Little Things

"Please take care of yourself, was the last thing I said, right before the operator made us disconnected"

If I could take one moment, and digest it, fully and completely, it would take away from every emotion that moment was. It's why I over analyze sometimes, it's why I talk too much sometimes, it's why we all think think think before we say something, it makes it so broken down and thought over that there's really no emotion left anymore, and we don't have to feel so different when it's gone.

It's why I pick out the small things. It's why I want to just appreciate everything for exactly what it is.

"I never want some one to become a photograph stapled to a memory."

It's all those little things that make up exactly who a person is, and what something is and where a time starts and exactly where it ends. This isn't over analyzing to get rid of emotion, this is knowing all the small things before you prepare yourself to take it all in again at once, brand new, but so familiar. It's why I love that mole on your neck. I can't really elaborate on this, or give an analogy, but think of a movie you love so much, that you want to share with everyone else. You know all the best lines, all the best parts, all the frames where something so small happens that only you've recognized it. This feels good, to see it again, with more people, because it's so familiar to you, to brand new, and different in so many ways.

This is why we like to know all the words to our favorite songs. This is why I love the way your eyes look when you say certain things.

I can't say I don't miss some things. When I say things for example, all the thoughts get so jumbled that I'll leave something out. You get pure, raw, word. It's all I can say, and it's the only linear progression I can make of the thoughts in my head. This is why sometimes I say things I don't really mean. It comes out in the wrong order, and it comes out sounding like something completely different.

I want to give  body to everything in my life. I little weight to everything that happens, so I'll really remember it. Give something a name that doesn't have a name. I want everything I do, to have a more profound purpose than the outward appearance. Use metaphors instead of analogies. I just want to have everything in brighter color. High definition. Set my corneas to 1080p, continue with my day.

This is why I love the words you use, that I've never had said to me before.

This is why foreign languages are more mysterious to me than anything else I've ever encountered. They could be beautiful, smooth syllables, rolling of the tongue of a gentle soul, but they could mean the most horrible terrible things. They could have the girth and crisp bite of a crashing sea, but the only words spoken could be a semantic hand of gratitude and kindness. You don't get to experience things like that holing yourself up, bleeding into ignorance.

This is why I like to see you out of the corner of my eye, because it's another image of you I can add to the collage.

This is why with the changing day, we as human beings change so much. In the morning you lead your silhouette, pushing yourself forward into the afternoon, when you're completely alone, making the choices to fill out your day or simply look back and wait. This is why at night your shadow follows you, and reminds you exactly how you've lived your day. Haunting or praising you for everything that's happened in the last hours of your life.

This is why I sometimes wonder if you've ever been talked about this way before.

When some one loses all the little things, they become an object. A stamp that you place on every experience you have with them, so you can mail it into the past. No return address. It makes them into the orchid on a burning coffin, cast into the effervescing mist of an ocean. It burns a single shade of waving orange, until finally it ends. This is what people become when they become objects in this way. You have to pick the small things out, watch people's eyes, or you'll miss it, all of it the next day.

This is why I wish I looked at myself. Picked out the little things with me. Picked out all the excuses I use to keep myself standing still. Out there, somewhere, in the dark, is my dream of being a musician. An author. A poet. A politician. but I keep holding myself still, with the dramatic edge of my life. The little paring knife that I keep twirling around in front of me. It's the idle threat that taking a step forward might leave me without a toe. I read something tonight, that spoke of a disaster, marking the end of our metaphysical youth. We're always sitting, waiting, and not moving forward. Preparing ourself for that disaster that'll stop us from ever moving forward at all. Maybe it'll be a relief.

This is why I remember the words you say.

This is why I remember the words I say.

This is why it's so hard to sometimes come back and try again. Try to take that dive again. Because we'll always remember the little things. We all just need some one to cover that canvas again, to record that tape, and to playback something original. Something you spend so much time picking apart, only to relive again. Brand new.

Did you know?

"When I was spat onto the earth in a stream of guts, by mother nature, that green eyed slut,"

It's crazy to think how far we've come as a people. As an entire race of human beings. If we could track back to the earliest traces of DNA when no one could look at the sun without sneezing (it was mother nature's way of scolding us for burning our corneas out of our skulls) we'd see just how far we've come. Besides or resources falling out from under us, and Einstein being proven more and more wrong with each scientific advancement, we've actually turned ourselves into a very informed and cyclical society. One big society, where the executive throw missiles at each other over the board table that is the Atlantic Ocean.

Even though Newton figured out exactly how everything falls, how fast the earth pulls us back into it's core, he could've never assumed that people would be wiring their cars and speeding towards a solid brick wall.

If a suicide bomber drives east toward a small Palestinian trade shop going 50km/hr with a constant acceleration of 3.0m/s, and he has 15 meters to cover before contact, how many years will it take for the religious conflict to resolve itself?

Newton may have been incredibly intellegent, as a matter of fact, he's probably the only person that truly understood the ENTIRE physical world we live it, but he could never have created a constant, or an integration technique to hold up the failing morals of mankind. We're in a horrible downward spiral, yet at the same time, all the money works out, and no one gets hurt over here if we all behave and act like good little consumers.

Find the area bounded between the curve y = 3(lnx)^2/x and y + x = 36, from conception to the point of moral degradation.

I wish I could make more sense of all of it, but it seems like the more math and science I read about, and the more I learn about our economy, the less faith I have in us ever pulling our heads out of our asses and churning some compassion out. It takes roughly 19 years for global savings and global spending to cancel each other and bring the world economy back to equilibrium, negating inflation or recession. So long as we're well behaved little consumers.

If Johnny is walking east at 2.0m/s and Jessica is walking north at 1.8m/s, at what rate is their friendship  going from being close confidants to awkward acquaintances? Part b, solve for the rate at which the distance is increasing. Compare the ratio, have an epiphany, call your mother and tell her you love her.

It's not that I'm unhappy with my current state of life. I'm doing really well for myself, and I like that, so I bitch about the quality of life in other places in the world. Why be upset about my life when I can be upset about some one else's and make everyone else aware of it. If you massage the upper region of the heel's plantar, you can put some one into the throes of a seismic orgasm. 6 on the Richter. Who gives a fuck about potable water in Africa.

If Peter raises his fist to beat his girlfriend (Jenny), and his fist and forearm collectively weigh __kg, and a moment of 15N*m/s is applied to the joint at the base of his elbow, how long will it take Jenny's parents to discover the bruises on their daughter?

Sometimes I listen to this song, it's by The Sound of Animals Fighting, and it says, "I would write beautiful songs about horrible things." and I feel like that's how I am right now.

"No there's no light in the darkest of your furthest reaches"

I just want to reach out, and disturb some one with my lyrics right now. I think I'll take that to the table when I start writing for the summer. I'll write something ironic, but within a metaphor, it's chilling.

Here it goes again

The hints were true and the letters fit. It wasn't a catastrophe to ask the question. Who knows, maybe this is too soon, a lot of people will tell you that and you'll have to stand up for yourself again but that's all okay. You're young, and you want to explore all of this golden heart. There's just so much to know, so many questions, and so many answers. You've got the same background of doormats and leashes, so you know that it's not going to be the same. You hope it won't be the same.

Could this be right? It's going to be four months apart right from the beginning and you have no idea why but you're more ready for that than you've ever been. It's going to be like that little suspension period, where the smallest things will be so important. You could talk every night, and you plan to, it's natural for you. There won't be any dates, and there won't be any real personal intimate stares. It'll be hard, but that's alright, this is all worth it. You've managed to figure that much out already. K.G.'s behind you as far as you know, and that means more than any other words could.

Being home is going to be different this time. In your eyes Saint John is going to be music and shows and adventure. It's not going to be the constant pursuit of social acceptance, it's going to be a pursuit of micro-fame and slight wealth. Your band is more important to you right now than anything else in your life. If only you could get it off the ground. You're good, you're good enough to get a long long way with a little tenacity. You know this because of some of the bands you saw play this year. They're just kids with a dream, and they're seeking it out the way that you've wanted to your entire life.

How would everything turn out? If you just dropped this education and played in that band that you're going to dedicate the next five months of your life to. That's half a year, that's enough time to do so many things. Some blessing would be so good, some dedication from everyone else would be wonderful. This is going to be good.

I'm sorry I've been so brief lately, but these are my thoughts of the day.

No matter how far

Sitting in English class, learning about MLA, learning about syntax that no longer interests you. You left all that behind when you read fight club. You like Paliniuk format much better. Jump around. Tell a story. Be a narrator. It was something in a clockwork orange that you liked about Alex too, he talked to you, and you liked him very much.

"Amen and all that cal."

And then Alex was gone.

It's alright to think of things like this when you're pondering syntax, but there are much more pressing matters at hand, pressing matters that you'd like a little bit of advice on. It may be a little bit vague.

See there's some one, and you don't know if it's right. See there's some one, and you're not sure if it's all there for the right reasons, or if it's all even there and tangible at all. This is what you wish you knew. Do you act on impulse and try to figure out the situation all by yourself, or do you poke little questions, and try to see if you're right at all? It would be so wrong, it would be a catastrophe if you were wrong, and you poked little questions. But if you were right, what if you were right? What may come would still be delayed, so very very delayed, but at this point you know what a wait is and more often than not a wait has put you in a very very lonely place. That's usually a different kind of wait though, let's start over.

You're a rationalist. Cup's not half empty, cup's not half full, the cup's the wrong size for the water inside of it. You read that on a shirt once, and decided it was quite fitting for the way you think. The world is changeable, and it's changeable at your finger tips. So what do you do? There are words everywhere, but there's meaning sitting at the bottom of some well somewhere twinkling up at a sky you may never be under. In part, if you're wrong, that's okay, it can be fixed, and everything can go back to being just the way it was. You both understand exactly what would happen, and neither of you know if that can happen at all.

Nothing can happen, as a matter of fact.

This is all mishmash, but god knows. We'll pick this up some other time.

He's relied on this for years

I've never considered myself to be an overly spiritual person. I don't go to church every sunday, I don't kneel down in front of my bed every night to throw my words up to my patron deity, but for some reason I expect some form of protection and respect from whatever it is lingering around up there. I'm sheltered, and I'm not ashamed to say that. My life's been coated in luck and facility.

I've never given any body to my luck, it's just sort of been there. I could throw myself into traffic with all the confidence in the world, and I could fill my body with toxins and not expect the smallest set back. Maybe this is the invincible youth that I think I have. I'm walking a tightrope and hoping that I don't some day fall off. Do you brace yourself for those things? Do you consider the consequences to your actions? Or is it more your own selfish way of living that lets you just get by being content with your present state.

I try to give things up to people. My ear, or my shoulder, or my words. I figure that might be my way of giving back to God. I know this probably sounds really weird to all of you, that I'm suddenly spitting words about Christianity, but I take so much for granted. Some day, I'll be at the bottom of the barrel, no where to go but up, and the first place I'll turn is to those subconscious thoughts of an invisible savior. Maybe that's why I believe, because I see people who have nothing left crawling on their knees and asking for forgiveness. It's almost like, they believe in Him because there's nothing else left to believe in.

It gives me reason enough to throw up my own hands. I feel I've been blessed with something. Blessed with a lot of things. I'm a fatalist, and I'm a rationalist, and I'm a scientist, but I don't know why that has to stop me believing that there's some pinky finger of a God up there jostling fate in one direction or the other. When Rutherford shot an atom at a piece of gold foil, he observed alpha particles reflected on a photo luminescent sheet. Some of the alpha particles hit the sheet infront of the gold foil, light propelled backward. This was the experiment that gave birth to some of the radical multi-verse theories that exist today. There are infinite possibilities to each given decision, and each of those possibilities give birth to another parallel universe. How could something so incredible, so perfect have ever happened, if there wasn't something pulling strings out there.

I watched Edward Norton's Leaves of Grass a couple of days ago. He talked about God in the way mathematicians talk about parallel lines. In theory, two parallel lines will continue on infinitely without ever coming into contact with each other. This is something man could never see, or create himself. A true natural parallel will never exist, yet we base our numbers and our theories off the basis that it is there, and that it is perfectly possible.

Maybe it's because the sun didn't come out today, or maybe it's because I have a lot to do and no idea when I'll find the chance to do it because of my other obligations. Maybe that's why I feel religious today.

There are people in the world...

It's incredible the people you meet.

You have no idea how it'll happen, because most times charisma acts sporadically, and they just appear. It's those first few seconds, and the first few words out of your mouth that really snag them, and this is how you make friends. You can watch it happen, watch the silent approval in some one's eyes light up in that first phrase. Sure you could've seen them before, could've made a point of talking to them, but until that little glimmer, you're never could know.

These last couple of weeks, they've been full of light. The weathers been shit, and you've been rained on out right, but the people didn't change. In spite of the downpour it was warm inside, and word were still words and eyes were still eyes. It's incredible the people you meet. You're still not quite over that initial acceptance you get. It's not every day that you get a genuine feeling out of some on right off the get go. Sure you can be friends, but there are so few that'll reach out and let you in like you're fully prepared to do for them. It's always comforting to know.

They say alcohol's a catalyst for social interaction, and that's true, but when is it ever the name or the face that you keep. It's only the experience until you can look that person in the face and start to say "I know you". My dearest, most beloved friend K.G. told me about these people. The ones that you can let in. They're all around, and they're really sturdy when you first see them, not physically with big broad shoulders and a glaring smile, but where it counts. You know what I mean, they got that smile, they're just more emotionally sturdy. Almost inspires you to jump off you're over analytical rocking horse and stand on the ground with them. Almost.

You're leaving in a month and it's a lot of regret on your mind. How many faces you should've seen, how many things you should've done. In retrospect it's okay, you'll be back again someday five months from now. Five months and half a year, who knows who you'll know then. Your mind'll warp itself and you'll grind your teeth into the flat maw of a pacifist or turn them to fangs. Dig in. It's almost half a year, but it still comforts you know how much time you still have left before you get to get in there and find out the nitty gritty about some things. It's times like these where all those little niggling facts are like the paint brush to your paper. It's just canvas looking for change.

The music sounds good too, lately, it's pouring out of you and it's coming up with ease. Something about today was nice, because you threw your body at the board and then strummed the strings that made a chord. It was all passionate and it all rung out quite singingly. Tomorrow might be the same, the conversations'll keep coming, and you'll throw your body, and you'll sing a song again. Tomorrow might be much the same, but not quite today.

Goodnight, there are things to be done.