You Can't Unmix the Pudding

It'd be easy for anybody to go crazy thinking of our place in the world. Just walking to class today, I couldn't help think of my minor part in the collective world. I walked by buildings, with stories literally and figuratively much larger than myself. They are given names of men who made it in life. It is overwhelming, and it is only Ann Arbor. I don't even want to talk about Chicago or New York, where you really get a sense of just how little we are individually.

This is the part of my writing where I could digress and talk about the way in which our unification and finding those who share similar views exponentially expand our metaphorical size. I'll spare you that lecture today. It is a very belittling feeling to know that it becomes an us against the world battle. It isn't a hopeless struggle, but the odds do their best to work against our endeavors. It reminds of me of those college weeder courses, Math 115 or Econ 101--a sort of test to figure out our resolve. "Those who stay will be champions" sort of mentality. Times have been much harder for many different groups of people. In many ways, I have advantages few ever know. Maybe I take it for granted. Maybe I'm down on myself because I can't find a job. I could speculate all day. The fact of the matter is that it isn't an easy process. Nobody ever sugar-coated it and pretended it would be. Yet, having been brought up in a world where I never really had to work hard to achieve anything, maybe it is the time now. I can't expect my lucky streak to run forever. Eventually I'm going to hit a few bad breaks, to test the way in which I respond. What worries me is that I don't have any preparation for this disaster response. I don't know the way in which I'll react when I realize life isn't going the way I want.

I offer my condolences if this sounds angst-y. I promise I do feel blessed everyday by the way in which I've been given opportunity. Giving up isn't an option I'd soon consider. I'm just getting my mind prepared and ready to rally. Because mark my words, and I trust them well, I will find a way to succeed. Someday, I hope that somebody stumbles across this post and can hold me to it in an interview. A distant memory for me, it'll provide valuable insight to the next generation of aspiring writers or other dream seekers. That would be a content life for me. Knowing that I inspired somebody to get their life on track and follow the aspirations within, not colored by the pressures of the world around us. I think I'd be content knowing that and that alone.

A Census for Bumtown

Fuck.

I'm so sickened by our world that I don't even want to write. I'm making myself do so because it's good to learn to write under any emotional state. What I can't shake is the feeling that our future is relatively hopeless. We're entering a job market without prospects. I went to one of the most prestigious universities in the entire world. Sure, my degree is in English and I've been focusing on getting a particular type of job in a particular city. Some will argue that I'm not trying hard enough. I'm trying. I know the direction I want things to go, and persistance seems to be the only relevant way to get anywhere anymore.

It is appalling though, the state in which we are entering the real world. It seems that around every turn, the world is becoming a worse place. Not just for ourselves, but the kids we hope to someday raise. I try really hard to stay optimistic, to see the best the world has to offer. Yet, some of the people controlling the power are making it rather hard. I'll spare you the rant on politics. I just think it's fucked up how one-dimensional those in power see things. Where is chivalry? Where is selflessness? Why doesn't anybody just stay together for the kids anymore?

We're stuck in post-consumerism. It's just "me-ism" now. Nobody takes the time to think about anybody else. We say things like "I'm sorry" in everyday conversation, but who's really sorry. Who really takes more than a few seconds out of their day to consider the implications of their actions. Are we really brought up in a society that promotes wearing the blinders, looking straight forward and not giving a damn?

I'm just going to put it out there and say what everybody else has been whispering. We are living in dark times. Uncertain times. It is troublesome and it is problematic. I don't think there is any easy way out and somebody is going to have to pay for the stockpiling mistakes. I'd act bitter about how that is probably going to rest on the shoulders of my friends and me, but then we'd be no better than anybody else. I guess if I can die someday knowing that I made some important contribution to the balance of our feeble society, than I'd be happy.

The world really does do its worst in an attempt to purge the world of true optimists. It's the quintessential battle of good and evil. Troubling as it may be, humanity will so often err on the side of what becomes simpler and in our case, that which isn't righteous. It's tragic. People become cynical, hardened by the world, by the downs of life, and for some, by the God that lingers and watches as the world suffers.

My heart goes out, not limited to those in crisis overseas and locally, but to the people of our generation. Things aren't going to magically fix themselves. As we advance, so do the scales balance and we find ourselves in a tangled web. For each new discovery, we must also reflect on the way in which we choose to utilize our resources. Anybody who thinks the fruits of the world will drop into their hands has another thing coming, unless you have deep pocketbooks, old money or have a family working in the White House.

My heart indeed goes out, because a sinking feeling shrouds my own, knowing that the times, they aren't a-changin'. We have to ourselves find a way to advance intellectually in order to keep up with the way in which we sap this world of what little hope remains.

Insomnia

I find myself so tired...
Where my heart and eyes
compete in respective heaviness.
My ears perk at the whispers
of summer's eventual arrival.
Such a tease, though.
I need the warmth,
for I've been cold so long.
And as I eagerly wait,
I let my heavy eyes win,
so that my heavy heart
can ease up In Dreams.

In the end it isn't the words,
nor the hook or chorus.
It isn't the harmony or progressions.
What really defines the spirit,
isn't understanding what makes the song
Beautiful.
It's understanding that the beauty is,
just listening to the damn song.
So turn it up while I doze off,
my soul finally at rest.
Balance restored.

Life and Death and Everything In Between.

I often find myself fascinated with death. I don't know what it is. The inclination that I'll go young? The thought that I'm obsessive about recording my words forever? I haven't the faintest of clues. It's all relatively stupid. In fact, I often find myself on both sides of the fence, if that is even possible. I look up at the shrouded moon at night, and think about how it cycles. Over and over. It is like a celestial phoenix, rebirthing itself from the ashes over and over. How beautiful. Things change, but there are these ever-constants in our life. They are our stability, the pillars to which we cling. Our reliance on them is weak, but one of necessity. I'm watching the moon fade now behind the clouds of the night sky. I'm not sure what I think of it, other than the solace I'll take in the fact that it will rise again so very soon. Our life is not the same. Once that fire is extinguished, that's the end of the road. Darkness. It's kind of poetic and tragic. The only thing we will remember is the mark we left on those we loved. Or hated. It becomes so easy to forget the implications our decisions have. The insecure and weak fail to realize the ways in which the consequences of our actions will permeate far longer than any given word. Sticks and stones? I call bullshit.

I have some of the most amazing people surrounding me in life. The kinds of friends that few ever know. Me on the other hand? What have I given them? Comfort when they need it? Sure. But what of the times when they don't need it. Sometimes I feel like the issue at stake is the way in which I find myself "on-call." That is to say, how I am there when needed, but a wandering enigma otherwise. I have no anchor to hold me down. It is every man's dream; all the while, also their nightmare. I don't think there is a middle ground in life. Just these polar opposites we stray between. A perpetual and figurative roller coaster of wondering and wandering. We become fortuitous when we discover that which grounds us. I'm sick of floating. I'm ready to feel alive.

Monetary Monotony, or, The Lack Thereof

Savor the moments at face value,
As reading in only stirs up trouble.
The night was a night, undoubtedly great.
But to see something more is a young
Boy's dream. Naive. Selfish.
For there are two worlds at stake
With previous investments unknown.
Who are you to waltz right in?
Let the memory of your night be great,
For what it was then and not now.
Preserve trumps persevere,
So c'est la vie the sweet voice
That calms my nerves and reassures
I'm not the only crazy one left.

Raindrops and Rambles

An immense sadness looms over the voice of an author. Hemingway said never to cheat on this opportunity. To embrace it. That everybody was a little bit fucked up. The difference between the geniuses and the crazies were that the geniuses manifested their emotion through a filter and with it created. Poetic. Tragic. Beautiful.

I'm not sure I agree fully with Hemingway, though I do have my days. Sometimes the worst moments provide the best inspiration. It is the closest thing I could relate to addiction. At times it gets so bad that I wish upon myself a degree of drama and upheaval in order to bring new life to my writing. A critical eye would tell me that just demonstrates my lack of creative knack. I disagree. It is always best to write what you know. That's what I've learned, from people I consider much more apt writers than myself, as well as my own experiences writing.

There is infinite opportunity for these pivotal moments so long as my heart still beats. Even if things were to settle down and I had to invent stories from the cobwebbed compartments of my mind, I'd probably get bored. The life of a writer is nomadic in that regard. Always on the move and looking for the next high. There is no home base. No pause button. I'm grateful for that. There is too much to see and too much to do in life to be a homebody.

One thing that life is good at is testing the flex of an individual. That is to say, their ability to bend without breaking. Throwing the proverbial curveball. I love the curveball. I swing every time and I probably strike out more often than not. That's ok though. Every swing is unique and so long as I don't throw out my shoulder or something, I'm back at it the next time. So is the same with an author. I'll instigate, provoke, push the limit and prod until reactions happen. Authors are the catalysts. Then they're the scientists who share their exploits with the world.

As with everything, there are consequences. For each moment of fun is an equal moment of loneliness. My words are my trust friend, though they retard themselves from time to time. Nevertheless, I regret not a single experience yet. Those darkest of moments and sunniest of summer days all have shaped me, and in turn, the words you now read. Thank you for your time.

TC