The Weirdness

Just feelin' weird....



I'm out.

WWMLKJD

So Close to Twenty Followers... Sad.

No, my title has absolutely nothing to do with what I'm writing about today. I've decided my blog is going to rebel against sanity and all that is proper and decent. Nay, I will not be controlled by the "norm." Instead I will rave on incoherently, indefinitely, ridiculously. Actually, I have been mulling over a pretty serious topic of interest that has not only infiltrated the hearts and minds of the country but also irritates the hell out of people and can be extremely offensive. It's a question you're asked whenever you purchase that loaf of bread and eggs and lunch meat. Or every time you pile tofu, flax seed and oatmeal into your shopping cart. You know the question well, "Paper or plastic?" Nowadays that is almost like punching someone square on in the mouth. WHAT DID YOU ASK ME?! PAPER OR WHAT?! I HAVE MY OWN BAG THANK YOU. Ah, yes. The people who not only use age old rags fashioned into bags in order to avoid the blasphemous, sinful, just plain wrong option to take a plastic bag. Ok. Do not get me wrong. I LOVE MOTHER EARTH. I'm all for her flourishing forever and ever, living a long, healthy fulfilling life, BUT, I do have a problem with people who get incomprehensibly angry at people who don't use reusable bags and have an air of disgusting superiority that you cannot penetrate... without fists of fury. I'm really just mad at the people who are oblivious to class and don't see how this little privilege is just that- a privilege. Making blanket statements that smother logic and destroy my nerves. There's nothing wrong with being environmentally conscious. Hell I'm all for that shit. I love recycling. Upcycling is my new obsession, but let us not forget that it is a privilege. Sigh. Class. What a slippery slope. Man, I'm just a ball of sunshine today eh?

And to really drive it home... My new favorite song...



I'm out.

The Pursuit of Happiness

I've been asking myself this question for over 3 years now, "What makes me happy?" And depending on the time of day, the amount of food in my stomach, the weather, the company, the answer(s) change. The key is finding the constant. What constantly makes me happy regardless of outside, uncontrollable factors. I have come to the conclusion that not only does happiness lie within the beholder, but in all the important relationships that have manifested, sprang up, reigned down on me in the past, ones that I hope will form in the future and the ones that I cherish now. My happiness is also affected by what I do. For a long time I've been suppressing the obvious. Negating to tap into how I'm really feeling, I just kept ignoring my feelings of defeat and anxiety- mostly annoyance, now that I think of it. Everyone says you're suppose to hate your job. It's normalcy. And I used to agree. I used to accept the inevitable and struggle through my day praying that I would eventually become numb to the incessant insanity and dehumanizing task of folding clothes, tracking numbers, and pretending to care about something so trite and ultimately soul crushing. After a series of fortunate/unfortunate events I now realize what's important. Happiness. People. Life. And actually not loathing your job and everything it stands for. Life is on the up and up minus the awful down and down of the weekend.







I'm out.

Occupy Reality

After being deprived of a computer for I don't know how many months I have finally gotten hold of a machine long enough to update without feeling guilty, or worse- rushed. I've gone through a lot since the summer and I promise I won't bore you with the sad, gritty, head-scratching, exhausting, mildly amusing, gruesome,incredible stupid details. Recent events prevent me from speaking of frivolous summer follies and ridiculous regrets. You know what I'm talking about. Occupy Wall Street. The endless coverage, chatter, and arguments that have revolved around this... this thing that has grown into a massive, conflicting, contradicting, yet wholly beautiful collective of people- minus the disgusting, inexcusable behavior of law enforcement, of course, has leaked into so many conversations I've been having with people.

Here we have massive amounts of people gathered in front of, yep, none other than Urban Outfitters. They were marching down 6th Ave and apparently were attempting to lure the greeter to join them. I walked by wishing to sweet Jesus I was more impulsive and didn't need a job to survive.

I love all the people clinging to their UO bags as if they're protesting something entirely different. 'Cuz they are. They're like the anti-protesters, and I sadly am apart of they're putrid game. I know full well how dramatic I'm being. You shush.
FIGHT THE POWER.

This movement has been a chance to show the world that Americans are not as pathetically apathetic as everyone (including Americans) expected. However, there seems to be a slight problem with the fact that there is no single voice or reason behind the occupation. I personally like the idea of a fluid movement like this where ideas are constantly circulating , but to some it gives the impression of disorganization and whimsical idealism. I have no solution. I am merely talking about an issue I would like to know more about.
Many people I know are involved with OWS and I couldn't be prouder of them! For weeks now I have been trying to get down there and have failed at every attempt. I really have no excuse. It's actually getting kind of ridiculous at this point. I should give myself a date. I need some motivation, too, so if anyone feels so inclined to be my pushy, persistent OWS mate PLEASE lemme know!

Now I want to talk about how awesome my internship has been. So, as I have stated before I began working for this start up called Krrb and have fallen in love with the entire concept. Not only have I been learning massive amounts about social media, marketing and pr, but have been given opportunities to write. WHAT. SO GOOD. Anyway I'll stop talking about it now, but KNOW HOW AWESOME IT IS AND USE IT. It really is a breath of fresh air compared to the angry bowel of criagslist or the overwhelming sense of doom and disappointment associated with eBay or Amazon. OH! And we're teaming up with Film Biz Recycling and Jessi Arrington for a silent auction! COME. There will be $1 tacos from Oaxaca and FREE BEER from Brooklyn Brewery. Just $10 to RSVP! I'm super stoked about it. I've been blowing up every social media site I have about it. I'm sure I'm pissing people off ha and it's awesomeeeeeee!

Oh and yet another racist event has given me the willies. I can't go into detail, but the N-word was said in a kind of nonchalant way that almost made my eyebrows fall off and my brain leak out of my ears. You're very welcome for that beautiful delicious absolutely disgusting image. I am so completely naive to think talk like that nowadays is so uncommon. Obviously people are still stupid and will continue to be that way for oh EVER. It's just so disheartening when it's someone you were growing found of and looking forward to starting a friendship with. Sigh, the thought of amount of work/time that would be involved with de-stupifying (I made that up) this person is just plain nauseating.

Oh well...


I'm out.

Fiction: part 1

She thinks about the decision she made. Mulling over the pros and cons as she sips her hot chocolate staring out her window onto the street. She smiles, realizing that this is what she wanted all along, accepting that this is what needs to be. The sweet, warm drink soothes her throat. After crying for days it is a welcoming sensation. Cars drive by noisily, honking their horns, the drivers yelling profanities. It's music to her ears, a melodious intermingling of mechanical voices and urban salutations. She looks back at the computer screen at listings wondering who wrote them and what the circumstances were that lead to particular job openings. That company lost their marketing manager to a drug habit and an existential crisis, or this company's art director left after realizing his passion for music and nonconformity. The world is constantly changing, a fluidity reminiscent of spilled milk flowing over counter tops and splashing onto the floor, spreading freely, thickly, without calculation, but with purpose. She shifts in her chair. Trying desperately to focus on her task at hand. She closes the classifieds window and opens the page she's been trying to avoid since she sat down. New York State Psychiatric Institute. She looks over the website with terror and contempt, but also understanding and longing. The voices haven't stopped in weeks and her sanity seems to be flickering on and off in her head like fireworks, a burst of clarity and then a slow fade into the unknown. For weeks she's tried to function like everything was okay, going to dinner, going to work, going out, but all with a pang of regret. Happiness was now a distant memory she thought she could recreate by ignoring her incomprehensible feelings and embracing the simplicity of complacency, but her quick-fix emotion betrayed her. Ignorance was most certainly not bliss. She clicked on Looking For Treatment, her hands shook as she scrolled through the information. Filling out the form for clinical studies, she prayed there would be one to fit her needs. She briefly thought about just calling the hospital and checking herself in without telling anyone...



to be continued...


I'm out.

SHARK WEEK

There are quite a few things that confuse me when it comes to hipster culture. This month one in particular has been circling my consciousness- SHARK WEEK. Is there some sort of Wes Anderson reference buried deep within the marketing that is reminiscent of a dog whistle that only hipsters can hear? Is the reference Life Aquatic? That would make sense. Or maybe some obscure philosopher made some hearty claims about how sharks represent nihilism and embodied cognition. Perhaps it was some ethereal novel that spoke about sharks in relation to societal deconstruction and ultimately eventual, universal compassion and concord. Shark week, your popularity has eluded me and trying to figure you out makes my head hurt. Sigh. I guess everyone's partiality for Shark Week probably comes from the fact that sharks are just plain bad ass and watching them tear through things is really fascinating. I mean Jaws. AmIright?!





I'm out.

I Think It's Time To

Mix it up.

^-^


I'm out.

Spokesperson

I'm not sure if I've ever written about this but I'm pretty sure I haven't. Last night I went out with some coworkers and awaited to hear comments I knew were brewing behind curious eyes. Bar settings seem to be a breeding ground for socially-charged conversation that is normally a little uncomfortable/awkward? The conversation got interesting when we started talking about guys, what type of guys we were into and other fun dating-related subject matter. When I tell people my "preference"it doesn't seem to be met with too much surprise, but it is met with unbridled assumption that I somehow hate myself or think I'm disconnected from my heritage, which is I assure you not the case. It's an understandable conclusion to draw, but it simply is not true. However, this was not what got under my skin. What really irritated me is the notion that every single black person is a spokesperson for their entire race. I was asked why a lot of gay black men prefer white men. Um. Ok. I have no idea. Number one I am not a gay black man, but even if I was there is no possible way for me to conceive the thoughts and actions of all gay black men no matter how smart or informed I thought I was. I honestly enjoy talking about race, but in a situation like this with a presumptuous (unintentional I know) leaning it's hard to have a desire to continue the discourse.

I had a conversation with one of my friends about how the world perceives me and my ongoing battle with my indifference towards the world's perception. I am me. I can be no one else and considering how short life is I don't want to be anyone else. It's too hard to conform when conforming means losing yourself. And I'm not saying by any means that I'm "different" or "better" in any way shape or form. All I'm saying is that I can be nothing else or more than who I am. It's devastating to realize that individuality is a privilege- a privilege denied to many, many people. My face is suppose to represent every African American person (not even just women apparently) without question or doubt. My utterances carry the weight of my entire race- my history, my ancestors, strangers, people I know, people I'll never meet, people who hate me, people who love me, etc. You get it. Imagine having THAT much pressure on yourself every day you present yourself to the world.

I forget not everyone took race/sociology classes in college and aren't aware of certain societal constructs, rules, stupid "normalcy" that we're taught oh so subtlety. So I am by no means mad at this person for asking me such a loaded question, more disheartened by the reality that most people see nothing wrong with asking questions like that in mixed company... or ever really.

And as a tribute to the late Amy Winehouse...

RIP girl.





I'm out.

Family Affair

So I had a huge dose of family this weekend and needless to say- it was an experience to remember. Never have I been so tense and annoyed in such effortmless succession as I was this weekend. Nary a day went by when I was with my mother that I didn't want, at some point, to tweeze my eye brows out one hair at a time, then move on to my eye lashes. This weekend helped me realize a few things about myself, 1. I have a strange a strange interest in kids shows (not in a gross way- promise), 2. I'm so lucky to have the best big sister anyone can ask for, and 3.- the most depressing of all- No matter how hard I fight the reality it's true that I am I different person around my mother. I'm a shell of myself, an echo, and afterthought. Anyway, it was an unfortunate discovery, but I've always felt that way, it's just now it's becoming a problem. I'll figure it out. I won't bore you with sappy details.

On a lighter note! I feel as though I have finally turned over a new leaf and have been writing more consistently for myself! Yay! Now it's time to go to shows and start reviewing the bageezus out of bands, going to bars and blabbing about my experience on here, and possibly reading books to review. The last one probably won't happen too often because I'm not really a fan of reviewing books, plus I hate reading. Oh I keed. I'm reading Hitchhiker's Guide right now and never realized how heavily that book has influenced pop culture. It really is tremendous. READ IT. 42.





I'm out.

Newborn and Forlorn

Arriving, groggy, motion-sensitive, and exhausted, I made the trip to VA from Brooklyn with my uncle, aunt and two cousins along with an adorable dog named Daisy to see my sister and her family, namely my newborn niece. All in all it seemed like a sitcom on the way down. Before even getting into the car I was hounded by my uncle to pick up my phone while at work. After some heated text messaging there still didn't seem to be any understanding that there would be repercussions for picking up the phone on the clock, so I ignored the angry, loud buzzing notifications until I was off work which was oh, 20 min. later. The absurdity did not end there however, for I had about 5.5 hours to acquire some fantastic memories. For instance, the strange pang of guilt I felt for traveling with a small animal. Little Daisy was a champ throughout the entire ride, but her trip was far from over once I was released from the four-wheeled prison. Their ultimate destination was Miami.
Being in a packed car is hard enough without having to hear my uncle tell the same stories over and over and over again and then to top of the horrendous way he speaks to his wife, it felt like I was in some kind of terrible off Broadway drama about male dominance and dreams lost. It was depressing. All I could do was sit there and witness an unspeakable reality and be completely helpless in remedying the situation. It was a testament to the heartbreaking seriousness of volatile relationships and the painful affects of an unfulfilled life if you're not careful. All of these heinous thoughts vanished however after a good night's sleep and seeing my little niece for the first time.
There's something about a newborn child that gives you hope, a new life in this world of chaos and deceit. She is a ray of light, unknowing and innocent. Although, I fear for her as well for obvious reasons. It's so easy to be a cynic and succumb to negative thoughts and doubt. The world is a scary place, but there is beauty. It's an important thing to remember. It's not all bad. There are little miracles like life to remind you of the significance of family, friends, love, and the crazy, beautiful spontaneity of life.
Life is beautiful. She is beautiful.



I'm out.

"I don't know about my dreams. I don't know about my dreamin anymore."

It's been a while, but I finally have some down time to update this thing. A lot has happened in the last few months what with my lease ending, starting a new job and rearranging my dreams, future... hm, maybe that last part is a bit of a stretch. I have been mulling over different possibilities but a clear cut plan has yet to come into fruition. I have hope though! Hope. What a word. It's been a distant thought for a while. Doubt had such a stronghold on everything in my life and now, well Hope knocked down the door and kicked doubt's ass so everything's cool.

I've moved into a brand new place and it has opened up endless possibilities. Side note- MOVING SUCKS. Ok. Done.
I know you should never depend so much on your environment that you let it dictate what you want and/or who you are, but as I'm writing this it just sounds wrong... also impossible, so maybe my stagnant inclinations were inevitable. Well no more laziness, no more complaining, no more wishing. This summer is going to be an experience, I've already decided. All I have to do is write more. It's so simple yet so insanely hard to do. I was speaking with someone about having a "passion" in the city and how difficult it is to be successful or even work on your "passion" if you don't focus. This conversation is by no means new or surprising, but it is very, very applicable to so many twenty-somethings. Just yesterday I was perusing okcupid (don't judge me) and so many profiles had the phrase "existential crisis" tucked comfortably away in "About Me" or "What I'm Doing With My Life," and it's not hard to see why. Grappling with where you thought you'd be and where you are now is something that can be hard to come to terms with. It helps though, that there are so many people having the same depressing thoughts. Maybe I should join some kind sort of collective. Also probably find some will power somewhere. I could probably get that off e-bay, right?

Let's talk about friends. I've found that in this year and a half I've been here friendship has been one of not the most significant concepts I've had to reconfigure. When we were younger it was so easy to make them. Go up to someone and offer them a pog or a marble, hell a leaf and ask coyly, "Friends?" And the answer would always be yes. Now making friends is a lot like dating. You have to sift through a lot of trash to find that treasure haha oh okc... (don't judge me.) Finding the right friends has an impact and if you have a crazy one, well then lord help you. Having a circle of people around you who genuinely care about your well-being is something that can be really tough to find so if you have those people you should never take them for granted. The beauty of friendship truly rests in each individual you allow into a very private part of your life and yourself. Oh lawd, I'm starting to sound like a self help book again. All I wanted to say is that I am so grateful for everyone in my life and have learned so much through all my relationships and experiences with so many amazing people. This city can easily eat you alive, so it helps to have some people in your corner. A crew if you will. Ha.

It's time to be more consistent again. I wonder how many times I've said that in this thing. A LOT. I know that.


LOVE HIM.



I'm out.

Creatively Challenged

I have such talented friends. Painters, Sculptors, Photographers, Editors, Designers, Actors, Musicians, Drag Queens... the list goes on... into tiny micromanaged categories. However, when I think of me and what I do I hardly consider myself an artist or even creative. I've been beating myself up recently for being unable to find enjoyment in anything creative- save writing. This contradiction has not gone overlooked. Writing is creating, I suppose. I don't understand my ambivalent reality at all, and I don't like it and I'm always trying to refute its unstable implications. I rarely draw except when I doodle which I haven't done in months. I don't make things unless that counts putting together a sandwich. My hands are tools I stare at in dismay wondering where in my life they surrendered to a life of banality. I don't own a camera but use Instagram like it's no body's business, but I would hardly call myself a photographer. I've been feeling less enthused with the idea of being called a "writer," for the simple, narcissistic fact that it just doesn't seem cool anymore. When the age of the internet began so did the fall of the writer. Bloggers took over the internet and made actual writers redefine themselves and what it was to be a writer. They are now all unemployed... or working terrible retail jobs... Jk. I have no idea (but probably). Then again, what is a blogger? A writer. As defined in the dictionary a writer is: writ·er/ˈrītər/Noun
1. A person who has written a particular text. In that case there is no difference between a blogger and a writer. Oh, but there is... there has to be or my efforts have all been in vain. Is blogging going to be my life? Should I succumb to the inevitability that sharing my ridiculous thoughts on the internet will eventually be my career. I can't. Oh, but I can. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN? This whole argument is a plethora of insane discrepancies and unfair assumptions.

I used to relish in all types of peoples' indulgences in the internet. I used to take in all the wonderful excitement that buzzed heavily around twitter and facebook, and friendster (is that even real?), and the list goes on. Now, I feel like the internet took something away from me. A solid voice.
In this constantly changing environment with the amount of turn-over in trends and the decreasing attention span of the nation it's terrifying to think of where I'll fit in. If I'll fit in. How I'll fit in.

I'm rambling again. It's becoming a horrible habit.

Apologies.




I'm out.

Interspew

Interviews- N. One of the most devastating realities in our culture, where desperate job seekers are thrown into an incredibly awkward begging process incited by generic questions and assuming holders of their future. I'm not sure if there's anything I dislike more than having to sit in a group of others all outwardly hoping they give the most enticing answers and that you screw up. Group interviews are worse than one on one interviews for numerous reasons, but the one that gets me the most frustrated is the fact that in a setting like that people tend to be a little bit apprehensive to show themselves. It may be out of insecurity or from sheer, incapacitating shyness which I guess can be a result of insecurity. Anyway, that's not always the case for the "quiet interviewer" as I have now dubbed that person we've encountered at least once. The person sitting in the corner, staring around anxiously, praying the hour goes by faster. However, these "quiet interviewers" are not necessarily bad workers or innately timid people. In a group interview, though, it's hard to give them a chance if they don't speak. I know I know that's the whole point I suppose, to weed out the seemingly socially handicapped people in turn for boisterous, borderline obnoxious, enthusiastic applicants. Sigh. Something just seems wrong about that kind of logic. I bet there are hundreds of people being affected by this ridiculous group interview process and there's nothing we can do to stop it. All I can do is write about how unfair and inefficient it is and advise anyone who does happen to be thrown into that horrible situation to SPEAK OUT!
Oh and my internet is working again!
Woot!


Mumford & Sons are my new favorite!

I'm out.

Just Do It

Battling for months with this ongoing uneasiness with life and where I want to be and who I want to be and all that existential garbage prone to a paranoid, absurdly self-aware, judgmental being, I have finally concluded that I need to "Just Do It."* Not only does this apply to my career, but to everything in life. For too long I've been scared to just leap into something without knowing exactly what the outcome will be and not fearing it wholeheartedly with the nerves of a tadpole. So in my continuous attempts to better my situation I shall try a different approach. No more excuses, no more talking, no more half-assed attempts, it's game time. I got my helmet on, and I look ridiculous but I don't care. Complaining about things is starting to wear on my nerves, and I'm sure my friends would not be completely opposed to never hearing me say, "I need to get outta there," ever again. Sorry guys. Also, I really need to focus time on creativity. I haven't written anything decent in months... Infuriating writer's block is to blame for this horrid dry spell. However, so is laziness and apathy, two emotions I've been all to found of for the last few weeks. It's so easy to just not care. It's so easy to just let things happen and not focus on goals. Goals. What a scary word. It has so many weird, complex connotations. It means so much, but can also be so fleeting. Anyway, I need to dedicate time to doing something I've grown to love beyond words haha get it... cuz it's writing. Sigh. Clinging to that ounce of passion I know is floating around in me somewhere I've got to get my drive back. I also think I need to get out of the city for a little bit to help me put things in perspective. I feel like with the constant motion of Brooklyn and Manhattan it's definitely easy to loose a little bit of yourself amongst all the flashing lights, all the moody people, all the sounds. I need to go somewhere not so... loud- all that racket- yes, I'm 85.
Well thanks for reading everyone, I really do appreciate you taking the time out to read my narcissistic indulgences.


Story of my life.

***Let it be known I denounce any affiliation with Nike, for obvious political/moral reasons. Damn them for creating such a relevant tag line.***

I'm out.

A Tale of True Ninnies: A Story About Hope Lost via The Internet

As a result of being utterly unable to figure out where my main Internet box is I am resorting to using my iPhone to update. Why don't you go to the coffee shop next door, you're probably saying. Why don't you just go to a friend's house you're probably chuckling. Well, there is a simple, yet stupid answer for that. I've kind of always wanted to test the capacity for this here iPhone. Is it as convenient and necessary to my existence as I've always thought it to be? YES, yes it is. It's convenience is to a startling degree. I'm not sure whether I should be excited or horrified that the thought of losing it make me shudder. Definitely horrified. Anyway, it's been a while since I've updated, mainly... excuse me, SOLELY because of this whole Internet debacle. Explain the situation? Why, I would love to: A few weeks ago the Internet just decided to stop working. Thinking it was just a matter of unplugging the machine and turning it back on I did not panic. Then, after doing that oh 5 times and then frantically calling verizon I realized the problem was external. Verizon would have to send a technician to fix the problem. Sighing with relief, thinking that would only take like 15 minutes, I immediately scheduled an appointment a few days later, being off and extremely ready to get my Internet service up and running again. The technician came in the morning, poked around the router, went outside for 10 minutes, came back in and told me there was nothing he could do. "You have to find out where the main cable box is in order for me to fix it." I thought to myself, how the bloody hell would I know where that is? And yes I tend to think in a British accent. So he left with a quickness of a thousand winds and didn't look back. I remembered there was confusion when they first installed the Internet and I remembered something about them wiring it through an auto body shop behind my apartment so I call the technician and tell him that and all he says to me is "No, it's in a abandoned building by your apartment," and abruptly hangs up on me. At this point I'm furious so I call Verizon back careful to keep my temper in check because obviously it's no fault of whoever picks up the phone but of that crass a-hole know-it-all. Oh gawd, he's probably right. So the battle commences. They're telling me I have to find out where this mysterious "main box" is and I have to call them once I've found it. This search has resulted in hours of brain-cramping super sleuthing and many awkward phone calls to strangers and it's almost been 2 weeks since the Internet's stopped working. I'm at my wits end trying to resolve this insane situation. So, what I'm really asking is.... Can I use your Internet?

Sent from my iPhone



I'm out.

Brooklyn, why are you so lonely?

In this growing age of social networking and online-media based relationship building it's kind of hard to understand the disconnect amongst people when in social settings, i.e. bars. I remember walking into Union Pool the other day observing people, seeing unbridled loneliness seep from their eyes with pathetic certainty. It's a state people are used to, I suppose. Looking for the next person to fill a void in their ever-growing confounded hearts. What can be done about the loneliness? This incessant, unrelenting profoundly infuriating reality is something I have been thinking about for quite some time now. I have figured out it's not just my own manic predilection that is feeding into these thoughts. It's not some wild delusion. Many people have voiced their concerns with being able to meet people and not just romantically, but the entire process of meeting people seems to be convoluted and daunting. There's really no conclusion I could come up with to remedy the whole situation. It's all to do with individuals and not being a prisoner of fear and rejection. I dunno... it's just something that's been on my mind...


Shudder.


I'm out.

Life, Time, and Sleep

It's unnerving what a job can do to you. It's frustrating to see the very core of yourself shifting solely because of a dream that seems to just be fading rapidly in front of your eyes. It's mind-numbing how your entire day can be a ceaseless string of monotonous, painfully futile events that involve other people's conceit and incorrigible ability to be the sloppiest, most uncaring individuals. It's terrifying for me to see myself turning into a shadow of a thought in my mind- violently swirling with confusion. I need a change.

Life is amazing. I love Life, but right now Life is not reciprocating. Right now Life seems to be in constant motion, fleeing as far from Reason and Sanity as it can go, taking Time with it. Well, NO MORE! Life, you bring your wayward tuchus back here, calm down, and sort yourself out. I need Time, Life, okay? Time and I need each other in this trying period and right now? Well,right now you, Life, are being very stingy with Time. Time needs to be free and let itself just go. Time might just want to slow down and enjoy things, but you Life, you're always on the go! Life, I'm just trying to help you out. Together, we can do this. Life, Time, can I call you Lifetime? You belong to me and I need you to know that I expect great things out of you, okay? So let's do this. And while we're having this little heart to heart let's also try and give Sleep another shot, huh? I mean, it won't hurt anyone.

Man, I need Sleep.



Dedicated to a new and improved Life. ♥


I'm out.

Thanksgiving and Black Friday

Every year I make a point to comment on the ridiculousness of this holiday. In general I dislike traditions that have become consumerist parasites that eat away at our society. By now, we should all know that what went down at Plymouth Rock or whatever, was not some stupid, playful sing-a-long amongst the pilgrims and the Indians but a brutal, violent slaughter that scars the history of this country. Can you believe that we were taught the Indians and pilgrims actually got along?! That they had this adorable outdoor potluck where they exchanged recipes and played mancala. It's absolutely unnerving.
This year I could not go see my family in Florida because I HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW. It's one of those infuriating (un)necessary sacrifices I had to make because of poor planning and because my absence could cost me my job.
BLACK FRIDAY
The epitome of everything I hate about this country. A telling, unfiltered look into consumerism and selfishness. At 2 am sleepy shoppers will be arising in hopes of finding "great deals" on clothing, books, accessories, food, bedding, household appliances, furniture, electronics, cds and dvds, tools and an assortment of stupid garbage that feeds into the notion that you are what you have. Running around stores with a look of fiery desperation burning in their eyes, people will kick slap and scream their way down aisles, through shelves, on counter tops in hopes of attaining every deal they can. Meanwhile, corporations are laughing atop their pedestals of cutthroat success at the masses kill each other for a tickle-me-elmo. And there I shall stand, somberly in the midst of violent confusion asking myself "why?" and wondering when everything went wrong.

image from this guy theblogprof.blogspot.com

Happy Thanksgiving.


I'm out.

More About The Future

Ok. So, I'm still unsure of what will come out of this little project I want to start, but I do know I want it to involve me filming parts of my life and possibly interviewing people. There are a lot of technicalities I have to consider and I'm very unsure of how much or how little I want people to divulge on camera. All I need is a camera haha.

In other news, as is the inevitability of my highly complicated, traumatic life, my luck has been that of a small animal thrust in a shark tank. I feel like I'm being eaten alive. Although, as I've mentioned in a previous post I've succumbed to the reality that it is but a necessity in the universal order of things that I consistently get screwed over. Well, again, you're welcome.

=p




I'm out.