Showing posts with label reflection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reflection. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Friday, December 2, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Monday, March 1, 2010
hi everybody
whats happening
I'm Question Mark and I'm wondering...
1) Have you ever considered the idea that the our precious and democratic American government is always lying to us? Well, I have, and let me tell you, it's not any sort of fun at all. Enjoy your hamburgers and roller coasters people of the United States.
WHILE YOU STILL CAN!
2) Couldn't it be possible that the Facebook captcha codes are really predicting the future? Today I got ghosting something. OOOH I'm scared of ghosts.
3) Who remembers this song?
But really all jokes aside America rules.
I'm Question Mark and I'm wondering...
1) Have you ever considered the idea that the our precious and democratic American government is always lying to us? Well, I have, and let me tell you, it's not any sort of fun at all. Enjoy your hamburgers and roller coasters people of the United States.
WHILE YOU STILL CAN!
2) Couldn't it be possible that the Facebook captcha codes are really predicting the future? Today I got ghosting something. OOOH I'm scared of ghosts.
3) Who remembers this song?
But really all jokes aside America rules.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The only thing I try to understand are the things that aren't happening.
I think about them constantly, and I know it's what ruins me. The last thing I ever wanted was to become something I'm not. The last thing I wanted was to force myself to pray, to force myself to think a little deeper.
But now I just do what is present and constant and always here, I do only what preoccupies my mind and my thoughts. I think only of things that no longer exist. It's in my mind whenever I close my eyes. My thoughts drift to things I wish never happened, to things I know were my fault.
The things that happened to me were always my fault, and I can't forgive myself.
I don't care if my parents have forgiven me, if my friends are over it, or even if Jesus died for these things.
I will never feel okay with the way I have lived.
I will never feel justified for the things I have seen or the choices I've made or the words that I said and the people I said them to.
Or the way that I looked at everyone.
The way I begged for them
and the way my body tightened around them for them and how I would have done anything just to feel like I was a part of them, to feel like they understood, to feel like I knew something others did not.
I feel like these thoughts will be constant and that nothing will stop them
that I will never sleep soundly
that I will never have a moment where I am not reminded
something doesn't come to mind.
Whether it's woods on a rainy day in Massachusetts, and the woods were mossy and green, and the sky was hanging with steam, and the branches were heavy with strings, and the only thing I could see is how it would be almost impossible to escape this place
how good the air felt heavy in my lungs and how I could taste it, and the rain was like mist that soaked my hair and my cheeks, and is this really how my life was going to be?
Or the time there were fists and feet clutching ribs, and I fell to the ground, and I screamed out some words that didn't make any sense, and I grabbed for hair and for flesh and for hips, and I felt the asphalt kiss my skull and dig into my spine and my back carried scars for a long enough time.
Or the way that no face saw the depths of my eyes, and no voice was the way I fell asleep every night, and no hair was soft to the palm of my hand, and how I made no mistakes because I see it for what it is
and the way that my callouses formed beneath skin.
Now I melt underneath something soft, and it's so hard to move at all, and sometimes I don't even wish that I could.
I know don't what I'm doing cause I haven't done it before
and I know that when it ends, I won't be able to understand how everything can still be the same for everyone else, and how I could have ever allowed myself to be the way that I am now.
I think the truth of it all, even though I don't know what it is or have I ever known what it is, is I can feel it deep and strong unlike anything else. Even if I'm at an age where I think maybe I've had to have learned something. But I'm exactly where I was and not at all who I thought I would be. I really thought maybe one day I'd make to school and have a good job and this money and be on some beach or in some sunny city.
And yet here I am in this hurricane land, and the cold only comes to make me feel warmer than I had before.
I think about them constantly, and I know it's what ruins me. The last thing I ever wanted was to become something I'm not. The last thing I wanted was to force myself to pray, to force myself to think a little deeper.
But now I just do what is present and constant and always here, I do only what preoccupies my mind and my thoughts. I think only of things that no longer exist. It's in my mind whenever I close my eyes. My thoughts drift to things I wish never happened, to things I know were my fault.
The things that happened to me were always my fault, and I can't forgive myself.
I don't care if my parents have forgiven me, if my friends are over it, or even if Jesus died for these things.
I will never feel okay with the way I have lived.
I will never feel justified for the things I have seen or the choices I've made or the words that I said and the people I said them to.
Or the way that I looked at everyone.
The way I begged for them
and the way my body tightened around them for them and how I would have done anything just to feel like I was a part of them, to feel like they understood, to feel like I knew something others did not.
I feel like these thoughts will be constant and that nothing will stop them
that I will never sleep soundly
that I will never have a moment where I am not reminded
something doesn't come to mind.
Whether it's woods on a rainy day in Massachusetts, and the woods were mossy and green, and the sky was hanging with steam, and the branches were heavy with strings, and the only thing I could see is how it would be almost impossible to escape this place
how good the air felt heavy in my lungs and how I could taste it, and the rain was like mist that soaked my hair and my cheeks, and is this really how my life was going to be?
Or the time there were fists and feet clutching ribs, and I fell to the ground, and I screamed out some words that didn't make any sense, and I grabbed for hair and for flesh and for hips, and I felt the asphalt kiss my skull and dig into my spine and my back carried scars for a long enough time.
Or the way that no face saw the depths of my eyes, and no voice was the way I fell asleep every night, and no hair was soft to the palm of my hand, and how I made no mistakes because I see it for what it is
and the way that my callouses formed beneath skin.
Now I melt underneath something soft, and it's so hard to move at all, and sometimes I don't even wish that I could.
I know don't what I'm doing cause I haven't done it before
and I know that when it ends, I won't be able to understand how everything can still be the same for everyone else, and how I could have ever allowed myself to be the way that I am now.
I think the truth of it all, even though I don't know what it is or have I ever known what it is, is I can feel it deep and strong unlike anything else. Even if I'm at an age where I think maybe I've had to have learned something. But I'm exactly where I was and not at all who I thought I would be. I really thought maybe one day I'd make to school and have a good job and this money and be on some beach or in some sunny city.
And yet here I am in this hurricane land, and the cold only comes to make me feel warmer than I had before.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
some things
1) Dogs are smart in ways you wouldn't normally think about. This morning when I sat down at the computer, Jonah bolted to my room to get his rawhide. I just think it's cool that he remembered where it was, or at least, could figure out where it was without any hesitation.
2) Today I experienced my first rain without clouds. The trees have some pretty thick leaves here in the jungle, so they hold a LOT of rain. Well, I was outside smoking a cigarette when the wind started blowing like crazy, so the leaves were moving like crazy. Of course, all the rain water came down, but it sounded and even looked like it was really raining. I mean, I've seen water blown from trees before, but it never made me have to look up and double check that it really wasn't raining.
3) I had a dream last night I was sucking on Subway pickles. Mmmmmmm.
4) I also dreamt Sam was throwing me a high school graduation party!!! Because I never DID have a party.
5) Broken Social Scene is recording a new album!!! I think it's going to be different from their last two, like, maybe a little more chill. They are recording in Chicago with John McEntire, who is in Tortoise and, one of my personal favorites, The Sea and Cake. You can read Kevin Drew's blog entry here. But personally, I don't think they can fully abandon their vast array of instruments they normally like to include. I mean, I just can't picture a BSS album without a horn or two, or even without a woodwind! But I guess we will just have to wait and see...
6) I woke up at, like 8:45 this morning! I don't remember the last time I've been awake this early on a Sunday on my own accord. I'm starting to like being awake, but the only problem is I get tired a lot earlier! I mean, I went to bed around 11:45 last night. Lammeeee.
7) I'm starting to like a lot of things, and people, a lot more.
8) I'm even starting to like it here.
2) Today I experienced my first rain without clouds. The trees have some pretty thick leaves here in the jungle, so they hold a LOT of rain. Well, I was outside smoking a cigarette when the wind started blowing like crazy, so the leaves were moving like crazy. Of course, all the rain water came down, but it sounded and even looked like it was really raining. I mean, I've seen water blown from trees before, but it never made me have to look up and double check that it really wasn't raining.
3) I had a dream last night I was sucking on Subway pickles. Mmmmmmm.
4) I also dreamt Sam was throwing me a high school graduation party!!! Because I never DID have a party.
5) Broken Social Scene is recording a new album!!! I think it's going to be different from their last two, like, maybe a little more chill. They are recording in Chicago with John McEntire, who is in Tortoise and, one of my personal favorites, The Sea and Cake. You can read Kevin Drew's blog entry here. But personally, I don't think they can fully abandon their vast array of instruments they normally like to include. I mean, I just can't picture a BSS album without a horn or two, or even without a woodwind! But I guess we will just have to wait and see...
6) I woke up at, like 8:45 this morning! I don't remember the last time I've been awake this early on a Sunday on my own accord. I'm starting to like being awake, but the only problem is I get tired a lot earlier! I mean, I went to bed around 11:45 last night. Lammeeee.
7) I'm starting to like a lot of things, and people, a lot more.
8) I'm even starting to like it here.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Somehow, in a brief moment of clarity involving a vocal hallucination and an incredibly crisp swallow of water, I stumbled upon the definition of true love and how it applies to me. Further inquiry into the subject made me realize that it never has and that, if it did, I would never get it back now. At least, not with the heavy expanse of months and miles that is preventing me from thinking too deeply about anything ever again.
Upon knowing what you have found, you become equally aware of what you have lost, and how, in some senses, it is better off that way. And one can say it constantly, but I don't think one ever truly believes it to the extent which I have forced myself to. I think that I am better off, but I would be lying if I said I don't obsess over the idea, that my main goal since arriving here has not been the inevitable return.
I had once believed that my exodus was from California, and that Florida was the Canaan of sorts, in which I would have to disparage and ruin in order to make my peaceful home. But then I realized I have simply been displaced, and that the only promised land in existance is where I have come from, and now every goal in my life revolves around how I'm going to get back, and who I will have to take with me, and who I will have to leave behind.
There is no love similar to that of love of land. I can't describe the hold certain soil has on me (and by soil, I do not mean the powdered sand that overflows beneath the sinewy roots of grass as if it cannot understand how anything grows from its bed at all) or the way I can feel the presence of rocky cliffsides and plummeting, winding streets as if I had never left at all. It shows in the way I mistake clouds for mountains, or how I expect to find a babbling brook in even the slightest grouping of trees. The love of land is all encompassing, and you miss it like you miss anything else you have loved and lost, expecting to be cradled by a soft sun and the milky scent of jasmine, but are instead beaten by choking humidity or chubby drops of rain. Even the simplest of differences in climate and terrain spawn the most terrifying bouts of nostalgia. I say nostalgia not with the bittersweet fondness that it usually entails, but with the crippling pain these recollections have caused and continue to inspire on an almost daily basis. The nostalgia I have known is not the pleasant fondness of recalling a childhood toy or a family vacation, but is a harrowing, desperate plunge into smells that haunt my senses and turn my stomach, of faces, smooth and ivory, rich and dark, whom appear and reappear in the most sinisterly reptitive of dreams, the caress of a breeze rolling on the back of the fog seeping from behind the hills, or the taste of Pacific salt water streaming down my face after having collapsed into a violent swell of a kelp encrusted wave. Nothing about these memories are comforting, but rather, torturous, knowing that they are sensations I can never recreate, and places my soles would not recognize after more years spent in these swamps and desolate jungles.
I cannot bring myself to remember the years lost or the people I can no longer touch without brief but searing moments of pain, but if anything, I am terrified to forget. The only proof I have of any life I have lived before is only the images and sensory details that I've buried deep between fleshy brain tissue and hardened coronary arteries, details which, should I forget, may one day resurface in a hurried, flashy show of gentle and engaging agony, a show that I hope to avoid at all costs. Therefore, though it troubles me to recount, the time I have lost will never make itself unknown to me, because to forget would be a far worse thing than to do without the pain of remembering. To forget means losing the most beautiful place on earth simply for the selfish purpose of acquiring the much-envied state of apathy, numbness. If I made it that far, I would no longer know how sweet the air tastes and how soft the dirt was, and how delicate the hearts of my lovers were, and how hard my heart had to become to force myself to leave it all.
Upon knowing what you have found, you become equally aware of what you have lost, and how, in some senses, it is better off that way. And one can say it constantly, but I don't think one ever truly believes it to the extent which I have forced myself to. I think that I am better off, but I would be lying if I said I don't obsess over the idea, that my main goal since arriving here has not been the inevitable return.
I had once believed that my exodus was from California, and that Florida was the Canaan of sorts, in which I would have to disparage and ruin in order to make my peaceful home. But then I realized I have simply been displaced, and that the only promised land in existance is where I have come from, and now every goal in my life revolves around how I'm going to get back, and who I will have to take with me, and who I will have to leave behind.
There is no love similar to that of love of land. I can't describe the hold certain soil has on me (and by soil, I do not mean the powdered sand that overflows beneath the sinewy roots of grass as if it cannot understand how anything grows from its bed at all) or the way I can feel the presence of rocky cliffsides and plummeting, winding streets as if I had never left at all. It shows in the way I mistake clouds for mountains, or how I expect to find a babbling brook in even the slightest grouping of trees. The love of land is all encompassing, and you miss it like you miss anything else you have loved and lost, expecting to be cradled by a soft sun and the milky scent of jasmine, but are instead beaten by choking humidity or chubby drops of rain. Even the simplest of differences in climate and terrain spawn the most terrifying bouts of nostalgia. I say nostalgia not with the bittersweet fondness that it usually entails, but with the crippling pain these recollections have caused and continue to inspire on an almost daily basis. The nostalgia I have known is not the pleasant fondness of recalling a childhood toy or a family vacation, but is a harrowing, desperate plunge into smells that haunt my senses and turn my stomach, of faces, smooth and ivory, rich and dark, whom appear and reappear in the most sinisterly reptitive of dreams, the caress of a breeze rolling on the back of the fog seeping from behind the hills, or the taste of Pacific salt water streaming down my face after having collapsed into a violent swell of a kelp encrusted wave. Nothing about these memories are comforting, but rather, torturous, knowing that they are sensations I can never recreate, and places my soles would not recognize after more years spent in these swamps and desolate jungles.
I cannot bring myself to remember the years lost or the people I can no longer touch without brief but searing moments of pain, but if anything, I am terrified to forget. The only proof I have of any life I have lived before is only the images and sensory details that I've buried deep between fleshy brain tissue and hardened coronary arteries, details which, should I forget, may one day resurface in a hurried, flashy show of gentle and engaging agony, a show that I hope to avoid at all costs. Therefore, though it troubles me to recount, the time I have lost will never make itself unknown to me, because to forget would be a far worse thing than to do without the pain of remembering. To forget means losing the most beautiful place on earth simply for the selfish purpose of acquiring the much-envied state of apathy, numbness. If I made it that far, I would no longer know how sweet the air tastes and how soft the dirt was, and how delicate the hearts of my lovers were, and how hard my heart had to become to force myself to leave it all.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
I hope things continue to change
It's hard to go on when I keep saying the same things. It's a lot more dangerous to speak with a tongue that has been weighted down with words said with unapologetic anger that isn't as uncommon as you may think. I'm not as mad as I seem, or I am angry all of the time. I can't really tell. I'm aware, however, that there is something that is not being filled.
I can understand how my heart could be mistaken for a body of water. The further you walk, the harder it is to see your feet. You move your toes into the ground because you know that it's there, even if nobody else does. But by the time the calves are no longer visible, people lose their nerve. No one has the lung capacity to just hold their breath and sink.
I've thought about it a lot lately, thinking about how maybe I should get ready to turn back. I swear, after this pack, it's over, after this bag, I'm done. But it never turns out being that easy. I like to say that I can't help it, but it's really just that I don't want to be able to help it. I want it to control me so then I can have a hearty and reasonable excuse. How can I fight what I cannot fight? This way, it's easier for me to ignore what I already know. This way, no one can hold this knowledge against me. I like to think that i can't do anything. I like to think that something bad is going to happen. I like to think about what I would do and the things I could say and the people I would have to call and the tears I could form, and would they be smooth or rough like they get sometimes? But I don't know about crying. It shakes my chest, or it ruins my dress. And it's despicable, really, or at least, that's how I feel after I let my emotions get the best of me.
I also know that I definitely cannot stay here forever. I don't even remember getting here in the first place. I know there was plane, a vomiting air ride and a bathroom or two. My eyes were like stones, but I couldn't help that. I'm not really sure which foot I put first through which door, but it certainly brought me here. To this bedroom to this state to this dining room table to this sand. Since I got here, my heart is going on like some sort of clock without an alarm, and it's constantly reminding me not to get comfortable, because I've got to move on and I've got to get out. I need to go somewhere that leaves me with no doubt, and if this wall won't come down I guess I will tear it apart myself.
I can understand how my heart could be mistaken for a body of water. The further you walk, the harder it is to see your feet. You move your toes into the ground because you know that it's there, even if nobody else does. But by the time the calves are no longer visible, people lose their nerve. No one has the lung capacity to just hold their breath and sink.
I've thought about it a lot lately, thinking about how maybe I should get ready to turn back. I swear, after this pack, it's over, after this bag, I'm done. But it never turns out being that easy. I like to say that I can't help it, but it's really just that I don't want to be able to help it. I want it to control me so then I can have a hearty and reasonable excuse. How can I fight what I cannot fight? This way, it's easier for me to ignore what I already know. This way, no one can hold this knowledge against me. I like to think that i can't do anything. I like to think that something bad is going to happen. I like to think about what I would do and the things I could say and the people I would have to call and the tears I could form, and would they be smooth or rough like they get sometimes? But I don't know about crying. It shakes my chest, or it ruins my dress. And it's despicable, really, or at least, that's how I feel after I let my emotions get the best of me.
I also know that I definitely cannot stay here forever. I don't even remember getting here in the first place. I know there was plane, a vomiting air ride and a bathroom or two. My eyes were like stones, but I couldn't help that. I'm not really sure which foot I put first through which door, but it certainly brought me here. To this bedroom to this state to this dining room table to this sand. Since I got here, my heart is going on like some sort of clock without an alarm, and it's constantly reminding me not to get comfortable, because I've got to move on and I've got to get out. I need to go somewhere that leaves me with no doubt, and if this wall won't come down I guess I will tear it apart myself.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
it's weird
I don't want anything to be different from the way that it turned out, because this is the first time in months I think I've understood why things end up being the way that they do.
It's vague, I know, but I think there's always a quixotic time of understanding, where I finally question nothing and accept everything. Simply because that's how it is.
And, not to mention, I think something that is happening now is much different than anything that has ever happened before.
It's vague, I know, but I think there's always a quixotic time of understanding, where I finally question nothing and accept everything. Simply because that's how it is.
And, not to mention, I think something that is happening now is much different than anything that has ever happened before.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Nostalgia
Sometimes days literally smell like California, especially mixed with the way the air feels on my face and the way the sun streams at certain angles. It makes me feel like I'm walking to McClellan Ranch Park, or sitting at the bottom benches at Linda Vista. It feels like drinking Oregon Chai and smoking a bowl at Coffee Society, or making a soda can pipe at Jollyman, or fishing at the reservoir. I could be driving down 17 headed for Santa Cruz with the windows down listening to college radio, or climbing the foothills behind Los Altos. Or I could be in Alex Day's backyard tripping on acid, or eating macaroni and cheese outside at Whole Foods. It feels like leaving the library at De Anza to get to class on time, riding my bike to work, or playing chess at Santana Row. If I close my eyes and try not to think too hard, I can see 7th st and the MLK library with its pouring sun and bowing trees, and quiet hum, never too overbearing, even if I am downtown.
Nostalgia is hitting me like a bag of hammers, and yes, it is painful.
Nostalgia is hitting me like a bag of hammers, and yes, it is painful.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Sex
is just a lie that makes you believe that you're closer to someone than you actually are.
Please not this time.
Please not this time.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
It's TUESDAY
some things that have been going on with me
1) Tupac. Tupac is really gay.
2) 28 Weeks Later. Pretty gross movie. It was a little too disgusting, I could do without quite a few of the images imprinted on my mind.
3) Music. I'm really down with my guitar.
4) Home videos. As a kid, I think I looked a lot prettier. These home videos have been making nostalgic for a "normal" life.
5) Being blind. I feel like ever since I took that eye exam, I have way worse vision than I remember.
6) Church. Still haven't been going.
7) Sense of smell. I like how things smell like they have always smelled, especially when those smells are tied to memories that make me feel good.
8) Being broke. I guess not having money in a way has made life a lot more simple, but also a lot less fun. Either way, you do appreciate the smaller things in life. Like cashing in change, that's really exciting. But I spent my last eight dollars yesterday on soda and beer.
9) Smoking. This almost directly correlates with being broke, because I have quit smoking simply because I have no more money to buy packs of cigarettes. Also, most everyone I know smokes shitty menthols, so bumming cigarettes isn't all that desirable. I tend to give up because I got drunk, so you just really need a cigarette. Unfortunately, that cigarette is either a Camel No. 9 Menthe, or a Marlboro Menthol of some kind, and it kinda ruins it for me.
10) My mom. Today is my Mom's fiftieth birthday, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM. I couldn't get her a present because any money I've had I've spent on beer because I'm a freaking loser!
1) Tupac. Tupac is really gay.
2) 28 Weeks Later. Pretty gross movie. It was a little too disgusting, I could do without quite a few of the images imprinted on my mind.
3) Music. I'm really down with my guitar.
4) Home videos. As a kid, I think I looked a lot prettier. These home videos have been making nostalgic for a "normal" life.
5) Being blind. I feel like ever since I took that eye exam, I have way worse vision than I remember.
6) Church. Still haven't been going.
7) Sense of smell. I like how things smell like they have always smelled, especially when those smells are tied to memories that make me feel good.
8) Being broke. I guess not having money in a way has made life a lot more simple, but also a lot less fun. Either way, you do appreciate the smaller things in life. Like cashing in change, that's really exciting. But I spent my last eight dollars yesterday on soda and beer.
9) Smoking. This almost directly correlates with being broke, because I have quit smoking simply because I have no more money to buy packs of cigarettes. Also, most everyone I know smokes shitty menthols, so bumming cigarettes isn't all that desirable. I tend to give up because I got drunk, so you just really need a cigarette. Unfortunately, that cigarette is either a Camel No. 9 Menthe, or a Marlboro Menthol of some kind, and it kinda ruins it for me.
10) My mom. Today is my Mom's fiftieth birthday, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM. I couldn't get her a present because any money I've had I've spent on beer because I'm a freaking loser!
Saturday, January 24, 2009
a big problem
I only had one thing on my mind today, and it wasn't roasted macadamia chicken breast.
And I'm not sure how to interpret that feeling of missing, or wanting. I just feel so much better knowing that I am home now because that makes me closer. But if I don't get to tonight, I won't get to tomorrow, and for once, that actually bothers me.
This all proves that my indecisiveness has gone past a normal point and has reached a level of insanity. I am left with no other conclusion than that I am schizophrenic or just terribly confused beyond most reconciliation available to me.
And parts of me are glad that I feel this way, but the reason it is a big problem is because I'm afraid I won't feel this way anymore in short period of time.
So I think it's best that I keep my mouth shut, but we all have learned by now how terrible I am at that.
And I'm not sure how to interpret that feeling of missing, or wanting. I just feel so much better knowing that I am home now because that makes me closer. But if I don't get to tonight, I won't get to tomorrow, and for once, that actually bothers me.
This all proves that my indecisiveness has gone past a normal point and has reached a level of insanity. I am left with no other conclusion than that I am schizophrenic or just terribly confused beyond most reconciliation available to me.
And parts of me are glad that I feel this way, but the reason it is a big problem is because I'm afraid I won't feel this way anymore in short period of time.
So I think it's best that I keep my mouth shut, but we all have learned by now how terrible I am at that.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
i am sick of
1) crazy nights
2) being thirsty
3) being on my period
4) bad news
5) black dog hair on every square inch of tile in this house
6) drunken disclaimers
7) fucking in fear that you will never fuck again
8) the word "goose"
9) texas chain massacre vibes
10) the smell of syrup
11) being bad
12) my dog running off into the neighbor's yard every morning when i first wake up
13) feeling like shit every day
14) drinkin smokin lyin dyin
15) dipset and all 617 associate rap music. sorry boston but seriously stick to reggaeton.
2) being thirsty
3) being on my period
4) bad news
5) black dog hair on every square inch of tile in this house
6) drunken disclaimers
7) fucking in fear that you will never fuck again
8) the word "goose"
9) texas chain massacre vibes
10) the smell of syrup
11) being bad
12) my dog running off into the neighbor's yard every morning when i first wake up
13) feeling like shit every day
14) drinkin smokin lyin dyin
15) dipset and all 617 associate rap music. sorry boston but seriously stick to reggaeton.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
YEAAHHHH
EAT TOAST DUMMY THIS IS ANNA HOBBS FOR YOUR HEALTH
happy bdya mlk soon happy ianguatarion day soon obama happy saturday night party people happy burn anniversary seal haha omg that was such alow blow and not even true.
also, happy water drinking party happy text mwessaging streak happy ipod charging hour happy smooth as huevos eve.
this is another life saving message from ann ahobbs and you know yuou saw it coming.
toehr things to say:
1) this was a night of knights
2) don't blame harry piotter because you cant get it together
3) parts of me wondrss if i should have bene male
4) parts of me wonder when my raging hormones are going to chill.
respect to connect
happy bdya mlk soon happy ianguatarion day soon obama happy saturday night party people happy burn anniversary seal haha omg that was such alow blow and not even true.
also, happy water drinking party happy text mwessaging streak happy ipod charging hour happy smooth as huevos eve.
this is another life saving message from ann ahobbs and you know yuou saw it coming.
toehr things to say:
1) this was a night of knights
2) don't blame harry piotter because you cant get it together
3) parts of me wondrss if i should have bene male
4) parts of me wonder when my raging hormones are going to chill.
respect to connect
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Choose Inner Purity
Inner purity is a challenge that requires you to watch over your inner life with determination and diligence. In the beginning, you may feel that most of your thoughts, imaginations, and attitudes are corrupt. But as you persist, new habits develop, and with regular maintenance, you can enjoy inner purity.
What you do outwardly--the things that people see--determines your reputation with man. But your inner life determines your reputation with God.
Choosing inner purity is something you do unto the Lord to honor Him. No wonder He says a pure heart is precious in His sight!
1 Peter 3:4
From Joyce Meyer's Ending Your Day Right Devotionals
ONE DAY BABY ONE DAY!!!!
What you do outwardly--the things that people see--determines your reputation with man. But your inner life determines your reputation with God.
Choosing inner purity is something you do unto the Lord to honor Him. No wonder He says a pure heart is precious in His sight!
1 Peter 3:4
From Joyce Meyer's Ending Your Day Right Devotionals
ONE DAY BABY ONE DAY!!!!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Life in the Ocean
I feel like it's been awhile since I actually posted a blog, but then I think I posted one yesterday, so I am disillusioned.
Either way, whatever I want to say cannot be said. Unbeknownst to me, everything I do has ulterior motives, most of which are selfish and unattractive.
Also, every time I try to make plans and set life goals, I have to stop because it's like, really, who am I kidding? I'm not going to do ANY of that. And it seems I'm not the only one who feels like they have a lack of direction in life, because I'm hearing it more and more. Maybe it's the early twenties. Maybe it's the early millennium. Regardless, passion is nonexistent in the hearts of myself and my peers. That's the problem, really, because how can we ever do anything when what we lack is the general desire to change things? Sure, I want things to change, but I'm not passionate enough about anything, and my life is too comfortable as it is.
We have to step outside our comfort zones and think outside of the box and etc. Easier said than done.
OH. AND BY THE WAY
If anyone thinks I know what I'm talking about when it comes to God and things of a holy nature, I don't. My mouth is one of the most evil orifices of all time and has no place speaking of such things. When I do, it is only in hopes that I will actually listen to myself and stop being so selfish, but it never really works out that way. And as much as I'd like to think I'm Christian, it's becoming more and more obvious that the only faith I prescribe to is the Church of Anna Hobbs.
Because, really, what else do I care about?
Either way, whatever I want to say cannot be said. Unbeknownst to me, everything I do has ulterior motives, most of which are selfish and unattractive.
Also, every time I try to make plans and set life goals, I have to stop because it's like, really, who am I kidding? I'm not going to do ANY of that. And it seems I'm not the only one who feels like they have a lack of direction in life, because I'm hearing it more and more. Maybe it's the early twenties. Maybe it's the early millennium. Regardless, passion is nonexistent in the hearts of myself and my peers. That's the problem, really, because how can we ever do anything when what we lack is the general desire to change things? Sure, I want things to change, but I'm not passionate enough about anything, and my life is too comfortable as it is.
We have to step outside our comfort zones and think outside of the box and etc. Easier said than done.
OH. AND BY THE WAY
If anyone thinks I know what I'm talking about when it comes to God and things of a holy nature, I don't. My mouth is one of the most evil orifices of all time and has no place speaking of such things. When I do, it is only in hopes that I will actually listen to myself and stop being so selfish, but it never really works out that way. And as much as I'd like to think I'm Christian, it's becoming more and more obvious that the only faith I prescribe to is the Church of Anna Hobbs.
Because, really, what else do I care about?
Monday, December 15, 2008
Life is kind of a bummer, especially when I have to watch the whole Sarah/Grissom love affair on CSI. I'm glad she's not on the show anymore, she's pretty creepy in every way.
Also, I tend to say things that I don't mean although I really did mean at the time it was said. This being the case, I've had no choice but to come to the conclusion that I have split personalities. Otherwise, how is it possible for me to feel strongly about one feeling, and then feel the complete opposite in the morning? And then feel the same again by nightfall?
Then again, I am a girl, and there is no denying that each member of my gender has a "crazy bitch" side. Maybe all women are schizophrenics, and it's really just that simple. Maybe my hormones must be extracted if I ever want to have normal thought patterns. Because really, if you were to follow my train of thought, you would wonder how I've avoided the straight jacket.
Well, CSI is getting pretty intense right now. I guess I can get back to my confusion later.
Also, I tend to say things that I don't mean although I really did mean at the time it was said. This being the case, I've had no choice but to come to the conclusion that I have split personalities. Otherwise, how is it possible for me to feel strongly about one feeling, and then feel the complete opposite in the morning? And then feel the same again by nightfall?
Then again, I am a girl, and there is no denying that each member of my gender has a "crazy bitch" side. Maybe all women are schizophrenics, and it's really just that simple. Maybe my hormones must be extracted if I ever want to have normal thought patterns. Because really, if you were to follow my train of thought, you would wonder how I've avoided the straight jacket.
Well, CSI is getting pretty intense right now. I guess I can get back to my confusion later.
Monday, December 8, 2008
My Hypotheses--The Science of Self-Awareness: Part I
Hypothesis 1) If I can access my conscious mind while I sleep, then I can control my dreams.
Dreams exist, and I'm going to prove it.
I discovered this in a paralytic state of reality a couple of nights ago. I reached it on accident, as I was dreaming normally, but then something happened where it got to the point that this was undeniably real, and that I was, indeed, conscious, although no longer in my usual third dimension. It is rather indescribable, but now I'm going to devote the rest of my life to the research and study of dreams. If anyone could volunteer to be a couple of test subjects, it would be greatly appreciated. I, myself, am planning on revisiting the comatose state I was in previously, if the circumstances are fitting and the timing is just right. There I discovered an alternate existence that is very real and can possibly be controlled if I play my cards right. It is going to be dangerous. If I appear dead, don't panic, I am only paralyzed. However, if I am dead, don't go blaming it on anything supernatural. For once, this is strictly science, and at times, there are casualties for the greater good of discovery. Know that I did not die in vain.
Hypothesis 2) If I am stuck puking in Hernando County, then God must have had good reason to bring me here. I've developed four possible solutions to why God brought a girl like me to a town like this, and they are:
a) to see how long it would take before I shoot myself in the face
b) to see how long it would take before someone else shoots me in the face
c) to see how long it would take before I get off my ass and actually try to do something with my life, which in turn challenges me and tests my faith.
d) to mess with me simply because he finds me rather annoying, and I ask for too many snakes.(you know, if a son asks a father for bread, would he in turn give him a snake? But sometimes, we ask our father for snakes, and of course, in turn, he gives us nothing.)
Now, knowing the nature and character of God, I am inclined to choose option C as the most likely explanation. Although, I would have chosen C anyway, because I'm horrible at multiple choice, and that's usually your best bet. However, you never really know. So on the off chance that God's plans can be summed up in these four bullet points, which they can't, there is a 75% likelihood that I am shit out of luck.
Hypothesis 3) I've come to the conclusion that people really don't give two shits about you, or me. Nobody cares. This hypothesis can easily be proven. Although, I should probably put it in the correct sentence structure:
IF people are so concerned with their own personal contributions to society, and their own problems, THEN they really don't give two shits about you, or me. So basically, don't bother.
Like I said, I can prove this easily.
"Hey, can I talk to you for a second? It's kind of important"
"No, not right now, I'm busy stacking these papers."
Any questions?
Hypothesis 4) If I do not become a writer, then I will be making a serious mistake. I HAVE to write for my profession. I just have to do it. If I do not write, I will will ruin my life. Now, I know YOU GUYS have no interest in anything I have to say, but that's because you know me and you have your biases, so it doesn't really matter to you. You can picture me typing away alone in my bedroom in complete darkness except for the glow of my computer screen, and it probably turns you off. Hey, I understand. But I think there are people out there who WILL give a shit about what I write, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to find them.
Because I've been sitting here for weeks now, and I've realized there is simply nothing else I would ever want to do ever, and nothing else I have ever wanted to do since the time I was five years old. When I am writing, it is the only time I feel completely at peace with myself (not counting spiritual experiences, obviously, although in a lot of ways, writing IS a spiritual experience for me). It makes me happier and is really the only worldly thing that can satisfy me at all. It is really all that I am. And I'm going to do it even if it kills me.
So haters, speak up now, so I can remember to NOT thank you when I'm on Oprah.
Dreams exist, and I'm going to prove it.
I discovered this in a paralytic state of reality a couple of nights ago. I reached it on accident, as I was dreaming normally, but then something happened where it got to the point that this was undeniably real, and that I was, indeed, conscious, although no longer in my usual third dimension. It is rather indescribable, but now I'm going to devote the rest of my life to the research and study of dreams. If anyone could volunteer to be a couple of test subjects, it would be greatly appreciated. I, myself, am planning on revisiting the comatose state I was in previously, if the circumstances are fitting and the timing is just right. There I discovered an alternate existence that is very real and can possibly be controlled if I play my cards right. It is going to be dangerous. If I appear dead, don't panic, I am only paralyzed. However, if I am dead, don't go blaming it on anything supernatural. For once, this is strictly science, and at times, there are casualties for the greater good of discovery. Know that I did not die in vain.
Hypothesis 2) If I am stuck puking in Hernando County, then God must have had good reason to bring me here. I've developed four possible solutions to why God brought a girl like me to a town like this, and they are:
a) to see how long it would take before I shoot myself in the face
b) to see how long it would take before someone else shoots me in the face
c) to see how long it would take before I get off my ass and actually try to do something with my life, which in turn challenges me and tests my faith.
d) to mess with me simply because he finds me rather annoying, and I ask for too many snakes.(you know, if a son asks a father for bread, would he in turn give him a snake? But sometimes, we ask our father for snakes, and of course, in turn, he gives us nothing.)
Now, knowing the nature and character of God, I am inclined to choose option C as the most likely explanation. Although, I would have chosen C anyway, because I'm horrible at multiple choice, and that's usually your best bet. However, you never really know. So on the off chance that God's plans can be summed up in these four bullet points, which they can't, there is a 75% likelihood that I am shit out of luck.
Hypothesis 3) I've come to the conclusion that people really don't give two shits about you, or me. Nobody cares. This hypothesis can easily be proven. Although, I should probably put it in the correct sentence structure:
IF people are so concerned with their own personal contributions to society, and their own problems, THEN they really don't give two shits about you, or me. So basically, don't bother.
Like I said, I can prove this easily.
"Hey, can I talk to you for a second? It's kind of important"
"No, not right now, I'm busy stacking these papers."
Any questions?
Hypothesis 4) If I do not become a writer, then I will be making a serious mistake. I HAVE to write for my profession. I just have to do it. If I do not write, I will will ruin my life. Now, I know YOU GUYS have no interest in anything I have to say, but that's because you know me and you have your biases, so it doesn't really matter to you. You can picture me typing away alone in my bedroom in complete darkness except for the glow of my computer screen, and it probably turns you off. Hey, I understand. But I think there are people out there who WILL give a shit about what I write, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to find them.
Because I've been sitting here for weeks now, and I've realized there is simply nothing else I would ever want to do ever, and nothing else I have ever wanted to do since the time I was five years old. When I am writing, it is the only time I feel completely at peace with myself (not counting spiritual experiences, obviously, although in a lot of ways, writing IS a spiritual experience for me). It makes me happier and is really the only worldly thing that can satisfy me at all. It is really all that I am. And I'm going to do it even if it kills me.
So haters, speak up now, so I can remember to NOT thank you when I'm on Oprah.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
new bff
So I actually watched an episode of Paris Hilton's New BFF today, something I never intended or wanted to do.
And I had to write about how I think I know now that I am officially dead inside. Because I actually watched the whole thing...and I didn't even mind it.
But now I am watching Forensic Files, which is probably my favorite show on television
I love it.
"Scott Gilly was a jealous piece of shit," said the cop who arrested him.
Don't worry, he was sentenced to life in prison.
And I had to write about how I think I know now that I am officially dead inside. Because I actually watched the whole thing...and I didn't even mind it.
But now I am watching Forensic Files, which is probably my favorite show on television
I love it.
"Scott Gilly was a jealous piece of shit," said the cop who arrested him.
Don't worry, he was sentenced to life in prison.
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