Hope Climbs atop the Piano

I've come across yet another inward thought. It happened this morning, as I clung to the phone with some kind of false hope that school might be canceled. I realized just how much faith I put in the weather broadcaster, and I realized how much hype had been made simply because of one meteorologists assumption. Of course, we're all aware that, the gist of the time, a meteorologist will make a blatantly incorrect assumption, that's simply their jobs as meteorologists to be as inconsistent as possible. This leaves me thinking though, of how people will always, despite the situation, feel that slight glimmer of hope and explore the possibilities. This morning, for example, it wasn't even snowing, yet I still called the school cancellation line. I still wanted to explore the faint possibility that the district might keep us home become of the icy roads.

All this strange hope truly makes me wonder about the human condition. Are we innately hopeful? Is every person born an optimist? I think it may be so. The conditions we end up being a part of will of course giveth or taketh away from the impenetrable optimism we are a part of in our early youth, in my opinion though, that strong hope never completely diminishes. I must call upon my example of the pending storm today once again as an example. Many people, though muted because of the cabaret tonight, wished of school being canceled this day, simply because they were given a faint hope by the jumble of snowy rumors floating around. The hope was shared universally, there did not seem to be one whom discouraged the idea. Even the drug dealers, who make their business in the hallowed halls of the school, seemed to watch the windows in a still anticipation, hoping for the snow to begin to fall.

This is all quite nice and all, but it's not concrete enough proof for me. I want to see the depth in people so badly. I want to be able to look through their eyes and truly tell how sincere that hope which they cling on to is. I know it would not be an easy task, for many have suffered through so many painful difficulties that hope is so insufficient that I could not grapple onto it, and save it. However, if ever came across one with such insubstantial hope, I would take them in and try to give them solace through instilling hope in them. This may make overbearing though, and I would not wish that, so perhaps with those whom suffer from lack of hope, the world truly will be much darker than for the ones who've retained their optimism.

This storm had better come soon, or I feel even my hope will diminish beyond tangibility. They've been hyping this storm for more than a week now, warning us, keeping us on edge about something to, to me, seems entirely fictional at this point. I hope it comes soon simply so I can get some relief. I can't always be waking up early just to get let down upon looking out of my bedroom window at yet another painfully stereotypical Saint John day. Damned Fog..

Even a torrential rain fall would've sufficed for me today, I think I just enjoy the general chaos caused by all this unpredictable weather. Mother Nature and I share the same sense of humor I feel. But perhaps not, because even though I don't mind going to school each day, it being a tired routine and quite boring at that, I feel that I could've used a day off from all of the things that have been happening, all the work. Mother Nature should've thrown me a proverbial bone for recycling since '91. I suppose it can't be helped now. Wish me luck at the school, and try to keep that hopeful side of you!

But Parents just don't understand!

Y'know, I sometimes wonder, and oft from time to to, drift to thoughts of parents, or what happens when you grow old, of what happens when all the world suddenly becomes a lot more dependant on you. I wonder when I'll be the one depended on, in more of a way then I ever have been, by giving life to some one. To my some one. I wonder if it's actually a transformation, or more of a metamorphasis. I would be more comforted in knowing that it is a process, rather than a painful transformation. I don't think I could deal with losing my youth with such a shocking velocity. Or, maybe not. It's something to sit upon in my trials I suppose, how I'd like my loss of innocence to occur.

I blame most of my worry, as many of my peers would, on my overbearing mother. How worried I am that I may ending up being the same way as her. She's a wonderful mother of course, and made most of my life much more facile than I could have ever dreamed of having it. All of this facility however comes at a price. She is absolutely and inexplicably impossible. There is not a word that my pass before her that she will not judge and opinionate upon, and there is not one day that will past that she won't stalk into my room and find yet another bland and mundane excuse to be mad at me, as though I were the one to ruin her day by leaving a sock on the floor the night previous. How could it be so unerving to some one that there's a piece of dirty laundry on the floor.

I'm sure there's a multitude of reasons why she should be angry, and that I simply don't understand, however, it's incredibly taxing of my affection to constantly be tread upon in the throes of my mother's infinite yet subtle anger. Can I do nothing right? But I digress, this isn't explicitly about me and my mother.

I feel that the time is coming too soon when I may face the trials of the world. When I may have to put on a shelf the dreams I've held dear for so long, and take up the keys to a volvo. Or maybe a stationwagon, they are a much more agreeable vehicle, though you sacrifice style for safety rating, maybe an oldsmobile would suit me better in my middle age to came. Nevertheless, I know the care free days of this youth are coming to an end, already I can feel a muzzle falling onto my gaping maw. It's as though I've already taken on so much, that I feel the bitter blood my family is so akin to, already seeping into my viens. Perhaps I'll be free of it, from seeing as
.much anger as I've seen, or rather, as much submission on account of anger.

I hope for my children's sake that I can listen and agree unconditionally, as though everything they say is more important than any foolish pride I cling on to. I'm getting a degree yes, but this won't make me some sort of god of knowledge, infinitely capable of solving everything with simply my logic guiding my blindly into an answer.

Mayhaps someday I'll truly know, as my mother puts it, what it feels like. Maybe we all will understand the extreme trepidation our parents feel when they see the trival parts of our youth go arry and cause them some sort of pain. I hope honestly that I cause little more pain, for when my loss of innocence comes, I would not like it to be painful, I would not like to feel I'm losing a part of me. I wish for my loss of innocence not be a dive into ignorance, I wish it to honestly be a melding of responsibilty and wreckless youthful ambition. Perhaps then I will not feel I've lost anything at all in the transformation into an adult.

Outside the funeral home

It's strange, the way one can take a seemingly mundane thing and twist it in their minds to create an elaborate life story. They make their own characters and plot at such an alarming speed, that the reality and plausibility of the story becomes malleable. It usually becomes something that is not truthfully, true. It's almost as if we're using objects, or people, that we see and find peculiar, and take advantage of their disposition, if objects could have disposition.

I feel guilty, or nearly so, as I've been doing this quite frequently lately. It's as though, when something normal, strikes me as incredibly odd, it suddenly becomes rounded. I feel obliged to let my mind wander into the realm of endless possibilities that the situation I have just witnessed, may exist within. The situation doesn't have to be extremely out of the ordinary, just a passing interest. It's happened to me on many occasions, and I feel as though I should've written more examples down, however I do have one to provide.

Not a week ago, I saw funeral procession about to leave the parlors, a melancholy sight to even the hardest of hearts. It was not the black and mourning procession itself that intrigued me though, it was a man crossing the drive up to the parlor. He had dropped his book bag and spilled it's contents onto the sidewalk. He had a look of utter despair on his face, as if nothing else could have gone wrong in his life that day. The weather was perfect, the place and timing seemed to be in line for me to create some story about this man and his spilled things.

I analyzed the situation for a brief moment, and realized he must not have had a particularly good day, and might not have even been aware of the funeral taking place. However, it seemed as though he felt the same loss, the same sense of distress that the people in the parlor felt. It was a relative sense of course, as a few spilled things could never compare to a life, however I knew that, given the right place, tears might have been shed by this man for yet another thing falling out of place that evening. I felt for him, as I felt for the ones who'd lost their loved one. It was as though they shared the depressing atmosphere.

This made me of course wonder on death itself, as though it emanated that desperation. Maybe that man dropped his bag outside of that funeral for a reason. Perhaps it was the dead within the home trying to push their bad karma on others, trying to purge themselves through allowing each living being to suffer just slightly. This could account for the tears shed as well. If this is the case, I would feel selfish not to have taken part in the small dropping of things. I would have felt guilty had I not seen the tearful procession and the funeral home. Yes, I've concluded that that was my purpose. I was to view the situation as an aid to the dead, trying to help them overcome the terrible things that they'd see in the afterlife be imparting just a small part of their burden on myself.

I realize this is all mostly nonsense, that the man probably just dropped his bag, and that processions cry, because it's a sad thing to lose a life. But because the two groups present at that time and event, both felt such despair (even though they were only relative to situations), perhaps there is more to emotion than we truly know. Perhaps

It's been a year.

It seems like I tend to do this in spurts. I go a little while without blogging, and then suddenly I jump into again with some burst of gusto. I like looking back, I suppose, on all the things I wrote in the past. It's funny how my penmanship stays the same, yet the words spilled out of the pen always seem to change. It's as though I can't even really begin to imagine what the world would be like if I couldn't change my writing, or my opinions. Who would I be if I hadn't evolved, or changed from what I was only a year ago. Astounding to think of really.

I'm somewhat of a musician, or more so accomplished than I was. I recorded some songs independently, and by that, I mean I managed to work a digital camera in my favor. I guess they're somewhat amusing, you can find them on facebook, don't be afraid to friend me! However, I warn you, it's not the John Mayer quality tunes you might find while parousing youtube. I take enjoyment in being able to share a jovial tune with the world around me, however, in this day an aged, I must expect to be judged. In less words, I'd appreciate you watching and critiquing, and don't hold the harsh, I'd be glad to see what you say about me, be it good, be it bad.

An abundance of things have happened in which I'm due to elaborate on, however, I feel I should leave out some of the unpleasantnesses on account of the bitter public which may become a viewing audience of this literature. However, when I'm aptly satisfied that prying eyes will not invade, I'll make special note of how my personal life deteriorated and rebuilt in the two months of the past summer. It was bliss, ecstasy, and perhaps the most self destruction I've ever seen, but I digress. There is plenty of time to make note of all the things that have happened, now I feel I should provide you with somewhat of a quality post.

My life, today, has become something I've envied, something I've viewed from the outside for nearly a decade. I've become a funlover and perhaps that's a good thing, perhaps not, however I'm exactly where I want to be. I see the world in a different light now that I've trodden the path away from the straight-edge and I feel it should be a good future for me. I am commited, emotionally yes, and I plan to stay in such a commitment for a long time to come. I believe yesterday was the greatest leap I've taken. To go from unsure of the status, to absolutely concrete in a matter of twenty-four hours is a matter of love itself, perhaps more perplexing than anything I've seen in the last two years. However, the latter was somewhat of a distraught mess, but once again, I digress.

I feel I may end the post now in confidence that you have be subtly recapped on my life. I plan to add some more structure to my morning by attempting a blog each day. Maybe skip a weekend here or there, however, I will be prompt if any become dependent and seeing it each day. I realize how audacious and narcissistic this assumption is, however, I hope I may please the few eyes that will ever graze the fodder of the words that describe my dear life.

Thank you for listening.

Annie

I hope he doesn't hit her...if he hits her, than I don't know if there's anything I can do to stop myself from hitting him back. But really, she's the last one who should be beat, especially before me, or my friends...

So I asked Sam to come sing for the band...yeah I know, it's a girl and we're kinda metal, but since the start, I've always wanted to sound alternative and different, and having a girl be there while me n Greg shred away would really add something the industry has yet to come across. So I hope norm doesn't throw a fit every five minutes. If he's gonna be that way, and just bitch about the new lead singer, then I don't really see any reason in continuing being a band at all. But regardless, I want to keep writing music.

So I'm in seabee idol eh? singing johnny cash...so excited, I don't even like him. Everyone's like aww c'mon Jeff, Johnny Cash is the greatest, then it hit me. People suddenly seem so much more talented from six feet below the ground, maybe I should dig him up and see how well he could sing. Like, Nirvana, gained outstanding popularity with the death of Kurt. Pantera jumped into the mainstream again when former guitarist dimebag died, and he suddenly became the greatest player of all time. Then poor ol'Johnny, passed and they made a movie about him. Three fucking chords people, three fucking chords. It's not that impressive.

School Just Complicates things

yeah, so my mom's goin' crazy cause I got a 72% on a test, oh heaven forbid! Maybe next time I should fail and see if she beats me. I have a 75 in the class, and that should be enough to satisfy her it's above average and it's my lowest mark, she should be glad. I could be one of the people getting 30s but I don't. I try my hardest to satisfy my parents but they just don't give a shit, sometimes I think they don't even like me. I don't play hockey like they want me to, I don't get marks in the 90s and above, I don't go outside every free moment I have no matter how scarce they are. It's just weird.

I talked with Liz at Grease today, and I learned that she really has no aspirations, its all downhill from here, or so she thinks. She says she'll just be a teacher someday, and doesn't really have a dream of an ideal life, which to me seems silly. Then she told me she wants to go to dance school, but proceeds to tell me she'll never be accepted and should just settle into teaching the rest of her life. So I keep trying to tell her to keep her head up, that soon she'll be independant, and free of the folks that have tortured her until now. It's sad really, I wish the best for her and all she gets is crud.

So Grease today was alright, I spent most of it getting in touch with Keith Whipple and Liz, occasionally Derek Hiltchie, they're really cool guys, I hope we all make it for Seabee Idol, which, will be hard enough. All the girls are soooo good, and I don't think I'll add up to the standards of the audience...that is...if I do make it.

I guess every thing's alright over this end of cyberspace though, at least for now, so get off your asses and stop worrying about me y'all, you've got bigger fish to fillet.

Peace X
Cook