Sky.”
It Always Leads to This
January 4, 2002
It was you I always ran to when I needed somewhere to go, somewhere to talk. I think I’ve made her cry again, something I haven’t done for a very long time, and I don’t even know where it came from. My stomach is in knots. I hate fighting with my mother. Maybe I knew more back then than I do now, but I’m clouded with guilt and newfound responsibility for past excursions that I guess I never thought would catch up with me. But I can’t come running to you with this one for you are involved, and the shoulder of a complete stranger would be the only ear to witness my confessions. Maybe I should seek a psychiatrist, or maybe you fucked me up for life. Maybe I fucked myself. When mom comes home from wherever she went, I shall have to make my apologies and admit to an active temper.
The Meaning of Life
January 11, 2002
School starts this Monday and I cannot tell you how happy this makes me. My predictions were right. After spending a month back home from my six month stay in Montana, the boredom would once again settle in and it would feel as though I never left. Regretfully, I don’t think I will be returning to Yellowstone this summer. I will only have one more class to take (algebra) after this spring semester and then I will have successfully completed my hours for an Associate of Arts Degree. Since it has taken me this long to reach this point, not picking up the class this summer would be stupid.
My real true dilemma is deciding what I want to major in, what kind of degree, and which university can I attend to finish my studies? I honestly do not want to attend some absurdly huge campus with thousands upon thousands of undergrads, half of which will be applying for the same job as myself. My college career got off to a slow start, most people are done with it at 24, but not me, I was fickle and idealistic. I didn’t need college to be successful, and after two years of working mind-numbing jobs and getting nowhere with my dreams, I decided to give school one more chance. What the hell do I want to do with my life? What do I want in general? Will I be asking myself these questions until I am dead?
Verses January 19, 2002 Problems. As if the mechanisms in life in which I have no control over are not enough, I steadily create my own turmoil to add to the already thriving bullshit the rest of the world steadily creates.
Color of Transparency
February 9, 2002
I should be writing my government paper or studying for a test next week, but my mind is not focused on such things which makes these important activities impossible to conquer. I have grown much too pale from living in shadows, and if this absence of light keeps up for much longer, I will surely turn the color of transparency. When no one else was around to hear, I have spoken with great ease, choosing my words with precision and mandating my point leaving no room for confusion, but when faced with an audience, listeners, I am left without a voice. What a lonely life I lead! I should be making my way and searching for love, but I have never had a talent for reading maps, and I don’t think there is a flirtatious bone in my body.
Almost 25, I often wonder if I’m still alive, and now standing in front of a crowded shelf displaying a thousand dreams, I’m guessing none of them would really have fit me. I need to write again as faithfully as before, and record every unimportant, irrelevant, mundane detail that inhabits my daily life until I retrieve my groove and am able to create a work of art, a piece of paper displaying a wide array of letters, pieced together just right, to form a masterpiece. I need to believe in myself again, but the consistency of my optimism is not consistent at all, and I am feeling much like a resident at the zoo. I can never seem to capture “the moment” for when I do the moment is spoiled, but it was with this realization that I discovered my truth: constant analysis and awareness will lessen the ability to react naturally and steal the opportunity to confess honesty. I must learn how to see the world instead of worrying how the world sees me.
Patterns of Regret
March 11, 2002
I am driven by a need for accomplishment. It seems I am driven by this and nothing more. Maybe I’m trying too hard. Maybe I’ve just lost interest. Whatever the reason, I’m sick of feeling useless, inexperienced, and altogether invisible. So, here it goes. I am at that point where I am willing to put aside my absurdly paranoid self-consciousness and expose what I try to hide. I shall conquer all that I fear…
I believe I burnt myself out on traveling and running away from home, yet, I am still restless. My friends from Yellowstone are all returning this summer for another five months of working laundry, back country hiking, swimming at Chico, and all-night bar sessions. I decided to spend the summer here in Houston. My excuse was that I wanted to hurry up and finish school, and besides, I don’t really have the money to go, but there is something else I haven’t wanted to admit to myself.
It seems as though I didn’t enjoy myself the way I should have or could have because of my own reservations. No matter how extravagant or awe-inspiring the day had been, there was always something in the back of my head and in my thoughts that didn’t allow my full attention to dwell on such good fortunes. In the midst of discovery, I found myself still searching. When I thought I had stumbled upon the antidote I had needed by biding my time in unknown territory among ancient formations, I was confronted with the terrifying realization that I still do not know what I want. This is not to be taken the wrong way for I captured some of the happiest memories I’ve ever possessed, but I didn’t live up to my expectations, and now I am tormented in questioning what my expectations truly are.
So, as winter draws to a close and spring is beginning to open her doors for summer, time elapses between my adventures in bison land and my return to home and to college. My brother will also be working in geyser country this summer, and I can already detect the waves of regret heading my way. I just didn’t think I was up to it. I would want things to be exactly as they were last season, and common sense tells me that’s impossible. It seems to me that once you experience and “get your feet wet” so to speak, the more fear you acquire in the long run.
Trying Again
March 23, 2002
So, I have returned, but how much have I really changed? Perhaps it is too subtle to even recognize. Faces and places that surround me have changed drastically, but through all my travels, and tragedy, and learnings, I am unaware of a drastic change within myself.
I took off for Yellowstone with the intentions of trying to “find myself” and divulge that missing something that I had been searching for, but nothing came. Time spent away from my acquired home proved to only deepen the extent of my ever-worsening confusion. I was not as content among snow-capped mountains, lush green forests, and glacial blue lakes as I had anticipated I would be.
So, maybe I have changed, in that, I no longer expect a different location to cure my sadness. And maybe this is how it will always be for me, running around in search of something, never fulfilling my undecided appetite. And maybe this is a good thing because it will keep me going, and guessing, and learning. I do miss Yellowstone, and now that I am back home, I am still suffering from homesickness. Upon reflection, I am able to see “the big picture,” but while stationed in the very thick of it, I was unaware of true meanings. Sometimes I caught a glimpse but soon grew weary of interpretation. I can see it now.
My life is going to be spent chasing after sensationalized ideas and events that never fully “make the mark” but are always glorified in retrospect which shall forever inspire me to go back for more. Do I just keep getting dumber? Through my Yellowstone experience I did gain friends from all around the world, and this was always recognized even before the moment was lost. Those of us who were exceptionally close still remain in contact, occasionally by phone, often by postcards, and frequently by email. I rather enjoy the postcards. The beauty of the national park that was my backyard was never actually taken for granted either. Although at times, I feared, that, perhaps I am not the nature freak I thought I was, but I know now that this was just a reaction to the inspiration killer known as familiarity. I’m sure I’ll make it back there one of these days.
As of now, I’m still trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up. The field of geology is looking more and more likely each day. I’m good at it, and I rather enjoy it, but there is a level of intimidation that I can’t seem to shake. Up until recently, I’ve just never pictured myself a friend of science, but now I find it rather intriguing. Maybe I should just follow in the footsteps of those before me and become a bonafide “mountain man.” I met one in Yellowstone. Uh, no.
Random
April 3, 2002
I wish I knew myself better, a lot might be explained if I did. My restlessness seems to worsen every year, and there is still no cure to be found. I guess I’ll just keep living, and dreaming, and aging. Do I have a choice? A new love needs to be acquired, one that evokes passion and intrigue so that I may become a victim to my own obsessive tendency.
xxxxxx Out xxxxxx
April 6, 2002
Addiction. I can’t do this or that because my many dependencies and restrictions. Is it really only boredom or is there some underlying reason for my habits? Some childhood tragedy, or maybe an imperfection in my brain? I can think of a few dozen good reasons, but what to do about it, how to deal with it? My journals are my counselors but even they have seized to help.
Not the Buddha
April 7, 2002
Have I ever been so alone? Perhaps, but has it always been this difficult for me to communicate with others? My words are forced as they come fumbling out of my mouth trying to grasp formation. I no longer feel close to anyone, and I am ignorant of how to bridge ever-growing gaps. What do I really care about anyway? I’ve lost myself if I ever had myself. I don’t want to go, I don’t want to stay. Indecisive. Restless. I am light years away from enlightenment.
One Time at Yellowstone
April 9, 2002
I had wanted to take my brother and his girlfriend, Carrie, to my favorite campsite which was almost always void of other campers. Indeed, we were lucky to have found it a second time. It was off this little dirt road that stretched for like thirty miles until, out in the middle of nowhere, appears the Half Moon campground which is like a fairytale come true.
Set deep in the Crazy Mountains of Montana, Half Moon is surrounded by lush green forests all the way up to the tree line of the mountains. A healthy river winds its way for miles depositing beds of well-sculpted volcanic rocks that are perfect for just “hanging out,” and roaring waterfalls are created by glaciers who fall victim to the summer sun every year for billions of years. It is enough to inspire the deadest of us all. Best campsite I’ve ever been to, and the secret was passed on to me from my boss’s husband – the Cherokee Indian who, when shopping for clothes with his wife, asks her if what he’s tried on makes him look too white. He wears a red bandana around his forehead all the time and his vanity plates read “CHER ONE,” but somehow he managed to stumble upon this badass campsite.
The first time I went with my boss, Mia, and her husband Irvin, I really did have a most wonderful time, but how could you not in such a setting? So, when Kirk and Carrie came to visit, I just had to take them there, and that is when I learned one of the most important lessons in life – never try to recreate the moment.
We went in the middle of summer when the fire danger is “very high” and building fires while camping is temporarily prohibited. Well, not taking this into account, we packed all kinds of food to cook over an open fire for dinner, breakfast, and lunch, and the trail mix was devoured in the car before we ever found the campground. Of course, we did get lost.
Our fire lasted for no longer than an hour before the forest ranger showed up out of fucking nowhere and made us put it out. I’m all for fire safety, but it had been drizzling all day where we were, and all around us in the mountains heavy rains fell, and every once in a while I could feel small pieces of ice hit my bare arms. We argued this point with the ranger but it was useless. He told us that if he saw we started the fire back up, he would have to fine us.
The lights of his truck disappeared into the mountains and we were left in complete darkness. One flashlight did exist between the four of us, however, it failed to keep us warm. Still, the night was not lost to a dead fire. When the inevitable fear of a bear attack set upon us, we were forced to liven up the party, and so the beer kept us warm and the joint we passed around managed to spark up conversation. Towards the end of the night, after we had run out of material, we resorted to bellowing made-up animal sounds like “Twee-eeeee” (our favorite) and other unrecognizable nonsense as loud as the night would allow. Sleep came soon after.
At the time, I considered the camping trip officially ruined, but now I just want to be back in the Crazy Mountains with my loved ones. Kirk and Carrie will be working at Yellowstone this summer in Gardiner laundry, living at the Bunk House, and hanging out with almost all the friends I made last summer. I could have put my application in, but at the time, I didn’t feel like it, and now that it’s too late, I’m starting to regret it. I guess what I miss more than anything is driving out to Livingston or Bozeman to go shopping, or driving to the Beartooth Mountains, or the Tetons, or the lake. Picnicking with newly made friends by a waterfall. Staying up late in a crowded room drinking beer and watching movies at the Bunk House. Hanging out at Gardiner’s local bars recognizing almost everyone who walked in. Hearing the laughter of coyotes through my open window – always open. Double rainbows. Day hikes. Wind storms. The continuous roaring of the nearby river. Watching the sky for bald eagles. Late night Scrabble games. Letters from home. Postcard hunting. The Town Café…
Tonight, in the Bayou City, it is in the 80’s with high humidity as always. It is only April. I miss waking up on the morning of my birthday, June 13, and seeing snow.
Invisible Friends
April 10, 2002
And so it has happened, we finally lost touch, and I admit I saw it coming, but was hesitant to call. I find my latest entries have a loneliness theme to them, and I have proclaimed my feelings of never feeling more alone. What is healthy? And have I ever cared about health in my 24 years of life? We used to dream fantastical dreams that were never able to come true. Talking, and planning, and planning and talking, but here we are as we’ve always been. Change has been in orbit, and I can now recognize the full effects of this lingering inevitability. Sometimes I feel as though I’ve been waiting for the rest of my close-knit little world to be ready, like I’ve been waiting on you to make something happen, and I am now fully aware of my laziness and gullibility.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that my plans for whatever include only myself now. I have been disappointed. I am not as idealistic as I once was. Practicality has produced results, and a balance between the two will take me wherever I may go. I am not comfortable with the past, and I cannot blame my age for certain indecencies performed. How will this turn out? I still enjoy your company, your familiar friendship, but it will never be as it was before, and I am sick of secret regrets.
“What did I miss about my kinship with those who never knew I was even gone?”
Role Play
April 18, 2002
He sat down next to me as if to visually display his complete control over me, as if to confirm my defeat. “What do you want from me? I’m already dead,” but this was not altogether true, for I had been healed. Had I not? He is now speaking to my unexpected guests, and I am bracing myself for the inevitable.
(Michael)
April 22, 2002 It is amazing how many hours I can kill by just sitting in my room zoning out while listening to my favorite albums. No wonder I feel like time is passing me by.
Kirk left for Yellowstone today on the Greyhound bus. He’s probably somewhere near Amarillo right now. He will stay gone for six months, possibly more. I cried when he left, just as I did when he boarded the plane in Bozeman to go back home. I cannot stress enough how much my 6-month Yellowstone stay gave me more of an appreciation for family.
Positively Jealous
April 24, 2002
The excitement of coming home has long subsided, and with May on the way, I realize that it has almost been a year since I left for Yellowstone. But here I am, back in Houston, fighting the inevitable “heat wave” that mocks my words “I will never spend another summer in Houston ever again.” On the bright side, it isn’t summer yet. My mountain territory has been overtaken by my own flesh and blood. Perhaps we are paving the way for each other.
Record High Temperatures
April 24 – 28, 2002
“When you awake in the morning your eyes will fall heavy upon the majestic glimmering of a snow-covered mountain range. The 52 mile bus ride to Gardiner will surround you with a range on each side, and when you reach your destination, Electric Peak will be resting in loyalty waiting to greet you.”
My best friend said I was just torturing myself, but I told her I would be like this anyway regardless of Kirk working there this summer. Talking about it helps keep it alive and real. I don’t want to forget my experience. I don’t want it to turn into some far away dream.
Something has occurred that possesses great significance, but I have been too occupied and involved to locate, analyze, and perceive this distracting presence.
This is where it begins. I am here for the summer to tie up loose ends and make sure that I am not attempting to walk blind. It seems to me that the more experience a person has, the more fear that person must also acquire.
Inspiration. What is it that I really want? Memories of last summer are becoming a full-fledged obsession, and as I lay eyes on my friends tonight, thankful for their presence, I realize how little we change and how much we take for granted. Where is home?
Wet Behind the Ears
April 29, 2002
I guess what I discovered about myself is that, no matter where I am, I will never be happy. My Yellowstone experience led to a bad case of over-analysis of oneself. I do not know how long I have been this self-absorbed, but it is getting the best of me and turning me into something I despise. Let us start anew and see if we can’t capture happiness by the tail…
I will be twenty-five in June and still on the road to acquiring that associate’s degree so I can go on to a university. It is safe to say that things ae moving rather slow. I find it hard to believe that it has almost been a year since I first left for my Yellowstone adventure, and it dawns on me how wisely my time was spent up in the mountains. In that short amount of time I had forgotten how time used to just waste away – now it is all too familiar.
My friends have already begun to gather for another season in the park, and as my brother calls home to let us know how things are going, I realize how much I am missing out. “But I will go back,” I keep telling myself, “I will go back” the last words I spoke to myself upon leaving the mountains, the only way I could will myself to leave. But that is also not altogether true, for secretly I was ready to be home again and among the confines of my long-term security. Have I always been this fucking lost and perhaps still too dumb to see it? The elderly regret to tell you that wisdom is nothing more than a curse.
It is going to be one hell of a summer. I hope I can survive.
There is no limit to what our minds can invent, and unrealistic dreams are what keep some of us going. These unattainable goals can be modified until perfected.
A Note to the Reader:
There is much to be said about life in your twenties. Things are supposed to happen. Some go to college, some start careers, some get married and have kids, some do all of the above, and some don’t. I guess I’ve done a little bit of everything, but in that same breath it would be more appropriate to state that I have really done a little bit of nothing. My twenty-fifth birthday was this last June of 2002, and since that dreaded day I have been living as if my sixties were right around the corner. Threatened by time, responsibility, and the need to map out a future, I have been trying to cram all of my duties and procrastinated tasks into one session. It is beginning to play on my nerves.
I’ve been to college, I’ve traveled, I’ve worked and I’ve just sat around wasting time, but in the wake of this late hour I do not regret any of my executive decisions. So, here I am back at the home front picking up my last class in order to complete my associate’s degree. I am teaching myself how to play the guitar on an old Harmony model that my stepmother gave to my older brother years ago. The tips of my fingers are now permanently numb. I have also just recently asked my mother (yes, I still live with her) to give me piano lessons on a recently acquired keyboard that my aunt swiped from her school. It’s okay, she’s the music teacher, and they don’t even know it’s gone. I am trying to find a job so I can retreat back to the mountains come spring, but the city of Houston refuses to comply. I am attempting to finish my book. Cramming.
I do not plan on settling down and raising a family. I don’t plan on climbing the corporate ladder. I don’t plan on working dead-end jobs forever. I don’t plan on living with my mom forever. I have taken a look around me at all the other participants in my age group, and it seems to me that my resume is a quite popular one. The privilege of possessing direction is limited to a lucky few, and the rest of us poor saps are forced to walk blindly towards a vast array of different directions. Traveling has become a popular past-time to some, and while many enjoy sharing stories about backpacking in Thailand or making their way across ancient oceans to visit exotic islands, I, again, do not have the privilege of relaying such adventures. Seven years ago when I crossed the Texas state line into New Mexico for the first time, I thought my head was going to pop off I was so excited, but since then, I have been committed to…
Never stop dreaming.
Statuesque
May 3, 2002
I am on the right track, but I cannot yet see it. This will slowly drive you insane if you let it, but then I am much too intelligent to let that happen. So, here I sit once again buried in the bowels of Houston wondering how much more humid it could actually get. Importance must be placed on “now,” and as I have already come to the conclusion that I will never be satisfied with my location and living conditions, this should come fairly easy. I am on the right track I can feel it, and if there is no track than at least I am moving towards something.
"Billboards speak louder than the human voice will allow."
May 9, 2002
My first glimpse of the snow-covered Rocky Mountain Range held me in an unbreakable trance. Nothing could have prepared me for that introduction, I had tears in my eyes. It amazes me how naïve I am to the world, yet how easy it is to grow.
This girl I knew back in Montana warned me that Walmart may very well take over the world. I laughed at her theory, but a drive through America made me rethink this whole Walmart thing. She’s onto something.
“and then we said that it was time to go…”
I remember that last walk home from the bar. All together for the last time. I could hear the coyotes chanting their farewells.
It is difficult to think or talk about anything but Yellowstone. An experience of a lifetime that changed me forever, but perhaps now I am even more confused & alone than before. I was right about coming back and nothing being the same, though at first glance, the difference was unrecognizable. And yet I always knew I would come back to this shithole no matter the threats I threw about. I am forever surprising myself. My needs have changed as well as my love, and while I still enjoy simplicity, I realize how complicated I need things to be. I operate much better on my own, but in this same statement, I must point out how sick I am of loneliness.
May 10, 2002 Just when I think I have become unaffected, desensitized, and finally, numb, I am reminded of my emotions. A change in the tides once again carries me out to sea where I am rendered foreign by the surrounding aquatic life-forms.
Letting Go of Holding Back II
May 12, 2002
I hung out with Billy almost all day and all night yesterday. You wouldn’t even recognize him, I didn’t at first. We had a going away party for Carrie. She left for Yellowstone today and will be there for the next three months along with my brother. Your brother, Tommy, showed up with his girlfriend, but he pretty much kept to himself and his guitar. I didn’t realize how much I was affected by your death until I was hanging out with your friends and family in Bay City. In consoling Gwen and trying to be strong for her, I ignored my own feelings. I am disgusted by your suicide, and, unable to produce any sort of comfort, acceptance, or peace by your departure, I am at a complete loss. I am sick of living with death. Murder, suicide, old age, freak accidents, disease: how can happiness and contentment be acquired when death is a stalker waiting in unforeseen shadows?
“I never get use to it.”
Undeserving
May 16, 2002
I will do this on my own; this day and night drama whose season may never come to a close. I am unhappy with you; disappointed in you; disillusioned with you. I should have never believed in anyone else, but then I was young and you were old and we formulated our sick devotion. I guess I no longer need you.
May 20 – 24, 2002
How am I supposed to react? I wanted a change. I needed a change. I saved my own life by activating that change. I’m tired of waiting for happiness. My sense for tragedy runs deep, and with the mind of a 25 year old child, I do not yet know how to survive in the “adult world.” Yet I have, over and over again, I survive. Yes, it is true that my love has been altered, and in the wake of my first true independence, I fed that part of myself which contains a small amount of love for…you.
But as I’ve said in the past, this is not about you, this is about me. It is time to retreat once again to a different kind of day with a different kind of view, but I must remain stationed here to fulfill my contract with college. College, what a joke. I used to know what I wanted to do with my life until I went to college.
I see that my life is moving along rather quickly and thoughts of old age and death are becoming obsessive. My academic career seems very much unimportant when confronted with mortality. I simply cannot fathom the distant future when I will no longer possess my youth, and finally, no longer exist on this earth, my earth. But I am still twenty-something trying to figure out exactly where I’m supposed to fit in, and not yet fully aware of how much of an enemy time truly is. When did I start living in a blur where passion and idealism are all used up and that ever-threatening reality of humdrum days spent in a continuous cycle of redundancies is all that is left? To put it simply: I have lost my passion for life and not the mountains, nor the beach, nor college is going to bring it back.
When will I stop driving myself insane and questioning all that I once put faith in? So I am turned off by college, disillusioned with friends, fearful of the future, and void of passion, but I am beginning to catch on. I am not entirely lost, and having recognized a crucial component of my complex makeup, I can enhance that which will improve, and delete that which only takes up room. I have been very disappointed in myself.
Diary of a Pothead
May 24, 2002
I just like to sit around smoking pot and listening to my CD’s. I mean, I’ll just sit there, no task at hand, no deep thoughts, no plan of action, nothing. I’ll just listen to the music. Music that I’ve heard but never tire of it. Sometimes I wonder if the only thing I truly want out of life is to just sit around in my room all day undisturbed and well-stocked playing my imaginary games. Not a great writer, or scientist, or musician, but just a nobody caught up in her insignificant world and a perfect understanding of ignorance. The easy way out, perhaps. But being blessed with the need to feel as if I have something to prove, I am thus driven to acquire, accomplish, and advance. It is this driving force that separates me from a full-fledged, good-for-nothing and clueless pothead. xxoooxxxooo
May 25, 2002 I hope we are upon another awakening. A revolution. I hope the government is not as corrupt as I fear. A conspiracy. I hope God, in whatever sense of the word, really exists. A reason. I hope we are upon another realization. A vision.
Recognizing Impending Goals
May 25, 2002
I want to be ahead this time, ahead in line and ahead of my time (as the saying goes); to stand waiting for the rest to catch on.
My eyes could be opened a little wider. My mind could be expanded a little further. My ears could listen a little harder. My body could stand to be a little healthier. Room for improvement.
Instead of being an over-achiever, I’ve decided to not care as much and concentrate on what would really make me whole.
Random thoughts come and go, passing in and out, until they are finally awarded recognition or are discarded into a sea of meaningless and redundant conjunctions.
Pushing back the negativity that pollutes my well-being, I think I caught a glimpse of a new and updated version of hope. My belly is full, and while I am constantly striving to put on the pounds, I am happy to say that I have not lost what little I have gained.
A Note to My Brother
May 25, 2002
You are exactly where I’ve been, but I am not envious of your taking my place. We must mark our territory in as many locations as possible, remembering, of course, to keep the lines of communication wide open. I miss you in your absence, but perhaps we can dredge some sort of temporarily permanent habitat through these lines of connection. I am speaking, still, of moving camp for unhappy faces have yet to change expression. They have cut down all the trees where we presently reside and what little amount of forest that still exists has already been bought and sold to corporations whose structures already stand not ten minutes from their future developed land. It is maddening.
But we know how it can be where nature is preserved and a balance between environmental protection and industrial growth is met. You and I are much alike, and envisioning you taking the same hikes I ventured, sleeping under the same roof I slept, and enduring all that I had to endure helps to keep these experiences alive in my mind. I often fear that I may spend the rest of my life just as alone as I’ve always been, but while your feet remain planted on this earth, so will mine.
?
May 26, 2002
This is for no one else but me. My so-called writers block diagnosis may have been misinterpreted from the very beginning. I think perhaps my problem lies in the fact that I was wanting to write for the wrong reasons and not that I just simply couldn’t write. What???
So, let’s try this again from a different angle. Less constrictive and more experimental. Think about it Lindz, wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could turn your seemingly useless imagination into a rewarding and fulfilling career?
Tonight the moon is shining brilliantly full above the Pacific Ocean which lies just outside my bedroom window. I’ve tried to leave this over-populated city on a number of occasions, but each time she calls me back, and I can never ignore that calm and serene plea for my return. I know now that my home will always be located by the deliciously cold and breathtakingly blue Pacific Ocean. Las Angeles itself leaves a lot to be desired.
My name is Ashley Carrington Brava. I am an ex-drug addict, an ex-musician, an ex-accountant, and an ex-painter. I have been divorced three times but two of those marriages were to the same woman. As of now, I am single and living as a recluse in my beach house in Venice. I am thirty-four years old. I am currently taking anti-psychotic medications for my schizophrenic tendencies.
Nine years ago I was diagnosed with having a form of paranoid schizophrenia that, to put it simply, causes me to see things that aren’t really there. In my case, I created a whole other world in which I lived and breathed but which never actually existed. Imagine, if you can, waking up one day strapped down to the bed in a mental hospital and being told that your life was nothing more than a delusion. Your friends, family, memories, relationships, love affairs, tragedies, accomplishments, and beliefs were an extravagant and complex fantasy that existed only in your mind. Nine years ago I had the pleasure of experiencing this bizarre and altogether horrifying experience. I have yet to put all the pieces of this puzzle together, but that is one of the reasons I’ve started writing this book. Also, real or not, I feel that the contents of my “fantasy world” should be recorded by someone other than a doctor. What an excruciating task this will be. But first, let me begin with when I was diagnosed with my illness.
Ageism
June 27, 2002
And another CD plays on while, at the same time, I come to a much needed understanding. A week after my 25th birthday and I thought it had gone by quite smoothly with no qualms about hitting the dreaded “mid 20’s,” but for the last two days I have been experiencing delayed reactions to my inevitable progression through life. Tonight, I have come to accept the process of aging, and perhaps I have finally put to rest my obsessive fear of growing old. My passions will continue to flourish, mature, and gain strength. My mind will still be mine except upgraded with knowledge, depth, and wisdom. My body will be more in touch with my fully remodeled mind, and with a few more lines to define my personality more deeply, I will remain unchanged…
There is a five year interval where a major shift arises and takes place, and if you’re lucky, a long-awaited burst of creativity, ambition, and newfound inspiration, all of which may very well be the ingredients for a highly productive and rewarding beginning. I would like to learn how to play the guitar, and piano, and the oboe. I was talking to a friend over a nice dinner at Pizza Hut and confided with her the overwhelmingly directionless direction I seem to be headed. College has me confused as I am now clueless as to what I would like to devote my time doing. Music has always been my first love, and although a career in this field is cut-throat, fabricated, controlled, and impossible to succeed, I only want to make music for myself, and I have a sneaking suspicion I may possess a hidden talent. My poetry is growing lonely.
I have class in three hours and have not the time to sleep for my focus is a year from now and preparations are still only thoughts. I need a job and A2D is my first place to look. I need a car, and a job can supply me with that. I need to take my shitty-ass six-string guitar down to a music shop, proclaim my utter ignorance towards the instrument, and ask them if it would be sufficient to learn on, and if they could string it for me. I need to go to Yellowstone this next summer and perhaps stay in Grant Village this time instead of Gardiner. I need to pass this college algebra course so I can receive my associate’s degree and prepare for higher learning. I need to be myself and let go of procrastination, insecurity, premature reactions, and above all, fear.
Symbolism
June 28, 2002
I chose sleep over class. Guess I wasn’t too eager to see what grade I made on test 2. Today I had all my hair chopped off and I’m now sporting my new pixie do. In an attempt to make small talk, the hair dresser asked me where I worked and what I do, I told her I’m a student and probably would be for the rest of my life. She told me I needed to get out, get a job, and make money. I agreed and then fell silent.
Stranded again where I once used to be among jungles of concrete and yet something in reach, something to teach.
Roots
(In Search of Happiness)
July 7, 2002
I have been riding passenger down somebody else’s memory lane, but this road is where my roots were once planted, and grown though they have, it is mandatory to locate and become familiar with your point of origin.
My mother was a beauty queen, and her mother was a saint. My grandfather was a Navy man in WWII and was overseas when my mother was born. He lived to watch his first wife die, his second wife divorce him, and his three beautiful daughters turn into women, have children of their own, and then dumped by their husbands. He has played witness to three generations, and at 75, is still going strong. As for me, I am still waiting for the best years of my life. Maybe I’m living them now.
My brother is in Yellowstone having a wonderful time. He’s thinking about staying through the winter. Mom doesn’t think he’s coming back, this makes me both sad and ecstatically happy. I miss him tremendously but the mountains could very well save his life, and I won’t be too far behind in moving up to Bozeman. It’s a great little town, but not too little. I have spoken of the importance of family, but it is that same family that seems to be holding me back for I too considered moving to Bozeman when I was living up in Montana, but I came back for friends and family and school, I guess. But my friends here are sparse and my family will always be here, for a while anyhow. I didn’t realize how much of a change I really needed until my return from Yellowstone. Now, I’m ready for another change. Time is a human’s worst enemy, and since I don’t plan on ever making friends with this pain-in-the-ass, I must act fast before my time is up. So this brings me to my next topic of discussion: how do I come about capturing happiness by the ears?
I was in Bay City last weekend and I awoke Saturday morning, or afternoon, rather, crying. The night before was spent at my cousin’s house just hanging out, but eventually and inevitably, Lyle’s name was brought up. Lyle, the guy who hung himself. Lyle, my best friend’s ex-fiancé and first and only true love. Lyle, my temporary friend. The big rumor now is that Lyle was actually murdered by his girlfriend and her boyfriend. Something about the suicide note, which was a journal entry, being questionable, and him buying groceries that same day.
Lyle’s stepfather showed up at my cousin’s Friday night and tells us all about a cat’s life that he saved a couple of weeks ago. Apparently, the cat had gotten strangled up in something and was about to hang itself until Billy saved him. Nobody really said anything in return. I hate that town, but to return to my point about happiness, what makes someone willingly give up? I don’t believe Lyle was murdered, but I can understand why close friends and family would desire to believe just that. How is it that someone with a child, a future, a family, can just up and kill themselves? We saw this same behavior with Cobain. He had a beautiful baby girl, a successful career, a promising future, and yet happiness could never be obtained. What went wrong? And what rumors were spread about Courtney afterward? Oh, she killed Kurt. She hired someone to have him killed. But all we really need to do is listen, I mean, really listen to his music for the answer:
“I think I’m dumb, or maybe just happy, think I’m just happy…”
So, just how difficult is happiness to come by? And when it’s staring me right in the face, will I ever recognize it for what it is? Perhaps happiness has been sensationalized and it’s really not as great as it seems.
What Am I Doing Back Here?
July 8, 2002
Is there something I forgot to realize? Something I forgot to see? I’m at that point where a long-awaited decision is necessary, and I know now that there will never be a correct answer. See, the thing is, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. At 25, I was supposed to be successful and independent, instead, I am the extreme opposite. Maybe I should be happy that time travels by the speed of light and ages me; the less time left, the better. Time. I have too much of it at my chewed off fingertips.
I’m remembering nights back in Yellowstone when my roommates were nowhere to be found and I was finally granted the cherished gift of privacy. Cool September nights had finally begun to settle in, and I would sit in the front room/kitchen/Carrie’s bedroom with the window open permitting the brilliantly refreshing mountain air to cleanse room 201. The chill from autumn thrilled me, and while I left the window open all night, I also kept the heater on. The resident coordinator, Jo, later bitched at me for this act of “wasting energy.” But those were some of the most relaxing and invigorating nights I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. Just me, my journal, and the ever-present sound of the rushing river whose path followed right outside the ancient confinements of the Bunk House.
So, what am I going to do with myself now? I can no longer be held back for I have run out of time, but how truly powerful is fear that I would put off my future because of codependency and addiction? Have I been creating my own misery, and if so, how do I stop? On this day, a goal has been met, but this accomplishment has only led to complications.
A Note from a Lover
July 19, 2002
You have come a long way my beautiful lady. Comparisons are nothing but repeated tendencies of negativity, and you must keep in mind that you are, indeed, the best. I love you with all my heart, but we definitely have some knots we need to work through. I need you to come to your senses, and, once again, recognize your own greatness. Look where you’ve been! Look what you’ve seen! Past journals have only dreamed about the experiences you’ve captured. Don’t fall too hard, for despite sudden changes, you are moving forward. It is imperative that you know that your worst enemy, fear, will never die, but let me be the first to remind you that you have conquered and defeated him many times in the past. You are still quite young and quite capable of giving yourself exactly what you want. We will not be ruled by the past, you and I, for nothing will replace or erase missing links and adolescent sex. You hold some of the world’s best kept secrets, but they have finally met their expiration date. That part of your life was ended quite abruptly and unplanned in the Red Canyons of New Mexico. You did what needed to be done. It’s been a long time comin’.
Trying to Write Lyrics to Music that Does Not Yet Exist July 20, 2002 Getting in touch again, I recognize the year for what it’s worth, and beckon to the sea, “will she stop to wait for me?” Me me me, is all that I can see, but if I admit to myself prescribed vanity, am I better than he who wallows in modesty? I guess what I’m getting at is I’m sick of the veiling act, and wondering if charity is the biggest scam since religion. I’ll never be free, at least not completely, but it’s what they don’t know that keeps me in tow, it’s what they don’t know that keeps me afloat. And so what if I fail to ever remove that veil, I’m still one step further ahead of where I was when I first tried to shed. I’m still one step further ahead of where I was when I was first bled. Getting in tune again, I recognize the world for what it’s worth, and beckon to the west, “will he stop to welcome me?” Me me me, I cast into the sea, and as I submit to my self-indulgent fantasies, will I ignore those who wander in reality? I guess what I’m getting at is I’m sick of the cloning act, and wondering if charity is the biggest scam since religion. "Somebody please put me to music"
Still, More Verses
July 20, 2002
I could write all night, but the night has long ago ended, and tomorrow is trying to cut in on today.
Almost out of weed again, but Dimples won’t let me run dry. I have an addictive personality, and with this in mind, I remember to stay away from the deadly drugs. Well, excluding tobacco.
The last of a generation, I feel the need to make up for lost time and ensure our existence in an over-crowded society. I feel the need to successfully convey the message and iridescent point that was displayed on all levels. I feel the need to refuse to let go.
Another one lost, but what can be done? Pain is all too beautiful when disguised as talent. And so I say goodbye to another favorite artist whose work was destined to be mocked but never captured by inspired new-comers. It is a slap in the face to call it a phase, or give it a name, or a number, or a letter. The mainstream always cheapens that which is a diamond in its natural form.
But I am still living, and unsure of the future of music, I look to those whom I trust.
Confusions of the 21st Century
July 20, 2002
I think the thing that annoys me the most on television today is the interest and fascination with “real TV.” It’s all over the place: The Real World, Fantasy Island, talk shows, game shows, real-life situations, real people, hidden cameras. First off, are we not familiar enough with the “real world” as it is, that we have to watch twentysomething assholes on TV supposedly living out their everyday lives? What’s “everyday” about having your life videotaped, which brings me to my second complaint: How can it be “real life” and “real people” if they know they are being videotaped? Jerry Springer is wholly responsible for giving trailer trash the loudest voice out of all of America’s segregated communities.
And what’s this whole thing with the “Y” generation? Oh, what a nice pun, the letter “Y” follows the letter “X” in the alphabet, the Y Generation follows the X Generation, and the word “why” is a nice way to describe them. Everything must have a label, and if it does not, than it doesn’t exist. I’m also annoyed by the threat of terrorism today. President Bush’s War On Terrorism is nothing but propaganda. Are we even looking for Bin Laden anymore, and if so, what would it matter if we did find him?
Verses
July 21, 2002
Oh me, what are we, and in the realm of discovery, how do I proceed?
I’ve lost my concept of time, but it’s okay because he was never a friend of mine.
Voices from the nether regions of Big Timber, Montana bellow a series of greetings through extended phone lines. They are drunk, they are high, it is late, and I am jealous.
What to do for the next year? Shall I work my ass off at an unknown job until I save enough money to drive up to Bozeman to continue my college career? That sounds far-fetched, but I have been there before, and with connections already made, I won’t be completely alone. Still, I doubt the probability of such an event ever taking place. Anywhere I turn in life, I always seem to be faced with a decision. I hate decisions.
But then you hesitated. “You were only waiting for this moment to arrive,” and then you hesitated.
I must turn in for I have church in the morning and I intend to pay full attention to what Pastor Fritz has to say.
Future Applications
July 23, 2002
Just a little note to say I’m loaded down with college applications, work applications, financial aid applications, and a responsibility to two unpaid tickets.
“I need money. I need a car. I need a job. I need a career. I want to do nothing.”
There has been an outbreak. It has something to do with mosquitoes, and there was a case in Houston. The guy is in the hospital, but that’s all I know. (70 cases in LA)
Trying to teach myself how to play the guitar. I am not sure of my chances of survival yet. Too bad I don’t own a piano.
“Trying to discover a new beat, a new rhythm. The way I see it, as long as you’re moving towards something, just so long as you’re not stagnant, than it should be okay.”
No matter what your age, or where you’re at, you will always be yourself, and that’s all that matters. It’s all in the mind, and I’m one of a kind, and my comparisons to others are self-destructive and all together discouraging.
Another Houston Summer
July 24, 2002
I’m losing it fast, but hanging on just in case something changes. It’s time to start thinking in terms of optimism, but what do I know about optimism? The reality of my limited existence on a fragile earth is driving me absolutely crazy. As I recognize the possibility of growing old, I must soon come to terms with myself.
If for No Other Reason than to see Tool…
July 27, 2002
I just got back from a Tool concert, and I do not exaggerate when I say that it is one of the best shows I’ve ever witnessed live. Maynard was painted blue and almost naked except for a pair of, what looked like, bikini underwear. He stood on his own platform dancing his tribal dance as he belted out the lyrics in perfect pitch. I must also point out the magnificent stamina and rhythm the drummer possessed. As my best friend Gwen said, “He makes anyone want to become a drummer.” The guy is on his own plane. I needed this. It’s been a long time comin’.
Pressure and Time
August 6, 2002
I have fallen under the spell. So I hear it’s all downhill from 25. Your ears and nose keep getting bigger, your body slows down and grows more round, you start to grow shorter and wrinkles begin to set in. Well, I’m not giving in without a fight. My youth has always been appreciated and rarely taken for granted, but have I set myself up for a letdown? My youth has become a treasured jewel, and when something is made sacred, and is cherished, it makes it that much more difficult when stolen. I hate time. I hate birthdays. I hate the past. I hate the future. But I am only 25, and as I am still trying to make friends with the “mid-twenties,” I realize that perhaps my dilemma is centered more around my disappointment in myself for not being more successful by now. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
But I’m doing better than some, if that’s not too cruel to say. I’ve come a long way since sixteen, and I think I like myself better now. I do not accept myself as a failure, and this I guess is my driving force. Once upon a time I used to believe it would last forever.
But That Would Be a Lie
August 7, 2002
I wish I could say that I welcome each new day, but my eyes repel the sun and my skin turns paper white from years of under exposure. I wish I could say I have a sunny disposition, but a smile I refuse to fake, and my thoughts are much too morbid. I wish I could say that money didn’t matter, but I’m running low on supplies and have no way to replenish my needs. I wish I could say that things are getting better, but I’m right here where I’ve always been, chasing the same dream, running into the same problems, and wrestling with the very same worries. I wish I could say I’m a positive thinker, but I know how many things can go wrong, and aren’t I lucky to have had the opportunity to experience such happenings? I wish I could say that I believe in destiny, but nothing is ever that easy, and idealism fades with youth. I wish I could say I have a plan of action, but I am drifting towards an unknown future and realizing I will never truly get there. I wish I could say I have confidence in myself, but I am unsure about absolutely everything and insecure about my competence. I wish I could say that I have never woken up crying.
Loitering at the Crossroads
August 8, 2002
And in this same book I have lived on higher ground. Not yet a year, and most of my time spent back home has been devoted to nursing bad habits. What does it matter if I prefer to waste my days doing nothing? I am beginning to sense another change in the tides where a previously viewed notion is converted into a completely different concept. I have nothing figured out.
Still no job. If this keeps up, I may end up working at the Texaco down the street. Last Friday I joined a temp agency but I am skeptical about ever hearing from them again. I was at that damn place for two and a half hours filling out applications with the same information, and taking tests to rate my competence. I had to take a written test, a typing test, a data entry test, a Microsoft Word test, and an Excel test. While I was getting all my hair chopped off a month and a half ago at the salon, I ran into one of my old bosses from A2D Technologies, and taking advantage of the situation, I asked if they were doing any hiring, but apparently the company is downsizing. I’m tempted to go up there anyway and see if I can at least work part-time. I’m desperate. I have officially entered the fullest extent of my rut. Damn, I wish I was in Yellowstone.
I have nothing except for everything on my mind. Sometimes I want to get as far away as possible, but my movement is slow and delayed.
Lately I have been feeling as though my life is going absolutely nowhere and that my accomplishments are sparse, but tonight I may have a better handle on the situation. Still toiling with the idea of having a book of poetry and journal entries published, I decided to skim over some of my past journals, and I am now aware of my gradual but evident progress. I must never quit trying. I think I would rather strive for a faraway goal than settle in for a lifetime. I know now why people stay. I know now why dreams rarely come true, but I will never accept what I don’t want. Anyway, I knew there was a reason why I kept a journal. Through words written in recent but distant years, I was able to inspire myself. And maybe I will return this next summer. Just one last time before I am forced to commit to something.
Verses
August 9, 2002
I must make it a point to quit acting as if the sky is about to fall when things aren’t going my way. I must also make it a point to find new material to write about. Something besides my tiring complaints about the past, the future, the present, and everything in between.
It is time again to indulge myself. An age of misunderstandings and unrealistic expectations is coming to an end.
The Gulf of Mexico is depressed and filled with rage, but I don’t blame her. I have been a bad lover. Not once have I paid her a visit this summer, and my excuses run rampant.
Much can be made laughable. I tend to take life a bit too serious, but when things are not blown out of proportion, I can see how insignificant they actually are.
Bored again. I would go out and have some fun around town, but my savings need to be saved, and nobody in the city of Houston is willing to give me a goddamn job.
Letting Go of Holding Back III
August 10, 2002
“Am I any good, and if not, what then?”
I have seen your ghost through a well-preserved photograph, and now I can’t help but wonder what was really being portrayed. Your siblings are rivaling, and with a year already passed, I now have proof that time can stand still. Your son’s mother wanted to give him away to your aunt for $10,000, but I probably shouldn’t be telling you about that. I probably shouldn’t be telling you about how your younger brother has become even more withdrawn than he was to begin with, or how your older brother probably doesn’t even know his own name anymore.
Suicide is wrong in every aspect, but your reasons for having done so must have outweighed decisive death. I probably shouldn’t write to you again until I have something positive to say, but then, you know how difficult that can be. You probably wouldn’t ever hear from me again. So, I will close with a good memory of the three of us camped out on the beach together sharing a laugh, listening to the tide, and poking at the fire until our eyes could no longer focus. I remember how much you loved the beach.
Taste the Taste of Free…
August 11, 2002
If it matters at all, I would like to openly apologize for a cold shoulder. I am not who I used to be, and for me, this is not a bad thing. I have no more patience for dwindling lifestyles that hold no sustenance. You and I used to carry a closeness that seemed destined to survive the long years ahead, but how easy it was to just one day let go. My old friend, what happened? Can I watch you waste away for another year with nothing to keep you happy except pain killers and obligated relations? But I hear you still dream about moving to a plastic land where mountains are hidden behind a thick cloud of smog, but at least she still dreams.
Somewhere along the way I seemed to have misplaced sympathy, and not yet ready to have it replaced, I am keeping my distance. Please don’t misunderstand, for I would ask you to come along with me even on this late day, but what would be the use? He has stolen your youth, but that is the least of his crimes, and you are to blame as well. Nowadays, you never want to go anywhere. In an upstairs bedroom you lay behind locked doors giving in to your denied addiction. She is losing.
Superimposed Sundials
August 12, 2002
The city with its many lights still manages to leave behind impervious shadows. Sectioned off by building blocks balanced neatly on top of one another, one-way streets alternate the run of traffic. Far below the earth’s crust a buildup of pressure continues to build one on top of the other. A bird’s eye view casts us into ants, and our big ball of blue is engaged in a non-stop game of dodge ball. A 6 billion year old game.
I want to be with you tonight and feel the smoothness of your well-defined surface. On a dark moonless night with the stars falling before us, one by one, I want to look into the depth of your unattainable soul. In a trance-like state caused by a steady and intoxicating rhythm, I want to feel our bodies begin to intertwine and mimic the mesmerizing beat.
I was thinking that maybe for once in my life I would keep one of my promises to myself. I must keep a positive outlook no matter how fucked up things get. Short-term regressions are bound to occur, but in the long run I hope to free myself of grievances and outdated inevitabilities. Not everything can be taken to heart.
A Little Bit of Everything
August 12, 2002
Sometimes inspiration comes in small doses. You have to find something you’re passionate about, even if it’s only for thirty minutes.
I’ve got Montana on my mind. An application for admissions into the University of Montana arrived in the mail today, and I have already begun to figure financial needs in my head. I think I am almost convinced that if I am unable to cover out-of-state tuition, I will have to settle into the Bunk House for as long as it takes. I need new material, and although side-tracked for a year or two, I am back on track nursing the remnants of my first true love.
She wants to move to LA to become a famous model, but has she ever stopped to question the possibility of such a plot ever materializing? Does she know what she’s up against? Does she understand that time is passing her by?
You, I regret more than anyone. Obscured by a murky vapor left behind from a previous passing, my heart was not successful in opening up. Now, with the realization that I will never meet your acquaintance again, I am more in love with you than ever.
Where’s the Waiter?
August 13, 2002
Surrounded by mostly high school kids, Gwen and I were a tad bit skeptical about how much we were going to enjoy ourselves on the floor, aka, orchestra “seating.” We spent the night leaning against the back wall away from sardine-packed bodies. As far as I was concerned, we were close enough. When the onstage explosions were ignited, I could feel the heat radiating on my face. Weezer kicked ass. They played a lot of songs off of Pinkerton which surprised me since it wasn’t a popular album. Of course it’s one of my favorites. But perhaps I am getting old, for next time I would much rather have an actual seat to sit in. A place to relax, enjoy the music and drink a beer.
Teeter-Totter
August 13, 2002
It never seized to amaze me. Every day for six months, Electric Peak was in my backyard, and each time I set my gaze upon this ancient formation, I was instantly captivated, but never was it as beautiful as when it was covered in snow. After the first fall dusting, Electric Peak was transfigured into a wholly different deity. Hidden behind clouds until a masterpiece is born, she peeks faithfully through thinly covered areas to assure her followers that she has not been chiseled away into dust.
Aside from the nobility of lustrous snow-covered alps, I was equally inspired by the changing of the season. A first for yours truly. Patches of red and yellow tones began appearing in trees along the roadside, and the hills in the backdrop of my favorite river bank also began to exhibit this same behavior. Magnificent. How is it that I had been deprived such natural luxuries for the better part of my life? How much longer can I stay away, removed from my newly acquired addiction? I can do without so much now, but there is still more to leave behind.
Comics Unite
August 13, 2002
Humor is the perfect antidote for almost anything. In life-threatening situations I find myself laughing as if danger was incognito. Once, when the breaks went out on a trip back down a mountain in Ruidoso, I sat in the backseat with this huge smile on my face the entire time. I don’t even remember being afraid. The other three passengers in the car, including the driver, were terrified. But I’ve always been like that, often to a fault. When I found out that a guy I used to know was murdered, chopped up into pieces by the local butcher and thrown in the Mississippi River, I asked a friend who had gone to the funeral if it was open casket. For the record, the unfortunate victim was a very bad person, but my friend who attended the service was not amused. I can’t help it sometimes. So, humor in bad taste, sarcasm, and nervous laughter are just some of the ways in which I tackle life.
I’ll write a verse or two before I sleep, and then it’s off to “that other place” where ghosts come to life, fears come to stalk, and anxieties come to take the shape of nightmares.
Verses
August 14, 2002
It blows my mind to think about the past. How far I have unknowingly come since my days as a youth. Where to go from here?
I’m going back to Montana, I’ve got it in my blood. Does she miss me as much as I miss her? Does she need me as much as I need her?
Fallen back into a slum, I find it a daily ritual to pick myself up again. But I’m still coming along as slow as possible, I’m still making progress as slow as possible.
Life gets in the way, and I can never remember what there was to say, but I still love you despite it all. Will nothing change the path you’re on? I confess that I am a dreamer and nothing more, but I’m trying to make my mark in an over-populated world, and I fear that perhaps you may have given in, given up, and called it quits.
I am remembering the taste of Moose Drool…
“There’s still time to escape. It’s no crime to escape. All those yesterdays.” Pearl Jam
I find it unbelievable that I still don’t have a job. How will I ever make it back to Yellowstone?
Letting Go of Holding Back IV
I’m editing my editing. I’m changing my major. It may very well be the case that I don’t fit in anywhere, but I’m going to attempt succeeding in and among them. If I fail, I can take up residence in Yellowstone and remain stationed there for the long haul. I sent in an application to UH at Clear Lake today and I listed geology as my first major. Philosophy is my second. I will have to take trigonometry, pre-calculus, calculus I, II, III, physics I, II, III, and chemistry I and II. What have I done?
I met your son a couple of weeks ago, he’s absolutely precious. Your brother asked me to hook him up with a bag, and so I did. I wish you would have told me he had a thing for me, I might have done something about it. The other day on the way to the beach, Gwen and I passed the theater where you took your own life, and it occurred to me that I had never stepped foot inside the old building and that I never would. Tonight, a tropical storm continues to gain strength in the Gulf of Mexico as Galveston’s seawall faithfully barricades Fay’s arrival from reaching developed land, but she can only hold out for so long. You are still missed more than ever, but we have to wonder why you would want to leave such a beautiful life – despite it all.
Best Bud
It is time to do some serious soul searching. Tonight, I miss you more than ever even though you are asleep in the next room. We have become attached at the hip for a good number of years, and as I ponder the full consequences of parting ways and moving in separate directions, I ponder the sincerity of my actions. Have I really known what I want? I dread the inevitable independence I must soon embrace.
Working to Serve You?
August 31, 2002
The next time you aspire to take defensive driving as an alternative to paying for a citation and as an effort of maintaining a clean driving record, you may want to think twice.
About two months ago on my way home from taking the last test in my college algebra class, I was pulled over and issued one ticket for speeding and another for failing to wear my seatbelt. After letting off some steam when I got home, and coming to terms with the fact that I was, without a doubt, in the wrong, I accepted the consequences of getting busted and proceeded to take care of this important legal business as soon as possible. Although I paid the $102 for my seatbelt fine, I concluded to try to save some money by taking defensive driving for the most expensive speeding ticket.
Two months later, I conclude that I would have been better off just paying the $160 fine. After forking out $62 for the course itself, $30 to rent the video, $10 for an access fee for my driving record, and two months of being treated like a convicted felon, I began to understand why many Americans despise their local police authority and court system. After my defensive driving class was fully paid and successfully completed, in the next weeks that followed I must have received ten letters in the mail informing me of a warrant that has just been issued for my arrest for an unpaid traffic ticket. Calling the court house to clear up this urgent situation only caused for more irritation. The lady on the other end of the phone insisted that I go up there and talk to the judge about my complaint (yeah, right…please take me to jail) and when I told her that I would certainly not be doing that, she concluded that I still owed them $10 and proof of my defensive driving course.
Barely a Start
September 29, 2002
My brother is holding onto Montana and is anticipating my arrival to join him, but I have yet to make up my mind. Should I go to Yellowstone? Should I go to Clear Lake to further my college education? Should I quit altogether, take my associate’s degree and run with it? It seems to me that I am no longer qualified to supply answers to such life-altering questions.
Galveston was experiencing quite a bit of rain that day, but then some say that is the best time to go to the beach. During hurricane season, the ocean tends to remain unsteady due to the vast amount of tropical storms that occur in neighboring waters. The Gulf, in particular, experiences unseasonably cool water, stronger currents, healthier waves, and a steeper drop off. Although I was disappointed by the lack of sun, I am always one who welcomes an overcast sky. The ferry ride into East Beach was invigorating as a light steady rain shielded the sun from draining my remaining energy…
I like the sun, I hate the sun, I like the sun, I hate the sun…too much time has passed for me to possibly finish this entry.
Stuck in the Dark Ages
November 14, 2002
I think I’ve got a handle on things for the time being. Come January 14, 2003, I will be a fulltime student at the University of Houston in Clear Lake. The location is 30 minutes away from Galveston, which is awesome, and I’ll be living “on campus” in a one bedroom apartment. With a Stafford loan and a Pell Grant, I might be able to cover my living expenses. I’m hoping to land a part-time job with this program called Coop, through the school, but we’ll see. My experience, thus far, in trying to score a job has been painfully unsuccessful. I have now come to the conclusion that I was setting my sights too low. Vitaworld did call me back and scheduled an interview, but when my honesty got in the way and I confessed to my future plans of returning to college this spring when my would-be boss asked the inevitable question, the interview was lost along with my would-be job.
Then came the Target interview. It was one of those occasions when you go in to fill out an application, land an interview that very same day, and are hired on the spot. One would think the position would “be in the bag,” however, one would be wrong. After shaking hands and discussing my uniform, he handed me papers meant to be taken down to the local hospital for a standard drug test. Damn! “Just normal procedure,” he said. “Company policy.” I smiled and told him thanks for the job. With a month and a half left before I pick up residence in Clear Lake, I have given up on finding a job here. Oh yeah, I also spent two hours taking test after test at a temp agency and they never called back.
I am nervous about this up and coming transition that I must willingly, and with an optimistic mind, engage. I only know that something must be done before I am too far behind to catch up with a world I have never really felt a part of. In protest to the many, many lower-level classes I would still need to take to major in environmental science, I changed my major to communications. I am ready for some kind of life other than sleeping and smoking the days away dreaming about an unrealistic future. Maybe in another five years I shall realize that no matter what my life involves, there will always be dreams about an unrealistic future.
Another Stage
November 30, 2002
What have I accomplished but a better understanding of myself? An idealist by nature, but I am still inclined to believe that humans as individuals can age to perfection. The answer lies with retention. If one is not able to retain the years of acquired knowledge for what they’re worth, one will not evolve. I suspect an optimistic change is waiting to welcome and introduce me to a less self-destructive path – I hope. But, I still have a month to linger in this overused house with the company I love before I submit to isolation. Sometimes I fear I may have waited too long to take my stand, pick an uncharted direction, and follow it alone. Sometimes I wonder about my capabilities. Sometimes I am my own worst enemy. But I will not let myself sidetrack myself again for I am now very much aware of time, and as my youth is feeling threatened, I must find something with sustenance to replace it.
Goosebumps have invaded my body triggering an itching sensation to sweep through my limbs. Autumn is upon and the only tree possessing life on our rented property is still in the process of shedding her skin.
Ode to Seattle
(Subject to Change)
December 2002
An hour car ride to a friend’s house the other night proved to be pure torture as far as radio play goes. Sick of all the tapes I had on hand, I had decided to give the radio waves a chance and tuned in. Going back and forth from one station to the next, I found myself each time settling for the lesser of the vast amount of unpleasing and spine curdling sounds. With four to five channels to choose from for the latest music, one would assume that at least one of the stations would be able to satisfy my taste. One could and presumably would argue that I am too picky when it comes to modern music, and while this observation may hold a certain amount of truth, I must conclude that I can be tolerant to a point, but when confronted with the shiny happy musical and social trend of our current era, I would rather have my ears cut off than be subjected to the whiny and gut-wrenching noise that plagues the billboard charts.
I like to refer to this musical depression as the unavoidable backlash of the early nineties. Who would have thought that bands like Soundgarden, Mother Love Bone, Sonic Youth, Alice in Chains, and Nirvana would have led to bands like Creed, Muddle of Mud, and Godsmack. As the popularity of these moderately new bands rises, I stop and wonder to myself if maybe I’ve just grown out of that scene, but after listening to Soundgarden’s “Bad Motorfinger” which came out in 1991 when I was about sixteen, I realize that the lyrics belted out in those 15 songs meant more to me now than they did back then. It is my opinion that most of the music you hear today is missing an element of depth.
Perhaps the “Seattle Sound” generated such a collage of emotions that the mainstream eventually lost interest in the thought provoking, angry yet sad voice of just a small part of an entire generation. I can’t say as I blame them, but for me it was never a trend. Growing up lost in a glam rock world full of half-naked silicon blondes letting men who are prettier than them sign their chests, cheesy repetitive songs about getting laid, and an overall and complete lack of any real sustenance, I was thrilled when I first saw Alice in Chains “Man in the Box” or Soundgarden’s “Rusty Cage” on MTV’s Headbanger’s Ball. Not one naked chic could be seen through the entirety of both videos. Impossible! Soon after, I was introduced to a whole other field of musicians who sang about addiction, abuse, and troubled childhoods. They cursed commercialism, revoked a plastic society, and introduced an alternative to tight leather pants, superficial facades, and emotionless music.
Along with Andrew Wood, Kurt Cobain, and Shannon Hoon, this wave of non-commercial music that suddenly became commercial for a short period of time sadly receded. The recent death of the frontman for Alice in Chains, Layne Staley, not only made me sick to my stomach, but it also reminded me of the ten years that have passed since I first heard his deep, guttural, edgy voice. That same voice has been mimicked by numerous up and coming bands, but they are missing that edge that separates them from the raw, unpolished sound of the original. While these young bands that have since replaced the voice of my favorite era are still not as bad as Britney Spears, Kid Rock, or N’Sync, I fear that we may be right back where we started. Once again, I find myself sifting through recycled shit looking for something substantial.
The Effects of a Gravitational Pull
December 24, 2002
It is almost here. My time is fast approaching, no matter how prepared or unprepared I am, but nothing can induce fear or replenish my anxieties like the way my move to Yellowstone did a year and a half ago. I guess I’m ready for anything and utterly sick of “nothing.” Change is a highly recommended antidote for unhappiness and boredom, and while I agree with this well-known formula, I as well contemplate why change is so feared and hated when it is so useful.
Christmas again. This will be the first year my brother will not be spending it at home with family as he has picked up permanent residency in Montana. It won’t be the same, but I am still very much looking forward to spending it with the rest of the family, including my brother’s girlfriend’s parents who are soon to be my in-laws in three more months. The malls are packed, and as I stepped outside for a break from the crowds and to smoke a cigarette, I noticed a group of teenagers who were also lighting up a few feet away from me. They were dressed mostly in black and sported non-traditional haircuts and hair colors. They had body piercings and combat boots, chains, dog collars, and concert t-shirts. They reminded me of me and my friends. I realized that I was probably almost ten years older than these kids, and I stood there deep in my obsessive thoughts, once again, pondering the concept of time and progression, and growing old. How could it be that I am already in my mid-twenties? Does this group of wildly expressive adolescents look upon me as old? Surely not! What will become of me in the next ten years?
On my 25th birthday I chopped off all my hair and decided to grow it back out anew. I have dark circles under my eyes that I don’t think have been there before. I have a small, noticeable only to me, line on my brow. I have matured quite a bit in the last year which I attribute to Yellowstone. I have a long way to go yet.
After completing that horrid logic class that I so naively signed up for, my associate’s degree has finally been obtained. College was never something I thought I would be a part of, but here I am, moving on to the next stage of my higher learning, content that I am steadily moving in only one direction this time. In my past I have been reluctant to consider alternative possibilities pertaining to my realm of existence, but upon reflection, I am convinced of the necessity of this very act.
The Porosity of Positivity
December 26, 2002
It is now that I shall forever cherish. Perfecting my technique for prolonging the moment, I am realizing how difficult it really is and how wrong I have been on so many points.
My heart is over-flowing with a newfound love for life. I am coming out of the dark ages, and following in a sequence of small leaps. I am entering a new, much-needed era.
There is a tendency I tend to follow which is nothing short of an overdose on negativity, but 25 years of this unfortunate fact has led to stagnancy, and an overdose on positivity is the only agreeable solution.
A vibe in the air has caught a violent breeze and is rapidly drifting towards all four corners. It is pale in color and emits a familiar yet recognizable scent that has overtaken my sense of smell. Pleasant by nature and inspirational by form, I am thankful for its strong presence.
Slowly but surely I am beginning to fully grasp how blessed I truly am, but even that is not enough. After something is within grasp, one must figure out how to use it.
For Jena
December 27, 2002
I’ll go out on a limb and chance it snapping under my weight to succeed in preserving the sanctity of our friendship. I knock on your door knowing full well you are home, but I am left standing in the cold on the outside wondering if you even know it’s me. Such a beautiful face, and body, and spirit, but sadly, the world may never behold nature’s special creation for it has already passed you by. Becoming strangers with a best friend is unacceptable to me. I have experienced this occurrence before and time did not allow the luxury of a reconciliation. We have been close, you and I, but through the years of aches and pains, addiction, and distant miles, our capacity to hold any real sustenance between us has decreased in size. I don’t like losing friends, especially if they are still walking this earth. Perhaps a breath of fresh air is all you need to persuade you out of your thickly spun cocoon. I’m afraid that you may fear the workings of life and are unable to obtain the much-needed direction I myself have just recently mapped out. Would it be too offensive to suggest that far-fetched ideas that will never be acted upon must be temporarily pushed aside for foothills leading to mountains?
Mainlining
December 27, 2002
A surge of emotions is pumping through my veins and infecting my blood with a colorful mix of anxiety, excitement, sadness, fear, and happiness. My body violently tremors as this concentrated formula invades my inner workings, but I feel alive. This next year I will begin to put my experiences and learnings to good use in an effort to prevent their process of decay. I must preserve what I have acquired. There is so much that I need to fix, so many repairs that need to be done to myself. The uncertainty and invisibility of my future is weighing me down, but I must move slowly through this dark and winding hallway until an unwanted or no longer needed torch is left for me to stumble upon.
Somehow, I must learn to enjoy the always present and unavoidable unknown. It is imperative that I continue to grow for it would be a sign of ignorance to indelibly remain the same. Everything I feel at this moment in time is a prerequisite for things to come. Everything I so intensely feel is a positive reaction to the change of pace I greedily crave. My blood is thick with foreign substances invading its path to the heart and is forced to carry these tourists along with it. I am opening up myself to deities outside of my familiar realm, and freeing distractions that I have held tight to for so long.
Early Morning Ravings
December 28, 2002
The night is mine just as it always has been, and as the guilt starts to filter through my thoughts about still being awake at four in the morning, I quickly brush it aside remembering that I am not in tune with most of my fellow earthlings.
And often my thoughts drift to Yellowstone where I experienced more in that six months than my years past. I discovered another dimension of myself that had apparently been lying dormant for some time, and I have a great deal of respect for the nature of complexity.
But I will stay up until five, or six, or seven or until my eyes can no longer perform the task needed for me to obtain vision. You see, now and again it is necessary to indulge in the illegal substances that can give you that extra boost when most needed, but keep in mind that overindulgence is a bad thing.
As much as I bitched about community living, I did, overall, enjoy the availability of such a diverse group of newly found friends. It is difficult for me to imagine not ever seeing them again, but as we were once gathered in one confined location, we are now spread out across the globe, separated by oceans, mountains, lakes, and deserts.
The Big Score
December 29, 2002
When picking up a big order it is out of pure generosity that the dealer not talk about his recently being pulled over by a cop or various friends and buyers who have been busted leaving the neighborhood. But nothing went wrong and I quickly ended the taboo conversation by stating that I had to be in church tomorrow morning which was true. I handed the monstrous orange bong to the front seat smokers, listened to the rest of his story to avoid being rude, and bid farewell to my friends and their parked Cadillac.
She’s a wino who dances naked on tabletops for free yet complains about the chance that someone might see her. She sleeps in a cot instead of his bed and claims that age doesn’t matter to her. She is as old as his youngest daughter. He is a senior citizen. Oh, but love is in the air and the two they just don’t care about family welfare or the sick lust affair they share. But what she doesn’t know is that he keeps the Mona Lisa in his closet and milks his mistresses for all they’re worth, and what he doesn’t know is that she will say or do almost anything for someone to take care of her.
From a Girl to a Woman
November 30, 2002
I don’t know if the correct word is hate or not, but somewhere along the line I lost almost a truck load of love. So, this is what they mean by change. Is it safe to say that I now know the reason for your kind and seemingly kindred heart was as shallow as I had periodically suspected? But the words don’t flow quite as easily as when I had to think less before I spoke, and although I am still struggling to convey the appropriate words, and feelings, and reactions, I am proud of what’s already been spoken in a faraway secluded memory where I was still not sure of your understanding. What I’m trying to say is that I am chopped full of regret and attempting to overcome the trials of shame, secrecy, and betrayal. I am trying to put you to rest.
So, I will use all that’s been used to my favor and exploit the already exploited at my shear expense, and you will progress through your twilight years where death emits a magnetic pull and steadily draws you into orbit. But hate is a strong word and I am trying to brighten my disposition by disposing of prehistoric baggage in which I no longer care to claim responsibility. I needed you to help me see the world, and while we have shared a lifetime of irreplaceable memories, I have since branched out on my own and discovered that I have simply outgrown you.
A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood
December 29, 2002
The new Enron Field that was built for our beloved baseball team, The Astros, has just recently had to be changed to Minute Maid Park. While the thousands of people who are out a job because of the fall of Enron is no laughing matter, calling our newly built field Minute Maid Park is fucking hilarious. What was wrong with the always faithful Astrodome?
A rail system is being installed in the downtown area of Houston. I can’t wait to see the finished product. I would enjoy that area a lot more if I didn’t have to drive in it.
As an effort to cut down on pollution, the city of Houston decided to enforce a slower speed limit hoping to eliminate a small percentage of these emissions. Even I, the environmentally conscious crusader, had to scoff at this ridiculous contribution. Six months of foolishly trying to legally commit Houstonians to driving 55mph on our endless freeways, they decided to reinstate the speed limit at 65.
Although I have a strong dislike for the weather here in south Texas, I must admit to witnessing some of the most badass storms ever produced by Mother Nature.
Going Tandem
December 30, 2002
One time in Yellowstone I jumped out of a plane at 9,000 ft and plummeted towards the earth at an ungodly speed for about thirty seconds. The guy on my back tapped my shoulder and reminded me to lift my head, arms and legs up and out just as I had learned in the sky diving crash course I received only an hour before this extraordinary moment. I was the second one to jump, and after watching my friend bravely and enthusiastically play the guinea pig, I stood idly by Dave, the experienced jumper (who was the spitting image of John Denver, which was flat out eerie) as he repacked the parachute right before my eyes and prepared for my turn. He joked about having a bad day and drinking “just a few beers” right before he arrived. Cruelty.
My fear of flying was overridden by the mere fact that I would be jumping out of the dreaded machine, and while I can’t recall the exact make or model of the airplane, I only know that it was ten times too small. Bozeman, Montana was experiencing an unstable cloudy day, but plans were not cancelled and our only worry was an abstraction of view, well, Dave’s only worry anyway. I, on the other hand, was about to pop from anxiety, and while he was quite the talkative and laid back instructor as we made our ascent past mountain tops, I was unable to keep the conversation rolling.
When the door to the plane opened, a wave of panic trickled down through my limbs causing temporary paralysis. Dave must have felt me tighten as he reminded me that he was “right behind me” (you’d better be) and that I wasn’t going anywhere without him. True, we were tightly secured, but what if? After all, the chute was on his back. He tells me to stick my right foot out the door and place it on the step of the plane. Hesitation. Slowly, I complied, and realizing that I probably would not have the strength to battle the overwhelming suction on my own, I gave way to the puppet effect. The next thing I knew, my body was standing outside of the plane which was traveling about 70mph waiting for Dave to tell me to let go of the wing. When it came, I made him repeat himself. I then complied and let myself fall sideways and backwards, tightly holding my legs, arms, and head downward just as I had been instructed. I was moving too fast to make sense of anything, but he tapped and tapped again, and I outstretched my body to catch the refreshingly cold wind. We soared downward. The parachute opened in an instant, and gracefully we floated for another eight minutes until my feet were once again acquainted with the ground. I remembered seeing eagles flying above my friend’s chute, catching her breeze as she drifted closer to where I was standing, and I knew that they had to be flying with me as well.
From One Box to Another
December 30, 2002
Lately I have seen what I needed to see, and as unpleasant as it was, I kept watch as if in awe. And this thing it did not move or wink or flinch or budge, but kept watch as if to beg my mercy upon a death bed. In awe, I did not speak or utter my response until the other cast down their eye and I secured my place on high. My mercy did it seek? Well, why should I comply when my state is perfectly calm and of no concern at all? My state of mind is willful and in control this time, and my need to please is abandoned debris tossed lazily into the sky.
I have to shake off this dream before it drives me insane.
Absent-mindedly I have been packing away my life into various small boxes light enough for me to lift and transport to another phase of time. I am familiar with what is unknown and only fear what is already known. I fear everything but this doesn’t stop me from moving forward, it only challenges me.
This room is bare and I have nowhere to stare, and so alone I will be, in a place unknown to me, but it’s always hard to leave.
Two Rugs and a Lamp
January 4, 2003
Flooded by overused emotions, I am unsure of how to balance out this unexpected overdose before it overcomes me. Happiness, excitement, fear, anticipation, and sadness infest my peace of mind, but it is the latter of the five that has made its way deeper into my psyche than any other.
Tonight, I would like to shed my adulthood and swim in the carefree world as a child. I should like to bask in the days of never ending youth that seemed impossible to outgrow.
These days are through, I have come to the end of almost a decade of calculating my long-awaited move, but something went wrong when I returned the first time, something softened my dislike for current existing conditions. In the past year I have spoken little about my dreams, aspirations, fears, goals, or admirations because I have said too much in the past and everything else is starting to sound the same. But I am back from vacation and in the mood for change, challenge, and chance to serve as a remedy for my reoccurring case of boredom. This is life after Yellowstone.
Accustomed
January 6, 2003
I don’t like growing older. Moments of my life weigh heavier tonight as I bid one last farewell to yet another part of my youth. This is the end that leads to yet another beginning, and as I subject myself to the unknown, I realize how quickly this phase to a cycle will fade. Why bother to feel at all? A year from now I will not be able to fully remember the intensity of what I feel now, and because of this, nothing becomes easier. My travels have led me all the way back home, and as I prepare to leave for the last and final time, I find that it is more difficult the second time around.
Trying to Settle In
January 15, 2003
I am out of my element and feeling very much incompetent when confronted with my new life. Although it comes as no surprise, I am extremely homesick and not yet comfortable with my surroundings. Some people never learn from experience, and in my time of self-analysis, I wonder if I too fall into this reluctant category. But here I am, for some ungodly reason, attempting to take up residency in an area I don’t even like and taking classes for a major that I have yet to wholly believe in or commit to. But here I am, alone in a strange way wondering if I am leading myself astray. Academic competition has never been my forte, but here I am competing for my place in an already over-crowded field. I want to go home, but I know I can’t. I want to drop all my classes and be done with responsibility, but I know I can’t. I want to be sixteen again, but I know I can’t.
Shoulder to Shoulder
January 29, 2003
If anything is coming my way, I am still unaware and unprepared. I have been there and back, but as I once again try to temporarily settle in, I quickly journey towards the past to discover the courage I have many times displayed. My peers seem to be holding a different level, and as I overhear conversations about their children, and their spouses, and their day jobs, I wonder if they, members of my age group, grew up too fast or if I’m growing up too slow. It might possibly be both. But as it is, I cannot connect, and with my friends few and far between, I cherish my kindred spirits all the more.
Just as I have always suspected, I am the underground minority of my aging generation. I don’t want to have babies. I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to be rich. I don’t want normalcy. The nation is in turmoil and our systematic economy is predicted to collapse leaving late bloomers and up and coming generations with bleak futures. I can’t say that I have failed whenever I have tried, but time is running me down, and my conscience is a bitch. I fear the business world and feel more inclined to remain within the boundaries of a close community outside of the populace, but as of now, my pleasant view consists of a McDonald’s and a Denny’s sitting side by side right across the busy Bay Area Blvd. The heavy sound of traffic constantly pollutes my air, but after smoking a bit of herb, I will often times stand with the backdoor open zoning out on the endless flow of traffic that, after a while, seems impossibly organized yet vulnerable. They pass by the dozens in an orderly fashion that is capable of being disrupted by one wrong move from any distracted drivers. I shut my door to the chaotic pressure building outside.
And yes, I miss Yellowstone just like I knew I would, and at the end of two upcoming years meant to be spent home earning my BA in communications, I wonder if I’ll return to geyser country and try to recreate the moment. Well, that’s always been my problem hasn’t it? Never having enough of what is needed to indulge in the moment and attempting to mimic it after it has passed. But this is human nature, is it not? Perhaps I don’t know the world well enough to draw any conclusions. How can I know the world when I continue to surprise myself? It is best to talk to myself so I won’t become a stranger unable to communicate. Indulging my disoriented, mass array of random thoughts, I begin to sort through and simplify what I may have compounded. I am coming clean with, not only myself, but also with those closest to me.
I realize my place in this capitalist society, and although I have a nice resume of causes in the past, I am more the activist than ever. I am aware of false consciousness and the conflict that exists within members of the same social class and how this conflict is a controlled virus generated by Zeus-like elites. I want nothing to do with any of it. I want to have enough to get by. I want to be dependent on myself. I want to do what I believe in doing. I want to be the best or at least as good as the competition. I want to conquer fear. But the world will have to wait because I feel the need to procrastinate and bask in the simplicity of “now.” My changes are great when measured by terms of importance, but as it is my signature to fail in learning from the past, I have to relearn and remember what I should already know.
The Apple and the birdcage 