Text: Poem

The trail of moonlight licks
at my cell floor upon its arrival,
bathing the night's children as they
scurry across my withering leg, fleeing
to find refuge in the shelter of darkness,
calculating spoils thieved from
my rusted and crude plate.

I sit, aimlessly flicking my eyes to
the motion of a moth, mastering
its ability to smack against cracked cell lights.
Its determination so impressive, my hands
might clap to its loyal search for ultimate salvation,
twisted within a hot fuse and a glass case.

Ambition blinds this winged warrior,
who drives into a barrier, leaving
behind cinnamon-colored dust trails, with each
snap of its body to a current of shrinking electricity.

My stomach as empty as my soul,
I wish I had sold the latter for a purpose,
like my silent, fluttering friend above me.
The proprietor of an admirable goal.

My hand slides across sand and stone,
fingers prowling for those who fell
before this new contender in a tireless battle.
Never learning a lesson from the creatures who,
despite their valiant effort struggled in vain,
now lie beside me, in a ruin of their remains.

Text: Comfort

Hey Blog, what's up? Nothing much here. Actually that's not true, I'm lying, but I'm not going to openly discuss my current endeavors. Instead I am just going to talk to you a little about love, life, and the way we choose to deal with it.

Tonight marks the third (maybe fourth?) anniversary of my mother's Christmas caroling party. Unfortunately it was too cold to sing out on the streets riding hay-back on a trailer pulled by a Ford. That's okay, because it allowed me to sit back, have a beer or two and realize why life is amazing.

Take my mom's best friends since high school for instance. My mother is 45 this year, so this friendship stretches back a long while. These friends of hers have been married for who knows how long and they never seem to show any discontent with each other. The guy, Dan, has been a major contribution to my mom's parties for ages. He plays the acoustic guitar and belts out Classic Rock ballads like Neil Young [which to him and I that is a compliment]. This does not sound like any extraordinary feat, I know. Anyone can play a guitar and sing along to entertain a mixed crowd. That's not really the point. The magic really is created by the fact that he has an appreciation for himself, what he delivers to everyone else, and how he made the choice to love someone who is his equal.

My main point really is to understand the levels of comfort, friendship, and love and how they all interact with each other to make the final product. [I just wanted to give him some props here, because I really respect who Dan is and how he continually gives with no expectation.]

There seems to be several levels of comfort involved in love. The more obvious one, to me, is the level of 'bad' comfort. That is when you become so comfortable with what you've become that you are willing to settle. You've packed up everything now and you sit around with your bags waiting to be escorted to the afterlife. Your interests are dull, you may even search for new ones only to realize that each one only temporarily diverts your attention from your looming boredom. You say "I Love You" to your loved one, but that is a misperception. You want to continue to purchase their loyalty to your boring life so that you can offer them unto others as a sign of success in some format. Your comfortable life is merely a picture you've painted that you hold up to the world so they can say "Wow, that's great. What you've done here looks really fucking neat. I wish I could lick your face so I can know what success tastes like."

The comfort I witnessed this evening really makes me appreciate life even more. When I look at Dan and his wife Cindy and I listen to him play music it makes me tell myself, "There are some fucking cool people in the world and they will make all the difference in the end." Is this post about me trying to come to terms with the aesthetic values of life? Maybe, but people who live and love together and compliment each other so well shows me that there is hope. That people do not have to sacrifice so much, because there is an underlying foundation of beauty that makes sacrifice nearly non-existent.

So why be with someone based on the aforementioned level of bad comfort? Are you just saying that this is the best you can do? Why give up hope that there isn't someone who fits you perfectly? Why surround yourself with people that do not compliment your humor or your true self? Why would you want to be with a girl, for example, that doesn't appreciate your jokes? I am 80% humor and 20% penis. If I was with a girl that did not absolutely enjoy my humor it might be the worst mistake of my life being with her. Humor is almost like an open bridge that connects two individual people who might not have anything in common other than what they laugh at. My best friend is a prime example of this. We share maybe two common interests but the majority of it is our humor. Is this something that you can only share with a close friend of the same-sex? I think that's a silly notion.

I've been very hopeful lately. There is someone behind it. There is someone who makes me happy and that appreciates my humor as much as I do theirs. What else do you really need beyond that? Life is here to be silly, laugh, love, have fun and then it ends. You don't get back time, so why waste it as if it weren't so? Why aggravate others, or bitch or complain? Just make do with what you're given and surround yourself with the people and things that allow you to be yourself, completely. That's all it takes.

Intimacy of Whales.

More to update later. For now, if you haven't already, go back to my first post [Poppin' My Blog Cherry] and read the comment that was left by my best friend. It is a very insightful comment about where I am at in my life right now, even if it isn't that obvious to some of my new friends. I may respond to it later in greater detail, I may not.

Text: Quartet

My life, as I frequently mention in my posts, has become very different in the last year. It has changed even more so since August of 2005. I finally transferred from Red Rocks Community College to the University of Colorado at Boulder. My job significantly changed as I moved from a very non-social, internet and computer based labor profession to an extremely social server position at Old Chicago. In doing so, I have become wrapped up in a welcoming family of new friends. Both movements signify a major social transition for me. I am not sitting in an office by myself for 8 hours a day chatting strictly on the internet to people I know and I am not taking online courses at Red Rocks.

I have basically traveled from one social extreme to the other. Not only has it taught me new lessons about myself but it has introduced me into a new matrix of friendships. There are server-to-server friendships, server-to-regulars friendships, servers-to-past employee friendships, etcetera, that all stack on top of one another. Finding out how to dive headfirst into the intricacies of the server social life hasn't been entirely tough, but a part of me has definitely felt disconnected. In some respects it is how I imagine being adopted into a large family would feel after you have matured to the age of understanding social standards. You feel like you know that you are valuable, but you inherit the pressure of convincing others of this. You want them to quickly gain trust in you as an employee, a loyal friend, and devoted family member.

The more we all work together, the easier this task becomes. I have also been frequently drinking with my co-workers, which proposes the question: does this strengthen or weaken the bond of friendships? My colleague has a similar set of questions she asked on her own blog:

"Is this a healthy transitional period of friendship wherein we all get to know each other's crazies, or Do you need to adhere to at least some normal social conventions to make a friendship last?"

The answer to these two questions can be composed into one analysis, I believe.

It is tough to say that if you are crazy that you could also say that you adhere to normal social conventions. Then what is the definition of crazy? Is it the fact that someone binge drinks, sleeps around in the group, or can't get over a break up? Is it the fact that someone can 'snuggle' as a friend, or exposes a body part simply for the spontaneity of it? Is that knowledge crazy to know about someone or does it make them a crazy person?

To me, everything is on the same page. There is no distinction about what you should or shouldn't know about a person. Then there is also no distinction about what you should or shouldn't reveal about yourself. Everything is as equally significant or insignificant.

If I say that, does it mean I am insensitive? Most people view me as nice, as far as I can tell—sometimes even too nice. Then, perhaps, this also suggests that I am not necessarily speaking for the masses when I respond to these inquiries. Friendship to me has always been completely open and the degree of it is usually set by the person’s trust in me.

Friendships mature with time. The more you hang around one another, the closer you become. That is obvious. The broad attempt at an answer is this then: In order to make a friendship last you shouldn't be reserved and you shouldn't abide by any code. To gain new friendships you have to be yourself (addictions, insecurities and all). Transitioning from one generation of friends to another shouldn't require much thought. Loyalty and trust are composed from the different levels of you or your friend's shared craziness. Friendship to me is always a welcome venture--the level of it shouldn't be immediately discounted based on the time of its arrival.

If you propose the question of whether or not to adhere to a social system, how do you know when to stop using it and let people know you intimately?

(I will write more on this later. I have an Italian final at 7:30 AM.)

Text: Sacrifice

Love makes us compromise. It requires us to sacrifice. To what end do we compromise and sacrifice ourselves for a significant other? When do we realize that someone's weaknesses outweigh their stability? Is it not the proper method of love anymore to confidently stand on two feet and understand yourself before you unite with another? If that is the case, then at what point--is it an age?--do we know ourselves?

Continuing with thoughts from a previous entry, I have been single for over a year. Immediately after my relationship I dated a few girls that gradually degraded into friendship and then to no longer speaking. I wasn't really ready to sign up for another relationship. That was my right and the choice I went with. Now, nearly six months since my last date: I haven't had sex, I haven't even had a possibility of love. Sure, at times, it can be a very depressing fact--but what is in a number, right? I lost my virginity at 18 to the girl I lived with for nearly 4 years. How much could I really have known about myself and the way I preferred love at that point? It is hard to realize the stuff that both of us put up with and how long we actually stayed together.

In my experience, neither of us could grow up being together. We had to separate before we could finally understand and acquire maturity as lovers and as people. We sure as hell weren't going to find it sitting at home reading books, watching movies and playing video games together. Comfort made my naivety acceptable. What did I need to know about other women? I had one in front of me that seemed to embody all the traditional elements of a future wife and mother. She was extremely loyal, loved to cook, worked a steady job, and had the ability to process a complete, intelligent thought. Then, why were we so forsaken as lovers?

I blame it primarily on our age. We fell for each other at 18. What can you possibly know about yourself at 18? You were taught nothing about yourself in high school. If anything you were taught how to be just like everyone else and make decisions according to popularity. Sure you might've had hobbies and friends you found interesting, but what did you really learn? Even when you thought you were gaining wisdom, in retrospect, how beneficial was it? Once you're on your own, when you don't have parents and you're trying to find a job, go to school, pay bills and have a shred of responsibility=that is when you start the process of growing up.

That isn't all it takes. Anyone can rent an apartment and work at Dairy Queen. It is what you learn while you're on your own, without your parents, without a significant other, that truly matures you. Otherwise you are sent from one umbrella, your parents, to the next, a life with your lover, that continually blocks the down pour of life. If you can't stand to get a little wet, even soaked, from life then you should've never left the house. It is in the moment that you establish a sense of identity that you are ready to encounter love and join someone as an individual. Prince Charming may exist and he may have a magical fantasy land waiting for you, but the passport should require you to prove you've taken at least a step or two towards finding yourself. Is that too much to ask?

Today, ask yourself a question: who the fuck am I? If you can answer it without including someone else in the picture then I'd say you're a giant leap in front of some. If you are your hobbies, if you are the games you play, the movies you watch, the stories you write, then you aren't anyone at all. Know yourself. Then let love find you.

Fuck you lack of emotional stability and stream of consciouness. You bastards.

Why do I continually pour out emotions to people I barely know? I tend to make myself look like an ass more often than not. It is truly a sad habit of mine. I'd much rather pick up snorting cocaine out of a dead gorilla's ass than have this current flaw of mine. I must've been born with constant vulnerability; either that or I earned it from growing up under a single mother. No I am not pointing the finger, but if I would've had more than one set of balls in the immediate family, I might know what the fuck mine are for.

Hell I had to learn how to shave from my mother. I had to ask my friend's dad how the fuck you apply a cup into a jock strap. This is probably why I am not very threatening to anyone. I always have to ask my enemies what follows after they throw the first punch. However, it has been pointed out that my driver's license picture looks like a mug shot, or like I should be on death row for stabbing anyone who looked at me. This must mean I have potential to be a badass mutha' fucka'. So why can't I learn to seal up my emotional breakdowns?

For example, today I randomly threw a 'writing fit' to my teacher about a play I signed up to do for a semester long project. It wasn't his fault that I procrastinated everything but the thought process and the outline in my head. I only had to write about four pages about a topic that in retrospect is extremely interesting -- one I did substantial research on. I felt very forced through the entire process. It is unfortunate, because the teacher I sent the letter and play to is the most intelligent teacher I've had in my entire college career. So this means I look like the typical ass I am sometimes in front of someone I truly admire.

This makes me ponder back on other people's reactions to my mental state. How the hell do I have so many friends? I must do a good job persuading people to be my friends through humor. It sure as hell isn't when I verbally cry in emails to professors, or to friends, or to girls. That's another good point: girls. Why am I so terrible with them?

It's like I have a sign on my face that says: skinny creep with small dick, just say no. What the fuck, was there some DARE style course that revolved around teaching girls just to say no to Chuck? I'm a little tired of it. I'm not going to go on making a personal ad of myself in some conceited fashion on my silly little blogspot here. However, I just want an explanation. Perhaps I need to be more mean. I probably have to punch a dog when I walk into the room. That gets the message across loud and clear. Nobody likes a man who punches things without thinking twice about it. Those guys have all the luck.

So, note to self, work on emotional breakdowns, have a little fucking confidence, stay away from anything with feminine qualities, and start drinking more Jack. That'll loosen things up.

Poppin' my blog cherry.

Blog, blog, bloggity.
I, We: Blog. Weblog.
Imagining so deep,
never before, would I,
think of you in my sleep,
oh ye blog of We.

Why do we feel it is imperative to be labeled as successful? What is success? Is success knowing good wine? Is it knowing the most beautiful people? Is it knowledge? Is it in the company you keep or the company you run?

I find these all to be valid inquiries. Success has transformed over the past year for me. It is the first year since 2000 that I've been single. In October of 2000 I met my first true girlfriend. I had only dabbled in dating prior to her. Which leads me to believe that if I had more experienced before I met her I might have been able to salvage the last four years of my life.

They were not a complete waste. That is if you consider experience through tasting the flavor of love your avenue to success. I find that success was weighed differently with her and entirely different with her away. We wanted valuable things. Items we could afford through finance, apparently. We were habitual spenders. It inevitably led to my current plight: my co-ownership of a condo with her. That said, it is evident to me that a majority of my adult life thus far has consisted of distracting myself from important decisions by surrounding myself with entertaining devices. What is the price of comfort then? For me, it ended up being $135,000.00, 4 years, many possible true-loves, the temporary loss of a few loyal friends, and passed job opportunities. What did I gain? Priceless wisdom from lessons I shall never repeat, so help me.

Is that the formula for success? Did I achieve the total or am I still trying to calculate how much I gained so I don't write it up as a complete loss?

I used to look at everything so positively when I was with Christina. Perhaps she was the shadow I wished to shed light on. The majority of her focus was on the negativity of life and how it plotted against her from birth. How unfortunate for her. I do not resent her for how she felt. That is a result of her upbringing. We all have reasons for who we are.

Science explains common threads of thought while the world provides the substance and imagery to taint it. Then, am I to blame her for what a tragic sex-life we had, or rather the romance-less path we stumbled down? I was there so much for her, I remember this clearly. Yet, where was she when my problems were most prominent? She claims it was me and the way I lived my life that elicited her cold responses. I can't entirely blame her. I was never home. Though, if she could have opened up and been social among my closest friends we might still be together. So for her, was success in ownership? And by ownership did she want customization? Was I a product of her imagination that didn't quite live up to the standards of her dream?

The condo we purchased was symbolic of the relationship we had. The lady who owned it before us had it for too long. She was desperate to sell it, but she couldn't find the right buyer. She eventually had to take a loss when selling it to us. It had been explained before the purchase that there was internal damage (plumbing) and that things had been patched up. However, you can clean up water damage, but the mold still creeps into the carpet. We had fought for so long about cheating, money, and other heartbreaking atrocities, like toothpaste caps being left off, or stabbing cats with brooms, that we carpeted over the damage and let the problem grow underneath.

It is weird how life sets up images for us, we are just blind to them. Is God an author and we are just the result of his imagination? Why did I have to get the big nose then? Is that the punishment for more personality and humor?

Then, maybe I am successful. Since I have spent the greater portion of my years being an observer, a pushover, if you will, maybe it is now that I can convert some of my loss into a game plan for success. Isn't it everyone's wish to succeed in life before you die? Don't we all want true love? Careers? Nice things? I want something I can't finance. I want success that isn't recorded on paper. Magari.