Writing

I swear if I were able to better articulate my thoughts into words or really wrote things down when I think about it I would be such a "better" writer and really refine my style. I love having ideas float around inside my head as they ping off each other and explode into visions of what could be but it's not really conducive to me if I can't get it down on paper. How can you tell someone you love them without alluding to the idea that you love them? It's basically like that.



I think I don't talk the way I write because my mind moves faster than my mouth can interpret into something meaningful. The end result being me, an empty shell of sarcasm spewing up insignificant observations that sound so much better in my head but just come out as plain stupid (and hilarious).

But I like it like that, I really don't like well spoken people. Like WELL WELL spoken people. Maybe because those who I know fall into the category are just general douche bags who's only talent is the ability to cite from reading and regurgitating it out. I mean that's a fine skill and all, but don't be a douche while doing it.



It's weird cause when I'm writing, I get into this zone and my mind and hands are in 100% unison. As if my body shuts down everything else and redirects all energy towards the optimization of that specific synapse. I wonder something else as well, when creating art I am really meticulous in it's design but more natural in it's creation: but when I write something I rarely edit. This is definitely my folly and something I should really work on, since what I usually end up putting down on paper is just as convoluted as the ideas floating around my head in the first place.

To someone outside of me reading this, it doesn't make much sense and I'm pretty sure some people think I'm a little crazy or wacked out in the head. To further add to the confusion, they meet me and see who writes that crap and it's an even bigger mindfuck.

I really like the way "Between the Heart and the Synapse" was written. Eloquent but at the same time very straightforward without trying to become something that it wasn't meant to be.

I'll do the best that I can

If I open both of my eyes
I'll still see an empty space so empty.
But if I keep them closed,
there's still a chance something is out there
- Frozen Creek, Circa Survive

That's how I feel a lot about other things. Probably more so recently regarding relationships and "love" in general.

I'm afraid to open myself up and allow that possibility or even pursue it, because there isn't anything there. The fact that I don't leaves that mystery of what if... it leaves me wondering if someone out there is capable of loving me, or if I'm capable of loving them.

Sometimes, it hurts less than the truth y'know?
The worst part is I know it's not healthy.

March 25, 2010

Another fucked up dream.

But... this wasn't as disturbed as other ones of recent. However, it did leave a lingering impression on me all day that I carried with me. I woke up, feeling very melancholic. I tried to cheer myself up by listening to some cheery songs, but that didn't do much.

Starting to see people differently lately. I talk to people, but the rhetoric behind what they are saying (that are perceived by me) seem to be floating around their head and I become curious as to what this person really wants to express.

March 24, 2010

The Night



The night time is such a surreal time for me. I think to myself, I'm mostly alone right now. The majority of people are asleep and off into their own little conjured up worlds inside their minds. I'm the last remaining fortress fighting off sleep and waiting for the light of the next day to break through.

The breaking of dawn is absolutely beautiful.
I keep remembering dawn back in my home town in Laos. The sun would barely peak over the tree line but the roosters were already "kooing" away. I wake up to the warm smell of my grandma or grandpa stoking the fire. I see my parents awake and talking downstairs to the neighbors, and the family helper fetching some water from the well down the road. There is a sleepy mist, or rather fog that blankets the land. I remember the calmness, the coolness, and the feeling of those mornings. But most of all, I remember that smoky smell from the fire.

Back to reality, the dawn in Minneapolis is much different. I wake up, tired. It doesn't matter how much sleep I get, I always seem to be tired. What's wrong with me? I look at the clock and don't get out of bed unless I have to. I fight off beginning the day, choosing instead to stay in the safety of my blanket. Everything is safe here. Everything is peaceful. My worries and failures can't find me here if I just hide.

I muster up strength to get ready for the day.
I am in the shower, the glimmer of the sun breaks through the opaque glass.
I wonder if it's going to be a good day.

The night. Oh, the night. There's nothing I need to be worried about. Everything seems so far away, everything is always tomorrow. Everything is always when I wake up and rejoin the real world. I'm able to exist in the darkness only with the guidance of my little desk lamp and the warmth and comfort of the TV glowing in the background reassuring my connection with society and reassuring that I'm not all alone.

It's the best way to be alone, without really feeling alone.

I spend my time staring at the computer screen. Cycling through old photos, working on little art projects, and talking to the computer through the keyboard. All the while my favorite songs pierce my thoughts as if to divide and organize the fragments and muddy up my feelings and emotions at the same time.

I think about the past.
Plan for tomorrow.
Ignore the present.



PM turns into AM.

At night, when I feel the most peace... this music is the decryption to my thoughts. I listen, hoping that something profound will strike me. What does everything mean? I don't know. The music churns away in my head while the world sleeps. Everyone else dreams in auto, I try in manual.

At night, when I feel peace I get a sense of who I should be. I have an idealistic way of how I want to be. I know what needs to be done, and what is right. It's my soothing medication. Too much of it turns into poison. I poison myself daily. My intentions are good but they don't come out right. I fear the aftermath, so I hide in my bed, hoping that it just passes and it's night again so I can feel at peace.



At night, I miss my friends. I remember all the good times we've shared, and look forward to future. I hate my self withdrawal, but welcome it with open arms. I'm an abused lover in madly in love with the one who hurts me. Why? It's not so simple. I can't fully express to my friends, I don't expect them to care nor understand. If I deal with my own problems, everything is okay for them.

Eventually even television goes to bed. I struggle to find something that has some type of soul within it. Infomercials are soulless, heartless creatures that serve no purpose but to sell. Nothing that invigorates the mind, provokes new thought, but just to sell.

I've found my new late night muse, NHK-World.
One more connection to Japan.

I consider going for a drive. I love downtown when it's dead. Wandering through the streets at the feet of tall buildings, I can't help but feel as if I'm driving through a sort of artificially human and civilized forest. The occasional taxi or police car are the animals that scamper about, and the rare human is the insect that infests the trunks of the wilderness.

I stand downtown and just stare straight up.
I feel so insignificant, and I'm okay with it.



At night, I don't feel eyes on me. I don't have anything to worry about, or anyone to fear to offend, or repulse. I don't need the recognition or confirmation of my existence from anyone else at this time, because there isn't anyone there. Everyone is gone.

My neighbors wake to start their day. I hear them scrounging around in the darkness above. I wonder who they really are. The only piece of information I get is from the scuffling across the floor boards. I wonder what they're doing. I wonder if they are happy. I'm jealous of them.

I wish I was "normal". And at the end of that sentence, I immediately wish it weren't so.

March 17, 2010

"Share your spoken wealth
Share your body's health
I need it more than I need myself"



I need the help and the support of other people than I actually even realize. Even as I type this, I feel myself more of an incredibly independent person who can get by on his own. I love my privacy, and I love my solidarity. I tell myself every day that I can make it on my own, and others are just more people that can hurt me or they're just friends who I eventually will let down. I distance myself to protect myself, but more importantly other people. I don't want them to share these... pains inside my head.

The smallest acts of kindness, although I may not show it, are appreciated to the fullest extent by me.

My childhood friend recently left to study abroad. He was my partner in crime for the most part and he was one of the few people who had a sense of curious adventure that I had. At his going away party, he sat me down and gave it to me straight. I don't remember what the exact words were, but it was to the extent of me living for myself instead of other people first for a change. Now I don't know if it was just because I had a couple too many adult beverages, but something hit me like the warmth of the sun on a bright summer morning.

I just began to break down, taken back by what my childhood friend had just told me. There is no better confirmation that you exist, than to know that you've made an impact on someone else. And in a sense, that's really all I strive for. This was probably the first time I've really cried in close to three years. For the longest time, I thought I'd forgotten how to cry. I would sit up late at night trying to remember what the feeling felt like, and how much peace it brought me.

March 5, 2010

Where is Everyone?



I feel people slowly slip away from me. The ties and connections I have to them seem so distant and only a glimpse from the past, but I know it's not. I don't know what to think of the past anymore. It's not like I'm doing it on purpose, I just get this sinking feeling in my heart.

I know when I'm with my friends everything is just perfectly fine, and I pride myself in being able to pick up with people as if we'd never spent a day a part. I wonder if people feel weird about that? Or if they feel disrespected that I don't honor our time apart as something that should be emphasized, and that our reunion be much more of an event than it actually is.

It's almost as if I shut people out because they don't know how to get in. Does that even make any sense? It's like the more and more I delve deep into the ME who I believe is ME, the more difficult it is for others to read and understand.

Part of it all is that I'm afraid of perceiving who I am based on the ideology of other people. But then, isn't me "shutting people out" kind of an effect of cutting out other people?

I could really use some glazed donuts right about now. I wonder if Cub Foods has any... I hope they're not old. I probably should wait until the morning...

March 2, 2010 : Part 2

At The Drive In



An ideal date of mine would be driving around and just listening to music. I don't know how many other girls out there would enjoy the selection I have as much as me... so that might be a problem. We could talk over the music on low, or just listen to it on high.

I tend to talk a lot when I'm nervous, or not talk too much if I feel awkward.

March 2, 2010

People want to be worth something



Whether it be confirmation from a friend, acknowledgement from total strangers, or just a reassurance from your parents, people want to be given some sort of value. What happens when that value, that sense of worth is taken away?

March 1, 2010 : Part 2

Know Me



Being up late at night does have it's benefits. For the most part, it does more damage to my psyche, but it's the good kind of hurt. Referencing a conversation I had earlier with Nas, he brought up some really good points that made me step back and think a little more critically about myself.

confidence is a delusion of grandiose that people have of themselves. Lack of it is the ability to subjectively exist. Rationality is the art of lying to yourself. This is how I feel

I was staring at my status bar as I usually do listening to music trying to come up with a status that would either capture how I felt at the time or something that could make people smile. Those words flowed right out and to be honest with you, it makes so much sense to me.

The problem I have with confidence is the danger of your head growing bigger than it actually needs to be. It's more than just "self assurance" to me, because there are many times that I've felt "confident" and just ended up looking like an ass or I wasn't happy with myself.

I would consider myself a person who is not too confident in a lot of aspects of my life, be it Japanese, verbal communication, or girls. I try to remove myself from the pitfalls by avoiding them all together. This allows me to really take a step outside and look at myself because I feel that if I were self assured, I wouldn't need to do this. I'm constantly criticizing myself. What am I looking to gain?

Rationalization. The art of lying to yourself. The last paragraph was my feeble minded attempt to make having low confidence seem okay and a part of my human experience. It's almost as if it's the cleansing and recycle period to start over in the thought process.

It doesn't make sense, really.
But it's more fun that way.