hipster death

Click Here To view Hipster: The Dead End of Western Civilization!

meaning and motivation

I worked 12 hours last night/ this morning, and in two hours am going in again, hopefully i'll be done before 130am or i'll miss the last bus to vahr/far.

Padi's Pit, the irish pub by the central station is underground, compact, dimly lit and crowded. Maneuvering through the crowd with heavy trays of beer pitchers and glasses can sometimes feel like a mini mosh pit only there are expensive fragile and poorly balanced goods in my hand. Waitressing is a non-stop systematic on the feet job, predictably unpredictable. Drunk people can be really funny, big groups of people singing and laughing, or boys confessing their love to every girl that walks past. The other night there was a gregarious german boy who dubbed me his glorious beer queen, not perhaps the title that my mom would ever have wanted for me but a job is a job, and it's hard but I do derive a satisfaction from doing a job well, especially a difficult one. And it's rewarding to work with people, and there are people from all over the world, mostly europe. The hours are unfortunate, every friday and saturday night.

I've been thinking about a lot of different things that i feel somehow should be synthesized into a cohesive whole, but my essay skills are rusty. Actually a lot of my skills are rusty. Since moving here I've been struck with vivid clarity all the things that I want out of myself, that were somehow glazed over in a fuzzy haze in UT.

I want to spend my time better. I think my whole entirety could be summed up in a struggle to not give in to wasting time. My dad gave me that metanarrative.

I believe there is meaning to life, and a point. I've been wondering lately if it's not connected to the idea in learning to love the process and journey and viewing that as the point. The point was to see, feel, love, take risks, choose experience over safety, help yourself to help others. I think sometimes the most meaningful help I've been giving was to see someone else living well and the most helpful we can be to someone else is to give that same gift.

No one can tell me how to lift myself up, to define identity and reality and meaning it's a journey and a challenge I have to engage in with my whole soul and alone.

I find these paralyzing blocks that I run into, some weird inner freeze holding me back and it makes me realize I have such a tenuous grasp of control over myself. It's a thin line that stops me from scurrying into a comfort cave and being comfortable and safe, warm, numb, and dumb. Remembering that I'm always this close (small teeny amount) from giving into my fears and longing for comfort hopefully will keep me motivated to move forward.

claymation about life and death

electric tingles fragile iridescent tendrils

i feel so strangely alive and overflowing to the bursting point with contentment. it's this weird bubbling tingle in my senses, it's a feeling beyond a feeling.

i'm happy and content and full and it's been awhile and so i'm raw and sensitive to every nuance of the emotion, my brain is buzzing and instead of playing music like i normally do i'm listening to the deafening silence full of subtle possibilities, like a roar just out of hearing range.

the sun came out today and my teacher decided we should go outside with our hd camera and told us to spontaneously come up with a thriller film which resulted in us running along the port in the sun with the heavy wind suppressing laughter.

sometimes I lose myself or find myself to be uglier than I thought, more selfish and weak, but this provides the contrast when i ran into a startling recognition of myself as someone with strengths to balance the weaknesses.

i believe in a certain relativity and duplicity of reality, a flexible identity. sometimes i am the way that i'm afraid i am, but i forget sometimes that i'm also sometimes the person that i hope I am, more like the person I hope to be.

I feel so alive even though I'm tired I dont want to sleep, I want to keep living this moment this reality because I'm so aware of the fleeting nature of it.

Today I was brave. today i was innocent. i surprised myself. my friends surprised me, and i realized that my classmates had somehow become some of my favorite people within the last month or so. Somedays you just can really see, you can feel this little peep of the tip of joy, a glimpse of how things could be.

dust of today

I feel threatened by observationism. that's a word i just made up, meaning to me the ism or believe in observing over acting. it's so easy to have a divorce from thought and action. I learn by watching so I watch and observe, and that is good I think. but it needs to be simultaneous with doing otherwise I sit there outside my body, completely in my eyes. It's overwhelming, the longer I go without doing myself, no matter how clumsy or awkward the doing may go, the more overwhelming the actions of other's creations, the feeling of wasting potential of time passing and dust collecting. There are so many ideas inside, and when they get disconnected from the outside they threaten to explode from the unequalized pressure.

I believe this feeling to be universal, because I know that most feelings are in some degree universal, but I can only speak from my experience. There is a nag inside, itching, begging, bugging, burning do what you can do, make what you can make try try try. How can you experience any great creation, and you feel it, whether it's a small project from a peer of a masterpiece in a hallowed display case, you feel it's struggle that wrought it into existence and the evenutal triumph or truce of the creator, even just a talented voice being brave, how can you feel that and not want to echo that struggle and try as well?

what it was for

there are some things we dont say, but that doesn't mean they aren't there.

life is unexpected and my ability to predict the future is constantly failing.

it's easy to get lost. we take one misstep, one wrong turn, and then suddenly we don't know where we are anymore. we hit these moments and we feel unspeakably alone. it gets dark and we get afraid to feel around because our hands our soft nerve-endingfull tender little tools we don't want to hurt.

then somehow we stumble out, time passes the weather turns warm and golden. or maybe it's not all fields and flowers but it's good and solid sidewalks with brisk purposeful paces forward.

You'd think then, that after finding our way in and back out, when we see other people lost or in a dark space we could help them. but somehow i still find myself at a loss.

crunch leaves

I never write when things are great, so I wanted to take a quick moment

I'm in London

in the context of extreme angst i found myself in a delicious fall moment in london with people I feel comfortable around mostly, laughing and playing in the leaves.