"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.

Missed Connections w4m, BLB

I'm about to admit something no sane person should admit. However, it's because of this inexplicable partiality I feel for this writer who has been serial-spamming craigslist with his writing. It hit me like a lightening bolt, tingling through me like electricity. Painful and illogical, but beautiful and precise. I'm not sure if it's sleep deprivation or this total stranger reawakened something within me I've almost forgotten- love, love for words, love for thought, love for the intangible, the ridiculous, the absurd.
Alright, here's my secret: I scroll through "missed connections" sometimes when I'm bored. It's become a habit born out of sheer curiosity and the hope that some guys could be true romantics. This leads right into why I wanted to write this post. There's a guy out there that puts up missed connections on craigslist, but instead of "looking for a blonde wearing a red jacket and black boots," he's writing profoundly insightful, heart wrenching poetry that has left me in a state of shock and awe. For months I have been terrified to write poetry on my blog. For weeks I have been putting off updating in hopes of discovering a topic I can write about freely, and then I find this guy's blog. He's like everything I aspire to be as a writer, fearless and unwavering. He writes in a way devoid of commercial, patronizing rhetoric. Instead he uses words with a biting, uncensored ferociousness. It's like he's fighting, constantly fighting. Fighting himself, fighting the words, fighting format and style, fighting conformity, fighting for his place, his rightful place in a world full of doubt and hopelessness, disrespect and sorrow. He shows no remorse in his words, his thoughts forming violent serenity, if you can call it that. That description makes sense when you read him, maybe it doesn't, but that's what is so appealing about writing, it's (in)comprehension. His writing is so poignant because he doesn't throw his intelligence mockingly in your face, but slips it into lines and phrases with stealth and careful thought. His name is Frankie Leone and he is Williamsburg, Borough of Lost Boys... or more affectionately, the "missed connections writer."

This is my very first post about another writer... It's fitting because of the New Year and all. A lot of firsts have been happening in these last few days, many interesting occurrences. This year really is going to be fantastic, I really can feel it.

I'm out.