Provincials

I found myself in a room chalked full of people today, and I found myself wondering again. Allowing my mind to wander into the aimless space it finds solitude in so many times. Looking back on the photos from the day spent in the home of a Pulamoo (the hell is a pulamoo?) I found that I didn't look as despondent as I actually was. I thought about a lot of things, which may have been chlorine induced, or may have been on account of the abundance of chlorine I absorbed in the run of that day. I met so many people, and re-met more people yet in a different light than I'd ever seen them before. It was a complicated turn of events when I saw some of the people of my past, particularly the younger sibling of some one I'd spent so much time with when I was younger.

It made me ponder mostly on the value of friendship. I remember a close friend uttering something along the lines of ''Hey Jeff, come meet my new best friend!". This new best friend of course being a student from the Rothsay High swim team who had just come to the threshold of his adulthood. He was nineteen, and this is what some one would have liked to have based the value of friendship. It was an obvious joke, and we shared a laugh about it, however what surprised me most was this boys personality once the three of us actually began to talk. It was odd how much I became to know him in such a short time, and based only on the term that he was the age that he was? Does age really have this much pull on us?

I believe earlier I mentioned some one's younger sibling. It was some one who I was extremely close to in the past, and I found myself feeling incredibly strange because, she was in fact the younger sibling. I found a barrier in this. Could I ever see it the same way to share a friendship with this one even though she was younger, and played the part of the younger sibling so well in the past? This was odd indeed. After only a few moments of sharing her pleasant company I realized the value of friendship was there present as well, just as her older sister's friendship had been. How strange it was to see some one evolve from the status of younger sister, to new found friend. I was happy and proud of this achievement. It was something phenomenal that I couldn't have wished more than to find.

Another strange occurrence was the re-met friend of a friend who lived in the area. One of the captains brought her to meet the team again, as she had two years in the past, but how a new light was shed. It was a want for kinship with this one I had. It was not a crush, that would be a silly thought for I am ever and endlessly committed to some one I share extremely strong feelings for. How could they be conquered? No this musically artistic one shed a light that made me want to simply bask in her ability as I would have those bask in my own. It was something of a inner vision of mine when I began playing and heard her sing along. I adored it, such shared emotion in only a small moment. There is a distance, and it is true I will perhaps never lay eyes on her again, but it was something fun, and perhaps I'll play music next to her again. One could only hope, for I adored her being there. One could only hope.

Josh and Jeremiah, these two shone for me as well. How many years I have known them and not valued them as I do now. They were next to me for the entire duration, but there was something more there. A tender caring I found in Watkins, and in Jeremiah a jovial soul. I have friends, of course that I spend the gist of my time with, amazing entertainers, and people I see as my brothers, people I'd gladly take a bullet for. These two others though, found their way to me, in such a way that I could never deny them kinship. Perhaps in the months to come I may know them as I know my brothers, mayhap in a different way, but still positive. I realized how much I cared for them in wishing Josh to succeed in his race. I ran from the observation room to deliver him the working goggles he so lacked, however, upon arriving I sadly only saw his back end retreating gracefully into the water. I dropped my hands to my side and sighed. Then my iPod fell out of my pocket onto the floor and into the puddle of water at my side. I contemplated becoming an hero for a couple of moments, but soon just retreated to the sanctuary of the observation room.

The friends I've made, I hope to keep them at my side. My brothers, I have decided to bring to me closer than I ever have before, and my love, I hope to bring to tears with the passion of my motion and kiss. One I will never see again, two that will always be at my side and an impromptu sibling that became a friend in only a few moments of improvised speech. A successful run of events, something terrific I find. I hope that some day I will see them in this light again. I can only hope the artist I found returns though. That one of the foremost.

Semblances

It's strange. Today, the first time I worked in nearly a full turn of a week, I was witness to something painfully peculiar. It struck me as odd, yet it reminded me of something I bore witness to only a few weeks ago. It made me recollect the strange resemblance you see in children and their parents, whether it is on purpose or not, I'm not sure. Most biology says it is purely genetic, and each man's son will follow in his father's footsteps. It is a painful and perpetual process in some cases, yet for some it is something that propels them to heights they'd never achieved were in not for their given genetics. Today I saw what made me think on these things again, so, for the anonymous public who may be viewing, I share the moment with you.

I was working, as I began early, in the grocery store which I find solace in some of the harder days of my life, and I saw a child, sitting in a cart, staring intently at their mother. They were a young child, perhaps only a couple years of age, yet it seemed they had a profound understanding of their mother's inner turmoil. The mother wore a painful expression on her face, one of pure exhaustion, as though she had seen so much and said only enough in her short day of Christmas shopping with her child. Her expression was completely sincere, there was lethargy showing in her eyes and her jaw rested agape, as she seemed to be breathing heavily simply from the burden of the day she had just been part of. A natural expression yes, one not uncommon in a place like a grocery store, yet it seemed peculiar to me, because a) I over analyze everything, and b) because the small child in the cart she pushed wore the identical expression.

His eyes nearly pushed out of his face in an exaggerated exhaustion, mouth hung open in lethargy, and head hung at almost the precise angle his mother's was. This was incredible to me. He seemed to have mimicked it, yet the emotion behind in, the feelings his mother wore, were prominent therein. His intent stare made it seem as though he were trying for this effect, I would not have guessed any differently had he not moved his head to the side and kept the exact same emotion. It would have been even odder to his mother were she not preoccupied with her own trepidation. Perhaps his genetics were causing him to feel this emotion through her.

The reason it struck me so, is because I did not believe the semblance existed between me and any other member of my family save the stubbornness my mother and I share. I did not believe so until, of course, two years ago. I was laying in a tent, whilst camping with my kin, trying very much so to find refuge from the shouting voices of adults. I could not find sleep, so like any self respecting child I began to eavesdrop. What I heard was somewhat of a domestic dispute between a husband and wife. My uncle and his girlfriend were the ones creating such a dispute. I believed them entirely alone until I heard my father, begin as a mediator between the two feuding sides.

After much heated conflict, my uncle left to find solace in his warm trailer and left my father and his enraged girlfriend sitting at the burning cinders of the past raging fire. This is when it became to become extremely surreal for me, the impromptu audience of the situation. I heard my father talking to her, in much the same tone and dialect, as I did to the distressed teenage girls who find some refuge in my advice. He was tenacious with his efforts to lift the spirits of this extremely distraught woman, and it seemed that he was fueled by the incense of the fire withering away, as though it's embers were a signal that the night was about to end, as was the night for this woman. She was going to go to bed alone and angry, and the conflict would find itself lingering into the following days.

What truly shocked me was his diction. The words he was using. They were nearly exactly the same as my own. That which he spoke bore such a resemblance to my own advice that I was taken aback, and nearly disturbed. My father and I could not be much different than we are, physically no, yet emotionally I thought we had much distance. However, here he was, he had become the catalyst of emotional recovery much the way I had in the previous years. He continued to speak, cooing the inflamed woman into a lull of assurance. He continued to talk until she conceded to attempting to talk to my uncle before reposing, that is, if he hadn't found the dark of sleep already.

Though it was alcohol borne and much resembled a boched episode of doctor Phil, the latter showing me how ridiculous I sounded in such moments, it gave me some hope for my relationship with Pops. I didn't know how to deal with this new information. Normally I would sit upon it and think more, which I did, but I accepted it nearly instantaneously. It is hope I found there, that being like your father is always possible.

I do not say this is absolute truth. That each man's son will repeat his father's actions, however it is something that saved me slightly. I hope all of you can find it, the pro relationships with your parents. It's something that provided some gusto in spending time with my family, this quality being something good in my mind. That child meticulously crafting his mother's facade calmed me, and made me glad, hopefully, and sincerely hopefully, he will continue on such a path and find a meaningful bond with her.

-Cook

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.