There is a lesson that I am learning. A lesson I hope to be able to teach you. Patience. It’s a busy, bustling little world out there. Deadlines push us to scramble under pressure and time itself rushes us in almost everything we do. There’s never enough and it always goes too slow. Practice patience in everything you do. More importantly practice patience with everyone you know. If someone pushes your buttons and gets you worked up simply wait. Wait until it passes, until they give up and move on. But, never hesitate when action is required. Or don’t. Whatever.

I read two books today. Well, sort of. I started them earlier, but I didn’t get far. Then I rushed through both of them. I consumed them. Jurassic Park and The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things. Both recommended by close friends. I’m enjoying my hunger to read. Books are wonderful things. That’s why I write. Ideas consume most of my thoughts. I feel the need to think about things from a literary perspective. Describing everything as best I can and trying to notice little things so I can better use my abilities later when writing. I’m getting much better.

You are given only one life to live. The fact that it is the only one makes it so important. The fact that you can’t go back and change things makes living to the fullest so important. Every chance missed is a tragedy. Every opportunity must be taken without hesitation. Must. Still, it’s not possible to live by that. Our inability to predict the future and our fears of what will be or what could be stop us before we take chances. Fear that can’t be subverted. The only choice is to abandon regret. There’s no reason to worry. Yes.

Like the dream itself, she is a mystery. Impossible to define or explain, but open to interpretation. Ever fleeting back into the ether yet always in sight. Always just out of reach. Ambivalent to whether or not you catch her. She doesn’t think about all of your cares or worries. Your fears and your deepest desire are just like the setting in which the dream takes place: blurred and disposable. The only thing she cares for in the slightest is finding a way to make it work when everything else is working against her. You wish only that she knew.

You slip out. You’re back in the real world and everything is as usual. Alarms go off. You drag yourself out of bed in the familiar darkness of your bedroom. A red glow form your clock provides the only light. The dream girl sinks into your mind slowly fading into the background. She’s not important anymore. No longer holds your attention. Other things take priority. Coffee, breakfast, routine. She stands alone under a spotlight in the depths of your consciousness. At times, the spotlight moves form task to task returning to her when there is nothing better to think about.

I have so much unfinished business. It’s piling up and making a mess everywhere. Loose ends to tie up. Conversations to be finished. Stories that must be told. Passive sentences to change into active sentences. Everything is a blur and nothing is changing. Like a picture of a waterfall after a long exposure. It’s blurred to a point where you can’t even tell if it’s real, but it’s still water. That’s all. Is it sad that this is the only time I have to share my thoughts? I need to write thirteen words to finish this entry. Now only three.

I kind of hope this site crashes. Or at least they forget to pay the bill and it’s taken off the web. There’s a small amount of vulnerability in bunching my thoughts together here. Not that I care about being found out. I think it’s somewhat like living dangerously. The babblings from my head on display like this. Anyone can find out. I’m not worried. I just think it’d be nice to not have to come back and read what I’ve written. I don’t want to know what I was thinking. All of my thoughts past are worthless to me.

Who am I to tell anybody anything? To try to teach anybody something, who the fuck do I think I am? I’ve lived for only a short time and sure I’m mature to a point and I’ve shared plenty of major experiences, but what do I know from all of that? Where do I think I’ve been and what have I seen that makes me think I can impart my great knowledge on any person? I won’t claim to be smarter than anybody. I just want to share something that might enlighten some people. I wonder what it’ll be. Peace.

I’m apprehensive about including some of my life in my writing. Apparently, all art is a reflection of the creator’s life in some way. There’s no escaping it. You always put yourself into it. Your experiences, your conversations, your friends, and your mind. That’s all you can do. I think, though it is fictitious, it’s still so truthful and real. I worry when some people I know see it they’ll know it’s them and they might not like what they see. It doesn’t matter. They have no choice and I have no foresight. Whatever will be, will be. Fuck it.

Tuesdays and Thursdays I spend among liars. Wolves in sheep’s clothing as it were. They’re friendly and deceitful. We clink our glasses together to ward off the devil and share stories of times gone by. Still, every moment spent with them is another lie. A misgiving about the hands life has dealt them. And I share in the lie. I smile and give them the truth they want and then I turn my back and show another mask. I’ve always enjoyed the personal aspect of it, but I’m sure it’s getting to me. Poker nights can be a little torturous.

There are many words on life and living. Let’s go with death for a change. Death is inevitable for all beings given the gift of life. Nothing lives to see the end of time. Death is also universal. Not only do the bugs, the plants, and the people die, but the stars die as well. The planets and their moons, the galaxies and the black holes all die. There is no escaping it. Time destroys all things inevitably. This is why I do not fear death. I do fear not living while I have the chance. Live until you die.

She still smiles at me. Gives me cigarettes and kind words. Continues to encourage my work and teach me things I should know. Talks all night and gives me rides home. Says she’ll save my life first if it ever comes down to it. She still smiles at me. She’s different in my dreams. She carries herself with more confidence. She kicks out her legs and sways in the wind. She doesn’t have that cloud of misfortune and despair following her around everywhere she goes. That smile could fool the most perceptive judge. It’s better not to see the pain.

When he first sees her in combat, he conjures images of rogue teenage samurai defending villages from bandits in feudal Japan. She’s a born warrior. She knows the ins and outs of self-defense, hand-to-hand battle strategy, and improvisation. She’s the fucking batman without the gadgets or the cape. She slams into her victims with the full force of her body. He’s respected her from the moment they met, but he knows now that he’s always underestimated her. Thinking, if he had to, he could drop this woman and never see her again. Now, he knows better. Now, he can’t escape.

verything you know is wrong. That’s a good way to look at the world. You might feel like you’ve been around the block a few times, seen some shit in your day. You might find comfort in the idea that you know certain things and that they will never change. You would be pleased if the natural order you find yourself trapped within remained constant and immutable, but you’d be fooling yourself if you thought that was possible. All things, even chaos itself, constantly change. They are in motion as long as they exist. Absolute knowledge is a false concept.

I like to talk straight here. Say what’s on my mind, tell it like it is, but sometimes I like to let the author in me speak out instead of the writer. I think there is a difference between the two. The writer writes simply to get the message out no matter what it is. The author likes to spread a message as well, but also to tell a story. I’ve never been too good at telling stories. It’s always something that happened and it ends without a real conclusion. I guess the real story doesn’t end until you’re dead.

No sleep tonight. I’m just not tired. Funny thing is I watched a show about an insomniac and I’m starting to think I have this sympathy insomnia. Like I’m feeling the same way for some unknown reason. Sympathy pain is a strange thing. I don’t understand it at all. My mother had an infection that made her shoulders and arms really sore. Then I started feeling it and it went away when hers did. That’s what she called it: sympathy pain. I just figured it was something going around. But I didn’t need medication to make it go away. Weird.

Stacked dead actors. Stacked to the rafters. Line up all the bastards. All I want is the truth. Midnight screening. Ledger is as close to the joker as we’ll ever see on film. I was seriously laughing for a good portion of the time he was on screen. I couldn’t get that magic trick out of my mind. And I couldn’t stop smiling when I thought about it. I’m more of a Batman, though. Somebody’s got to fight the evil when everyone else is watching the show. I just wish I could live without worrying about all the rules. HahhahAhhahAHhHAhhahHahhahahHAhAHAH

I take comfort in knowing that there are real people out there that are passionate enough to fight for what they know is right. I like seeing a glorified image of what they’re doing in my head. It’s not exactly real, but it’ll do to help me find the courage to follow their example. I listen to their side of the story after hearing so much from the other side. I form my own opinion and try to reinforce it by living the way I think it should be done. I think that’s all I can do for now. Soon…

Soon, if I try hard enough, I’ll be able to emulate them. To become a person worth looking up to. I could be a hero in someone else’s eyes. I could tell it like I see it and try to make things better for everyone. I know it’s within my reach. I just have to try hard enough. You’ve got that too, you know. You just have to strive to make things better. You’ve got to work for it. They say to leave it better than it was when you got here. I intend on doing that. What about you?

I’m going to let that author out soon. In November, I think. I’m going to join millions of other authors out there in writing my novel. Well, at least laying the foundations for it. The purpose is getting that shitty first draft on paper in a month and then fine tuning it for a while after. We push ourselves into dark holes and squeeze out 50,000 words in hopes that it might become something of value. I know this time I’ll make something I’m actually proud of. It’s a rare thing indeed when a writer likes his own work. NaNoWriMo.

I find myself in a constant state of fascination when I look about the world and see so many things happening all of the time. Things as large as people trying to solve the energy crisis or recreating atoms from the big bang. Things as small as someone smiling at a stranger or a bird carrying food back to its nest. I don’t know, maybe I’m a dreamer and these things catch my attention when I should be focusing on more pertinent issues. Still, that’s how it is. Constantly in awe of this wonderful giant blue ball. Still so bored.

Today I found myself wondering why I care about the things that I do. It seems a total failure of logic. I can’t really explain it. Maybe it was a momentary collapse of compassion. I wondered why I cared about peace on earth and why I feel bad when I hear about people dying. I couldn’t find a good reason. Save for the whole depressing thought of death, I can’t tell myself why I give a damn about anyone else. Even worse is that I didn’t feel selfish when I thought that. I guess I’m a pretty horrible bastard. Whatever.

So far we’ve had a hero, a love interest, and a few mentors. No villain? I don’t like to talk about him much. It seems a lot of my conversations in the real world revolve around him. So, I don’t mention him often elsewhere. In fact, I recall vowing never to mention him here. I think now is a good enough time to break that vow. Mainly because I’m sort of drained right now. Seeing as how most of this entry is filled already, I guess I’ll start at the next one. A short description of my enemy next. Steve…

My brother. The cause behind most of my scars. The bane of my existence. My partner in crime and the torment of my every waking moment. I’ve lived with him almost everyday of my life. He’s naturally spiteful of everything about me. I’ve tried looking into the reasons behind his anger. I came to the conclusion that his missing father being replaced by mine has made him jealous or just pissed off at me. Something was missing in his heart and he filled it with rage aimed at me. Every word an insult. Every action a threat. Still love him.

More on him much later. I see now why I made that vow. Never have I felt such righteous anger than toward him. In fact, I never really get righteously angry. I know I’m laid back. Probably too far. Some things lose their gravity when I’m so far back here. People take things too seriously and I envision myself as a beacon of hope. Hope that there’s nothing too worry about. A signal that says “Chill, dude, everything will be just fine.” I feel like a hippy. But the message is right on. Don’t sweat the small shit. Calm down.

Working toward a financially stable and healthy future is essentially pointless when there is a constant threat of there being no future. That’s one way to look at it. I find myself dwelling on this for short periods of time (mainly when justifying my failure to look for a job.) and then quickly finding better things to think about. Loads of people think the world will end. Whether it is with fire or ice doesn’t matter. We’re all so special to die with the world. It won’t happen in our lifetimes. It will all definitely end just not with us.

Two ways of viewing the Earth: up close and far, far away. From afar we can see the total beauty of our glorious blue marble, but we’ll never see the details. My friend, the devil’s in the details. Up close, where we can see with our own eyes, and not through the lens of a satellite, we can only see so much. Still there is so much to see. I live in a bubble. A small shielded bubble. Still, everything here is unique in its own way. My fear is that I’ll never see everything I wish to see. Gestalt.

It’s terrifying when it’s new. That feeling of something unknown. When the knot in your stomach gets so heavy and sinks. It drags you down with it. You fall to your knees with one hand on the ground and one clenching your stomach. You force your eyes shut and hold your breath. Your hair blocks the view of anything but the tiles on the floor when you open them. It comes without warning. There’s no time to do anything but react. It’s a feeling you’ll never forget and when it comes again you know the routine. Try to survive it.

Shark week. I’ve never been to the ocean and I don’t plan to visit either. Top five deadliest places people flock to for leisure the oceans top the list. I’m not a wuss or anything; I just know chances of being eaten by a shark go up significantly the closer I get to where they live. So, why risk it? You could drown too or get stung by a jellyfish. Why not just go to a pool if you want to swim? There’s no sense in throwing your life to chance. Fuck sharks. Fuck the ocean. I’ll die on land.

I hope you never have to force small talk just because you feel it’s necessary when you’re sitting alone with somebody. Of course, the alternative, uncomfortable silence isn’t any good either. Still, everybody has a story to tell or good conversation to offer. “Hey, what’s up with this weather, huh? Crazy.” There’s no need for that. I think that is the lowest form of communication. Wasted words. If I’m given a choice I’ll go with silence, but that’s just me. Some people can’t stand the silence. They have to talk even when they have nothing to say. Say something real.

Jesus, has it really been three months already? Don’t answer that. I don’t know what to think of all the things I’ve written here. How much of it is true or how much of it is just filler. I can’t say that I’m sure I’ll return to this, but if I do then I’ll definitely try to write something worth reading. And, if you skipped to the last entry to see if I wrote some profound finale to the whole month then go back and read the rest. That’s cheating, but don’t worry I do it too. Until next time.